He grinned handsomely. “Exactly. Too bad they don’t serve fries before ten.”
“That didn’t seem to stop you from getting any.”
He swirled the last fry in a pot of syrup. “It’s amazing what people will do for twenty bucks.”
“Pancakes and french fries—I’m sure you definitely made the list of the weirdest orders.”
I glanced out the window at the gloomy sunrise. Low clouds and a brisk wind had people dashing across puddles to get into the busy diner where it was warm and smelled of coffee and bacon. It didn’t seem that long ago when I would creep into this place, soaking wet, and sit in the back in hopes of getting a few leftover scraps.
“Wyatt, your invisible friend needs to start talking.”
“You’re telling me.” He folded a large piece of his pancake in half and stuffed it into his mouth. “I think he’s stalling because he’s afraid of ending the case too soon, and maybe he’s not ready to leave.”
“If he doesn’t start talking, I’m going to evict him one way or another.”
“What do you think of the whole Christian thing?” he asked around a mouthful of food.
“As in priests and exorcisms?”
He snorted. “No. As in your toothy partner who might be the serial killer we’re looking for.”
“I don’t know. On one hand, he’s a Vampire, so there’s that. But…”
“But?”
Christian had been so methodical back in Washington when we’d burned Penny’s house down. He took his time, didn’t leave behind evidence, and nothing about it—despite that those men had tried to kill us—was done in a fit of rage. Why would he have left his scarf behind? He had to know I’d recognize her. At the same time, how much I knew about Christian Poe could fill a thimble.
I set down my fork. “The candy wrapper is bothering me.”
Wyatt gulped down his orange juice. “That’s an interesting clue to dwell on. No thoughts about the fact he might have a secret blood addiction that’s out of control?”
I rested my forearms on the table. “Christian doesn’t litter.”
Wyatt picked a blueberry off his plate and popped it into his mouth. “Maybe he’s just getting sloppy. Sometimes people want to get caught, Raven. It’s no fun unless someone else can admire your work. Maybe he just couldn’t wait for someone to find his latest masterpiece, so he reported the murders himself. Anonymously.”
“Viktor didn’t look thrilled.”
Wyatt wrapped his hand around the syrup dispenser, revealing the tattoo that spelled LOST. “I think Viktor’s more concerned that one of his own is a suspect. Whether Christian’s guilty or not, it puts a bad light on us, and Viktor’s going to have to deal with the cleanup one way or another.” Wyatt casually lifted the dispenser and let the syrup pour into his mouth.
“I don’t think that’s on the menu,” I said.
He set it down and wiped his lips. “They can charge me extra.” He glanced up. “Hey, Claude. You’re late. Sorry you missed the murder, but we saved you some pancakes.”
Claude slid next to Wyatt in the bench across from me. “I got there a few minutes after you left. I couldn’t pick up an unfamiliar scent. It doesn’t look good for Christian.”
Claude was not only a hairstylist and spy extraordinaire, but he was also a tracker. He hadn’t gone with us that morning because he was working on a separate case. The dark circles under his eyes were indicative he hadn’t slept in at least twenty-four hours, and that wasn’t a good look for a man who had amber-colored eyes and large curls of blondish hair. He lifted his arms straight up and stretched, his biceps flexing, then relaxed and raked his fingers through his disheveled hair. He looked like he’d rather be sleeping in a warm bed than sitting in a diner at the crack of dawn. Blond whiskers dusted his face, which was usually shaven.
When he glanced at the leftover food on my plate, he pushed it toward me. “Eat, female.”
“I’m done. You can have the rest.”
He furrowed his brow. “You want me to take food from a woman?”
“Yep. Unless you’d rather force-feed the female and give her a stomachache. You look like you need it more than I do.”
He pursed his lips and gave the idea consideration before gobbling up my leftover bacon. “I never thought we’d be hunting one of our own.”
“You don’t think he’s innocent?”
