Mortal Sins

FOUR

HALO was tiny compared to San Diego, but it was no fly-speck. As the county seat, it held a four-story district court building, where Rule would learn if his son was coming home with him. And the two-story sheriff’s department, where Rule was now. The Dawson County Sheriff’s Department smelled of dust, disinfectant, tobacco, printer’s ink, and mice. And people, of course. People who’d sweated and fretted, worked and eaten here for years

The most interesting thing about the smells, Rule thought, was the one that was absent: fear. That scent had been absent from the first, unfortunate moment he met Sheriff Deacon. The man didn’t like Rule, but he didn’t fear him. That was unusual enough to make Rule curious.

They were more or less alone. The sheriff’s office was on the second floor of the cement block building, separated by a glass panel from a large, communal space crammed with desks. Most of those desks were empty at this hour, though a square-set woman in civilian clothes had grim possession of the desk in front of the door to Deacon’s office.

It was 6:42 a.m. Rule sat on a hard wooden chair and longed for coffee. Lily might classify the liquid in his foam cup as that beverage, but Lily had drunk the sludge perpetrated by cop-house coffeepots too long. Her senses were permanently skewed by the experience.

“Okay.” Deacon hit a button on his computer and the printer jumped into action. “I’ll need you to sign your statement, then you’re free to go. Don’t leave town.”

Rule considered pointing out that he’d been free to go all along—he was here voluntarily. Lily had wanted him to wait to give Deacon his statement until she was finished at the scene and could come with him. Rule had understood. He, too, knew the need to protect, though he still found it odd, even unsettling, to have that instinct trained on him.

Protection was unnecessary in this instance. He’d dealt with any number of suspicious or prejudiced police in his time. He’d chosen to cooperate with this one. So far, cooperation had earned him no points at all. “I’ll wait here for Lily, if you’ve no objection.”

Deacon shot him a hard glance. “Your lover may be a while, you know.”

“Lover” was a fine word, yet in this man’s mouth it sounded like “slut.” Rule told himself he would not allow anger to make his choices for him, but it was just as well he didn’t have Cullen’s knack with fire. “It would be more respectful to refer to her as Agent Yu.”

Deacon snorted. “Pull the other one. I know how your kind treats women, and respectful isn’t the word for it.” The printer spat out a sheet of paper and he leaned sideways to pluck it. “Here. Read and sign.”

Rule accepted the page without looking at it. He couldn’t tell Deacon he would be faithful to Lily unto death. She was his nadia, his Chosen. But while that was understood among his people, none outside the clans knew of the existence of the mate bond—which was the only form of fidelity that was acceptable for a lupus. But that was none of the human’s business.

Yet the sheriff’s attitude rankled. He didn’t understand why. When had lupi cared what the out-clan thought? “It occurs to me you live in Leidolf’s territory.”

“In what?” Deacon shook his head. “You’re from California, right? Maybe California schools don’t teach kids about states and counties and such. Sheriffs are elected by the county, not some blamed territory.”

“I’m aware of counties,” Rule said dryly. “Leidolf is a lupus clan whose territory—which does not appear in your children’s schoolbooks—includes much of North Carolina.” In fact, the Leidolf clanhome was seventy miles south of Halo, but that was none of this man’s business. “I’m wondering if your attitude comes from having known Leidolf lupi. Their treatment of women is not typical of my people.”

“You gonna tell me you believe in marriage?”

“Is marriage the only way to demonstrate respect for a woman?”

“The only way that means anything.”

“So you wouldn’t object if your daughter grew up to marry one of us.”

Rule thought the man would hit him. Deacon did, too, for a moment—which told Rule that Deacon’s prejudice didn’t involve any real knowledge of lupi. A man who knew much about Rule’s people might, in a fit of temper, consider shooting. He didn’t think of punching.

Deacon mastered the impulse. “Read and sign the statement.”

This, of course, was the other reason, aside from cheap land, that Nokolai had settled in California so many years ago. The woods here were magnificent. The attitudes were not.

Rule read quickly. Barring a couple of typos, the statement was accurate enough. He smiled when he reached the last part . . . which described him disrobing so Lily could make sure no death magic clung to him. Anywhere.

Deacon’s arrival hadn’t fazed her. “Get your mind out of the sewer,” she’d snapped, then gone on doing what she considered necessary. As she always did. Lily had offered Deacon a terse explanation once she finished, but it had been Rule who’d pointed out that it seemed wise to make sure he wasn’t enspelled. It would be unfortunate if he went mad on them, wouldn’t it?

Rule’s smile faded. He hadn’t known about the dogs when he said that. He looked up. “You have a pen?”

Deacon dug through the debris on his desk until he’d unearthed one. “You said you arrived in town yesterday. I need to know where you’re staying.”

“I have a room at the Comfort Inn.” He wasn’t staying in it, but he did have the room.

“What are you doing in Halo, anyway?”

“Personal business.” Rule scrawled his signature and put the statement on Deacon’s desk.

“What kind of personal? If there’s another weer living in my town, I want to know about it.”

“I realize you would consider that your business. I don’t. As it happens, the law agrees with me.” Not that he could hope to keep Toby a secret much longer, but damned if he’d turn belly-up to this man.

“Yu said she was here on family business.”

“Yes.”

“Would that be your family or hers?”

“That would be personal. As I’ve said. Do you have family, Sheriff?”

“We aren’t talking about me.”

“Perhaps we should. If you . . . Ah, here she is.” Rule turned to look through the glass partition at a metal door on the far side of the large room. A moment later, it swung open, revealing a staircase and a slim, pissed-off woman.

The bulky woman seated at the desk directly in front of Deacon’s office expressed a need to know what Lily wanted. Lily flashed her badge and spoke Deacon’s name without breaking stride. The woman considered stopping her, shrugged, and went back to tapping at her keyboard.

Wise of her. Lily was not in a good mood.

She swung open the door to Deacon’s office. “Deacon, you sent the damned vet to pick up those dogs.”

“They’ve got to be checked for rabies.”

“Believe it or not, the FBI lab is fully able to make that determination. The veterinarian wasn’t happy about our presence or our refusal to allow him on the scene. He called the press. Not just your local rag—Durham and Raleigh.”

Deacon shrugged. “I told Stan to wait a bit before he went out there. Sorry he didn’t, but you should’ve told me your people were handling the dogs’ bodies. Besides, what makes you think it was him tipped the press?”

“Dr. Stanfield informed me personally of his action and motives. He hoped to keep us from covering everything up—though he declined to say what, exactly, he thought might merit a cover-up. Possibly aliens. Or maybe he believes cover-up is the FBI’s SOP in any investigation. As a result, we’ve got two television crews and a swarm of print reporters at the scene. Several of them followed me into town. They’re downstairs now.”

“They’ll keep a bit.”

Her lips stretched in a smile that should have made Deacon nervous. “You’ll want to speak to them soon, Sheriff. I gave a brief statement at the scene. They know that the FBI received a tip about the location of three bodies, which have been tentatively identified by the sheriff of this county as those of your three vics. They are also aware we have reason to believe magic was involved in the deaths.”

“You told ’em that? Shit! I’m going to have forty thousand scared people in this town! Why the hell did you—”

“Because I had to. Because my hand had been forced.” She stepped up to his desk, set her palms on it, and leaned forward. “Because you were either too stupid to guess that Dr. Stanfield would freak at the presence of the FBI, or you called him, knowing good old Stan is a conspiracy nut and likely to call in the press. Knowing that and wanting it, because you’re pissed. I would very much like to know which one it was.”

Deacon scowled—but Rule caught the whiff of guilt-scent on him. “Why the hell would I want the press around?”

“You don’t like bossy women. You don’t like feds. And you really don’t like bossy female feds who have a personal connection to a lupus, because you’re a narrow-minded, self-righteous bigot.” Lily straightened, glanced at Rule. “We’d better go before the vultures realize you’re here.”

“Bigot!” Deacon shot to his feet. “You’re nuts, you know that? You notice that I’m black? Don’t tell me about bigotry, you sorry little—”

“Sheriff.” Rule stood. Anger slid into ice, setting its cold claws at his throat so that his voice dropped to what, in his other form, would have been a growl. “You don’t want to finish that sentence.”

Deacon stared at him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. And didn’t say a word.

Rule turned to Lily. “I’d rather not be on television this morning.”

“My car’s out front. Yours isn’t. Back door?”

He nodded. The press would find him. He knew that. Halo was too small, and he was too well-known for his presence to remain secret. But he wanted a chance to talk to Toby first.

Lily opened the door, then paused to look over her shoulder. “By the way—the dogs weren’t rabid. That will be confirmed by the appropriate tests, but I already know what the problem was.”

“What?”

“Something they ate disagreed with them.”