Patrick refused to acknowledge the way Jono’s deep voice affected him, opting instead to lock down his shields as tight as he could. Judging by Jono’s sudden frown, whatever he’d been picking up from Patrick’s scent, it was gone now.
As much as Patrick wanted to take Jono to bed, it would be unprofessional and possibly dangerous. He didn’t trust the gods and their unknown reasoning for wanting Jono to stay. Whether or not he could trust Jono remained to be seen.
Jono rolled to his feet in a smooth motion, the blanket falling away from his naked body. Patrick’s eyes drifted downward, getting an eyeful of Jono’s gorgeous cock. He resolutely didn’t think about how this morning could have gone if he didn’t have a SAIC riding his ass. He had a feeling he’d enjoy it more if it was Jono.
Blowing off Rachel to blow Jono would earn him zero points with Setsuna. Sometimes his job was the ultimate cockblock.
“I can’t smell you,” Jono said, stepping into his personal space.
Patrick lifted his phone, pressing the power button so they could both see the time on the lock screen. “Five minutes, then I’m leaving without you.”
“The Fates that Marek sees for wouldn’t like that.”
“I don’t fucking care.”
The words came out harsh, falling between them like heavy stones. Jono blinked, taking a step back in the face of Patrick’s sudden and intense fury that he couldn’t contain. Taking a deep breath, Patrick reined in his anger as much as he could, but he’d never reacted well to orders given by gods.
They always ended up fucking him over, and not in the good way.
Jono looked at him for a moment before tipping his head in the direction of his overnight bag. “Five minutes, you said? Don’t leave without me.”
Patrick didn’t dignify that with a response, too annoyed at himself for not policing his emotions. He was a better agent than that, but this case was getting under his skin. The hints Patrick could see in the evidence, the presence of gods—none of it was good.
Almost exactly five minutes later, Jono came out of the bathroom in jeans, a gray T-shirt, Chukka boots, and his black hair gelled into some semblance of style. Patrick let himself look for a second or two because he damn well wanted to.
“Very Euro trash,” Patrick said.
Jono slipped on his Ray-Bans to hide his distinctive eyes and headed for the door. “You’re one to talk. Aren’t you feds supposed to wear suits?”
“The last time I wore a suit I ended up running through a forest after a wendigo and ripped my clothes to shreds when I took a header down a hill. I stopped doing suits after that.”
That had happened during his second case with the SOA. Patrick had reverted to his current style of dress after that, and Setsuna had let his choice in clothing slide without comment. Patrick took what wins he could get with her and was happy.
He locked the door on his way out and raised the strengthened threshold wrapped around the apartment. He rubbed away the twinge of pain in his chest, the physical ache an echo of the magical one in his soul.
Patrick had googled the nearest place providing food and coffee while Jono got ready. The little coffee shop half a block away looked like a local chain dedicated to the art of coffee, but no one was taking time to sit at any of the small tables. Morning rush hour on a Friday meant it was grab and go. When Patrick reached the counter, the woman taking his order didn’t look up from the iPad doubling as the register.
“Whaddya want?” she asked.
“Large coffee with two shots of espresso and an everything bagel,” Patrick said. He looked over his shoulder at Jono. “What do you want?”
“Double espresso and two chocolate croissants.”
The woman punched in his order on the screen. “For here or to go?”
Patrick dug out his wallet. “For here, but make the drinks to go.”
He paid with his card, getting an emailed receipt for reimbursement purposes, then stepped aside to wait for their order. When it came, their drinks were in paper to-go cups, though they’d served Jono’s free shot of sparkling water to go with his espresso as a palate cleanser in a small glass. Their food was in small plastic baskets, and they carried everything over to the empty table in the corner.
Patrick sat down with his food and coffee, freeing up one hand long enough to cast a silence ward. He discreetly drew the sigil on the underside of the table, pushing his magic through the air around them.
“Sweet tooth?” Patrick asked, eyeing Jono’s breakfast.
“I’m usually asleep right now. Figured I could use the sugar,” Jono said.
Patrick took a sip of his coffee, then another. The caffeine went a long way toward making him slightly less homicidal. “How long?”
“How long have I been a bartender?”
