“If he’s not here, then where is he?”
“That’s not any of your concern.”
Rick would have offered me a drink by this time. “You think you could pass a message on or something? I really need to talk to him. About this meeting coming up, with the Mistress of Buenos Aires?”
He gave a wave of his hand that might have meant, consider it done, or why must I converse with peons? It was all posing, and I told myself to be patient.
“If I didn’t know better,” I said, “I’d say that he was avoiding me and you all are covering for him.”
“It does sound like a reasonable explanation, doesn’t it?”
“No,” I said, “it doesn’t. Not with Rick.”
“All you need to know is that he isn’t here, and if he wished to speak with you, he’d contact you. It’s undignified, you chasing after him like this.”
“I was never much for dignity.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder. “You mind if I look around a little?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t. You’re not particularly welcome here.”
I grinned. “You just bitter because I can come in here without an invitation but you can’t come into my place?”
“I hadn’t noticed.” He turned away, which left him staring at the next wall over, but never mind.
Glancing around, I let my nose take in the air, catching scents of people, their perfume and deodorant, the thick rush of alcohol, and underlying tint of commercial floor cleaner. And vampires, of course. I wouldn’t be able to pick Rick out of the crowd, even if he was here, which he probably wasn’t.
“Right. Well. I guess I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
“Yes, you have,” he said curtly.
“Angelo—is something wrong? Seriously. You’re all acting uptight, even for you guys.”
“Nothing is wrong,” he said. “Again, lovely to see you, but you really ought to be going.”
Dismissed. Got it.
Getting back on the street, in the fresh air and away from the people, felt good. I tipped my nose up and took deep breaths of the city air, studying it as if it could give me answers. I kept coming up with the same one—Rick’s Family wasn’t having any more luck getting in touch with him than I was.
* * *
I STOPPED off at New Moon, thinking I’d check in with Shaun and whoever else was around that night, drink a soda, and comfort myself with the smells of pack and safety. But I hadn’t gotten two steps inside when I spotted Darren and Trey sitting at a back table, deep in conversation over a couple of beers. My back table, the one I normally held court at when I came here after shows or met with Rick. Darren was speaking earnestly, Trey was nodding, his expression bright with hope. Darren sat with his back straight, his chin up; Trey was hunched, back curved, gaze downcast—his body language showing submission to the other wolf.
Something inside me—coiled fur and muscle, sharp teeth—wanted to kill Darren right then. But whatever he was telling Trey, he really did look like he was helping the other man.
Deciding I just couldn’t face either one of them right now, I turned right back around, left my restaurant, and went home to sleep.
Chapter 11
I HAD TO figure out what to do about Darren. He was causing trouble in the pack. No, if I had to be honest, I was the one having the trouble. He kept rubbing me the wrong way, and I didn’t want him here anymore. But was that fair to him? Ben offered to run the guy out of town with the help of his silver bullet–loaded Glock. As much fun as that sounded, I didn’t want to admit failure on bringing him into the pack just yet. He wasn’t a bad guy, I was sure. He kept challenging our authority without apparently meaning to, and I didn’t know how to convince Darren that what he was doing was bad form. If he’d been belligerent, I could have challenged him and run him out like Ben said. But he wasn’t being mean; he was just being rude.
When Darren called me the next morning to see if I wanted to go out for coffee with him, I was surprised. I’d been thinking of suggesting exactly the same thing. He’d picked up on my favorite method of diplomacy; maybe there was hope for him yet.
We met at a little coffee shop a couple of blocks from the radio station. He bought me a cup and brought it to me at one of the café tables out on the sidewalk.
“The cub learns,” I said as he sat across from me.
He actually looked chagrined. “I know I screwed up, and I can tell you don’t like me—”
“It’s not that,” I said, while thinking that yeah, no, I didn’t much. I let the white lie stand. “You’re very charming. But I’m not sure I understand you. There are times I wonder if you’re really a werewolf, or if you’re just not used to dealing with authority.”