She blinked. "I didn't mean ... I don't think it's my fault."
Yes, she did. But she was pulling back now, embarrassed that she'd revealed so much. "That's good. I admire your passion. And your courage."
Oh, definitely she was embarrassed now. She turned away, trying to get her cop face back. "The point is, the law has to
be the same for everyone. Fuentes has to matter as much as Charlene Hall. And whoever killed them, for whatever reason, has to be stopped."
"Of course. Aside from the personal injustice of murder, if there's sufficient outrage it will affect the vote next fall. Especially if there are killings elsewhere."
She stopped moving. "You're talking about a conspiracy."
"I'm speculating. I have no evidence. But with this latest death ..." He drove his fingers through his hair. "Killing a woman will garner a great deal more outrage than killing a gang member did, won't it?"
"This is going to make trouble for you. She was killed much closer to the Nokolai Clanhome than the others. Rule, I have to talk to your father. I have to talk to a number of your people, but your father first."
"He'll be back tomorrow. I'll speak to him." He took her hand, closing his fingers around it firmly. "When are you going to go out with me?"
Her laugh was uncertain. "I mentioned something before about your odd sense of timing. We're at a murder scene, for God's sake."
He stroked his thumb along the pulse point in her wrist. "So let's agree that we have to stop meeting this way, and meet some other way. Over dinner, perhaps. I'm growing impatient."
"That's not my problem."
"I want to discuss something other than death and politics with you. I want to see your face when you're not being a cop."
"I'm always a cop."
Perhaps. But she was a woman, too. And her heart was beating fast and hard right now, like his. It took all his control to keep from bending to taste that pretty, unsmiling mouth, but he knew how little she'd appreciate that. Her people might see. His mouth crooked up. "I guess tonight is out."
"Good guess," she said dryly. But she didn't snatch her hand away.
"Tomorrow won't work, either. As I said, my father returns then, and we'll have a good deal to discuss. How about the next night? I can get tickets to a play, reservations for dinner."
She eased her hand away from his. "That's Friday night,
and I'm booked. A family party—Grandmother's eightieth birthday." She started back down the path, but had taken only a couple of steps when she paused, looking back at him. The tilt of her lips held challenge. "Ah ... it's formal, a big bash at my uncle Chan's restaurant. Would you care to go with me?"
Chapter 6
LILY WASN'T SURE at what point she'd lost her mind. At six-oh-seven that Friday she slicked color over her lips and tried to figure that out.
What had prompted her impulsive invitation to Rule? Hormones run amok? Her conversation with her mother earlier had put the idea in her head, but she hadn't been serious. She certainly hadn't intended to ask him. All of a sudden the idea had burst open in her mind like a flower gone from bud to bloom instantly, and she'd done it.
Maybe it had been that brief, startling gentleness he'd shown. The way he'd stroked her cheek, the softness in his voice. For a moment, understanding had shimmered between them, fragile and precious.
Or she'd thought it had.
Lily shook her head, turned to open her closet, which was off the bathroom, and almost tripped over Worf. "No shedding or drooling allowed," she told him firmly. "Sit."
Obediently he lowered his rear end, but continued to pant at her happily. She kept an eye on his lolling tongue as she reached for her dress.
Never mind the reason. The fact was that she'd succumbed
to impulse. A flash of lunacy, she supposed. And winced. Lunacy was not a comfortable word, considering the effect a full moon had on the man she would be with tonight.
The moon would be full in three days. She'd checked.
All in all, this hadn't been a good day. She'd spent too much of it in court, for one thing, testifying against a scumbag with a lawyer bright enough to know his client's only hope was to make Lily look crooked, incompetent, or both. He hadn't succeeded, but it hadn't made for a fun morning. That afternoon she'd argued with enough bureaucrats to drive a saint to violence. Finally the Department of Health had condescended to let her copy its list of lupi living inSan Diego, complied back when the government was registering them.
Rule's name hadn't been on the list. No surprise there. Neither was his father's. But eighty-seven others were. She'd barely started checking the names and addresses against the phone book to see who was still around.
Not everything had gone wrong today, she reminded herself. Neither her mother nor her grandmother had answered when, smitten by conscience, she'd called to let them know the name of her escort tonight. There was no point in hoping her family wouldn't realize who Rule was. Shoot, her grandmother read People regularly, and the magazine had done a spread on the Nokolai prince only last March.
Her mother was not going to appreciate the joke.
So why was she humming? Lily froze with the dress draped over her arm. This was nuts. Anyone would think she was looking forward to the evening.
Her dress. That was what had her humming, of course. She slid it from the hanger. Worf stood up, wagging his tail. "Sit," she told him again.
Her dress was ankle-length silk in a color that made her think of sapphires drenched in darkness, the color of the sky when dawn is barely a promise in the east. Lily had found it on sale a month ago and fallen in love. Even the sight of the price tag hadn't deterred her.
It was magnificent, she thought with sudden uncertainty as she surveyed herself in the mirror. A dream of a dress—sexy, feminine, sophisticated. Too sophisticated, maybe. She sure didn't look like a cop. Rule was going to think she'd dressed for him. He would think tonight was ... personal.
He'd be right. Nerves snapped in her middle like a string of firecrackers.
Maybe if she took her hair down she'd look more like herself.
Lily had her hands in her hair, the first pin unpinned, when the phone rang. She stepped into her shoes on the way to the living room, the bobby pin still in her hand. She spared a glance at the clock as she picked up the phone.
Six twenty-two. Rule would be here any minute. "Hello?"
"You left a message on that infernal machine," a light, high voice said in Chinese.
"I am sorry, Grandmother, but when I couldn't reach you I felt it better to use the machine than to say nothing." Her grandmother did not approve of answering machines. She wasn't too fond of telephones, television, or microwaves, either.
"Your message said that you have invited Rule Turner to accompany you to my birthday celebration."
"Yes, Grandmother," Lily replied, careful of both her courtesy and her accent. Her command of the tongue seldom pleased her grandmother.
"He is lupus. A prince of one of their clans."
"Yes. I didn't want you to be taken by surprise."
"I have not been surprised since the Mets won the pennant. Did you tell your mother about this man?"
"I left her a message, the same as yours. I don't know if—"
"Good. Say nothing more to her." She hung up.
Lily shook her head. Phone conversations with her grandmother tended to end abruptly. Not that conversations in person were much different. She glanced at the clock. There might still be time to finish taking her hair down if she—
The doorbell rang. Worf let out a deep woof and surged to his feet. Lily took a steadying breath, jabbed the bobby pin back in her hair, and turned to face the door.
Battlestations.