Being a cop came first. Always.
WITHIN AN HOUR Lily had the paperwork for a search warrant ready to submit. She called Rule, but his machine picked up. She left a message. Aroundnoonshe hit the streets with six names of lupi confirmed to be still living inSan Diego.
By three she'd spoken to three of the lupi on her list and eliminated one conclusively. He worked nights as a bouncer and was solidly alibied for all three nights in question. The other two were less certain. Each claimed an alibi for one of the murders, but it was possible that more than one lupus was involved. The physical evidence was inconclusive. They'd retrieved hair from two of the three crime scenes that looked alike—mottled silver and charcoal—but the lab couldn't prove that it had come from the same lupus without DNA testing. And the stuff wouldn't behave under testing.
Lily really, really didn't like Rule's conspiracy idea, but she couldn't ignore it.
At five-fifteen she left another message on Rule's machine. It was nearly eight when he returned her call. "I'm sorry I didn't get back to you sooner." His voice was rough, but she couldn't tell what emotion moved him. "It's been a difficult day."
“Tell me about it. I called because I wanted to give you notice. I've put in for a search warrant to get me into Clan-home. I expect to have it by Monday at the latest." He was silent so long she wondered if her phone was working. "I told you I couldn't wait much longer."
"I have to talk to you. It will take me thirty minutes to get to your apartment."
"I'm not there. I'm working."
"At this hour? What—never mind. Just tell me where I can meet you."
She knew what she heard in his voice now—urgency. Against her will, it convinced her to see him. She gave him the name and address of a bar down the street and disconnected, frowning.
There was no way of knowing what he meant to say until she saw him, so she shoved it into a corner of her mind, climbed out of her car, and went to talk to Amos Whitburn, the fifth name on her list.
Amos Whitburn turned out to be ninety-two, and even lupi weren't proof against age. He moved well—arthritis didn't seem to afflict weres—but he was nearly blind. Cataracts. Crossing him off her list didn't take long, which meant that she arrived at the bar well before Rule did. This gave her plenty of time to wish she'd picked another spot.
The area should have warned her. It wasn't a slum, but it was on the far lower end of working class. The bar itself was what she'd expected—dark, dingy, and smelling of beer. She'd been in plenty of places like this since she joined the force. But usually she'd either been in uniform or flashing a badge. Tonight she was in wrinkled linen—baggy walking shorts, sleeveless shell, and a loose, lightweight jacket that covered her weapon. Not exactly come-hither clothes, but it didn't seem to matter.
Lily took her Diet Coke to a corner where she could keep an eye on the room. Her stony stare worked on the first two men who started toward her—they veered away, pretending
they'd been heading to the men's room all along.
The next guy was more persistent. Probably trying to win a bet, Lily thought, disgusted, as he approached. He'd been sitting with the other two.
"Hey, there, honey. My name's Biff."
Oh, surely not. Would any woman do such a thing to her child? Lily looked up. Way up.
He was huge. Six-four, maybe two-thirty. He wore a red ball cap and jeans tight enough to endanger his future offspring. His head was too small for his body, but his features were regular enough that he probably thought he was good-looking. He carried two beers in one hand, and smelled as if he'd already drunk several. His hands were the size of catcher's gloves.
"I don't want a beer, and I don't want company."
"My treat," he said genially, setting both amber bottles on the table and reaching for the other chair.
She kicked the chair away. "My mama told me never to talk to cliches."
"C'mon, honey, don't be that way. I'll treat you real nice. Ask anyone here. Matthew!" he bellowed. “Tell the lady what a nice guy I am."
The bartender looked over, bored. "Real nice."
"There, you see? I'm not gonna hurt a sweet little thing like you. Would you rather have somethin' else to drink? Maybe a Tom Collins. Hey, Matthew, get this—"
"No. Go away. I'm waiting for someone."
"Hey, I'll do just as well! Probably better." He beamed at her, dragged the chair back, and sat down. "I'm a fun guy."
Lily put her arms on the table and leaned forward. "Let me explain. I don't want company while I wait, I don't want a drink, I don't want to dance or talk to you or look at you. You'll have to trust me on this. You won't do at all. You will get up now and go away."
He leaned back, still smiling. But his eyes lost their amiable gloss, and underneath they were pure mean. "Well, now, I don't quite see how a little bitty thing like you is gonna make me do that, if I don't want to." He rested his forearm on the table, closed his hand into a fist, and made his biceps clench.
His friends—the two men Lily had sent off with the Stare— sat at a table about ten feet away. The bar wasn't crowded.
They had a great view, and were nudging each other and chuckling.
Real funny, hassling a woman because they thought they could get away with it. Briefly Lily toyed with the idea of stating her price, letting him agree to buy an hour of her time, and then arresting him. She sighed. It was a pleasant fantasy, but impractical. Instead, she reached inside the flap of her purse—and saw Rule near the door, headed for her.
He was not happy.
Time to move mean-and-stupid along. She pulled out the leather case with her shield and showed it to him. "You want to leave now."
He looked at it, his heavy eyebrows pulling down.
"You heard the lady.'' Rule's left hand clamped down hard on Big Biff's shoulder. His fingers dug in. His face wore a curiously intent, inward expression. "But you weren't listening, were you?"
Biff's eyes bulged in sudden pain. He went stiff and made a choked sound.
"Rule!" She spoke sharply. How had he crossed the room so fast? "Don't break anything."
"Hmm?" He glanced up, his eyes meeting hers. His eyes. Dear God. The color had bled into the whites until they were wholly dark, gleaming. "Oh, yes," he said mildly. "Sorry about that. Here, let me help you up."
He didn't give Biff much choice, hoisting him bodily from the chair. The big man swayed for a second, blinking fast to get rid of tears of pain.
Just how strong was Rule?
"What the hell—?" Biff's protest was weak. He was trying to regain his swagger as he turned. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, grabbing me that—holy shit."
He'd seen Rule's eyes.
Lily shoved her shield back in her purse and stood. "I don't like it here. Too many friendly people. Let's go somewhere else."
"Hey!" Biff's voice rose. "Hey, I know who you are. You're that werewolf!"
Silence scattered like sparks around the room, striking those closest first and spreading fast. Biff's buddies shoved to their feet.
"You're right," Rule said, but he was looking at her, not Biff. His eyes still looked weird, but the whites showed at the comers again. "We need to leave."
The crowd was decidedly unfriendly now. There were mutters from a couple of men at the bar. Biffs two buddies started toward him. Lily and Rule headed for the door.
"Hey, you!" the bartender shouted. "You didn't pay for your drink!"
Lily barely slowed. "I gave you a five."
"No, you didn't. You come back and pay or I'm calling the cops."
"I am— "
"Here." Rule tossed a bill in the general direction of the bar, grabbed Lily's arm, and pulled her toward the door. He let go as they stepped outside.
It was dark and drizzling, a drab wash of grays and blacks. Parked cars lined the street on both sides, but there wasn't much traffic. Hardly any pedestrians, either. The traffic light on the corner was barely visible through the haze, a dim red glow.