He looked up from his notes. There was an odd, mocking gleam in his eyes. “That’s the only visitor the senator had this morning.”
“Are you saying we already have a suspect? Or at least a witness. You have a description? A name?”
“Both.” He consulted his notes again ostentatiously. “Thin, average height, wore a dark gray suit with a white shirt. Pale blue tie. He was not carrying a briefcase or laptop or other object. She estimates his age as between forty and fifty. Dark hair and eyes, large nose, glasses. She hadn’t seen him there before and he didn’t have an appointment, but the senator saw him anyway.”
“And the name?”
Mullins smiled thinly. “Ruben Brooks.”
ELEVEN
AT eight twenty that night Rule heard a car in the alley, followed by the sound of the garage door opening out back. He was in the kitchen, his laptop on the table, his ass in one chair, his feet in another, wearing his headset. “Okay, Andor, thanks. I appreciate your not asking us to wait for the All-Clan.”
“Chad is unemployed at the moment. It is no difficulty for him to fly to D.C.”
“He’ll stay here, of course, and Wythe will pay his airfare.” The Rho of Szøs clan snorted. “You speak for Wythe now as well as Leidolf and Nokolai?”
“My father speaks for Nokolai,” Rule said mildly. He listened to the car pull into the garage, glad that Lily hadn’t worked too late. She’d texted him a couple hours ago not to wait supper on her, which could have meant she’d be home at eight or at midnight. Or later. “No one speaks for Wythe at the moment, but my nadia and the Wythe Council agree that the clan will reimburse others for expenses incurred in this search. Let Walt know how much and who the check should go to—you or your young man—and he’ll send it immediately. You have Walt’s number?”
“Szøs will pay Chad’s expenses,” Andor said gruffly. “It is not good for a clan to be without a Rho. This would be true at any time, but in time of war, we do not bicker over a few dollars.” Andor paused. “Of course, if Chad does turn out to be capable of holding the Wythe mantle, he will no longer be Szøs. Wythe will owe us reparation for the loss of a clan member.”
Rule’s mouth twisted in wry amusement. “A matter you can discuss with the new Rho, if that happens.”
“So I can. T’eius ven, Rule.”
“T’eius ven.” Rule removed the headset and went to unlock the back door for Lily. He swung it open.
She had her key out—because, of course, she never let the guards unlock the door for her. She claimed this was so they’d be free to do their job. He suspected she preferred to pretend they weren’t there. She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. “You are not a suspect.”
Amusement lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t think so, no.”
“Even if Croft were willing to put me on an investigation where you were a suspect, Drummond wouldn’t let that stand. But I’d really like to know if it was Dennis Parrott who alibied you.”
“It is, though it seems, since you are part of the investigation, that you should know this already. Come in. I saved you some supper.” He turned to get it. “Shepherd’s pie. It’s keeping warm in the oven.”
“I’m probably hungry, but I’m too tired to tell.” She followed, closing the door behind her. He heard the dead bolt click. Lily cultivated useful habits such as locking doors automatically, squeezing the toothpaste tube from the bottom, and cleaning her weapon every time she used it.
“Wine first, then.” He’d opened a nice Syrah to go with his own supper, so he retrieved the bottle from the cooler.
“Wine sounds good, but I’d better follow it with coffee after the meal or I’ll fall asleep.” She set her laptop on the table next to his and sat down. “I didn’t ask Drummond about your status in the investigation and he didn’t volunteer anything. He isn’t completely shutting me out, but he isn’t treating me like a colleague, either.”
“Drummond is the one in charge of the investigation into Bixton’s death?” He set the glass he’d poured near her elbow. She nodded and sipped without, he thought, noticing the bouquet at all. “Special Agent Al Drummond considers me an unfortunate necessity. He has to have someone from the Unit on his team, given the nature of the crime. But that’s a problem, given the identity of his chief suspect.” She slid him a glance. “Funny, you don’t look at all curious about who that is.”
“It’s difficult to keep secrets from a dragon.”
“Mika did hear me, then? I mindspoke to him, but didn’t know if he’d peeked inside my head to find out what I couldn’t tell him.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have done that, but—”
“Lily.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t violate your orders or do any damage to the investigation. Unless you’ve decided there really is a chance that Ruben is guilty?”
She snorted. “Of killing Bixton after making abso-damn-lutely sure he’d be IDed as the senator’s only visitor? Not hardly.”
“Well, then.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze and went to get the shepherd’s pie from the oven. “What do you think of Special Agent Drummond?”
“Intense, angry, irritating. A control freak, but that’s not unusual in a good cop. I called Steve Timms.”
“Oh?”
“Looking for gossip. Steve’s MCD, which isn’t exactly regular Bureau, but he knows the people on that side of things a lot better than I do. Turns out Drummond’s sort of a rock star, but with a rep as a maverick. Steve says he’d have advanced a lot further, but he kept getting held back because he slithers around the rules so often. Which makes it damned odd that he’s using the rules to block me, doesn’t it?”
“How so?” He set the warm casserole on a place mat on the table and sat across from her.
“Maybe he’s not really blocking me. We’ll see. He’s sure slowing me down. I had to send him a request in writing to consult with Cullen. In writing.” She shook her head and scooped out a serving of the meaty stew topped by mashed potatoes. “His minion can’t stand me. That’s Doug Mullins,” she added, taking a bite. She paused, looked at her plate. “This is pretty good.”
“I thought so. I was talking to Andor just before you arrived.”
“Andor? Oh, you mean the Szøs Rho.”
“He’s got a possible candidate for the position you’re longing to see filled.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Someone with Wythe founder’s blood?”
“His mother was Edgar’s granddaughter.”
It took her a moment to unpack the genealogy of that statement—proof, if she’d needed it, that she was tired. Edgar had been Rho before Brian. “I guess his father was Szøs. What’s he like?”
“He’s a dominant, of course. Andor says he’s bright, self-assured, and cocky as only a very young man can be. Unemployed at the moment, but he has a degree in telecommunications. He’ll be here Saturday. Tell me about the minion.”
She grimaced. “At first I thought Mullins was pissed because I didn’t kowtow properly to the boss—he thinks the sun shines out of Drummond’s ass—but I think it’s mostly because I’m Unit. Mullins is one of those who are deeply, personally offended by magic.”