Page 3 of Hot Ghost Summer

“So yes, I know that ordinarily you assist with our back-office work.” He waves his hands vaguely and takes another two steps closer to his own office door. “But it’s not like you can’t step into a uniform and conduct the initial assessment with Teddy here.”

“Theo,” Theo corrects firmly. “I know people think Theo is short for Theodore, and another short name for that is Teddy. But I’m not a Theodore. Or a Teddy. I’m Theo. T-H-E-O. My mum’s a Kojak fan, you see.”

Gerald nods, and his jowls carry the energy of the motion long after he stops.

He might own ExorSquad, but in the world of all things supernatural, I far outrank him. Turning away from Theo, I take a chasing step after him. “No.”

“You’d be a Senior Spirit Extraction Specialist, of course.” Gerald fumbles with the handle of his office door as he continues. “And it’s not an extraction—not today. This is just a preliminary visit. Boring, really, and very technical. The setting up of the cameras and recording devices. Things someone with your skills could probably do blindfolded.”

“Nein. No,” I repeat. Fieldwork for ExorSquad is explicitly not in my contract.

Gerald squeezes the life out of the gnarled handkerchief still in his hand, much like how I wish I could wring the charlatan’s neck. “Theo’ll be going regardless. Ted’s got him on the books now, and if he wants paying then he’ll take the job. And you, um… You don’t have a choice. Not if you want to keep working on whatever it is you do in there all day that isn’t redesigning the company website.”

I tense, then narrow my eyes. He’s bluffing. He wouldn’t risk making an enemy of the Nachtmanns over this. Still, I pause in my pursuit. Gerald might be bluffing about me, but he isn’t about Theo. He’ll send him out with no training whatsoever for a job that comes with a financial bonus.

Slowly, mindfully, I push my glasses back up the bridge of my nose.

“Attaboy, Hollis. And remember… discretion.” The door clicks open, and Gerald steps backward over the threshold.

I glare hard at the wood-grain plastic coating of Gerald Pickett’s office door long after it’s closed. Vollkoffer.

“So, um… do I get t’ dress like this?” Theo holds up the ExorSquad Handbook with a broad smile. “I’m usually a size medium, but I’ll probably need a large in these coveralls.”

Striding toward my new partner, I place a firm hand on his warm and muscled shoulder, and with a steel-backed tone, I tell him, “You’ll get what you’re given, and be grateful for it.”

I ignore Theo’s raised eyebrow—that silent challenge that declares he’ll do no such thing—and remind myself that he’s off-limits now we’re partners. It’s not an ExorSquad rule, but it is a Nachtmann rule. We’ve seen it too many times: careless mistakes made because hunters were thinking with their dicks.

Besides, anyone who looks like that good a time is usually a very bad idea.

two

Plot Forty-Seven

Hollis

The cheap nylon-type material of the ExorSquad uniform traps the heat of the London Underground against my skin, pushing the durability of my sweat-wicking base layer to its limits. It’s standing room only. Sweat trickles down my temples, and through the sharp divot of Theo’s armpits, exposed where he has both arms raised to hold the security bar above his head.

He’d been right, as it turns out; he needs a larger uniform. There hadn’t been any, though, and I’d wanted to see how resourceful he is, so I’d said nothing. I definitely didn’t offer him the spare I keep in my office. With a cheeky grin, Theo had taken a smaller uniform, shoved his legs in it, then tied the long sleeves low on his hips, leaving his tattooed torso completely bare except for his tight black gym vest.

Every lurch and jolt of the train has his perfectly formed muscles flexing and twisting to counter his balance. Once more, our gazes lock. I don’t look away, and neither does he.

Our equipment, packed into a black holdall at our feet, is the only thing stopping him from stepping closer. What would he do if he could? Would he submit to my command alone? Or would he fight against it?

Theo’s smirk grows determinedly more wicked.

We’re standing so close that we’re sharing the same stale air. On the next jolt, I lean in and dip my head, my nose barely brushing over the pounding artery in his neck. Inhaling deeply, I can almost taste him.

Theo exhales, and I pull back.

He licks his lips, then swallows, and the dark ink of his throat tattoo bobs. Oh, Baby, earn it.

“This is a Picadilly Line service to Cockfosters; this train terminates here. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform edge.”

At the announcement, I stoop to grab the bag, push past Theo, and exit through the open doors.

I don’t look back as my long legs, grateful for the chance to stride out, carry me swiftly along the platform. Tapping through the gate, I head up the steps and emerge to stand under the station’s canopy.

Sheltered from the midday sun, I retrieve my phone from my coverall pocket and enter the address of our job into the map for directions.