They showed their badges to the security guard at the front desk to get access to the elevator. When they arrived in the campaign space, they were greeted by curious looks from the people who were hard at work manning phones for text messaging outreach.
Most of the people there were either college students probably working around their class schedules or older people volunteering on their days off. All of them were mundane humans, which wasn’t surprising considering Westberg’s own preferences.
Kristen Lief, Westberg’s campaign manager, stepped out of an office with glass walls. She came their way with a polite smile on her face that Patrick didn’t trust at all. He tried to see her aura, but it was locked down tight, nothing but human in the faint glow that surrounded her before he quit looking.
She appeared human this time, but Patrick doubted Wade had been wrong in his assessment. Whatever immortal Patrick was dealing with, she was good at blending in as human.
“Were you that impressed at brunch the other day? Here to volunteer for the campaign?” Kristen asked.
Patrick pulled his badge with ID out of his pocket and flipped open the thin leather wallet so she could see it. “Actually, we’re from the SOA. We’d like to speak with Mr. Westberg.”
Kristen’s smile became tacked on. “I’m sorry, but he’s currently unavailable.”
Patrick peered over her shoulder at the other, bigger office, where the candidate in question was talking on the phone. “Looks available to me.”
Patrick walked past her, and when Kristen would’ve tried to get in his way, Kelly stepped forward to distract her.
“Yeah, let’s not do that,” Kelly said. “How about you and I have a talk?”
Patrick could feel the immortal’s eyes boring into his back, and the intense attention made his shoulders tighten. He couldn’t help letting his hand stray toward the hilt of his dagger in a need for security.
Pushing open the office door without knocking, Patrick watched as Westberg looked away from his laptop, still talking on the phone. Patrick silently held up his badge again, and Westberg didn’t miss a beat.
“You know what? Something just came up and I’ll need to call you back. No, nothing terrible. Kristen just needs me for something. It’s probably polling results again. We’ll talk later. I’ll see you at the fundraiser dinner if we don’t,” Westberg said before ending the call. The candidate stared at Patrick. “Can I help you?”
“Special Agent Patrick Collins of the SOA. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions,” Patrick said. He didn’t drop his shields, but no recognition sparked through his magic. Westberg felt human to his senses.
“Now’s really not a good time. I was just about to leave for lunch with my wife.”
“You can be late.”
Westberg eyed him with an inscrutable look before his expression cleared, replaced with a politician’s smile. His entire demeanor seemed to change, becoming more welcoming when Patrick knew no one ever welcomed government interference.
“Well, if it can’t wait, please, take a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No,” Patrick said, declining both the drink offer and a seat. “I understand you’re the owner of about a dozen or so residential properties in Chicago.”
“I disclosed my taxes when I filed my candidacy paperwork. All of my income for the past ten years is available. You didn’t need to pay a visit to confirm that information. I haven’t hidden anything.”
“You have some payment irregularities in your records.”
“If that were the case, I’d expect the IRS to come calling, not the SOA.”
“Yeah, they’d come if it was about money.”
“Then why are you here?”
Patrick knew from the case records that deposition subpoenas had been issued to the property management company that handled Westberg’s real estate empire and collected rent from tenants. As with any case, following the money was the first step, and it had brought Patrick here.
“The SOA thinks someone in your personal orbit might be compromised,” Patrick said easily enough. “Your ambitions make you a target for certain kinds of people in the world.”
“The wrong people, I’m guessing?”
“In certain eyes, yes. We believe the Dominion Sect may be targeting you.”
Westberg didn’t even blink. “Then I must be leading in the polls if they believe I’m a threat. Unlike that group, I’m for everyone to have a right to freely access their magic.”
Patrick didn’t comment on that. “Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you?”
Westberg laughed as he got to his feet. “Special Agent Collins, I’m running for mayor of Chicago. There will always be people who will hold a grudge against me.”
“Ones who work for you specifically?”
“I’m sorry, if you want any more information, you’ll need to speak to my lawyer.”
Patrick wasn’t surprised by that comeback. “We’re just having a friendly chat, Mr. Westberg.”
“Nothing that comes out of your agency is friendly.”
“If that’s how you feel, I’ll take your lawyer’s number.”
“DeLucca & Associates. Ask for Marcello.”
Before Patrick could respond, the office door opened and a statuesque woman wearing a fur coat came inside. She blinked large blue eyes at them, her light brown hair swept back in a loose chignon. Her face lacked wrinkles and expression lines, probably from an overabundance of Botox. The square-cut emerald ring on her left hand was large enough it almost reached her second knuckle. Patrick’s magic remained quiet at her arrival, no recognition searing through his soul.
“Darling, we’ll be late for our reservations,” the woman said.
“Of course, Phoebe.” Westberg smiled politely at Patrick as he came around the desk, invading his personal space. “I hope that will be all, Special Agent Collins?”
Patrick tilted his head back to look the other man in the eye. “Aksel Sigfodr says hello.”
The only sign of Westberg’s discomfort was the faintest tightening of his jaw. Patrick only saw it because he was looking. “Did he? And how is Mr. Sigfodr?”
“Happy you’ve paid his tithes. I’m sure your fundraiser dinner this weekend will do well.”
Patrick didn’t wait for a response, merely turned on his feet and left the office. Phoebe looked down
