Rule looked at Madame Yu. She met his eyes and again gave a small nod. Maybe Sam had directed that last bit at her as well as Rule. Or maybe Sam had been talking separately to her all along. He was capable of carrying on multiple mental conversations.
Edward looked down at his hands, clasped on the table. He looked at his mother, then away. “I thank you all for sharing your thoughts,” he said slowly. “I appreciate Deborah’s reminder that we must be grateful for what Sun Mzao has offered and I understand why some of you urge me to accept that offer. I may do so later, but at this time I agree with Susan. I do not have enough information to make a decision. I will ask Dr. Babbitt to continue treating Julia here for now, and also to give me the names of other experts who may be helpful. Sun Mzao, you said . . . earlier you told me that sleep offers her mind some protection. If you can keep her asleep for now . . .”
“Thank you. I . . . she is confused by my presence, but I can at least be with her when she sleeps without upsetting her.” Abruptly he stood. “Dr. Babbitt, if you would get those names for me . . . but you can give them to me later. Text me or . . . I’m going to stay with Julia awhile.”
“Father?” Susan said. “Do you want me to—”
“Not now,” he said. “Not now.” He left quickly.
Chairs were scraped back. Voices were kept low, as if they were at a funeral. Paul began talking to Dr. Babbitt. Feng and Deborah formed their own little knot of disagreement as Rule made his way to Madame Yu. He quirked an eyebrow and spoke very softly. “Are we kidnapping her, or do we do this openly?”
“Openly.” She glanced at the door that had shut behind her son. “This will be difficult enough on Edward. I will be sure he lies down somewhere here to rest in an hour or so. Sam will need that long to prepare. Then it is up to you to convince Julia.”
“In the meantime, I will arrange for deer.”
“Good.” Her eyes were troubled, but her voice was as crisp as ever. “Skinned.”
“But with the antlers.”
She nodded, but he didn’t see the flash of mischief in her eyes he’d expected. “He is shutting me out,” she said abruptly. “Sons must do this with mothers sometimes.”
“Mothers don’t have to like it.”
“No.” The faintest of sighs. “I will speak with Mequi now. She is more vulnerable than the others.”
Mequi was more pigheadedly certain than anyone else in the room.
As if she’d read his mind—which he was almost positive she couldn’t do—Madame Yu patted his arm. “Certainty hides many things. You should know this. Mequi raised Julia after their mother died. She needs something to do.”
Mequi wasn’t the only one who needed that, he thought as he watched Madame Yu head for her daughter- in-law’s sister.
He took out his phone. He’d speak with his father about the deer. There were three herds that included Nokolai Clanhome in their range, so the clan should be able to accommodate Madame’s requested menu. Then he’d call Cullen. But where was Cullen supposed to—
There was more?
Rule wondered if Sam had told Ruben . . . Lily’s boss at the FBI, the head of Unit Twelve, who was also the creator and first-in-command of the Shadow Unit.
Mika was the D.C. dragon. Rule frowned. Sam was going to an immense amount of trouble for Julia. Rule knew he’d already delayed his departure for some important gathering of dragons. He meant to render himself vulnerable, leave a possible opening for their enemy. If Sam considered that a debt was owed him for all this, it would be one whopping huge debt.
SEVEN
THE coffee in Lily’s cup was black, burned, and bitter. Suited her just fine. Maybe that was because it fit her mood, or maybe it was the comfort of the familiar. How many cups of bad coffee had she drunk when she was a local cop like the man who’d just handed her this one?
“If that doesn’t work, you’re gonna need toothpicks,” Officer Perez said.
“It’ll do. Thanks.” They were in the tiny alcove of a room where visitors to the patients on this floor could get coffee or a soft drink. Scott and Mark—her designated bodyguards, though she preferred to think of them as mobile backup—were just down the hall. Lily had snarled her way into this abbreviated privacy after interviewing the newest vic, needing a moment alone to gather her thoughts.
A moment was all she’d gotten, too.
The second victim, Ronnie Winsome, was being moved up here from the emergency room, but hadn’t arrived yet. Lily sipped nasty coffee. “Your sergeant clear you to help me out?”
“She did,” Perez said. “She cursed, but she cleared it. She wants to be kept informed.”
“She can know what you know. She won’t be brought into the case further at this point.”
Officer Ramon Perez wasn’t quite a rookie, but his big brown eyes hadn’t turned cop yet. He was a patrol officer, but he wanted to be more, and probably would be. Called to the scene of an ordinary rear-end collision with no injuries, he’d realized that the at-fault driver was confused. Lots of cops would have noticed that much, but Perez hadn’t thought he seemed intoxicated, and the man had passed the breath test. Winsome hadn’t wanted to go to the hospital, but Perez had persuaded him he needed to be evaluated.
Meanwhile, unknown to Lily, Ruben had been hit with one of his hunches. He’d instructed the SDPD to put out an alert for all units to watch for “impairment or memory loss of an unusual nature.” They were to report same to FBI Unit Twelve. Perez had heard the alert about an hour after the ambulance carried Winsome away and he’d gone the extra mile, heading for the hospital to reinterview the man.
That was when he discovered that Ronald Ralph Winsome, known to friends and family as Ronnie, didn’t know what year it was.
Winsome had only lost three years, not most of a lifetime. Lily didn’t know of any connection between him and her mother, and the accident had taken place more than ten miles from Uncle Chen’s restaurant, so there was no obvious geographical link. But the time fit. Winsome had rear-ended the car in front of him at roughly 8:15. Julia Yu had started screaming at 8:20.
Lily had just finished interviewing Winsome. He was upset by the memory loss, but otherwise seemed okay. She’d talked to his doctor, too. Amnesia was rare and the MRI didn’t show any head trauma. The ER doctor was mystified, but he would have released Winsome with a recommendation to seek counseling if Perez hadn’t persuaded him to hold off until Lily arrived.
Lily planned to take advantage of Perez’s competence, his big brown eyes, and his bilingual abilities. “Winsome’s wife is with him—Cara Winsome, fifty-one, brown and black, five-five and one fifty. She’s the second wife. First wife is Anna Caraway. Winsome and Number One have one son, thirty-two, named Brian. Brian lives in Santa Ana and is on his way here. Cara has two daughters, both grown, both living here in San Diego. She says he’s been under a lot of stress because of overwork—he’s in management at a national clothing chain—and he worked late tonight. He was presumably on his way home when he had the accident, though of course he doesn’t
