Maybe he should’ve brought Sage after all, filing deadline or not.
“Now,” Casale said grimly. “The Brooklyn Night Court will say they were guarding their borders. That’s been their excuse for decades. The law says they have every right to do so, whether undead or not, within reason, especially in the face of hunters. What’s your excuse?”
“Thought this was supposed to be a friendly chat?” Jono said slowly, staring at the photographs.
“Murder isn’t friendly.”
Jono looked away from the photographs to meet Casale’s gaze. “Did you ask me to come down so you could arrest me?”
Casale shook his head. “The hunter died in vampire territory. They’ll claim self-defense all the way to the courts. I have detectives working the case who will talk to Jamere and take down whatever story he chooses to give us. You’re the outlier in this mess. I want to know what you were doing there and who is with you in the picture.”
Jono straightened up, glad he had an easy answer to that question. “No.”
“Noisn’t going to cut it.”
“No, I’m not telling you who was with me. They’re a pack under my protection, and they’re granted their right to privacy under federal law.”
Casale frowned, tapping a finger against the table in a slow metronome. “So the rumorsaretrue about you forming a second god pack.”
Jono stood, and Casale didn’t tell him to sit back down. “I think we’re done.”
“I think we’re just getting started.” Casale stared at him. “Or you are.”
“And if I am?”
“A civil war is never bloodless or victimless.”
Jono smiled bitterly, thinking of Wade and the few werecreatures they’d saved from Tremaine last August. Of the packs who kept coming to Tempest looking for a drink and someone to save them.
“Certain people think I’m a problem.” Jono nodded at the pictures. “Jamere didn’t.”
“Vampires aren’t friendly with your kind.”
“They’re friendly enough with me.”
“Since when?”
“Am I under arrest?”
Casale shook his head slowly. “No.”
“Then we’re done here. Call Sage next time you want to have a little chat with me.”
Casale stood, the lines around his mouth deepening as he frowned. “New York City doesn’t need a civil war.”
Jono headed for the door. “Sometimes war is inevitable, mate.”
He half thought he’d be arrested once he left the room, but Jono only got the odd look or two from some of the detectives seated at their desks in the bull room. One of them got to her feet, waving at him to follow her toward the exit.
“I’ll escort you out,” Detective Specialist Allison Ramirez said.
“Cheers,” Jono said.
Jono didn’t feel comfortable until he was outside the heavily warded building that housed the PCB in Lower Manhattan, breathing in cold winter air. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and was about to ring his ride when a familiar Escalade pulled to the curb. The window rolled down halfway, and Emma stared at him from behind the steering wheel. The accusation in her gaze hadn’t faded since Ginnungagap.
“Get in,” she said flatly.
Jono bit back a wince. “Where did Leon go?”
