on guard and went to speak with Jose, who was in charge of the squad. Rule checked quickly with the mate-sense to see how close Lily was. There was time to update his father, so he made that call first, then said, “Everyone is in place?” to Jose.
Jose nodded, so Rule gestured at Barnaby and the three of them headed for the stairs. Barnaby had point; Jose followed three yards behind Rule.
It felt good to stretch his legs. They were only on the eighth floor, so he wouldn’t get to stretch them for long, but he savored the sensation. That was not the main reason he was avoiding the elevator, however. Their enemy could have tracked them to St. Margaret’s, and a gunman waiting outside the elevator could spray the interior with bullets the moment the doors opened. Rule didn’t consider a physical assault here likely, but why take a risk so easily avoided?
Especially when it felt so good to
Taking the fight to the enemy was sound strategy. Pity it had proved impossible so far. They had no way of reaching the Great Bitch, and her agent in this realm was a patterner, capable of twisting probabilities to his advantage. In other words, Robert Friar always had extraordinarily good luck. Neither the Bureau nor the clandestine group known as the Shadow Unit had been able to turn up a single lead to his whereabouts, so they were always reacting to their enemy’s latest attack, never able to attack first.
Barnaby reached the door to the ground floor and signaled. Rule stopped. Barnaby stood in front of the door, listening and smelling—he had an excellent nose even when two-legged, which was why Rule put him on point—then eased it open and stepped out and quickly to one side.
Rule waited until Barnaby reappeared and gave the okay sign, then followed him into the lobby. The admissions desk was unoccupied at this hour, but several people were passing through the lobby on their way in or out. A couple of men lingered, however—Santos and Jacob. They very properly paid no attention to Rule until he said, “With me.”
He hadn’t signaled for haste, so they walked over. He checked with the mate-sense again. “Lily will be here in about three minutes. Santos, obtain and hold an elevator for us, please. Jacob, beside me.” Eight flights of stairs were a pleasant way to stretch his legs, but a bit much for Lily when she was tired. The elevator should be safe. Their end point was secure; Jose had people stationed at the eighth-floor elevator. That wouldn’t help if someone stopped the elevator on another floor, but Rule knew a trick to prevent that. He signaled Barnaby to proceed, and he and his men headed for the revolving door.
St. Margaret’s main entry was in the newest part of the hospital and used the kind of oversize, automated revolving doors sometimes employed at airports and in large office buildings. When they reached it Rule waited while Barnaby checked with the pair of guards patrolling outside. Once Barnaby gave the all clear, Rule and Jacob went through together, with Jose following.
Rule stepped out into a cool San Diego night just as a black-and-white pulled up three cars away from the doors. It pleased him that he’d timed it so well. Lily was better than he at reading the mate-sense, but he was improving.
The patrol unit’s back door opened. Scott stepped out, slid a slow glance around, then nodded that it was safe. Good. Lily had come to understand the need for guards, but with more resignation than real acceptance. She didn’t always wait for them to check out an area.
Then the front door opened and the heart of Rule’s world stepped out.
Lily wore a blue linen dress banded at the yoke and hem in bright green that stopped well short of her knees. Lily had amazing legs. The rest of the world didn’t get to see them often, since her work wardrobe consisted of slacks—almost always black so she didn’t have to think about it—with a tee or tank and a jacket to cover her shoulder holster. She liked dresses, though. With this one she wore bright green ballerina flats and her cop face.
“Thanks,” she told the driver of the black-and-white and shut the door. Rule moved up beside her and they headed for the revolving doors together. Barnaby continued to hold point; Scott took Rule’s left; Jacob walked on Lily’s right side, blocking her from possible snipers.
“Have you learned anything?” Rule asked.
“Not much. I’ve sent people to talk to Friar’s daughter and to Jones.”
Armand Jones had been Robert Friar’s West Coast lieutenant in Humans First. Jones claimed to have ended the association; he was a Christian man, he said, and Friar now worshiped a false god. Accurate enough, as far as Friar’s allegiances went; Rule didn’t assume that point of accuracy made it true. As for Friar’s daughter, she was as much his victim as anyone, but it was possible he’d contacted her. Unlikely, but possible. “You assume Friar had something to do with this?”
“I’ll tell you when we can’t be overheard. Right now, Cullen’s working up a spell he wants to cast with Miriam’s coven. He’s going to be at the restaurant for several more hours.”
Her coolness didn’t surprise him. Her expression had already cued him to what she wanted—keep things crisp, brisk, professional. Stay in control. She could have that . . . for now. “Yes, he told me.”
“I wanted Scott to stay and guard Cullen. He refused.”
The heart of his world was angry. But not, he thought, about Scott, who would have obeyed almost any order Lily gave, save that one. As she knew very well. “There are a lot of police at the restaurant, I believe. Perhaps they’d object if someone tried to shoot Cullen.”
“You’ve suddenly decided that cops are adequate protection?”
“Better than nothing until the squad I sent there arrives.”
“And you didn’t tell me you’d sent a squad? You could have—no. Cancel that.” She drew a sharp breath as they moved into the revolving cage that gave access to the hospital and didn’t speak again until they emerged into the lobby. Then she said, “Could you please do something appalling so I’ll have someone to yell at?”
“Okay.” He stopped, took her arms in his hands, yanked her to him, and kissed her.
FOUR
SHARP pain stabbed down on his instep. A second blow took him in the ribs. Rule dodged the next blow and stepped back, pleased.
Unlike Lily. “Don’t look so damn smug! I don’t want to brawl in the middle of . . . no, I guess I do want to, but it isn’t a good idea.” She shoved her hair back from her face, looked around—a couple of people were staring—and sighed. “Is it catching? That desire all of you have to pummel someone to help you smooth out?”
As far as Rule could tell, the desire to pummel someone when you were upset wasn’t a lupus thing. Humans did it all the time. Unlike lupi, though, they could cause lasting damage if they struck out in anger, so they couldn’t afford to offer each other that simple means of relieving stress. “We could go out in the parking lot.”
She looked at him for a long moment. Finally the corner of her mouth turned up. Not a full smile, but a wry acknowledgment. “I’ve relieved enough stress for now, I think.”
He held out his hand. She put hers in it. Together they started walking again.
The ease was immediate. This, too, the mate bond gave them, heightening the inherent comfort of touch. But it was love that made her touch rich, layered, full. Love was like smell, Rule thought. Smell was the most complex and dimensional of the senses, weaving together past and present, near and distant, motion and stillness. Love, too, was a weaver.
“Did Grandmother tell you what’s up?” Lily asked. “All she told me was that she may revoke her approval of doctors.”
“Madame Yu wants the family—the immediate family, that is—to hear what the psychiatrist advises. Sam disagrees with something the man said or with what he’s thinking. I’m not sure which.”
Lily glanced up at the ceiling as if she could see through all ten stories to where the black dragon circled overhead. Or perhaps Sam had landed on the hospital’s roof again. The hospital authorities didn’t like that, but Sam seldom concerned himself with human likes and dislikes. “She told you that? Or Sam did?”
“He hasn’t spoken to me.”
“Typical.”
