Lover Beware

Brunswick was protesting his innocence when Lily’s phone rang. “Homicide. Detective Yu speaking.”
    “You’re wanted in the chief’s office.”
    It was Captain Foster. She knew it was him—yet her first reaction was that this was a prank. It had to be. A lowly detective with only two years on Homicide was not summoned to the office of the chief of police. “Chief Delgado, sir?”
    “How many chiefs do we have?” he snapped. Which was a bit unfair—there was only one chief of police, but there were several deputy chiefs. “He wants you there right away.”
    The line went dead. Lily gave the phone in her hand one incredulous glance, then set it down and stood.
    The chief’s office was, naturally, on the top floor. There was no point in speculating about why he wanted her, she thought as she punched the button for the elevator. And proceeded to do it anyway.
    For once the elevator arrived immediately. She stepped on, brooding over what the summons might mean. It had to be something to do with last night’s homicide.
    Maybe Delgado wanted her for a press conference. The media were in a feeding frenzy. But Delgado usually handled that sort of thing himself when it was a major case. He might ask her captain to participate, but it was unlikely he’d want her.
    The line between her brows deepened as the elevator let people on and off. Finally they reached the top floor.
    Could the captain have told Delgado why he’d given the investigation to one of his newer detectives? No, she couldn’t believe that. Foster was too careful. He hadn’t even spoken of it to her in so many words.
    Lily had only been to the top floor once before. The carpet was thicker here, the lighting more subtle. The hallway had doors with brass nameplates and ended at an office with living plants and framed pictures on the walls.
    The pale oak desk was ruthlessly neat. The woman behind the desk was a sixtyish civilian named Adele Crimmings, a.k.a. the chief’s enforcer. Lily had heard dozens of stories about her. She had sharp eyes, a crisply tailored blue dress, and white hair cut so short it looked as if she’d recently completed basic training.
    “He’s expecting you,” Ms. Crimmings said when Lily identified herself. She touched a button on her desk, announced Lily’s arrival, then nodded at her. “Go on in.”
    Delgado had a big corner office with wooden blinds at the tall windows. His own desk was larger than his secretary’s, and nowhere near as tidy. He was seated there, a small, trim man with coppery skin stretched tight and shiny across flat cheekbones. His tie was a very dark brown with narrow gold stripes. His suit jacket was on the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up. He had very little hair on his forearms.
    Delgado wasn’t alone. Another man stood in front of one of the big windows, his back to the room—an Anglo, judging by the color of the skin on the long-fingered hands. A rather pale Anglo, for California.
    He was at least six feet, slim, and standing utterly motionless. His arms hung loose at his sides, his feet didn’t shift, his head didn’t turn as she entered the room. Shaggy brown hair waved past his collar. The sunlight glanced off that ordinary brown hair, igniting it, drawing a burnished halo around his head. The casual elegance of his black slacks and loose black jacket fairly screamed money. The cuffs of his shirt were black, too.
    The man in black, she thought with a mental sniff at the dramatics of it. She wondered if he was an actor or a director. And was annoyed to notice that her pulse had picked up.
    “Detective Yu,” Delgado said. “Thank you for coming.”
    “Sir.”
    “I have someone here you need to meet. You’ll be working with him,” he said as the other man, at last, turned to face her.
    Lily’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the narrow face, the tilted slashes of the eyebrows, the slightly sallow skin, and the cool gray eyes that met hers with no trace of a smile. It was a striking face, stark and clean, the lines of it swept back the way stone is smoothed by wind. Not handsome, but not a face one would ever forget, either.
    She knew him. Knew who he was, at least. She’d seen his photograph often enough, though he was certainly no movie star or director. Most recently, she’d seen it in the file she’d started four days ago. The one on the first killing.
    Her heart pounded and her eyes widened in disbelief. “You want me