Patrick took the designated elevator up with a group of people in suits and skirt ensembles, all of them barely giving him a second glance. Several stops later, Patrick got off on the thirtieth floor and made his way to Rachel’s corner office after getting directions from the floor receptionist. A woman in her early thirties was sitting outside Rachel’s corner office at a desk that was surprisingly clear of clutter, typing away on a keyboard with fast strokes and wearing a hands-free phone headset.
“Sit,” she said, without looking up. “Ms. Andrita knows you’re here.”
Patrick arched an eyebrow at the curtness but didn’t argue. If this woman was anything like Brianna, Setsuna’s executive assistant, she wouldn’t let anyone into her boss’ inner sanctum without permission no matter their status. So he took a seat outside on a chair and waited.
At exactly nine o’clock, Rachel’s assistant got up to open the office door. “She’ll see you now.”
Patrick stood up and went to meet the SOA’s Special Agent in Charge of New York City.
The corner office overlooked the street instead of the side of a neighboring building. The wards wrapped around the space reminded him of the ones in Casale’s office, only stronger. Patrick cased the room automatically, checking out the commendations and degrees hanging on the wall and the bookshelves that actually held books rather than decorative knickknacks.
The space had that monotone feel to it all the government alphabet agencies seemed to have these days: all the furniture matched in dull colors, walls were painted white or beige, and halogen lighting made people’s eyes twitch by the end of the workday. Not a place Patrick wanted to work.
Rachel didn’t stand up or offer her hand in greeting when Patrick approached her desk. She merely took in his appearance with cool brown eyes. “Your outfit leaves something to be desired.”
“The director has never had a problem with how I dress for the field, ma’am,” Patrick replied mildly.
Since she hadn’t offered him a seat, he took one anyway. The narrow-eyed look she shot him told Patrick this meeting was going to go terribly.
Fucking politics, man.
Rachel leaned forward in her leather seat, all business. Her honey-blonde hair was pinned away from her face in a loose chignon that brushed the collar of her silk blouse. In her midforties, but looking at least ten years younger, Rachel was a career-oriented witch who had made climbing the SOA ranks her life’s goal. That she wasn’t yet riding a desk in DC with a title that carried more weight didn’t mean she wasn’t angling for a promotion.
Patrick knew this case would look good on her resume, if only it had stayed in her office. So he wasn’t surprised when the first thing Rachel addressed was the transfer.
“I understand Director Abuku felt it necessary to send someone from the Rapid Response Division, but this case has spanned six months already, and the PCB was mostly handling it with our help. I’ll be frank, Collins. I really don’t think your presence is necessary, and I informed the director as such last night,” Rachel said.
“I’m sure the director took your suggestion under advisement,” Patrick replied in the neutral voice he’d perfected in the military when dealing with incompetent—from his perspective—superior officers.
“I understand there was an altercation at a bar last night. What happened?”
“I really can’t say, ma’am.”
Rachel tapped her perfectly manicured fingernails against the hard oak of her desk. “That answer is unacceptable. We’re all on the same team here, Collins.”
“It’s an active investigation, and I report to the director, not to you. If you want to be read into the case going forward, you’ll need clearance from Director Abuku.”
Rachel didn’t show her irritation about her request being denied, a testament to her ability to read a room. Patrick wondered why a SAIC was so interested in a case formally assigned to a lower-level witch that Rachel hadn’t looked twice at. Only when it got taken out of her hands, metaphorically speaking, did she start to raise a fuss.
“I understand Chief Casale had plans to seek answers from a seer. Has that meeting occurred yet?”
Warning bells rang loud and clear through Patrick’s mind at that question. As far as he knew, Casale’s meeting with Marek hadn’t been telegraphed.
So he lied.
“I’m not sure.”
“We both know the bar you were at last night is affiliated with Marek Taylor, a seer the government keeps tabs on. Did he have a vision or not?” Rachel asked.
“Again, you’ll need to discuss that with the director.”
Rachel sat back and touched a few keys on her keyboard, staring at her monitor. “If the City is willing to spend that much money on a seer, then I really think my office should be more thoroughly involved. When this is over, you’ll be on your way again and we agents here in New York City will be left to pick up the pieces. You have a tendency toward collateral damage in the field. I’m not comfortable having you be my office’s representative. I want to assign you a partner.”
Patrick fought back a grimace. “No.”
“Excuse me?” Rachel said sharply.
“Ma’am, the case is no longer under the purview of your office. It’s now being handled through DC, which means it’s mine. I don’t do partners, and you don’t have the authority to change the parameters of how I run things.”
