Patrick could only nod in agreement.
24
“I said no tomatoes,”Wade grumbled as he dug through the paper bag holding six breakfast bodega sandwiches
“Eat your vegetables,” Patrick ordered, keeping his eyes on the road.
“They should give me a discount next time for messing up my order. I wanted extra meat and extra cheese. Look, now the bagel is all soggy from the tomato.”
Wade held the breakfast sandwich up to Patrick’s face so he could see. He turned his head and stole a bite, tearing through the toasted bagel and getting crumbs on the center console. Wade’s eyes widened in affronted disbelief as he yanked his sandwich back and cradled it close to his chest.
“That wasmine!” he hissed.
“Figured you didn’t want it anymore since you were complaining about the tomatoes,” Patrick mumbled around the large bite he’d taken.
Wade scowled, then took the largest bite he could to keep his meal from being eaten by anyone else. Patrick laughed, trying not to spray crumbs everywhere.
Gerard’s flight was scheduled to land in forty minutes, and they were driving to pick him up from LaGuardia. He had to travel by mundane means rather than the veil due to the scrutiny aimed their way. The fight at the Library of Congress had been difficult to explain away and extricate himself from, especially since Patrick and Sage and been unceremoniously yanked through the veil. Their absence had been noted, and Patrick had a feeling he’d be called back to Washington, DC, at some point soon.
So long as it wasn’t during Sage’s wedding, he’d deal with it.
The curfew order had come down last night for the weekend, and people seemed to remember when the Wild Hunt had stalked the city’s streets in December. Midmorning on a Saturday should’ve had more cars on the streets, but traffic was strangely nonexistent. Patrick noticed more taxis and delivery trucks than anything else.
Jono was back in Brooklyn with Sage, following up on Austin’s Rebel pack and the Davenport pack. The attack hadn’t gone over well with the public, but there’d been some sympathy for their position, and Danai was ruthlessly leveraging that with the crisis PR company they still employed.
They were driving down a cross-town street when his phone rang, Danai’s number coming up on the dashboard’s screen. He answered it with a touch of his finger. “Please tell me they aren’t going back on the dismissal.”
“No. Your case remains dismissed,” Danai said.
Patrick released the stranglehold he had on the steering wheel while Wade slowly lowered his breakfast sandwich away from his mouth. “Great. What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling because I just spoke with Preston. Your personal items, which were held in evidence by the FBI, have been relinquished to the US attorney’s office. They’re ready to release them into your custody and control. I know it’s a Saturday, but he’s at the office downtown and is willing to meet with you to return them.”
Wade frantically shook his head, spraying crumbs over his lap. “Bad idea.”
Patrick was well aware of what had happened the last time he’d tried to meet with the US attorneys, but he also really wanted his phone back. “I’m on my way to the airport and haven’t hit the bridge yet. I can spare ten minutes to pick up my things, but that’s it.”
Wade banged his head against the headrest and stuffed the breakfast sandwich into his mouth so he wouldn’t protest. Patrick was distantly proud about his control, so long as he didn’t choke.
“I’ll call Preston back and let him know you’ll be there within the next thirty minutes or so. You’ll most likely be put on the security list like before.”
“Have them put Wade down as well.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Just be prepared so show some identification for both of you. Drive safe, and have a good weekend.”
“You, too.”
Patrick ended the call and jumped right into an argument with Wade.
“This is a bad idea,” Wade repeated.
“I want my phone back,” Patrick countered.
“Have them mail it to you. Better yet, have them mail it to Danai, since they called her first instead of calling you.”
“They called her because she’s our lawyer. We’re going.”
Patrick took the next available right, turning onto Park Avenue South to head downtown instead of to the Queensboro Bridge. Wade groaned before shoving another bite of his breakfast sandwich into his mouth. He wiped his greasy fingers on his jeans before freeing his phone to text one-handed.
