and Darren high-tailed it.
Butler followed. “I’ll keep it anonymous and just use you for background. Off the record, is something going on?”
Kavon walked faster.
“Has there been a threat made against the crazy brigade?” Butler guessed.
“Aren't you supposed to maintain journalistic objectivity?” Kavon asked.
“They’re inside voting on whether or not the Bible commands them to kill anyone with Talent.” Disgust stained the air. “That’s my Bible they’re maligning, and I'm pretty sure objectivity ends when conspiracy to commit homicide begins. Is that why the FBI is here? Are you looking at the NCCP as a potential terror group?”
Darren spoke up. “No comment means no comment.”
“Move away or I will consider this harassment,” Kavon added. Now that he was a political figure, he wasn’t sure he could make that charge stick as well as when he’d been a simple FBI agent, but he was willing to try.
Butler backed away, his hands up. “Right. Fine. But if you are here as part of your job in the FBI, I might unofficially encourage you to keep up the good work.” Butler walked backward for several steps before he turned and went back into the hotel.
Darren frowned, worry seeping through the bond. “What does he know that we don’t?”
Clues that didn’t fit always gave Kavon hives. Maybe the ifrit had already made a move here, something that had emboldened the reporter to chase the story. Then again, attacking the anti-Talent brigade felt like too human a motive for an ifrit. “Text Les and see if there are any open investigations featuring the NCCP, and while you’re at it, check out the reporter.”
“Assistant Director White is going to kill us if we stumble into a terror plot on our vacation,” Darren complained softly, but he was already texting. Kavon was less worried about White than he was about the last flare of fear he’d gotten from Butler. If someone was plotting a terrorist act, the staff were in the best position to know about it. And they’d know if a powerful shaman was asking questions about them.
Chapter Seven
Darren wasn’t surprised when Les brought the whole team into the text conversation.
Darren read from his texts. “Coretta is checking the system for any investigations that include the NCCP. Les is complaining about doing our leg work. Mason Butler works as a reporter for the Washington Conservative News. They are in the anti-Anti-Talent movement and have published a number of investigative pieces about corruption and abuse of power in government. They seem to take the position that a smaller government has less power to trample anyone’s rights, including those with Talent.”
“I’m less worried about the government than I am a lawless mob,” Kavon said dryly.
“One of these days I’m going to get you to play Dungeons and Dragons. You would be a great dragonborn follower of Bahamut.” Hell, Darren was almost sure that whoever had created the game had based lawful good theory on Kavon.
Kavon stopped at the end of the service alley and glared at Darren. Kavon pushed indulgent amusement though the bond. However, that didn’t mask the darker anger or the fear that fueled it.
“Let’s see what the staff knows.” Kavon strode down the alley toward a clump of people smoking and leaning against the handrail that led up to the delivery bay. “Excuse me,” Kavon said. “Are any of you working the NCCP conference?”
Immediately, the employees were on edge. Darren hurried past Kavon since he tended to intimidate without trying. “We’re wondering if anyone has heard anything that concerned them, maybe something that made them wonder if they should call the police.”
An older woman with short hair dropped her cigarette and crushed it. “I’m getting the manager.”
“We’re not supposed to discuss what guests might do or say with anyone outside hotel management,” a girl said. Several employees retreated toward the employee door.
Darren wished he had enough magic to check their emotional state, but even if Bennu was around, they sucked at that sort of small, controlled magic. Bennu was more about big gestures. “We’re law enforcement,” Darren said in the most generic terms possible, since he and Kavon had no legal grounds for an FBI investigation.
“Fuck off,” a round baby-faced man said. He was tall and massively built, and Kavon moved forward. His movement channeled his bull—powerful with a vague air of I will enjoy stomping you to death. Darren had seen murderers quail at that look; however, their young punk drew himself up straighter.
Darren wondered if Kavon would have turned out so protective if he