Inked

Cielo jail was larger than expected for a town this small, but the city rented spaces to the state—and given the state’s overcrowded system, it had no trouble funding the operation of its jail this way.
    The setup was pretty standard. Probably built in the fifties, Lily thought, with cinderblock walls and cement floors. There were two cell blocks, each opening off a small control center with three screens—one for the hall splitting each cell bock, apparently. The third was dark.
    Lily had suspicions about that dark screen. “Got a problem with your cameras?” she asked as Daly jammed a key into the old-fashioned lock on a heavy steel door.
    He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at her.
    The moment the door opened, she heard the growling. Daly stepped aside and gestured for her to precede him.
    She didn’t like that, didn’t want the man at her back. He hated too much; she didn’t know his limits. But neither could she afford to look weak. She walked through the door.
    There were three cells plus a shower on one side, four cells on the other. And two officers with high-powered rifles trained on the occupant of the fourth cell.
    Something too pure to be called anger sizzled through Lily. She felt as if her hair should have bristled. She felt as if she could growl, too.
    The sonofabitch. The stinking sonofabitch had intended to do it. He’d meant to arrange Chance’s death. The stage was all set.
    Unconsciously she brushed the large shirt she’d donned in lieu of her jacket. Rule’s shirt, imbued with his scent. How far would Daly’s hatred take him? Lily walked slowly down the short hall, watching the men with the guns. They were nervous. Their eyes flicked to her. One said, “Chief—”
    “Shut up, Mills,” Daly said from behind her.
    “Agent Yu, FBI,” Lily said crisply. “Your chief isn’t happy with me right now, or he would have introduced us. Stand down with your weapons.”
    The two men looked at their boss. “No,” he said tersely. “You don’t command my men, Agent.”
    “Idiot,” she said just as crisply. Then she reached the cell.
    The wolf was small, for a lupus—which meant he was only twenty or so pounds heavier than an average wolf. His teeth were whiter than usual for a canid—but then, he brushed them in his other form. They were also large and bared. He had a lovely coat, brindled gray, with the hackles raised fully. His ears were flat. A continuous growl issued from deep in his chest.
    He was backed up against the far wall.
    A beta, Rule had said. He’d fight if threatened. He felt extremely threatened at the moment, and who wouldn’t? He was also a man, even if the man was buried deep at the moment. He knew what those rifles meant.
    Lily moved close to the bars of the cell, positioning herself carefully.
    “Agent Yu?” one of the officers said. “You’re blocking my shot.”
    “That’s the idea. If you shoot that wolf, I will arrest you.”
    “He’s dangerous, ma’am.”
    “He wouldn’t be, if he’d been handled correctly. I’m sorry to say that your chief is a bloody, bigoted fool. If he’s given you orders to shoot if the wolf moves”—and he had, the craven bastard; she saw it in the way the officer’s gaze flickered—“you will disregard those orders. Jason Chance is my witness, and I will not allow you to tamper with my witness.”
    The man was confused, uncertain. The other one was cut more from Daly’s cloth. He sneered and shifted position, keeping his rifle trained.
    She moved with him, blocking his shot—and took her phone out of the shirt pocket. “Perhaps I should mention that I’m on an open line right now, transmitting images to FBI headquarters in Washington. Smile for the camera.” She held out her phone.
    Daly took an involuntary step back. “That’s a phone, not a web cam.”
    “That’s right. It’s my new iPhone. Cool, isn’t it? Want to see?” She turned it so he could see the screen—which showed his two men with their rifles trained on the cell’s bars.
    The rest was anticlimax.
    Daly left. His men stayed, but lowered their weapons. She sat on the floor and waited, carefully not looking at the wolf. Sure enough, after about five minutes he approached—still bristling, still growling, but with his ears pricked.
    He wanted to know why she smelled like his Lu Nuncio. She told him, subvocalizing—which both kept the officers from hearing and let him know she was clan. No one outside the clans would think to do