Chapter Eighteen
Kavon was hyperawareof Darren as he strode into the squad room, but he focused on the team. “Les, Ahtisham,” he said, “we’re heading over to Washington Conservative News. This is a newspaper, so the odds of them giving us anything useful is fairly low, so this calls for friendly chatter. Nothing pushy.” He bit down on an urge to tell them he had cleared the assignment with Coretta. It was enough that she had given her approval. He had even clenched his teeth and kept silent when she said she was sending Joe to help search for shamanic power. Her team, technically her case, and so her choice. And objectively, it was a good call, but Kavon just had this itch to set everything up the way he wanted it—the right way. His inability to do that was fueling more irrational anger than he’d felt in a long time.
Les had been looking at his phone, but at that, his head came up. “Not to piss you off or anything, but you suck at chit-chat.”
Kavon wanted to get angry at the insult, but Les was right, and Kavon was too exhausted to take offense. “I’m not going to be chatting with anyone. I’ll be searching the spirit plane for our suspect. Let’s go.” Kavon headed toward the stairs so fast that Ahtisham had to do a little hop on his good leg to catch his balance.
Kavon hurried toward the garage stairs. Ahtisham took another hopping step to catch up, and Kavon felt a niggle of guilt about rushing the agent with the artificial leg. But Ahtisham had passed the field readiness test. He could handle himself.
“Do we have a plan other than talk to people?” Les asked.
“Don’t get thrown out,” Kavon said. He knew it was a less-than-helpful suggestion, but his anger still simmered under the surface, and it took most of his control to prevent another outburst. He didn’t want to be one of those assholes who took advantage of a bond-partner by taking out every bad mood on someone who physically couldn’t leave. That was the main reason Kavon had avoided a bond before Darren had found his own guide. Kavon knew he was a bastard, but he didn’t want to be that special sort of abusive.
When all four of them were in the garage, Darren spoke. “How often have we shaken a suspect loose just by hanging around the area?” He asked. “Do you remember that counterfeit art case we worked in Baltimore? That was before your time, Ahtisham, but we walked into the store they were using as a front, and the second we identified ourselves, employees were racing for exits. One idiot broke his leg trying to jump out of a second-story window.”
“Thank god for dumb criminals,” Ahtisham said with a laugh. “Given that our suspect is dropping huge amounts of energy all over the city, I’m expecting a lower than normal IQ.”
“Don’t,” Kavon said. “This guy has avoided leaving any obvious trail and he has access to enough magic that he can leave sinks of that size behind. And don’t lose track of the fact that this is most likely the same person who attacked Darren.”
“I’m not going to forget that any time soon,” Les said softly. “Dude, you scared me out of ten years of life.”
Darren huffed. “Next time I get nearly killed, I’ll make sure you aren’t around to worry.”
“Or you could not get nearly killed ever again,” Kavon said. The base of his throat stung with acid. The team was silent as they got into the SUV. He backed out of the space and headed for the exit.
“If things go sideways, get Darren and get out of the area,” Kavon ordered. Darren had been looking up something on his phone, but now he fumbled, dropping it on the floor.
“Hey! I'm a trained and armed federal agent. I'm not going to get dragged off like a civilian if our bad guy shows up.”
“Yes you are,” Kavon said in a low voice.
“Oh hell, no. I’m really not.” Kavon felt the pressure against the bond, so Darren was trying to shove his displeasure through it.
In the backseat, Les said loudly, “Don't you hate it when Mom and Dad fight?” He nudged Ahtisham, but the man had the good sense not to answer.
Kavon focused on Darren. “You were nearly killed in the last encounter. I'm not taking that risk again.”
“Again, I'm an armed federal agent,” Darren said. “And I have the strongest shamanic guide. I'm not leaving the scene. Furthermore, if Anzu decides to target me, he’ll follow. I would rather fight with the group.
Ahtisham cleared this throat. “If there is an attack, should I target the guide or the human?”
“A gun won't do anything against a guide,” Kavon said. He changed lanes, ignoring the cacophony of angry honking he left in his wake.
“Which is not an answer to my question,” Ahtisham said. “Do you want me to look for human targets who are taking too much of an interest in the fight, and if so, how do I determine which of the Lookie-Loos is the shaman I need to shoot in the head?”
“I should be able to tell who the shaman is,” Kavon said.
“Which doesn't help me if you’re busy fighting him.”
Helpless panic tore at Kavon. He gripped the wheel and focused on keeping the bond completely shut. Darren deserved better than to get pounded by Kavon’s out-of-control emotions.
“I am completely invested in this fight,” Ahtisham hurried to add. “I may not have Talent, but magic is part of this world. I will not stand by while those with Talent are targeted or exterminated. So I am not questioning our reason for being involved. However, I am a little fuzzy on the logistics. And I am uncomfortable going into a fight where I don't know which weapons will be effective or how to use them.”
“And you waited until now to address this?” Les asked with exaggerated horror.
Ahtisham gave him a dirty look. “I didn't know there was a problem until an hour ago, and now we’re in a car headed to confront a possible suspect. I hate to be the Debbie Downer of the group, but this is feeling a little rushed.”
“We don't have time to sit around and wait for the shaman to make the next move,” Kavon said.
