“You’re going to have a war,” Naomi said.
“We already have one, but my pack isn’t backing down. Too many people will be hurt if we do.”
Naomi and Alejandro were silent for a few seconds before she waved at him to follow her. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”
Jono looked over at where Wade had oh so casually been perusing the mantle over the fireplace, noticing that half the knickknacks that had been there were now gone. He sighed. “Put them back, Wade.”
“But they’reshiny,” Wade protested.
“And they’re not yours, mate.”
Wade scowled and sulkily pulled out at least ten knickknacks from his pockets and set them back on the shelf. “They could be.”
Jono shook his head before offering Naomi and Alejandro his apologies. “Sorry about that. Wade was a pickpocket in a past life, and it’s been tough breaking him of that habit.”
“I think you meancurrentlife,” Wade muttered.
The pair eyed Wade a little warily before Alejandro snorted. “A pack under our protection said they’d seen a dragon at the cemetery the other night. We thought they had to be mistaken, or it was an illusion.”
Jono didn’t say anything into the silence that followed, and Wade thankfully kept his gob shut. Naomi smiled slightly at their reticence but didn’t seem annoyed.
“Let’s get you to your hotel,” she said.
Naomi waved at them to follow her out of the home. Jono settled a hand on Wade’s shoulder and steered him toward the front door and back out into the cold. The snow beneath Jono’s bare feet was icy.
“Thanks for your help today,” Jono said once they were in the back seat of Naomi’s car.
She looked at him in the rearview mirror, amber eyes bright in her face. “The attack happened in our territory. We would have come no matter who was in trouble, but I’m glad it wasn’t Estelle and Youssef. I don’t like what I’ve heard about them.”
Jono didn’t blame her. If Estelle and Youssef ever needed his help, he’d never give it, not for all the money in the world.
16
“Arrestingme in front of my colleagues was uncalled for,” Dean Westberg snapped furiously when Patrick entered the interview room.
“You weren’t arrested. You were just advised to come quietly to sort things out. It’s not our fault you had the press there documenting the dinner,” Patrick said.
Patrick sat down across the table from Westberg and his lawyer, Peter Stefan Mathys, a man whose tailored suit couldn’t completely hide the gut he was sporting. Mathys had used all three names whenever he introduced himself to anyone after arriving. The condescending way he looked down his nose at Patrick wasn’t unexpected, though it was irritating. Over the years, Patrick had dealt with lawyers who weren’t that great at their jobs and others who based their worth on their over a thousand dollars an hour rate. Mathys was definitely in the latter group, and possibly in the former.
Either way, Patrick hated dealing with lawyers.
“The SOA would like to know where you’ve been for the past two weeks?” Patrick asked.
“Don’t answer that. You’re under no obligation to answer any of their questions if they haven’t charged you with anything,” the lawyer said.
Patrick opened up the file folder he’d brought with him and thumbed through a couple of crime scene photographs that had been rush developed for this interview. He slid one of the burned body in the wine cellar across the table for them to look at.
“We found a body in your home today, Mr. Westberg. The press staked out your Lincoln Park address for the entire time it took the SOA to process your house. Now, I’m not saying you killed the guy, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t the kind of story you wanted in the news in the final stretch of your campaign.”
Westberg’s gaze stayed locked on the picture, even when his lawyer picked it up to review more closely.
“I had nothing to do with that. My Lincoln Park property isn’t big enough for the events I needed to put on for my donors. My wife and I have been staying at our Gold Coast mansion,” Westberg said.
“Hope your other property isn’t hiding any more dead bodies.”
“If you want to search my client’s homes, you’ll need to get a warrant,” Mathys snapped.
“Fine. We’ll look into that. I still need your whereabouts for the past two weeks.”
