The woman held up a small plate filled with miniature pastries and gestured at the two glasses of water for their use. “Hospitality, if you please.”
Nadine nudged him in the side with a subtle jab of her elbow as she approached the table. Patrick rolled his eyes but joined her. They took the food and drink on offer beneath the woman’s watchful gaze.
“Be welcome in the ambassador’s home,” she said.
The pressure against his shields eased but didn’t completely fade away. The magic was decades old, layers upon layers set into the building’s foundation, and about as subtle as a missile strike.
The woman smiled at them once they weren’t struck from the earth and led them out of the foyer into the cream-and-red-themed Reception Room. Everything looked a little vintage in that museum-quality way that always made Patrick want to leave fingerprints everywhere just to spite the owners—in this case, the United States government.
They veered right into the Garden Room, and Patrick was overwhelmed by the amount of green in the room. Not just the plants, but the antique Chinese wallpaper, the upholstery on half the furniture, and a good portion of the artwork.
“It looks like a jungle threw up in here,” Patrick said.
Nadine shot him a quelling look he pretended not to see. Their escort cleared her throat, and the middle-aged man in the dark suit seated on a vintage-looking couch raised his head. The vague annoyance on his face didn’t clear once he saw them. Recognition hit Patrick’s magic with a subtle scrape of power—warlock, and shielded tight.
“Thank you,” Special Agent Gael Santiago said in a crisp voice that hinted at a Texas drawl. “That will be all.”
Their escort left, but privacy was difficult to come by in a building Patrick knew was always targeted by foreign intelligence organizations. The heavy thresholds and wards surrounding the town house made sense even if they were uncomfortable.
Gael got to his feet, and Nadine closed the distance between them, Patrick on her heels. Gael extended his hand in greeting, grip firm when he shook Patrick’s hand.
“You’re late,” Gael said.
“Something came up,” Nadine replied smoothly.
“Hopefully not mission critical.”
Nadine shrugged one shoulder. “Critical enough.”
Gael took his seat again and waved at all the empty ones around them. “Sit. Mulroney, cast a silence ward.”
Patrick ground his teeth against the desire to mouth off at Gael’s casual demand. The guy outranked them both, but his attitude annoyed Patrick. Nadine still did as she was ordered, and wrote out the silence ward onto the low table in the center of the conversation circle. Her magic glowed a soft violet before fading away, static washing around them in a bubble of quiet.
Patrick ignored the way his ears popped in favor of studying an agent he’d never met before and could’ve gone the rest of his life without meeting. Gael was tall and broad-shouldered, filling out a Hugo Boss suit that would’ve looked better on Jono. His black hair was that particular black men sported when they refused to cop to dyeing it.
At forty-six, Gael had the start of crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, and a sternness to his face that spoke of little humor in his life. Patrick knew some people lived for their job, and he used to be like that until Jono showed him a better way. It was advice he wasn’t going to give Gael.
“I understand the WSA believes the auction is happening next week. What does the invitation say?” Gael said.
Patrick blinked, staring at him. “How much of the mission were you read in on?”
Gael smiled thinly. “Enough that I know about the invitation.”
“Do you know what we’re after?” At Gael’s silence, Patrick shook his head. “And the CI? Did anyone tell you about them?”
More people knew about the invitation than he was comfortable with, but that decision wasn’t his to make. Judging by Gael’s reactions, Patrick could hope that Setsuna and the rest of the powers that be had locked down everything else to Eyes Only.
“Ah.” Gael leaned back and gestured at nothing with one hand. “Our director refused to disclose the identity of your CI or what you are after.”
He sounded indifferent about that, but Patrick knew it was all a lie. When your entire job was learning secrets, not knowing something rankled. While Patrick knew they were supposedly all on the same side, the betrayal he’d dealt with in the SOA just last summer had him not appreciating Gael’s attitude, and trust was a long way off in a situation like this.
“If you weren’t read in, then what are the parameters of your orders?” Patrick asked.
Gael’s expression was impossible to read. “Whatever Director Franklin needs.”
Patrick bit his tongue. He fucking hated politics and all the ways a person could say nothing at all. “Need isn’t the same thing as permission.”
“We’re all on the same side here, Collins.”
