“Don’t hate on my investigative methods,” Serena chided as we followed him inside.
Jason made a noncommittal noise and headed for a table. We’d spent the day combing Montbello and the immediate surrounding area with no luck. A guy working at the last place we tried—a 7-Eleven on the edge of the neighborhood—had given us the name of the coffee shop in exchange for Serena’s number.
The mingled scent of coffee grounds and baked goods made my stomach rumble as Serena and I joined the line in front of the counter. Framed posters of old art deco travel ads covered espresso-colored walls and most of the illumination came from sleek, cylindrical lamps hanging above small round tables.
Serena’s phone buzzed. She pulled it from her pocket, glanced at the display, then slipped it back without answering. “Trey,” she said in response to my questioning look.
I cringed at the thought of all of the things her brother would say to me—most of them justified—when I got home. “I can’t believe he let you come on your own.”
She snorted. “I didn’t call and tell him until I was halfway here. Even then, I didn’t say where I was going.”
Trey wasn’t going to just yell at me. He was going to outright kill me.
“Don’t worry,” Serena said, catching the look of panic on my face. “I wanted to come and he needs to be less obsessively overprotective. This will be good for him.”
Somehow, I doubted Trey would see things the same way.
I pulled my own phone out and scrolled through the photos until Kyle’s face smiled up at me. Warm brown eyes, sharp features, and chestnut hair that always needed a cut.
An ache spread through my chest. Without him, Hemlock wasn’t home.
I glanced around the shop and my eyes locked on Jason. He was sitting at a table near the window, legs sprawled out and hands clasped behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Who would watch over him if I made him go back without me? Not his parents; they treated him like a problem they could just throw money at.
Serena started bouncing on her toes, providing a blessed distraction from my thoughts. “How are you not exhausted?”
“It’s one of the perks.”
Right. Superstrength. Superspeed. Less need for sleep. If you could bottle the benefits of LS without the whole turning-furry thing, people would line up to get infected.
We reached the front of the line. Serena got a mocha latte and I ordered two large coffees, knowing there was no way Jason would turn down caffeine after a night like the one he’d had. I handed the girl a ten and waved off the change, earning a small smile. She was about our age. Her shoulder-length hair was black with an indigo streak and when she brushed it away from her face, I caught sight of a Claddagh ring on her right hand.
I glanced over my shoulder. There was no one behind us.
“I was wondering if you’ve seen this guy.” I held out my phone, screen up. “He would have come in over the last couple of days.”
The girl took my cell and frowned down at Kyle’s picture. “Maybe,” she said slowly. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “It’s dead in here right now, but it’s usually pretty busy.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Eve?” Silence. “Eve!”
Another girl ducked out of a back room and approached the counter. She was short—maybe as short as Serena—and compensating with a pair of combat boots that looked regulation until you realized the soles were at least five inches thick and the laces were blue ribbon. Her apron, jeans, and T-shirt were all black and her scarlet hair was pulled back into a high ponytail.
She tilted her head to the side. “Yeah?” she asked, the word a smoky rasp.
The girl with the ring handed her my phone. “They want to know if we’ve seen this guy.”
Eve glanced at Kyle’s picture. Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch as her gaze darted from Serena to me. “Boyfriend?”
If I said yes, she’d probably think we were stalking him.
“Friend,” Serena said, picking up on my hesitation.
A shroud of indifference fell over the redhead’s face as she set the phone on the counter. “Sorry. Hasn’t been in.”
“Are you sure?” asked Serena. “You barely looked.”
“I looked. Never seen him.” Underneath her low tones, there was a defensive edge the question hadn’t warranted. Her fingers strayed to a large leather cuff around her wrist, twisting it as though letting off the tiniest bit of restless energy.
She was hiding something; I was sure of it.
But it wasn’t like I could lunge across the counter and throttle her for answers. If the Trackers were right and Montbello was popular with wolves, the girl could be infected. It was hard to force anything out of a werewolf—especially when you were a reg.
I hauled a pen from my jacket pocket and scribbled my cell number on a napkin. “Can you call me if he does come in?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
I tried to smile. “Thanks.” I slipped the pen and my phone back into my pocket, picked up my drinks, and headed for a small cart that was stocked with coffee fixings and plastic lids. Serena followed. She sipped her latte and kept an eye on the counter as I added cream to my coffee and sugar to Jason’s.
“She just tossed your number in the garbage,” whispered Serena as the grinder started clanking.
“Think she was lying about not seeing Kyle?”
“Definitely.”
As I fitted the coffee cups with lids, I glanced up at a community bulletin board. There were a few flyers advertising open mic nights and people looking for roommates. I wondered if Kyle had found a place to crash. He had the Honda so it wasn’t like he’d end up sleeping on a park bench, but I hated the thought of him spending his nights in the backseat of the car.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the redhead watching us from the counter.
“They haven’t seen Kyle,” I said as I set the cups down. I plucked a discarded newspaper from the chair opposite Jason and sat. Let the girl think we believed her. For now.
Jason didn’t comment, but he did take the coffee. I hoped that meant his anger at me was starting to fade.
I sipped my own drink as I scanned the front page of the paper. A smiling brunette with a streak of white at her temple stared up at me from under the caption:
Below the Thornhill piece was an article about a speech Amy’s grandfather—Senator John Walsh—had given urging jail time for regs who failed to report infections.
I wondered if he’d still be so vocal if he knew why Amy had really died.
The bell above the shop’s door jangled as a trio of gazelle-like girls in yoga-chic wandered in. I tossed the paper onto an empty chair as they walked by, hoping Serena and Jason hadn’t noticed the articles. From the tightness at the corners of Serena’s eyes and mouth, I hadn’t been fast enough.
I glanced at the counter. Eve was ringing in three bottles of overpriced water. She didn’t look our way, but I had the distinct feeling she was still keeping an eye on us. “We should get going.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “We just got here.”
I shrugged. “They haven’t seen Kyle. There’s no point in staying.” I shot him what I hoped was a meaningful glance before heading outside.
“You realize you’re the world’s worst actress,” he said, once we were out on the street. “Didn’t you learn anything from Amy?” I turned in time to see him cringe. “Sorry.”
“Why?” The air felt static-charged and heavy, the way it gets before a thunderstorm, and dusk had
