“Guess you’ve got a good lawyer.” The woman unlocked the cell door.
The guard didn’t have handcuffs out. “I’m . . . being released?”
“Own recognizance. Follow me, please.”
She hadn’t been arraigned, which was when bail would be set, or the judge could decide to let her out on her own recognizance. Yet they were releasing her. Lily shook her head, trying to clear it, and walked out of the cell.
Being released was nowhere near as humiliating and time-consuming as being admitted to the facilities, but it still took a while. She had to confirm receipt of everything that was returned—her shoes, jacket, necklace, and engagement ring. Her phone. Her purse and all its contents. Her shoulder holster. Her weapon. She got it all back.
Everything except what mattered most. They couldn’t hand her life back. But then, they hadn’t taken it. She’d tossed it away of her own free will.
Lily didn’t know if she’d actually serve jail time beyond this one day. Interfering with an investigation was a serious charge, but could be hard and costly to prove; few federal attorneys would be interested in prosecuting any but the most egregious cases. And unless they’d gotten Deborah to change her story, they couldn’t prove Lily had tipped Ruben off. They could strongly suggest it, sure, but a good lawyer could probably keep her out of jail. Any halfway decent prosecutor would know that. Even if Friar was behind this, even if he had a prosecutor in his pocket and was frothing at the mouth to get Lily locked up, odds were she wouldn’t be convicted.
She didn’t have to be. The fact of her presence at Ruben’s house was enough to get her kicked out of the Bureau.
She wasn’t a cop anymore.
Lily walked down the hall a few steps ahead of the heavyset guard, her head light with exhaustion, and felt no relief at all. She tried to at least be curious about her release, but it didn’t seem important. In a minute she’d meet with whatever lawyer had arranged it and he or she would tell her what the situation was.
She emerged into a small, bare room where another guard waited . . . and another man. The one she’d called, but she’d never expected him to come here. A burly man in dark slacks, a pressed shirt, no tie. With his beard, rusty brown hair, and blacksmith’s chest and shoulders, he looked like a minor forest god in disguise.
Isen Turner. Rule’s father. The Nokolai Rho. Isen, who almost never left Nokolai Clanhome, and absolutely never left California. Yet here he was, crossing the ugly little room to grab her up in a hug.
“Lily.” He squeezed her firmly, patted her back, then pulled back enough to smile at her, still holding her arms. “You smell awful. Come. Let’s get out of here.”
A fondness for Mercedes-Benz must run in the family. That’s what Isen had waiting for them in the parking lot. Waiting right outside the courthouse door was a stringy, six-foot-eight-inch giant named Pete Murkowski, second-in-command of security at Clanhome. Pete had baby-fine hair the color of old ivory and long, ropy muscles. He looked funny in clothes, Lily thought. She was used to seeing him in cutoffs.
“Rule,” she said to Rule’s father. “Have you heard from him? Where is he?”
“He’s remaining wolf, so no. I have talked to Cullen, who’s with Rule and the new wolf. They’re doing well and have arrived at Wythe Clanhome. We’ll discuss that later, when there’s no chance of anyone eavesdropping. It’s unlikely here, but not impossible. You have a nine o’clock appointment tomorrow with your lawyer.”
“The arraignment.” Lily’s stomach knotted.
“That’s tomorrow afternoon.” They’d reached the car. Pete gave Lily a nod and a smile as he opened the door for them. “Your lawyer is Miriam Stockard. Perhaps you’ve heard of her? She regrets that she was unable to meet you this morning, but she had to be in court. Still, her associate seems to have done well by us.”
“Stockard. Yeah, I’ve heard of her. Hi, Pete.” Lily felt a bit dazed as she slid into the backseat. Miriam Stockard was one of the top defense attorneys in the country, the bane of prosecutors on both coasts.
Automatically she scooted over so Isen could slide in beside her. He did. Pete went around to the driver’s side, climbed in, and got them moving. Lily fastened her seatbelt, turned to Isen, and let the question erupt. “What are you doing here?”
Isen’s bushy eyebrows rose. He was relaxed, pleased with himself, as if he’d had a wonderful day so far and anticipated plenty of treats to come. “Aside from getting you out of jail, you mean?”
“The lawyer did that. I mean . . . I appreciate you hiring her. I really do. And I’d like to find out how she got me sprung before the arraignment, but she didn’t do anything differently because you flew across the country.” Lily paused. “I hate to think about what she’s costing.”
Isen squeezed Lily’s shoulder. “Nokolai can afford it.”
“I didn’t mean for Nokolai to—”
“You called on your Rho for help. Of course Nokolai is paying Ms. Stockard’s bill.”
Lily fell silent. Naturally Isen would think of it that way. But had she? When she called him, who had she called? Rule’s father or ...
It was disconcerting as hell, but Isen was right. Given one phone call and knowing she couldn’t reach Rule, she’d picked Isen. Not because he was Rule’s father. Because she trusted him. She trusted him not just to get her a lawyer, but to know what to do, how to do it, who should be told, what the repercussions might be, how to minimize them. She’d trusted him because he was wily and wise, cynical and kind, underhanded and openhanded. Most of all, she’d trusted him to handle things because that’s what he did. Because he was Rho. “I guess you’ve had experience getting your people out of jails.”
He chuckled. “That I have, though we prefer to avoid it.”
“I’m surprised Stockard took the case. It’s small potatoes for her.”
“Ah, well, she owed one of the clan a rather large favor. We called it in. Our opponents need to be aware that we can pull out the big guns if they force the issue.”
She exchanged a long look with him. Isen had realized the same thing she had—the arrest might ruin her in other ways, but there was a good chance she’d never go to trial. Especially now that the prosecutor knew he’d be dealing with Ms. Miriam Stockard. “Have you ever practiced law?”
“That would create a conflict of interest.”
Because he couldn’t be sworn in as an officer of the court without lying? Probably. Isen didn’t share her respect for the law, but he considered his word binding. He wouldn’t want to swear to something he didn’t intend to back up. Even now he avoided speaking a deliberate untruth, didn’t he? “I guess you called my parents.”
“I regret that I didn’t follow your request precisely. I called your grandmother. Such news might come best from her, I thought.”
“What did she say?”
“She was very angry.” He patted Lily’s hand. “Not with you. I can’t repeat what she said at first. Chinese is not one of my languages. But I do believe our enemies have been well and truly cursed. After we spoke a bit more—in English, for my sake—she gave me instructions for you. You are not to act precipitously, particularly when it comes to killing people.”
Lily choked on a laugh. “It’s not a habit of mine.”
“She may have been projecting, as I believe they call it, based on her own urgent desire to rip certain people apart. You are also not to worry about your parents. She will handle them.”
It was one bright, warm kernel to cling to. Grandmother was on her side. But even Grandmother couldn’t make the news less than devastating to Lily’s parents. By now her mother knew she was disgraced and would be unemployed once the Bureau got around to the paperwork. Her father, too. Croft would have to fire her. He had no choice.