Sasha picked up her camera. The stack of empty evidence bags for collection purposes, and her clipboard of forms, were on the nearby desk within easy reach. “Let’s get started.”
Inside the safe were stacks of money in various currency, three bars of gold without serial numbers, a hard drive, and a small stack of files that Patrick went for first. Between him and Sasha, they managed to sort and log every file. He flipped through each one, skimming over notes in shorthand that was probably Westberg’s personal code. A few had pictures of items that were probably in the house or maybe in the process of being sold.
In the second to last file, Patrick found a slip of paper that was all too familiar.
The People’s Pawn Shop logo was listed up top on the carbon copy. The name printed and signing over ownership of aninvitationwas Phoebe Westberg, the cost set in return making Patrick’s eyebrows creep toward his hairline.
“Idols and not money?” Sasha asked, glancing at the carbon copy receipt. “That’s weird.”
“Yeah,” Patrick said in a voice leached of all emotion.
He reached for a small evidence bag, tucked the flimsy paper inside before sealing it, and then slipped it into his jacket pocket. Sasha pointed her pen at him. “That’s evidence.”
“I know, but it might also be evidence in another case I’m running. Don’t worry, it won’t ever leave my hands. Chain of evidence will remain intact, but I need to take it with me.”
“Where are you going?”
Patrick turned on his heel. “Shopping.”
* * *
“I’m driving,”Jono said, taking the keys from Patrick’s hand. “You’re so bloody knackered you might drive off the road.”
“I drove here,” Patrick grumbled.
“Yeah, and I’m surprised you didn’t veer into a snowdrift.”
Patrick rubbed at his eyes, wincing at how dry they were. The warmth of the Chicago god pack’s home was seeping into his bones. If Patrick spent too much longer inside, he’d end up like Wade, who was currently wrapped up in a large blanket, lying in front of the fireplace, with his bare feetinthe fire burning there, while playing a game on his phone. A bowl of chips was precariously balanced on his stomach. As Patrick watched, one of Naomi’s god pack members approached him to refill the bowl from a bag of Doritos.
“Wade,” Patrick said.
“What?” Wade asked through a mouthful of chips.
“Don’t get crumbs everywhere.”
“Shows what you know. The crumbs are going in my mouth and nowhere else because chips are tasty.”
Patrick looked at where Naomi and Alejandro stood a little past Jono in the living room. “Sorry, he’s still a little feral.”
“I am not!” Wade protested before diving into his chip bowl again.
“Put your shoes on. We’re getting on the road.”
Wade grumbled but started to unwrap himself from the blanket.
Naomi quirked a faint smile at Patrick. “He’s welcome to stay, as are you.”
Patrick shook his head. “He can eat through room service at the hotel rather than your kitchen.”
“She means the pack, love,” Jono said. Patrick just stared at him, hoping at any moment that sentence would make sense. Jono reached out and settled his hand on the back of Patrick’s neck, reeling him in to kiss him on the forehead. “Members of a traveling god pack usually stay with the local one if they reside in the city or town.”
Patrick made a face. “I think the SOA would notice if I don’t have an invoice from the hotel for the entire time I’m in Chicago. We’re trying to keep the pack under the government’s radar, remember?”
“Probably should do with a little less city destruction, then.”
Patrick smacked him on the chest. “Oh, fuck you. Everything’s mostly still standing.”
“You destroyed Navy Pier,” Naomi said helpfully.
