Page 78 of The Flame Game

I had questions, and sometime, after I got to know my parents a little better, I would ask them.

In the meantime, I would wait. The CDC ultimately decided when we got to leave, I vowed to keep from whining to my husband or bothering our pets.

I deserved a cookie or some cake for my good behavior.

When the boredom became unbearable, I leaned the seat back and caught a nap, something I didn’t get often enough. The heat being turned off woke me, and I growled curses at the lost warmth to discover my husband taking the keys out of the ignition. “Hey, that’s rude. I was napping with that on.”

Leaning across the seat, he smiled and kissed my cheek. “We’re getting gassed up so we can get on the road, my beautiful. You slept through the rest of the festivities, and all three busses have left. It’s just us and the CDC reps with the extra gas at this point. I changed our hotel reservation and asked our angelic visitor to teleport one of the vics to the hotel we were going to use. The CDC is picking up that tab, as she’s one of the more delicate of the women. Morrison had gotten ahold of her.”

I cringed. “Poor woman. Will she be okay?”

“She should be. The archangel is staying with her until he’s confident she is in good hands. Right now, she’s a suicide risk.”

“Please tell me this would prevent his bail if he hadn’t already dodged town.”

“Let’s just say there is a country-wide warrant for his immediate arrest, and should he resist arrest, lethal force has been authorized. The archangel has offered to take the burden from the victims and has confirmed that what we suspect is likely less severe than the crimes actually committed.”

“What a fucking dick.”

“You won’t hear me arguing with that. Are you hungry?”

My stomach growled at my husband. I poked at it. “Apparently, according to that, I’m ravenous, and may someone have mercy on those who get in the way of me hunting for my dinner.”

Chuckling, Quinn straightened and closed the door, talking to Alan while one of the remaining CDC reps filled our tank. Several minutes later, my husband slid behind the wheel and restarted the engine. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“Janet is going to be investigated because of her association with Morrison and her presence at 120 Wall Street,” I guessed.

He raised a brow. “Did you put that into the good news or the bad news category?”

“Bad, as it means I’ll have to beat off the investigators to get them to leave our cop alone. Essentially, upon thinking about it, I came to the conclusion that it is probable Morrison sent that idiot cadet to make a mess at 120 Wall Street, but he made a mistake in sending Janet, who wasn’t tolerant of the asshole cadet, so she mitigated the problems he could have created. Basically, their presence at 120 Wall Street implies there is a link between Morrison and the gorgon dust incident and possibly the warehouse incident.”

“The bad news is you’ll need to be questioned about their behavior.”

“I don’t see how that’s a problem. The cameras caught everything, and the CDC has a copy. I’ll just support what the camera says. This is not bad news. It’s only bad news if they want us to do it, say, tomorrow morning when I have other plans.”

“In a week. They want to do some more investigation first.”

“I can work with a week from now. Am I right? About that potential link?”

“It’s the most plausible possibility we have right now.”

“What’s the good news?”

“We’re good to go and the moon has risen, so you can call your mother. I’ll drive while you talk, and then we’ll eat, make plans for tomorrow, and work from there.”

I retrieved my phone. “That sounds like a good plan. We’re in New England. We should go find somewhere with seafood. Lobster!”

“You want to eat sea bugs?”

“I do not merely wish to eat sea bugs, I wish to conquer them all, escorting them to my stomach with the help of offensive amounts of garlic and butter. And I will expect you to kiss me afterwards, no matter how much garlic butter I consume.” I leered at him. “I hope you like garlic, Quinn. In vast quantities.”

“Just because I didn’t want garlic toast once doesn’t mean I hate garlic.”

“That’s what you say now, but I shall put this to the test when you feed me delicious sea bugs coated with garlic and extra butter.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t asked for sea bugs in the past?”

“We were not in the land of sea bugs, and Manhattan clam chowder is disgusting. New England clam chowder is the one true clam chowder, and I swore I would have lobster in Maine—or somewhere near Maine but north of New York. Vermont counts. Ish. Why did I swear this? I don’t know, so don’t ask me that.”