I shouldn’t. Both because this case has a major countdown clock over our heads and because talking about my partner to a civilian feels…wrong. But I don’t have any friends in the world of theother—except Kunchin—and I’m definitely not going to talk to a coworker about this shit. If I’m honest, I don’t have any friends in the human world either. Not really.
“I can be at the Blue Bottle Coffee on Sansome in fifteen minutes.”
Dion sighs, her relief bleeding through my earbuds. “The first cup’s on me.”
* * *
Sin
I can hardly see past my fear when I enter the Bureau. Zoe left my apartment alone—with only a terse text message explaining she was going to take a Lyft into work. Thank fuck for the Fiat Spider I keep in the garage in reserve. The Audi is still at James Temple’s apartment. Or at least I hope it is.
Zoe is not at her desk either. Why did I not impress upon her the immense danger she is now in? Regina saw her. Saw me expose my wings to save her life. Zoe has the mortal realm’s largest target on her back, and she is galavanting aroundalone?I can still detect a hint of her scent, so she has not been gone long.
Before I try to find her, I have the tech department transfer my mobile number to my backup phone. My primary cell ended up in six separate pieces after the explosion. Within seconds, the device vibrates, and two text messages flash across the screen.
Commander Eve: Where the hell are you?
Zoe: Running an errand. Be back at 11:00 a.m. Don’t bother me unless there’s a break in the case.
The order stings. No, it does more than that. It slashes a knife deep into a heart I thought far too damaged to feel anything.
I have to work at summoning my anger. Usually so close to the surface, it has faded since I met Zoe, and that is unacceptable. Anger keeps me focused, and I require as much of it as I can muster now. Phone in hand, I jab the screen hard enough, I fear it will crack.
Where are you? I am coming to pick you up.
“Sinclair! Get your ass in here!” the commander shouts, her tone not one to be dismissed. She stares daggers at me as I approach, shoving her keyboard back and waving her hand towards her visitor’s chair.
“About damn time. Where’s your partner? She came in, then ten minutes later, bolted like her ass was on fire,” Eve says, a distinctive high-pitched edge to her voice. She’s close to a shift. Something is bothering her. Something more than my AWOL partner and the attack on our lives.
“Zoe had a personal errand to attend to. Apparently. I am waiting to find out where so I can pick her up.” Sinking into the chair, I narrow my eyes at Eve. “What is wrong?”
“Salem is threatening to fire me.”
I lean forward, tension prickling along the back of my neck. “Why?”
“Three hundred and forty-two thousand dollars of this division’s budget is unaccounted for. The dicks in Salem believe I had something to do with it.” Her talons tap against the desk, and the frustrated sound she makes as she throws her head back shakes the glass walls. Any higher pitched, and she’d probably have shattered them.
I scan the bullpen, seeing heads turn, agents whispering to one another. Eve notices and slaps her hand down on the button to engage the privacy screens. “Just fucking great.”
“Get one of the witches to cast a truth charm.”
Grayson’s eyes darken, and she shakes her head. “I won’t ever be under a witch’s spell again. Which means I have to do this the old fashioned way. Spending the next few weeks neck deep in budget reports.”
Pushing to her feet, she turns her back to me and runs her hands through her blond hair. “But not until you tell meexactlywhat went down yesterday.”
* * *
Half an hour later,I have still not heard from Zoe, and my ire and concern are rising with each passing minute. The commander is satisfied that neither Zoe nor I sustained serious injuries, and she had two of the mages conjure memories of a gas leak for the SFPD officers.
Back at my desk, I run a trace on Zoe’s phone. Blue Bottle Coffee. At least she is in public and not out chasing down a lead on her own. It takes me only a few moments to convince one of the ghouls to check up on her.
“Agent Sinclair,”the ghoul whispers to my mind when it returns.“Agent Dawes is having coffee with a panther shifter named Dion.”
I take a small measure of relief from the report, and pull up James Temple’s last will and testament. Fuck. The date at the top is the day before he shot Zoe. There is nothing out of the ordinary about the text. Standard legalese, his name, date of birth, address, and the like. A small list of possessions bequeathed mostly to Zoe, his savings to be distributed to a handful of charities.
Nothing appears out of place until I zoom out and view the two-page document as a single image. A faint watermark darkens the paper, and I have to rotate the pieces several times before the image coalesces into something that makes my blood run cold.
The edges are uneven. Perhaps a bit lopsided. But it looks very much like an orange blossom. Fuck.
