He blinked. “Ah . . . yes?”
She laughed. It was rare for him to be flustered. “Just that. I love you. You’re doing everything possible, and so are others, and we’re going to kick this thing’s ass.” Might as well believe that. What was the good in thinking otherwise? She went to him, put a hand on his shoulder, and went up on tiptoe so she could touch his lips with hers. “No, don’t grab me. I need to get my weapon and get going.”
“It’s barely seven.”
“I need to get to Headquarters early.” She started for the stairs. Her shoulder harness was in their bedroom.
He followed. “You haven’t eaten.”
“I’ll eat in the car. Since I have to be chauffeured, that’ll be easy. I want one of those enormous muffins from that bakery on Jefferson.”
The argument that followed was brief and mild and comfortingly familiar. Rule might know in his head that she couldn’t eat the way a lupus did, but the irrational underneath part of his mind couldn’t believe a muffin was a meal for anyone.
“The muffin will be plenty,” she repeated as she buckled her shoulder harness. “What’s your schedule like today? Are you up for a change of plans?”
“I could be. Why?”
“I thought you might go with me.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You want me to meet the minion?”
“I’m going to talk to Croft. It’s Saturday, but he’ll be there. I checked. I ought to tell Drummond myself,” she admitted, “but I can’t bring myself to do it. Besides, Croft will accept the ‘clan secrets’ deal and not press me for more than I can tell him.”
“Lily, you haven’t explained anything.”
She sighed. Sometimes doing the right thing was a bitch. “I’m not dependable right now. I’ve gone sixteen hours without an episode, but I could get zapped again at any time. Right in the middle of an interview, maybe. Or shit, who knows—in the middle of an arrest, or a chase, or . . . I can’t even say what the next pain bolt will do. Make me drop things or drool or fall down or all of the above. Or something new. I have to tell Croft so he can have someone else from the Unit take over.”
“You’re removing yourself from the investigation.”
“Officially, yeah.”
He was silent for several heartbeats. “And unofficially?”
“That’s why I’d like you along. Rule . . .” She moved closer so she could take his hand. “Chad knew the mantle wouldn’t go to him unless the Lady wanted him to have it, right?”
“Yes, we explained that the Lady may have to move the mantle herself. This isn’t the normal way of transferring it.”
Lily nodded. “So Chad knew that if the mantle did come to him, that would be the Lady’s doing. And he wanted to be willing to accept the Lady’s decision. He wanted to . . . but he didn’t become wholly willing until he knew I needed it to happen. That I was being endangered by hosting the mantle.”
“Yes.” His eyes were puzzled. “Of course he wanted to help you.”
“Because I’m a woman.” She smiled wryly. “That’s how you’re all wired—protect the woman. Your Lady knows you pretty well. I guess she made you that way. That choice you said you made? She can’t be upset about it. She knew you’d choose to protect me. It may take a while for you to come to terms with what it means, but don’t think your Lady is surprised or disappointed.”
“Lily.”
She tipped her head.
He lifted the hand she’d clasped his with to his lips and kissed it. “I love you.”
RULE had been to FBI Headquarters many times. In the past, the man seated at the large, scuffed desk in this windowless office had been Ruben Brooks. Today it was a lean man with skin the color of the coffee in Lily’s thermos.
Martin Croft looked more like a Harvard don than a cop. His gray-spattered hair was staging a strategic withdrawal from his high forehead, and he dressed too well to fit any cop stereotype. His shirt was impeccably pressed, his tie silk, and while his suit might be off the rack, it was of excellent quality and fit. Rule suspected he’d had it tailored. All in all, Croft didn’t look like a man who’d wrestled many a suspect to the ground.
In that much, appearances were deceiving. But he was every bit as bright as he looked—and completely unGifted, though he knew more about magic than most practicing witches.
Croft listened gravely as Lily told him why she’d needed to see him so early and so urgently. She looked tired.
No surprise. She’d had an attack—a TIA—as soon as they left the house. It had lasted longer than the other one he’d witnessed, which was supposed to be a good thing, indicating the healing was being slowed. He wasn’t able to see it that way.
Rule had taken her home, of course. And of course she’d protested. The Leidolf Rhej had checked her out, but there was nothing more she could do save assure them both that so far there was no lasting brain damage.
Lily finished her highly edited explanation. Croft said, “How serious is your condition?”
“Potentially serious, but we have a healer staying with us. She’s confident she can help. She already has, but my condition is still, ah, unresolved.”
“And your condition is related in some way you can’t specify to a clan matter you’re unable to discuss.”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re certain that conventional medicine can’t help.”
“Quite certain.”
“Why did you bring Rule with you?”
“You’re aware of the mate bond.”
He nodded. Croft knew about the mate bond because he was ospi to Wythe. His mother was the daughter of a Wythe lupus, and either she or his grandfather had passed on a bit more about clan secrets than they should have.
“We believe it mitigates my symptoms if Rule stays close to me.”
“Hmm.” He steepled his fingers together in a way that was disconcertingly like Ruben. Had he consciously copied his boss, or was it unconscious mimicry? “You need to be pulled from active duty.”
She sighed. “I’m afraid so.”
“Very well. I’ll contact Drummond.”
“Who will you replace me—”
But he was shaking his head. “If you aren’t part of the investigation, you aren’t privy to anything about it anymore. I certainly can’t speak of it in front of Rule. I’m sorry.”
Lily’s lips tightened, but she didn’t argue. Rule wanted to take her hand, to assure her she’d done the right thing, but he knew better. No hand-holding in front of her boss. She would consider it unprofessional. Rule understood, though he’d put it differently. Being professional in this sense meant “don’t show your belly.”
“I’ll tell Drummond this is related to your wound,” Croft said. “There’s little point in telling him it’s due to something I’m unable to discuss because you can’t discuss it. The man’s got an attitude where magic’s concerned as it is. No point in raising his hackles.”
“What kind of an attitude? Is it magic itself he dislikes or—”
“Enough.” But Croft grinned. It was a tired grin but real enough, the first sign Rule had seen of the man rather than the man’s position this morning. Professionalism again. “I’m not going to gossip with you. Lily, you’re worrying me. Off the record, can you tell me anything else?”
She couldn’t, of course. Croft’s mother or grandfather might have shared more than was strictly allowed, but hadn’t gone so far as to speak about mantles. So Lily refused as tactfully as possible and stood. “I won’t take any more of your time. I know you’re jammed.”
Croft rose as well, which should have signified the end to a meeting Rule knew had been hard on Lily. But he walked around his desk and touched Lily’s arm. “I’ll see that you have the leave you need. Take care of yourself.” His dark eyes were worried. He turned to Rule. “I’m sure I can count on you to see that she gets all the help possible.”