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.”
“A religious zealot?”
“You could say that. A devout atheist.”
“Atheism and the magic aren’t antithetical.”
“You missed the devout part. With Mullins it’s a creed: thou shalt not partake of the irrational, with irrational defined as anything he can’t sense directly. Magic screws with his worldview. Aren’t you going to have some wine?”