Hill went “WHAT?” still silent but more emphatically.
“I could do with a whiskey,” Reynolds admitted. “It’s been a long day, and your mom just sent an email that it’s a costume party tomorrow. So I need to find one.”
Davy didn’t have to fake his surprise at that. He’d not expected that Hail Mary to pay out, but—other than the Hounds—all the cards he’d played were paying off. It made him wonder if the universe hadn’t done Hill a favor by letting Davy out of the Beyond…or maybe it just had it out for Fraser.
“Perfect,” he said. “I can help you brainstorm something.”
Reynolds waved a finger at him absently. “You can’t say that anymore,” he corrected on autopilot. “And where do you want to go? There’s a bar around the corner.”
“Why not back to your place?” Davy suggested. He took a step forward and smirked cockily. “Unless you don’t have any liquor in the house?”
Both Reynolds and Hill looked like the wind had been knocked out of them. Presumably for different reasons.
Apparently the liquor tolerance went with the body.
The back of Davy’s throat burned as he swallowed the mouthful of whiskey, and his eyes wanted to water. The disapproving angel on his shoulder—or perched on the edge of the coffee table—muttered something about “you deserved that” under his breath. Davy ignored Hill’s mood and pretended he wasn’t in pain as he leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him. It was hard to look casual on the aggressively minimalist…and underpadded…couch, but he pulled it off.
“I didn’t know you liked whiskey,” Reynolds said. He’d already tossed back one tumbler. Now he poured himself another. His hand shook a little, enough to clink the neck of the bottle against the rim of the glass. The tremor made him pause and stare at his hand.
“I’m trying new things,” Davy said vaguely. He gave a snorted laugh and lifted the glass to rub it over his forehead. “Before I die…so not much time?”
Reynolds finished the pour and turned to look at Davy. “Is something wrong?”
“Maybe,” Davy said. “I…um…might have gotten a bit free with the company credit card when my blood sugar was low.”
Hill rolled his eyes. “Oh yes, that’s a well-known side-effect of hypoglycemia. Dizziness, sweatiness…fraud.It’s in all the diagnostics.”
He got ignored again.
“Shit,” Reynolds said. “That’s going to be fun to explain.”
Davy nodded. “Especially with the current IRS problem… Shit. Forget I said that.”
He wouldn’t. No one would. That was the point.
Reynolds raised his eyebrows. “Shit,” he said. “I guess the tax man doesn’t even take Christmas off.”
Davy tapped his fingernail against the glass as he watched Reynolds take a gulp of whiskey. The golden spot was tipsy enough to be suggestible, but not so drunk that he had enough liquid courage to make whatever move he was working up to.
“I’d break into his phone and claw back the charges,” Davy said. “But…my stepdad isn’t a well-meaning preacher man. And just when you think there’s no drawbacks to being a military contractor’s kid, huh?”
Reynolds chuckled sympathetically and sat down on the couch next to Davy. He took another drink.
“And your mother is one of the top security architects in the state,” he said. “They got you coming and going.”
That was news to Davy. He hadn’t asked, to be fair. Good for Fraser. He’d married the sort of girl who was smart enough to have second thoughts if she’d met their mother.
The hook was baited. Give it a pull or not?
Ideally, he’d give it more time, let it sink in, but the Invocation had set the deadline, not him. Davy faked a sip of whiskey and leaned forward, putting one hand on Reynolds’s knee.
The motion made Hill look panicky as he glanced from Davy to Reynolds and back again.
“What are you doing?” Hill demanded. It was a shame he’d remembered that no one but Davy could see him. He tried to slap Davy’s hand away. It was distracting enough that Davy grabbed his wrist with a tentacle to put a stop to that.
“I don’t suppose you could go to the costume party as a cat burglar and steal his password for me. Just to sell the bit?”
He grinned around the suggestion, because of course he wasn’t serious. There was no way he could be. Right? And even if he was, it was a family thing…not industrial espionage.
