Divine Misdemeanors

“I would love to tell her to stay away from such dangerous people,” Doyle said, “but she’s made it clear that her job as a detective requires risk. If we do not like that, then we can send other guards with her and we can stay home.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows at them. Frost nodded and said, “We had this talk again before we went to the murder scene this morning.”

“The only card, as you would say, that we have to play is potential harm to the babes she carries, and even that must be a card carefully played,” Doyle said. His lips gave that bare movement of a smile, as if he were both amused and not amused by it all.

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve learned. She looks all soft and feminine, but push her and it’s like trying to shove through a brick wall. It doesn’t move, and neither does she,” Lucy said.

“You do know our princess,” Doyle said, and his words were so dry that it took me a moment to hear the humor in them.

Lucy nodded, then looked at me. “We’ll get names of who this guy dated. We’ll do some district checking. We’ll get the picture and hunt up your old client. And by ‘we’ I mean the police, not you or anyone else from your agency or your entourage.” She pointed her finger at me as if I were a stubborn child.

“You’ve used me on decoy assignments where the danger was a lot more real than checking a few facts,” I said.

“I didn’t know you were Princess Meredith back then, and you weren’t pregnant.” She held up a hand before I could do more than take a breath to protest. “First, before I could even bring you to see today’s crime scene, I got warnings from my upper brass that I was, under no circumstances, to endanger you. That if anything happened to you because of involvement in a case of mine, it was my ass on the chopping block.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Lucy.”

She waved it away. “But more important to me, I’ve known you for about four years, and this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you. I don’t want you to fuck that up because you’re helping me on a case. You’re not a cop. You don’t have to put everything on the line for a case. That’s my job.”

“But this person is killing my people …”

A shrill voice came. “They are not your people! They are mine! They’ve been mine for sixty years!” She was screaming the last at me as she pushed her way closer.

Lucy must have made some sign because uniformed officers moved in to stop her forward progress. They blocked her until all I could see were the sparkles of light and the trembling top of her crystal crown.

“Get out of my way!” she yelled. They were police; they didn’t get out of her way.

I heard someone shout, “Gilda, no!” then one of the uniforms fell straight down as if his knees had just buckled. He made no move to catch himself, and it was left to other officers to keep him from hitting the floor.

The cops began to shout, “Drop the wand! Drop it now!”

Doyle and Frost were suddenly in front of me and moving me farther away from the action. Doyle said, “Door.”

I didn’t understand at first, and then Frost was leading me toward a second smaller door leading outside. I glanced back to see Doyle close behind us, but facing the police and Gilda. I protested, “The door is alarmed. The noise could make it all worse.”

Frost’s hand was on the handle as he said, “It says for emergencies. This is an emergency.” Then he was pulling me by one arm through the door with the alarm screeching and Doyle spilling out behind us. We were on the sidewalk in the bright sunshine and warm, but not too warm, Southern California air.

Doyle took my other arm and kept us moving. “Bullets travel. I don’t want you close to them.”

I tried to pull free of their hands, but I might as well have been trying to pry metal away from my skin.

“I am a detective. You can’t just pull me out of a case when it gets dangerous.”

“We are your bodyguards first and foremost,” Doyle said.

I let my legs collapse under me so that they had to either stop or drag my bare legs and feet on the concrete. They stopped, but only long enough for Doyle to say, “Pick her up.”

Frost picked me up and kept walking away from the police and the potential fey riot. Gilda’s retinue would not take kindly to their queen being arrested, but what else could they do?

“Fine,” I said, “you’ve made your point.”

“Have we?” Doyle asked, and then he was suddenly in front of Frost and me. He glared down at me, and I could feel the weight of his anger behind the dark glasses. “I don’t think we have made our point at all, or you would have been the first one out that door.”

“Doyle,” Frost began.

“No,” he said, and pointed his finger at both of us. With Lucy it had reminded me of a child being scolded, but there was something ominous about Doyle reaching out with the anger riding his body. “What if you had caught a stray bullet? What if you had caught a stray bullet in the stomach? What if you had killed our children because you simply won’t run away?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I just stared at him. He was right, of course he was right, but … “I can’t do my job like this.”

“No,” he said, “you can’t.”

Then suddenly I felt the first tear slide down my face.

“No crying,” he said.

Another tear joined the first. I fought not to wipe at them.

His hand dropped to his side and he took a deep breath. “That’s not fair. Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to, but you’re right, I think. I’m pregnant, damn it, not crippled.”

“But you carry the future of the Unseelie Court in your body.” He leaned in so that his arms went around Frost’s until their faces touched and both of them were looking down at me. “You and the babies are too important to risk like this, Meredith.”

I wiped at the tears, angry now that I had cried at all. I’d been doing that more lately. The doctor said it was hormones. More emotions I did not need right now.

“You are right, but I didn’t know we’d end up with police all around us and guns.”

“If you simply avoid cases with the police involved, it will guarantee that you do not end up surrounded by police with guns,” he said.

Again I couldn’t argue with his logic, but I wanted to. “First, put me down; we’re attracting attention.”

They glanced out from the circle of their arms over me, and there were people staring, whispering among themselves. I didn’t have to hear them to know what they were saying. “Is that her?” “Is that Princess Meredith?” “Is that them?” “Is that the Darkness?” “Is that the Killing Frost?” If we weren’t careful, someone would call the press and we’d be besieged.

Frost put me down, and we started to walk. A moving target was always harder to photograph. I tried to keep my voice low as I said, “I can’t avoid this case, Doyle. They’re killing fey here in the only home we have left. We’re nobles of the court; the lesser fey are watching us, waiting to see what we’ll do.”

A couple came up to us, the woman saying, “Are you Princess Meredith? You are, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Can we take your picture?”

There was a sound to the side as someone else used their phone to take a picture without asking. If they had the right phone, the photo could be on the Internet almost instantly. We had to get to the car and get out of here before the press descended.

“The princess is feeling unwell,” Doyle said. “We need to get her to the car.”

The woman touched my arm and said, “Oh, I know how hard the baby thing can be. I had terrible pregnancies every time. Didn’t I, dear?”

Her husband nodded, and said, “Just a quick picture?”

We let them take their “quick” picture, which is rarely quick, then moved away. We’d have to double back for the car. But the voluntary picture had been a mistake, because other tourists wanted a picture and Doyle said, no, which upset them. “They got a picture,” they said.