“I’m afraid you aren’t entirely in charge,” he told her gently. “Arjenie, Lily suspects a conspiracy that includes at least one perpetrator within the FBI. Who else could have reached Brooks to administer whatever caused his heart attack? But there could be more than one FBI agent or employee involved.”
Arjenie chewed on her lip and thought that over. He liked that about her. She was as chatty and confiding as Benedict was silent and reserved, but she knew when to stop and think.
No one else spoke, either. Lily’s silence was especially loud. Isen knew what she wanted to say: It was stupidly irresponsible to tell a suspect what you suspected.
She was right, of course. But whatever Arjenie Fox might be involved in, it did not include harming others. She knew or suspected something about the attack on Brooks, but she wasn’t conspiring to bring down the Unit or anyone within it. Not intentionally, and not due to the binding. She was, he thought, a practicing Wiccan in the deepest sense, one whose heart embraced their core tenet: and it harm none. If her actions had caused clear harm—even if she’d been unable to direct those actions—she’d be consumed by guilt. She wasn’t.
“I can’t think of anyone who’d betray the Bureau,” Arjenie said at last. She sounded almost as tired as Lily. “Of course, I might say that if I were part of a vast cell of traitors, all of whom I knew intimately, so that doesn’t help. Is Mr. Croft in charge of the Unit right now?”
“He is,” Lily said.
“Are you going to tell him about my Gift and my father and me being here at Clanhome and everything?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Arjenie sighed. Benedict moved closer to her, but not so he could counter a potential attack. Not this time. He wanted to hold her. Isen knew that as clearly as if Benedict had announced it.
After that involuntary movement, Benedict went still again, but Isen could almost taste his son’s longing. It hurt his heart. There was so little he could do. He settled for patting Arjenie’s hand. “If it helps, I don’t suspect you of anything nefarious. Rule, Lily’s right.”
“Quite often,” Rule agreed dryly. “But which specific instance did you mean?”
“She needs to come home. She is in serious and ongoing danger, and a hospital room is difficult to defend. In addition”—he put a subtle note in his voice so Rule would know his Rho spoke—“I need her and you here. Unless Nettie is utterly opposed, I want the three of you to return tomorrow. The meeting with the other North American clans is more vital than ever, and without Lily’s presence as guarantee of our peaceful intentions, Ybirra will withdraw. Lily, I hope you don’t object to my stating my wishes, since they agree with your own.”
“Object? No. But you’re up to something.”
“Arjenie is right, too. There are some things that shouldn’t be discussed over the phone. I’ll say only that I disagree with you in one respect. I don’t think your Unit is the target of a conspiracy.”
“I’d be interested in hearing your reasoning.”
“We’ll discuss it when you return. I do believe there is a conspiracy.”
“But not against the Unit.”
“No. Against us. Lupi. All lupi, not just Nokolai, and all who might aid us or otherwise interfere in her plans. You can guess which enemy I’m thinking of.”
Lily’s breath caught. Rule didn’t make a sound. Cullen Seabourne swung to face Isen, his eyes narrowing. And Isen’s oldest son looked at him with dawning relief. “Of course.”
TWENTY-THREE
ON the other side of the continent, Lily sat up in her hospital bed scowling at the computer screen. Rule sat on the bed beside her, his laptop balanced on his thighs. He’d just ended the call to Isen.
“I can’t believe he told us that,” Lily said, frustrated, “then wouldn’t say why he thinks she’s involved.” She drummed the fingers of her good hand on her leg. “We’ll find out tomorrow, I guess.”
“We will not. You aren’t flying across the country so I can attend that damned meeting a few days earlier than otherwise. You’re barely out of surgery.”
His jaw was set stubbornly. His eyes were dark, shadowed by sleeplessness, and brimming with emotion … emotion that for once she had no trouble reading.
Rule had been on high alert for over twenty-four hours. He was worn-out and wired up and afraid that wouldn’t be enough. That he wouldn’t be enough. That he’d miss something or sleep at the wrong time or be less than omniscient, and whoever wanted her dead would succeed.
Isen was right. A hospital room was hard to defend. There were too blasted many people around, and the other side of her door was public territory. Rule knew this. He was determined to keep her here anyway. He had some control over their small territory—more than he would in an airport, at least. But more importantly, her wound scared him.
She held out her hand. He took it. She let the contact ease them both, wishing he could climb into bed so she could hold him and be held. “I do heal, you know,” she said gently. “I don’t heal the way you do, but I do heal.”
“You haven’t healed yet. It’s too soon.”
“Rule, this isn’t your decision.” She let that sink in, then added, “I’m not an idiot. If Nettie nixes the trip, I’ll stay here. My own opinion—which I confidently expect both you and Nettie to ignore—is that I can do it. I’ll hurt, sure, but I’ll hurt if I stay in this blasted bed, too. It won’t harm me to sit in an airplane.”
“We can’t go strictly by what Nettie says. If my father tells her he wants you to return home, she—”
“You know better.” She squeezed his hand. “Nettie won’t adjust her medical opinion to suit Isen or anyone else.”
He looked at their joined hands and sighed. “I don’t like it.”
“I know.” It was her left hand he held, her right arm that was damaged, and that was a bitch. She was right-handed. But for that one instant, she was glad he could hold the hand that wore his ring. “You’re going to wear one, too, you know.”
Puzzled, he looked up. “One what?”
“Ring.”
He smiled slightly. “I am, yes.”
She took a breath and jumped. “I’ll stay at Clanhome. Not the whole time I’m healing, because that’s going to take way too long, but while I’m officially on sick leave. You can guard the hell out of me there.”
His eyes searched hers. Some of the tension eased from his face. He lifted her hand and kissed it. “I love you at all times. Sometimes I like you tremendously, too. Thank you. I know you’d much rather be at our place. I also know you’re planning to investigate as much as possible while you’re there.”
She didn’t have a case. She’d been pulled from the Cobb case and she couldn’t just show up in D.C. to hunt for whoever had tried to kill Ruben and she was going to be on sick leave and … and did that matter?
Yes, she decided. But maybe not as much as it ought to. “Speaking of planning …” She glanced around, spotted her takeout cup, and disengaged her hand so she could pick it up. Then frowned at the few cold drops remaining in the bottom of the cup. “Maybe you could send the guard for more coffee.”
“Or maybe not. It’s nearly eleven, and you should sleep at some point tonight—especially if you’re going to persuade Nettie you’re well enough to fly home tomorrow.”
She was tired, and she was tired of being tired, and he was right, and the whole thing sucked. “Do you buy Isen’s idea? Do you think the Great Bitch is behind the attacks on me and Ruben?”
The twin slashes of Rule’s brows drew down. “I don’t know. Maybe more yes than no. Isen’s right an awful lot of the time, and you’ve been her target before. You don’t sound convinced.”