paused with her hand on the doorknob. Deacon was fiddling with a pen. He spoke without looking at her. “I’m going to ask you something that’s none of my business.”
Her eyebrows shot up as curiosity fought with common sense. Whatever he wanted to ask, it would probably annoy her and possibly make it hard to work with the man.
But with Lily, curiosity almost always won. “What’s that?”
“It doesn’t bother you, the way Turner is?”
“Lupi aren’t the bestial killers that popular culture makes them out to be.”
“I don’t mean that. I’ve seen him. He holds it together okay, even when you push at him some.” Deacon put the pen down. “I mean the way he is with women. Weers—I mean lupi—they don’t believe in marriage.”
A dozen things jostled through her brain, trying to make it into speech. Explanations, justifications . . . reasons. Lupi had reasons for their ways. They were nearly infertile, and their very survival had long depended on scattering their seed as widely as possible.
That secret could not be spoken, of course. Neither could she explain that Rule was faithful to her. The mate bond that tied them together made it unthinkable for him to stray, even though she could. She wouldn’t, but according to his beliefs, it was acceptable for her to dabble on the side.
Lily wasn’t sure how much he truly believed that. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But in fact, she had a guarantee of faithfulness perhaps no other woman could claim . . . and no chance of claiming it aloud. “No,” she said after a brief pause. “It doesn’t bother me, Sheriff.”
She closed the door quietly behind her.
ELEVEN
EDNA was a six-footer with a linebacker’s shoulders, a sun worshipper’s wrinkles, and a ship’s prow of a bosom. Her hair was short, gray, and straight. She wore a wholly unflattering white oxford shirt tucked into belted khakis. No weapon.
“Crime scene photos,” Edna said, slapping a folder on the conference table. “Rest of it’s in here.” A second, thicker folder landed on top of the first. “Coffee’s in the break room, west end of the building, between the restrooms. Like we all want to hang out at break next to the piss pots, right?”
Lily agreed that those who did space planning for public buildings were idiots, and Edna went to get the key from Evidence.
Like almost everyone in the Unit, Lily had been sent all over the place in the seven months since the Turning, so she was used to quickly setting up a field office. She called a local office supply store, then sat down with the files. First she’d go through the reports, get a picture of what had happened at Meacham’s house four days ago. So far all she had was Deacon’s version.
She’d studied the photos and was halfway through the thicker folder when a muffled drumroll sounded in her purse.
That was Cullen. She frowned, glancing at her watch as she retrieved the toy Rule had given her for her birthday in April—an iPhone. “It’s six forty in the morning in California. What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Cullen asked. “What could be wrong? You texted me. I called.” The next part came out louder, but muffled, as if he’d turned his head. “How would I know? I’m not the Finder here. All right, all right, I’ll look for it. Just get your beautifully gravid body in and out of that shower fast. The plane leaves in seventy minutes.”
“Plane?” Lily repeated. “Where are you going?”
“Washington—the state, not D. of C. Kidnapping. A little boy this time, four years old. She just got the call.”
Cynna was on limited duty due to her pregnancy, which meant that, unlike other Unit agents, she wasn’t flying all over the U.S. these days. Except in special cases, that was. Cases like this, when a child’s life was at stake. Cynna was the top Finder in the country.
“You’re going with her again?”
“Of course I’m going with her. I’m not about to . . . Lily,” he snapped, and it
Her eyebrows shot up as curiosity fought with common sense. Whatever he wanted to ask, it would probably annoy her and possibly make it hard to work with the man.
But with Lily, curiosity almost always won. “What’s that?”
“It doesn’t bother you, the way Turner is?”
“Lupi aren’t the bestial killers that popular culture makes them out to be.”
“I don’t mean that. I’ve seen him. He holds it together okay, even when you push at him some.” Deacon put the pen down. “I mean the way he is with women. Weers—I mean lupi—they don’t believe in marriage.”
A dozen things jostled through her brain, trying to make it into speech. Explanations, justifications . . . reasons. Lupi had reasons for their ways. They were nearly infertile, and their very survival had long depended on scattering their seed as widely as possible.
That secret could not be spoken, of course. Neither could she explain that Rule was faithful to her. The mate bond that tied them together made it unthinkable for him to stray, even though she could. She wouldn’t, but according to his beliefs, it was acceptable for her to dabble on the side.
Lily wasn’t sure how much he truly believed that. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But in fact, she had a guarantee of faithfulness perhaps no other woman could claim . . . and no chance of claiming it aloud. “No,” she said after a brief pause. “It doesn’t bother me, Sheriff.”
She closed the door quietly behind her.
ELEVEN
EDNA was a six-footer with a linebacker’s shoulders, a sun worshipper’s wrinkles, and a ship’s prow of a bosom. Her hair was short, gray, and straight. She wore a wholly unflattering white oxford shirt tucked into belted khakis. No weapon.
“Crime scene photos,” Edna said, slapping a folder on the conference table. “Rest of it’s in here.” A second, thicker folder landed on top of the first. “Coffee’s in the break room, west end of the building, between the restrooms. Like we all want to hang out at break next to the piss pots, right?”
Lily agreed that those who did space planning for public buildings were idiots, and Edna went to get the key from Evidence.
Like almost everyone in the Unit, Lily had been sent all over the place in the seven months since the Turning, so she was used to quickly setting up a field office. She called a local office supply store, then sat down with the files. First she’d go through the reports, get a picture of what had happened at Meacham’s house four days ago. So far all she had was Deacon’s version.
She’d studied the photos and was halfway through the thicker folder when a muffled drumroll sounded in her purse.
That was Cullen. She frowned, glancing at her watch as she retrieved the toy Rule had given her for her birthday in April—an iPhone. “It’s six forty in the morning in California. What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Cullen asked. “What could be wrong? You texted me. I called.” The next part came out louder, but muffled, as if he’d turned his head. “How would I know? I’m not the Finder here. All right, all right, I’ll look for it. Just get your beautifully gravid body in and out of that shower fast. The plane leaves in seventy minutes.”
“Plane?” Lily repeated. “Where are you going?”
“Washington—the state, not D. of C. Kidnapping. A little boy this time, four years old. She just got the call.”
Cynna was on limited duty due to her pregnancy, which meant that, unlike other Unit agents, she wasn’t flying all over the U.S. these days. Except in special cases, that was. Cases like this, when a child’s life was at stake. Cynna was the top Finder in the country.
“You’re going with her again?”
“Of course I’m going with her. I’m not about to . . . Lily,” he snapped, and it
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