at such manifestations. The third category, however, is composed of people who have had what is popularly called a near-death experience.”
Lily took another swig of Diet Coke. She was uncomfortable, yet fascinated. “I have reason to believe that my, ah, my near-death experience . . .” She shook her head. Near was the wrong word. Part of her absolutely had died, but that part had been embodied separately from the rest of her at the time. “My own experience leaves me sort of open to spiritual stuff that—”
Deborah was that. Her beauty was the classic English sort, with skin like milk and soft brown hair bobbed just above her shoulders. Her eyes were large and heavily lashed; her features were perfectly symmetrical in a heart-shaped face. Men wouldn’t stop and stare when they saw her on the street. They’d hunt frantically for a puddle they could throw their cloaks over. Though given the scarcity of cloaks these days, they might have to settle for casting a T-shirt in the mud.
That perfectly symmetrical face produced a stiff little smile. “Thank you.”
“Deborah!” Fagin swooped down upon her like a genial bear, seizing her shoulders and giving her a loud, smacking kiss on the lips. “Don’t do that!”
A laugh startled itself out of Deborah. “You’re impossible!”
“Merely highly unlikely. Your mother isn’t here tonight. You can accept the compliment, punch me—not in the face, please—say, ‘yes, I know,’ tell me to stuff it, ask me to jet away to the Caribbean with you for days of sun-drenched pleasure and nights of madness—”
Deborah was laughing. “Oh, stop it. I’m too busy for the last, too inhibited to tell anyone to stuff it, and I couldn’t possibly just agree with you!”
“I observe that you’ve kept open the option of punching me.” He patted her arm. “Good girl. Lily, I cede you to our hostess for now, while reserving the right to pester you again later.”
“So noted.”
Fagin ambled off. Deborah’s smile lingered as she turned to Lily. “I was sent to fetch you, actually. There’s someone Rule would like you to meet.”
Automatically Lily glanced over at the swimming pool fifty feet away. That was a tell, though Deborah wouldn’t recognize it. Lily always knew where Rule was. That was one of the handiest things about the mate bond. At the moment, he was talking with two men—one tall and dark-skinned, wearing khakis and a yellow polo shirt; the other short, slim, and dark-haired with a trim little mustache. He wore jeans with a white shirt and a sports jacket. Lily was pretty sure he hadn’t joined in the softball game.
It was odd for Rule to have her “fetched.” Was there a status thing going on? “I already know Croft, so it must be the guy in the sports jacket.”
“Dennis Parrott. He’s Senator Bixton’s chief of staff.”
Lily grimaced.
“I know,” Deborah said sympathetically, “but it can be useful to get to know your enemies socially.”
Lily glanced at her, surprised. “You see Dennis Parrott as an enemy?”
Rosy color washed over that soft, pale skin. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why not?”
Deborah pursed her lips. “I don’t know, but I shouldn’t. Fagin has an absolute genius for getting me to let my guard down, but once I do, there’s no telling what might come out of my mouth. Never mind. It’s true that Rule would like you to meet Mr. Parrott, but I had another reason for seeking you out.” She took a breath like she was about to jump from the high dive. “I wanted to apologize.”
“Apology accepted, but what are you apologizing for?”
“For the way I acted when we met. I . . .” That soft color rose in her cheeks again. “I wouldn’t shake your hand. I wouldn’t talk. I just nodded and hurried away. You must have thought I was snubbing you.”
That’s pretty much what she’d thought, all right.
“I’m sorry.” Deborah held her hand out.
Lily shook it, smiling at what she learned from that touch. Also from relief. She hadn’t wanted Ruben to be married to a stuck-up bitch. “You weren’t snubbing me. You’re shy.” Not just wary or self-protective, which was learned behavior. Shyness seemed to be more innate.
“The experts are calling it social anxiety disorder these days, but I like the old word better. Yes, I’m shy.”
“That must be difficult for a teacher.”
A sudden smile lit her face. “Teaching is different. It’s helped me get over myself