She sighed. “Sure. Where… wait a minute. That’s my car.”
“I drive a Jeep. No doors, no protection.”
“I suppose Rule gave you the keys.”
“You’re pissed.”
“Good guess. Not at you, though.” She fell into step beside him, feeling dwarfed. Rule was tall.- His brother was just plain big—six-four and two-forty, at a guess, and every inch hard enough to bruise yourself on.
They didn’t look alike. Benedict carried the human side of his ancestry on his skin—a coppery color that suggested native blood, as did his silver-shot black hair and dark eyes. He wore jeans with a black T-shirt and a denim jacket that hid his shoulder holster. And he was not, thank God, wearing the scabbard that sheathed the three feet of steel he favored at Clanhome. “What are you carrying?”
“This and that. Main weapon’s a Sig Sauer.”
“I use a Sig, too.”
“Good choice. I wanted to bring my SAW, but there was a chance someone would check out the car. I wouldn’t be much use to you if I got locked up.”
“SAW… Squad Automatic Weapon. You’re talking about a machine gun.”
He nodded. “Good stopping power.”
“I’ve more to be grateful for than I’d realized.”
They reached her Toyota. He claimed the driver’s side before she could, so Lily got in on the passenger side, frowning. “I could drive. My reflexes are almost as good as yours.” She took after Grandmother that way.
“Almost as good a Rule’s, maybe.” He started the car. “Not mine.”
She looked at him, wondering just how fast he was. Lily had seen him in action once, but he’d been a wolf at the time—one of several—and she’d been busy getting shot and shooting back. Aside from Rule, she hadn’t known which wolf was which. So she felt a certain professional curiosity about Benedict’s abilities. What would he be like in a fight in his human form?
Not that she wanted to find out tonight. She fastened her seatbelt. “Rule told me once you should have been Lu Nuncio. Not just because you’re older than him, either. He thinks you’re a better fighter.”
Benedict made a small, impatient sound. “I thought he’d outgrown that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am a better fighter. That doesn’t make me a better Lu Nuncio.”
“The Lu Nuncio defends the Rho and answers any formal challenges, right? Fighting’s a big part of the job description.”
“He’s also the heir. The one who will eventually be Rho. Rule will lead our people far better than I could.”
“So you don’t feel skipped over or slighted?”
He was silent for so long she wondered if she’d offended him. But when she glanced at him, he seemed to be thinking, though his eyes remained watchful, keeping track of the cars ahead, beside, and behind them. Cop eyes, she thought. It was odd to find them in someone who’d been on the other side of the law most of his life, until the law changed.
Finally, as he accelerated into the traffic on 1-15, he said, “You’re thinking about Mick. He wanted to be Rho. I never have. When our father named Rule heir, Mick was angry. I was relieved.”
It was Lily’s turn to fall silent. The twinned ribbons of taillights seemed to draw them along, just one more bead on a string. Her eyes grew heavy. She leaned her head against the headrest… then jerked it up again. She’d been close to drifting off.
I trust him, she thought, startled. Somewhere inside, she’d decided Benedict could be counted on to watch out for both of them. This wasn’t like her, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Unlike Rule—or most of the other people she knew, for that matter—Benedict didn’t have the radio on or a CD playing. Maybe he was listening for danger as well as watching. So they drove on through the crowded city night in silence, with only the glow of the dash lights to smudge the interior darkness, leaving more to be guessed at than revealed.
Why had she asked about his feelings? No doubt he had the usual assortment, but he kept them so far out of sight she wasn’t sure he knew any more about them than she did. He wasn’t likely to open up to her.
Yet instinct prompted her to believe him. There was something reassuring about Benedict, something oddly peaceful. He seemed so at rest within himself.
Not her. Now that she’d stopped doing, stopped talking, the discomforts of a healing body spoke all too loudly. She shifted, trying to find the best way to rest her shoulder, and then shifted again. And her mind was anything but quiet.
Finally, she broke the silence. “I’d like to ask you something, but it might be rude by your standards.”
“Our standards aren’t that different from yours.”
“Maybe it’s just plain rude, then. It’s… about your daughter.”
He gave her a quick glance. “Rule told you.”
“Just tonight, yeah. And last night I learned about the, ah… the age thing. I’m still trying to get it sorted out.”
“Shook you up.” It was a simple observation, lacking either sympathy or judgment. “What did you want to know about Nettie?”
“Was her mother your Chosen?”
“No.” The hitch between that flat answer and his next words was brief, a fraction of a breath. “I met Claire when Nettie was twelve. We didn’t have children together.”
A dozen more questions pressed at Lily. She was pretty sure Benedict’s Chosen had died, but she didn’t know how or how long ago. She wanted to know what happened when one partner in a mate bond died. How did it affect the one who remained?
She wanted to know more personal things, too. Had he loved Claire? Had they been friends as well as lovers? What had been the limits of their bond? Had they ever had their abilities cross over the way she and Rule had?
Lily was used to asking deeply personal questions, often at a time when feelings were raw. But this wasn’t an investigation, and Benedict’s reserve went deep. “Thank you for telling me,” she said at last.
There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “That was all you wanted to know?”
“No, but—”
Her cell phone rang. She reached into her bag and thumbed it on. “Yes?”
“Lily Yu?” said an unfamiliar male voice.
She frowned. Very few people had this number. “Who is this?”
He chuckled, a pleasantly masculine sound. “I suppose we haven’t spoken before. I’m Patrick Harlowe.”
Exhaustion evaporated in a white-hot rush. She sat up straight. “Thoughtful of you to call. I’ve been looking for you.”
“So I understand.” He had one of those rich voices that invested everything he said with significance and a hint of intimacy. Like a televangelist, she thought, or someone selling kitchen gadgets on a late-night infomercial. “Haven’t had much luck, have you?”
“Not so far.” Keep him talking. She’d play whatever game he had in mind and keep him talking. People always gave up more than they realized if you could keep them talking. “How’d you get this number, anyway?”
“The same way I’ve learned so many interesting things recently—from One who is almost omniscient. I imagine you’d find that handy, in your job,” he added. “Being able to watch or listen to anyone you wanted.”
“That I would. But ‘almost’ means that She isn’t omniscient, doesn’t it? She can’t watch lupi. Or me. And She can’t talk to you directly.” Could She? God, if the staff really had made Harlowe telepathic, able to get instructions and information directly from Her—
“Pretty sure of that, are you?” He might have been a favorite uncle indulging a pert niece. “But you’re correct in this case. She isn’t quite omniscient. As this call illustrates, however, we’ve found ways to work around those few limits She possesses. But the telephone is limiting, too, isn’t it? So much more pleasant to become acquainted in person.”