Barstow. Instead, he rubbed the heel of his hand against the subway’s plastic seat.Never had he felt so alone, trapped in this conveyance filled with humans who would never know about Wildcat. Never pay respect to Adam for serving his country with devotion.There’d be no military parade, no funeral with a flag-draped coffin. No newscasters with solemn faces talking of Adam’s courage and skill. There wasn’t even a body to bring home. Adam had been burned to ashes, his remains scattered. Matt wanted to scream at the passengers, shouting Adam’s name until his throat went hoarse. No one would mourn Wildcat other than his grieving family, who thought he had died in a car crash. All memories of Adam’s existence had been purged from any human or paranormal who knew him.Matt felt his neck muscles grow tight as a blizzard of smells and sounds assaulted his senses. He tried shutting them out as he’d been taught in training, but he was drained, his defenses lowered. The creaking of the subway car as it sped on the metal tracks toward Times Square, away from Brooklyn and Adam’s weeping mate, grated on his ears like spikes.
