With a tight nod, I walked off to make my call and get me the heck out of Dodge.
“I’m sorry in advance,” I murmured to the universe, then dialed.
Ford hopped down from his pickup with a pasted-on smile that flaked off once he spotted Mendelsohn.
The courtship with Midas had torpedoed my friendship with Ford, and I absolutely hated it.
Hurt darkened his eyes whenever he looked at me these days, and I wished I could blame it on the coven.
But I had helped put it there.
So had Midas.
“This is a warg matter.” Hip against the fender, he tucked his hands under his arms. “I can’t intervene.”
“Wrong.” Bishop exited shadows too thin to conceal his approach, and Ambrose stalked him on his way over with glee. “The wargs are in our city, causing a disturbance guaranteed to draw human attention. That makes it an OPA matter.”
“You’re slipping.” I cocked my hip. “Remy tipped me off like an hour ago.”
Bishop ignored me, and the hit to his pride, in favor of staring down Ford.
“I can’t intervene,” Ford repeated without heat. “I’m sorry.”
“You help me and the OPA all the time.” I threw my hands up in frustration. “How is this any different?”
“I’m different,” he said softly, a world of pain spinning through his voice.
The decent thing to do would be to cut him loose now and let him come to me when he was ready.
“Mendelsohn took his harem to a party at Greenleaf,” I told him, “and this is the result.”
So long, decency.
“Some of these females—” I kept hammering at him, “—are pregnant.”
Ford punched the side of his truck hard enough to leave a dent. “I can’t intervene.”
Unflappable Ford losing his temper dried the spit in my mouth, but that wasn’t half as shocking as him raising a hand to his truck. He loved that thing. It was his baby, his pride and joy, and he had struck it.
That was not like Ford. None of this was like him. He might as well have been body snatched.
Actually, thanks to the Martian Roaches using him as a host, he almost had been.
“You can go, Ford.” Bishop rested his hand on my shoulder. “I’ve got her back.”
Ford flexed his hand, testing it for broken bones, then he climbed into the cab of his truck and sat there.
“I thought I could do this.” He aimed the hard words like an arrow straight at my heart. “Be just friends with you.” His grip on the door handle turned white-knuckled. “I need more time.”
“Ford…” I would have stepped closer, but Bishop held me in check. “You are my friend.”
Before he slammed the door, he murmured, “I’m sorry I can’t return the favor right now.”
The white pickup sped off before the engine had time to cool from his arrival.
“Give him space.” Bishop dropped his arm. “His head is all screwed up, kid.”
“I really did a number on him.”
“Don’t take all the credit,” he chided. “More is going on in his head than in his heart.”
Afraid of how much I wanted off the hook for hurting him, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“What the coven did to him left a mark that won’t fade soon. He’s got to make peace with what happened before he can move on. You’re just a handy target.” He shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, rejection sucks. He’s going to be feeling that sting for a while too.” He started walking, and I fell in step with him. “Broken hearts mend, eventually. Broken spirits are iffier. Broken minds… Sometimes that’s impossible.”
Guilt hit me, heavy and hard. “Do you think I should mention this to Abbott?”
“Ford could use a friend.” He refrained from pointing out I had cost him his best one. “The more neutral, the better.”
Since we were doing the bonding thing, I dared to switch gears. “Are you doing okay? After everything?”
“I’ve had worse.” He brushed me off easily. “That doesn’t mean I want to do it again.”
Three nondescript vans pulled up behind us and spat out eight women and four men dressed to weather a downpour. They each nodded at my wave, about as much of a hello as you could expect from cleaners, who did their best to avoid on-scene interaction for the sake of their impartial reputation.
Moving into position, one man and one woman opened the rear swinging doors on each van, revealing a stainless bench bolted to the wall and the floor on either side.
I stared at the cleaners, and the cleaners stared right back.
Apparently, everyone had decided this was an OPA matter.
Where were the sentinels when you needed them? Sheesh. They should have been here by now.
“Come on, kid.” Bishop nudged my shoulder. “This is going to be fun.”
“And just like that, you’ve earned a homework assignment from me to you.”
A line bisected his forehead. “Oh?”
“Look up fun in the dictionary and tell me if Mendelsohn’s hairy ass is the picture beside the definition.”
“Smartass.” Bishop popped his knuckles. “What’s our move?”
“We take down Mendelsohn first. The others should fall in line once he’s subdued.”
“You’re the boss.” He punched his fist skyward. “Lead us onward to victory.”
“Smartass,” I grumbled back at him. “There is no victory in this.”
With magic off the table, Ambrose lost interest and parked himself on the sidelines. Super helpful, that guy.
“P.S.” I gave Bishop a heads-up. “I’m pretty sure Remy hacked into your database.”
With a scoff, he brushed me off. “That’s not possible.”
“All I’m saying is, she answered an incoming call for the OPA.” I met his gaze. “From her cell.”
“Godsdamn it.” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “She must have planted a charm near the CPUs. No one can breach my firewalls through non-magical means, and she couldn’t have managed if she didn’t have direct access. A magical strike couldn’t have gotten through the wards on HQ.”
“Well.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Have fun with that.”
“Oh,” he said thoughtfully, “I will.”
As much as I hated to narc on her, she had to learn to keep her hand out of the OPA cookie jar. She would always get caught in the end, and Bishop was likely to take off her hand in the process.
“Mendelsohn.” I approached the alpha with caution. “You need to exit the fountain.”
“Catch me.” He whooped, spun in a puddle, and shook his bare ass at me. “If you can.”
On cue, lukewarm water jetted from the silver Olympic rings design inset into the bricks and soaked me.
“I’m not paid enough for this,” I told Bishop. “There’s not enough money in the world for this.”
Just as well. Atonement couldn’t be bought. It had to be earned. And I was working hard for it.
“You go left.” He dodged a pregnant female too exhausted to keep playing tag. “I’ll go right.”