His eyes flicked over to me, laughter and worry filled them in equal measures.
I sighed. “Once again—I’m fine. And you aren’t fooling anyone, Ryder.”
“Wasn’t trying to. Just concerned about you. That’s not a crime, is it?”
No, my heart said. Caring about someone—me—enough that he’d go through the trouble to track down the call, and meet us here with coffee, wasn’t a crime at all.
It was really nice.
“Not yet,” Myra said.
“Good, then. We’re good.”
Myra looped her arm through mine and we started down the trail that cut through the tough sea grass, the rise of the shore hunched up on either side of us.
“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t know why he’s suddenly so worried about me.”
“I do.”
I waited.
“I’ve never seen you go so cold and unresponsive, Delaney. When you passed out in front of Jump Off Jack’s, I thought you’d stopped breathing.”
She said it in a matter-of-fact tone, but I knew her. She had, maybe only for a moment, thought I’d died. It could happen to someone who bridged god power, though usually the deadliest part of that transfer was when a new mortal had to pick up the power. If the mortal panicked, changed their mind at all, the bridge was left holding the power.
Which was usually fatal.
Dear gods, she thought I’d died.
“Never like that.” I squeezed her arm still draped through mine. “Never going out that easy, that quick.”
“Good.” She squeezed back for a second, then we both let go.
“How far out did they find him?” I asked.
“Just down the beach about a quarter mile.” She pointed.
I pulled up the hood on the jacket and we started off that way. The wind was steady, strong, and sent rain and sand spattering across the back of my jacket and jeans. I was glad I’d decided on boots tonight. There was no way I’d be tromping through the sand in strappy sandals.
Even in the rain and wind and darkness, it didn’t take us all that long to reach the body.
The EMTs were already on the scene. They’d set up portable lights and had driven the ambulance down from the beach access just north of here.
The tide was on its way out. It hissed and crashed a good thirty feet from the ambulance.
Five people were at the scene, two tourists texting on their phones, and three responders—all of them vampires. Mykal, a short, dark-haired Rossi, drove the ambulance. He finished pounding a stake rather effortlessly into the sand so he could string bright orange webbing in a ring to close off the area. The other two Rossis were the twins, Page and Senta. Though not identical, both were ice-blonde beauties. Page wore her hair long and Senta kept hers trimmed in a short swing.
Senta was photographing the sand outside the fence, looking for footprints or evidence that would tell us if there had been any foul play. Page was inside the fence, photographing the body.
“Hey-a, chief,” Mykal called out. “Myra. Cold night for it.”
Since he was a vampire and couldn’t feel the cold, it was nice of him to sympathize with us mortals.
“Are these our witnesses?” I asked Page.
She glanced up, her eyes doing that bio-luminous glitter of her kind when they were in the dark and around fresh blood. “Couple from Eugene in for the Rhubarb Rally,” she said. “They’re staying at the Sand Garden and were out for a late walk.”
“I’ll go talk to them,” Myra said.
