“No shit. Are you going to keep talking, or can I concentrate on the road?”
“We have a long drive ahead, and you have terrible taste in music. Mallory said you were going to take a few days before heading back to the Black Diamond. Now you’ve moved everything up. What happened today to make you change your mind?”
“You aren’t authorized to know what goes on in my agency.”
“We’re part of your case. We have the right to know if our people are in danger.”
“And that’s why we’re taking another drive. Hopefully, it won’t be as exciting as last time.”
You tempt fate saying that. Stop it, Fatima grumbled as she got cozy on the seat.Also, the cushion is not warm.
“Hey, the Fates never liked me; they liked Patrick. And sorry, but I don’t think the agency trusts me with the expensive cars in the motor pool after our last excursion. You’re stuck with regular boring seats,” Spencer told her.
Fatima grumbled her opinion on that before settling down for a nap. The only sound in the car while Spencer navigated out of downtown was the music from his playlist, sound set low to save Makai’s ears. Spencer didn’t let his attention wander, too aware of what had happened last time they’d tried to travel to Black Diamond.
Spencer kept an eye on the traffic behind and in front of them. He had a shield ready to be raised with a single word at the first hint of an attack on the road. This time, they’d be ready, because this time he wouldn’t have backup from vampires unless Takoma had sicced someone to stalk him the good old-fashioned way rather than through technology. He’d checked the loaner for a tracker and had come up empty-handed.
The clock on the car’s dashboard was ticking toward sunset, though it looked like it was night already with the storm clouds in the sky. Spencer had spent most of the rest of the day holed up in a windowless office, working with the Legal department to craft the probable cause affidavit for the search warrant. As soon as it was ready, they’d get it before a judge.
Until they had a signed warrant, the field team had to wait to move forward in that area, but that didn’t mean Spencer could sit around and twiddle his thumbs. Too many avenues were open for investigation, and this one had lingered long enough, especially after what had gone down today at the office.
Spencer kept the heat on high, with a vent pointed at Fatima as they made their way to the highway. Makai stayed glued to his phone, texting away with someone, most likely his alphas. Spencer didn’t ask about what, figuring it was obvious.
“Still meeting the Black Diamond pack at the same place we were supposed to last time? Because that’s what I have in the GPS,” Spencer said.
“Yes,” Makai grunted.
Definitely not in a chatty mood.
Spencer drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the song coming through the speakers. He had to up the pace of the windshield wipers once they finally got on the highway. Makai kept quiet as they drove, and Fatima’s soft little snores were a familiar, comforting sound. Despite the storm and the traffic, the drive remained uneventful. Still, when they turned off the highway, both he and Makai remained on high alert. Fatima woke up from her nap and kept her eyes on the road as well.
Unlike last time, no one attempted to run them off the road and shoot them. Spencer didn’t trust the absence of hunters or vampires though, not after everything that had gone on. Spencer white-knuckled the steering wheel for the entire winding road that cut through the forest to the little town of Black Diamond, Washington.
A few thousand souls called it home, and some of those could shift into another form. Just past sunset, the GPS led them to a little house-shaped bar sharing a run-down parking lot with a closed auto shop. The sign hanging above the weathered door called the place Red’s Tavern, the name probably coined from the peeling red paint that covered the exterior.
Spencer parked the car and killed the engine, turning off the headlights with a flick of his wrist. He craned his head around to look at the back seat. “Are we meeting your contact inside?”
Makai nodded, pulling out a pair of eyeglasses from his jacket’s inner pocket. When he put them on, the color of his eyes changed, fading from the distinctive amber denoting a god pack member to a dark brown. The spell on the lenses was subtle but well-made. “They should already be inside.”
“Didn’t think you cared about your eyes showing.”
“I care about people’s privacy.”
Makai shoved open the car door, the rain out here more of a mist than anything else. Not worth the umbrella Spencer had stashed in the side of his door. Sighing, Spencer reached into the back seat for his wool coat and pulled it on before getting out as well. Fatima hopped over the center console and joined him on the wet asphalt. She’d keep herself from being seen in a place like this. He locked the door with a push of a button on the fob and trudged after Makai into what could, at best, be considered a dive bar.
Red’s Tavern was a throwback to the kind of establishment that had been prevalent before social media came into existence and demanded slick interiors for photographic evidence you were having a good time in a unique spot. It was a place where spilled beer and alcohol made the floor sticky beneath Spencer’s shoes and promised the counters wouldn’t be much better. Light came from bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling and at least a dozen neon signs offering different brands of beer decorating the walls.
Two pool tables were situated in the rear, with an old, red vinyl booth beyond the playing area. The bar counter had six stools bolted in front of it, all of which were taken. Behind the counter, the small shelves holding up the alcohol bottles and clean glassware were secured to the wall, while the wall itself was covered in old dollar bills. In fact, any open space not covered in either neon signs, the state’s pro sports leagues banners, or retro signage and pour taps had dollar bills tacked to it.
Several locals were crowded around the bar, pint glasses or beer bottles in hand, their attention not particularly friendly. A quick blink of his sight sideways and back again told him they were all mundane humans, judging by their auras. Spencer pasted on a friendly smile anyway and sidled up to the bar to grease the wheel by shelling out cash for booze.
The bartender was a grizzled older man whose wrinkled and ruddy face spoke of spending years in the sun. Which probably meant he’d retired up here because, as Spencer was learning, the Pacific Northwest didn’t get sun like California.
“Two Coronas,” Spencer said, pulling out his wallet.
The bartender only grunted at his order. “It’s happy hour still. Five dollars each.”
Spencer left three five-dollar bills on the counter. Two bottles were set in front of him, bottlecaps popped with a practiced hand, and the money disappeared. Spencer picked up the bottles and turned, scanning the small bar for Makai. The dire had made his way to the vinyl booth in the back, where a blonde woman around Makai’s age sat with a broad-shouldered middle-aged man who blended in with his plaid shirt and dirty work boots far better than Spencer did with his work suit. It was probably his suit that made everyone unfriendly.
