Marek unlocked the car with a beep from the electronic key fob. Patrick let Marek get behind the wheel without argument. Jono waited on the sidewalk expectantly, and Patrick reached down to move the front passenger seat forward before gesturing at Jono to get in the back.
“I’m taller than you,” Jono pointed out.
“That’s nice,” Patrick drawled. And it probably would be in any other situation. “But I’m the federal agent with a weapon. Unless you want me to shoot through you at a threat, get in the fucking back seat.”
Jono stared at him for a second or two, a slow-growing smirk curving his mouth upward at the corner. “Sure thing, mate.”
Jono got into the back seat—but not before making a point to get into Patrick’s personal space and brush against him. Patrick bit his lip, refusing to give ground, and told his traitorous dick that now wasnotthe time to be interested. Judging by Jono’s knowing look, Patrick had failed to keep his attraction to himself.
His shields were hiding his magic, but not his scent, and Patrick belatedly fixed that with a thought as he climbed into the car. He closed the door and buckled up.
“Get us to the PCB station,” Patrick said.
“I’m not a taxi driver,” Marek replied as he pulled into the street.
“Be happy I’m letting you drive at all and we’re not taking the subway.”
“Why would we take the subway after what just happened? That’s not quick, and you seem to want quick.”
“Because of the wards. We have them in the London Underground,” Jono said.
Patrick glanced over his shoulder at the other man, mildly surprised at the correct answer. “Yeah.”
New York City’s subway was a lot like the London Underground or the Paris Metro. Hell, it was like any other rail system in the world that cut through the earth. They were old, extensive, and crammed full of people. Beyond that, they were built from the rails up by both mundane and magical means. The protective wards kept the trains and people safe while running through fringes of the preternatural world below that sometimes broke through the veil.
The subway was probably the safest public place in the City against demons right now. Patrick couldn’t say anything about pickpockets.
The drive downtown was a mostly tense, silent affair, broken only by the ringing of Patrick’s cell phone. He noted the name on the screen and didn’t hesitate to answer it.
“Collins. Line and location are not secure,” he said.
“Soultaker,” Setsuna stated flatly in greeting, ignoring Patrick’s warning.
“I see you got my message. It’s dead.”
“Any identifying trace signature?”
“No.” Which hadn’t been a surprise. Patrick rubbed his thumb against his temple, but the temporary pressure didn’t do anything to stop his headache. “I’m going to need backup.”
“I’ll put a task force together.”
“Who?”
“You’ll know when they arrive,” Setsuna said cryptically before hanging up.
Patrick pulled his phone away from his ear and scowled down at the dark screen. “Fucking hate when she does that.”
“What’s a soultaker?” Jono asked from the back seat.
“Keep your ears to yourself.”
“No promises.”
“Fuckingwerewolves,” Patrick muttered as he slouched in the seat.
Less than five minutes later, they reached their destination. The Preternatural Crimes Bureau took up an entire block downtown on Centre Street. The square building was five stories high, with a small adjacent parking garage that Marek pulled into. The officer on watch duty at the entrance seemed ready to read them the riot act for trying to park in a restricted area. One look at Patrick’s SOA badge got them buzzed through.
“Guest parking is next level up. You’ll need to exit the garage and enter the building from the street,” the officer said.
