“But Chicago Style Hot Dogs is right there.”
Wade’s wheedling was the tone of a starving, dramatic teenager who wouldn’t be deterred. Patrick didn’t want to deal with a long ride into downtown Chicago listening to Wade whine about how hungry he was.
“Fine. Get your hot dog. I’ll be waiting right here.”
Wade ran off like the hounds of hell were after him, backpack bouncing on his shoulders. Patrick grabbed the handle of Wade’s carry-on and dragged it with him out of the way of people rushing back and forth. It was late, and while Patrick was hungry, he wanted to get to the hotel first. He hated airport food. Room service wasn’t much better, but he could at least order delivery at a hotel.
Patrick rubbed at his chest, frowning as the knit of his sweater scraped over his scars. The soulbond was muted in his soul the way it always was when he traveled, only it seemed stretched thinner and tighter this trip. He figured it was the distance—almost half a country was farther than half a state. He just hoped it wouldn’t be a problem.
Ten minutes later, Wade returned, holding a paper bag that already had bright yellow mustard staining the sides. He had a half-eaten hot dog in one hand and looked pleased with himself as he took another bite, losing a bit of neon green relish off the side. Luckily, it fell into the paper wrapper the hot dog rested on and not the floor.
“Happy now?” Patrick asked as he grabbed the handles of both their carry-ons and started walking.
“I got six, so yeah.”
“Consider that your dinner.”
“What? No! I’m still getting room service.”
“The government won’t pay for it.”
“You can pay for it.”
Patrick snorted. “No, I won’t.”
“So does that mean I’m getting my own room?”
“No. You’re staying with me.”
“Then I’m getting room service.”
Patrick quit arguing with Wade in favor of getting out of O’Hare and to the rental car location, because trying to win a fight with Wade over food was a losing battle. The sooner they got to the hotel, the quicker they could eat and sleep.
He followed the signs to baggage claim, peeling off toward the exit once they were past security. The second they stepped outside on the lower level, icy cold wind hit him in the face. Patrick winced, while Wade just hunched over his hot dog, eating faster, the jacket he was supposed to be wearing tied around his waist.
“It’s cold,” Wade muttered around a bite.
“Of course it’s cold. It’s still winter,” Patrick said.
“No, I mean, my hot dog is cold now.”
“Do not warm it up with your fire breath.”
Wade rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
Patrick scanned the signs for the shuttle bus area, finding it a few seconds later and leading Wade over to it. They didn’t have to wait long for the bus to come, though the bundled-up driver did give Wade a stern look when they boarded.
“Don’t make a mess,” the driver said.
“I won’t,” Wade said around a mouthful of hot dog. “These are good. Not gonna waste them.”
Patrick made a face. “Chew with your mouth shut.”
Wade made a point of chewing with his mouth open wide for a few more bites before finding his manners again. Patrick sighed heavily. He could see how this trip was going to go, judging by Wade’s attitude.
The drive to the rental car facility didn’t take long. Patrick didn’t have to deal with the line at the desk due to the SOA’s membership with the rental car company. They followed the signs to Pick Up for the SUV Patrick had reserved. He opened the car door, finding the key in the ignition with the engine off.
Wade chucked their luggage and backpacks into the trunk once Patrick unlocked the doors. Then he climbed into the front seat and pulled out another hot dog while Patrick adjusted all the mirrors before starting the engine and turning on the heater. He took a minute to plug the downtown Marriott hotel address into his GPS app before texting Jono.
On the way to the hotel.
Jono’s response came less than thirty seconds later. Get some rest. Ring me in the morning.
They’d promised daily check-ins, and Patrick was going to try to keep to that. Considering the extra formalities governing his arrival in Chicago, Patrick knew he couldn’t afford to keep anything from Jono, not if it would put their already tenuous pack position in more trouble.
They got on the road. The ride to downtown Chicago wasn’t terrible, taking around forty minutes. Wade finished the last of his hot dogs fairly quick, then pulled out his phone and started playing a game on it. By the time they turned onto North Michigan Avenue, Patrick was ready to crawl into bed. It’d been a long Monday, and traveling with a teenager made him wistful of the days he used to travel alone.
When they finally pulled up in front of the Marriott, the doorman and a valet worker approached almost immediately.
“Valet parking?” the valet asked.
“Yeah,” Patrick replied.
Wade handled getting their luggage out of the SUV while Patrick agreed to the daily rate for off-site parking and took the valet ticket before handing over the car keys. Then he and Wade headed for the entrance to the hotel.
Warm air greeted them in a blast once they stepped inside, and Patrick sighed in relief as he looked around. The lobby reminded Patrick of a poor man’s Las Vegas casino, but the décor was less of a problem than the recognition that spiked through his magic.
Patrick sucked air through his teeth and didn’t get his shields tightened down in time to hide. He hadn’t expected to have to deal with werecreatures within an hour and a half of getting off the plane. Patrick watched as one of the front desk clerks’ heads snapped around, his attention zeroing in on them despite the handful of other people scattered around the lobby, seated on chairs and couches.
“Ohhh,” Wade said, drawing out the word. “Shit.”
He was smart enough not to say anything else, sticking close to Patrick’s side as they approached the front desk. The werecreature in a suit waved off his coworker so that he could be the one to help them.
“Checking in?” the man asked politely. He was taller than Patrick, of Indian descent, and Sikh, judging by his dastaar. The name tag pinned to his suit said Ekam. His eyes were a dark brown, which meant he wasn’t god pack. Patrick didn’t know what kind of werecreature Ekam was, and he knew better than to ask.
“Yeah. One room, two double beds if you have it available. Reservation is under Collins. I can give you the confirmation number if you need it,” Patrick said, pulling out his phone.
The man nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on the computer screen. He stopped typing a couple of seconds later, gaze flicking back to Patrick and staying riveted to his face. “Patrick Collins?”
Ekam said his name with a weight to the syllables that Patrick didn’t like. It made him wonder just how much of the shit going down in New York lately had traveled outside their territory borders. “Yeah. Special Agent Patrick Collins.”
Since he knew the guy would be asking for ID, Patrick pulled out his SOA badge from his inner jacket pocket, flipping it open for Ekam to see. The other man’s eyes moved from the badge to Patrick’s face.
“Out of New York?”