Lupi 04 - Night Season

He could tell. They’d refuse to let him pass and he could leave.
    Problem was, the bastards would think they’d won…and he’d told Rule he would do this. If he didn’t follow through, he made himself a liar. Which he was, of course, when necessary. Lying was a fine and useful skill, one he’d honed well over the years. But he didn’t lie to friends. He might occasionally forget to mention this or that, but he didn’t lie to them.
    So that was out.
    Maybe he should just clobber these assholes and look for Lily on his own. An appealing notion…not smart, but definitely appealing. “First, I was asked to come here. Second, I’ve already been patted down, just before they issued me this nifty little badge that’s supposed to admit me everywhere but the executive washroom.”
    â€œYes, sir,” said Asshole Number Two, who was enjoying himself. “But we have to conduct a more thorough search.”
    Cullen asked very sweetly, “Are you by any chance talking about a strip search?”
    The first asshole wasn’t as dumb as he looked. He took a quick, involuntary step back.
    â€œBecause if you are, you should know that I strip for a living. If you want me to take my clothes off, it will cost you.”
    â€œYou can start with those crutches.” Asshole Number Two smiled a tight, smug smile. “Hand them over.”
    Cullen’s fingertips itched. It would be easy to singe that smirk right off the man’s pudgy face. “I’m missing my foot, and you want to take away my crutches.”
    â€œThey might be used as weapons.”
    Cullen nodded thoughtfully. He’d better do what the man said, hadn’t he? One crutch would go to Asshole Number Two—a head shot, he thought. Clip him across the front of the skull, which shouldn’t do any lasting damage as long as Cullen minded his strength. The other would go in the stomach of Asshole Number One, who wasn’t quite as much of a prick.
    One of the doors behind the assholes opened and a little over five feet of slender Asian woman emerged. “Chill, Cullen.”
    He spun to glare at her. “Did you tell this pair of shit-for-brains to strip-search me?”
    Lily’s eyebrows went up. She inspected the two guards, settling with admirable instinct on Asshole Number Two. “That your idea, ah…”
    â€œBaxter,” he said, still smirking. He really wasn’t very smart. “And I’m following orders.”
    â€œWhose? No, never mind.” She spoke over her shoulder to someone on the other side of the doorway. “Ruben, I’d like to bring Cullen in before he burns someone. Could you clear him?”
    The whirr of a motorized wheelchair preceded the man she’d spoken to. Cullen’s curiosity shot up, eclipsing his temper for the moment. He’d met the head of the secretive Unit 12 once, but he’d been blind at the time. He knew how Ruben Brooks smelled, the sound of his voice, but not what he looked like.
    Gaunt, erect, and with a beak of a nose, it turned out. Brooks’s navy suit was beautifully tailored; his tie, silk—and knotted with all the clumsy disinterest of a five-year-old. His shoes were polished; his socks, brown. Those details said “married” to Cullen, though he supposed it was possible the man’s style-conscious partner belonged to his own sex.
    A quick glance at Brooks’s left hand found a gold ring, giving weight to the married theory. Long fingers, Cullen noted, though the joints were swollen. Arthritis? The product of whatever condition kept him in that chair?
    Behind the chair stood a skinny, red-headed gun freak, Brooks’s bodyguard du jour. Steve Timms was human, intense, and barely back on duty after a month’s medical leave. Cullen knew all this because he was the man’s roommate at the moment.
    Ah, Cullen thought, amused, when Timms failed to reveal by the flicker of a sandy eyelash that he knew Cullen, my little boy is growing up . Hope he doesn’t shoot me.
    The wheelchair required Brooks to tilt his head back to study the assholes. “The problem is, Agent Yu,” he said mildly, “that I’ve already cleared Mr. Seabourne. So I’m confused, gentlemen. Whose orders were you following?”
    Asshole Number One was puzzled. “It’s standing orders, sir.”
    â€œAnd yet I didn’t issue those orders, and you report to me. I