The first thing he did was access the SOA’s archives through an encrypted employee web portal. Patrick had his notes from the case file, but he needed copies of reports from the Thirty-Day War the SOA had on file. His personal experience fighting soultakers was useful, but he needed more than memories right now.
The rest of the afternoon was a tunnel vision of research, so much so that he didn’t know how much time had passed until Jono was snapping his fingers in front of Patrick’s eyes to get his attention.
Patrick blinked, turning to look at him and trying not to wince at the stiffness in his neck and shoulders. “What?”
“Your fridge is empty. What do you want for dinner? I’m paying,” Jono asked.
“Is this an apology meal?”
“I’d cook, but you’ve nothing for me to cook with.”
The last time someone had apologized with food, his team’s sniper had given Patrick the last candy bar out of his care package. That was in the middle of an FOB after a long few days outside the wire. Tonight, he was in New York City with an abundance of choices.
So he went with the obvious one.
“Pepperoni pizza,” Patrick said.
Jono nodded at his request and pulled out his phone, tapping away at the screen. Patrick cracked his neck, wincing at the noise it made. Outside the living room windows, the world was drifting into twilight. He’d spent so long in the throes of research that he’d lost track of time. No wonder his entire back felt as if it were made of knots.
Patrick saved what he had compiled from his research using an encryption program. He signed off on his report for the PCB and emailed that to Casale, then sent another email to Setsuna in their personal code with the subject line ofStill Not in Hawaii. He’d see if she finally answered that one, which was him basically asking—yet again—where the hell his backup was.
“Pizza will be here in an hour,” Jono said a couple of minutes later as he put his phone away.
“How many did you get?” Patrick asked as he closed his MacBook.
“I could murder a whole one by myself, so I got two.”
That meant Patrick wouldn’t have to share. He’d grudgingly accept Jono’s apology if it meant he got free food. He got up from the table, stretching out the kinks that came from sitting for hours on end in a hard chair. Jono had returned to the couch to continue watching television, having settled on a channel showing the highlights of what had happened in American sports that day.
“Didn’t think you liked baseball, what with you being English and all,” Patrick said. He sprawled out on the other end of the couch, kicking one foot up on the coffee table.
“You Yanks hardly show any proper football. Better something than nothing, even if baseball is the most boring sport in existence.”
Patrick really couldn’t disagree. He found baseball tolerable only when he was at a game getting drunk and eating too many hot dogs. Still, Patrick was content enough to spend the next forty-five minutes listening to commentators talk stats and show replays of today’s game highlights, if only to give his mind a rest. When Jono’s phone rang, Patrick watched him leave to go retrieve the delivery from downstairs since they couldn’t buzz the guy in. Jono returned a couple of minutes later carrying two large pizza boxes and a six-pack of beer.
Patrick ate straight out of the box, folding the greasy slices of pizza in half and devouring them one by one. Jono opened their beers by prying off the bottle caps with his hands, passing one to Patrick first before taking a sip of his. Patrick would say dinner was almost nice, if it didn’t feel like an extension of Jono’s apology in the car.
Dinner wasn’t enough to make him forget that incident, and Jono didn’t try to broach the subject again that night. The quiet between them felt strained, ushering Patrick to bed at a decent hour for once rather than waiting out the tension.
Patrick woke up at the ass crack of dark before dawn to his phone ringing. He fumbled it out from beneath his pillow and answered it without looking. “Someone better be dead.”
“So you’re psychic now as well as a mage. I’m not paying extra for that. We got another body,” Casale said, sounding entirely too awake for the stupidly early hour.
Patrick double-checked the time and swore under his breath. “It’s not even oh-four hundred.”
“Murder waits for no man.”
Patrick kicked the blanket off and sat up, rubbing hard at his eyes. “Where?”
Casale rattled off the address, then hung up. Patrick hauled himself out of bed and dressed in record time, holstering his sidearm on his right hip and strapping his dagger onto his right thigh. He came out of the bedroom to see Jono half-awake and pulling on his shoes, already dressed.
“What did I say about keeping your ears to yourself?” Patrick said through a yawn.
“How else am I supposed to keep up if I don’t know what’s going on?” Jono asked as he stood up and headed for the door.
Patrick pointed a finger at Jono. “Ears to yourself.”
As he passed by, Jono leaned down and snapped his teeth at the tip of Patrick’s fingers. “Sure thing, Pat.”
