Preston still didn’t look happy about the results, but he didn’t argue it on the record. It didn’t take long to close out the meeting after that. While the court reporter and videographer started to pack away their things, Fredricka came around the conference table to shake first Preston’s hand, then Danai’s, and finally Patrick’s.
“Thank you for allowing us to provide you with our service,” she said.
She squeezed his hand gently in a too-pointed way, causing Patrick to drop his gaze, attention snagging on the slender gold signet ring she wore. Stamped on its flat face were Egyptian hieroglyphics that Patrick couldn’t read, but it didn’t matter. He knew whose name they had to spell out.
Fredricka gave them all a professional smile as she released his hand, never letting on that she worshipped a goddess born in the hearts of an ancient culture that still considered the Nile River a waterway of life.
Gods were meddlesome, but in this case, Patrick would let it slide.
“I look forward to what the government decides to do with this evidence, Preston,” Danai said as she picked up her tote bag.
“Get home safe, Danai,” Preston said, sounding like he meant it.
Patrick followed Danai out of the office and to the elevator bank down the hall. She pressed the call button and sighed deeply. “That went well.”
“Yeah.” Patrick pulled out his phone and checked the screen, seeing that Jono’s latest text said he was circling the block. Patrick shot off a quick text for him to pull up front. “Do you have a ride home?”
“I was going to take a taxi.”
“Nah. We’ll drive you home. I’d rather know you got there safe after today.”
“Thank you.”
The doors to the elevator slid open, and they stepped inside, taking it down to the lobby. Jono had pulled up in front of the government building and was ignoring the security guard gesturing for him to move.
“We’re leaving,” Patrick called out.
The security guard looked over his shoulder at them then did a double take. Patrick was getting real fucking tired of those.
Jono leaned across the seat to open the passenger-side door, eyes hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. “Are we driving Danai home?”
“Yeah.”
He got in the back seat, ceding the front passenger one to Danai. Once they were buckled up and the door was shut, Jono stepped on the gas, pulling away from the US Attorney’s building.
“How did it go?” Jono asked.
“Wasn’t my magical signature.”
Jono snorted. “Could’ve told the lot of them that. Didn’t need a bloody false murder charge to reach that conclusion.”
Patrick laughed and laughed and didn’t stop for two blocks.
17
Patrick wokeup Wednesday after dawn with his face pressed against the nape of Jono’s neck, arm slung over Jono’s hip, sweaty from body heat despite the air-conditioning keeping the apartment cool. He drew in a deep breath, taking in the hint of Jono’s cologne that lingered on his skin. Patrick had missed that comforting smell while in prison—had missed sharing a bed like this when he’d only been doing so for a little over a year.
He hated thinking about the possibility he’d never get this again.
“It’s too bloody early for you to be this anxious,” Jono said, voice coming out slow and sleepy, having probably smelled Patrick’s current mental state since his shields were down.
Patrick kissed the knob of Jono’s spine, sighing softly. “Sorry.”
“What has you worried now?”
Patrick bit his lip, too many thoughts like a storm rumbling through his mind, but the only one that mattered right now was the warning Zachary had given him at the steps of the cathedral on Monday.
“I think Ethan is after me,” Patrick said.
