It was flat and hostile, but I couldn't blame him - much. Last year, I'd almost trashed the place trying to catch a banshee and her psychotic serial-killer husband. Then just a few months ago, my ex-boyfriend Nick had caused a scene to give me time to escape a member of the coven. Mark hadn't known it was me then, but the papers had made it public. It made me wonder if Junior's had been built on some kind of "galactic time-warp continuum." Everything seemed to start or end here.
"I'd like two of the mini scones," I said, then added, "No, make that three." I'd take one back to Jenks and the kids. "And a grande latte, double espresso, Italian blend. Light on the froth, skim milk." Whole milk would have been better, but the scones were rich.
Mark was writing this all on the side of a cup, which he then tossed to another barista. "You want your scones warmed up?" he asked, his tone stiff, but at least he was civil.
Smiling insincerely, I said, "Yes, please," then handed him the ten I had waiting.
He took my money and gave me my change. I hesitated, then decided against the tip.
Watching to be sure he didn't hex my food, I slid down the counter. From the other end of the coffeehouse came a cheerful "Double espresso, low froth, low cal. Grande. On the counter!"
That had to be mine, but Mark was taking my scones out of the oven and shoving them in a bag. His brow was furrowed as he folded the bag over and extended it to me.
"I got that banshee, by the way," I said.
His expression darkened. "I heard someone died."
I yanked the bag out of his grip. "Tom Bansen," I said, since the papers hadn't given out his name. "He was a black witch, working in the I.S. as a mole. The nice lady banshee who was sitting in your coffeehouse sucking in everyone's aura killed him, not me. It took me a week to recover from her myself. You have a great day - Mark."
I turned to the tables, my good mood trashed. Yeah, that might have been a little sarcastic, but the fading adrenaline was making me depressed. Leaving chunks of dirt behind, I went back to the pickup counter for my coffee. I'd been thinking about taking it outside and into the cold sunshine, but staying in here might tick Mark off. My thoughts went back to Trent once saying that I made decisions based on what would irritate people, and I frowned.
"Cinnamon," I muttered, turning my back on the door to sprinkle a heavy layer on the light foam. Crap, I'd forgotten to put raspberry in it.
Sighing, I turned back around to find a chair where I could sit and glare at Mark for a while. But then I blinked, smiled, and walked slowly to Wayde, sitting nice as you please at one of the small round tables with his back to the wall. He was scowling, and his hairy legs showed above his biker boots. He was still in his boxers, too, and he looked like a crazy man in the T-shirt that he'd slept in. Outside I could see Ivy's bike, her helmet on the seat.
Clearly cold, he rubbed a hand over his beard, untidy and flat on one side. I hadn't known you could have bed beard, but that's what it was. When he didn't take the time to clean up, he was a raggedy man.
Mark had noticed him, too, and was talking to the barista as if ready to call the cops. Whatever. The man had had worse in his store before than an angry Were in his pajamas.
I set my cup down and smiled at Wayde, feeling vastly better. "Nice boots."
Wayde's expression became even more sour. "You done running?" he said tightly. "Have fun this morning?"
I sat across from him so we both could look out the window. "I wasn't running away from you, and yes, I did have fun this morning. It felt good to get out by myself."
He snorted, and I tore open my bag of warm scones and set it between us. "You want one?" I asked, and he eyed me in disbelief, sitting up and looking even more uncomfortable and unkempt. "Here, you look colder than me," I added, and I slid my coffee to him. If truth be told, I was feeling kind of guilty. I had not snuck out, but I hadn't let him know, either.
The coffee he accepted, and I watched him take a careful sip, easing back when he decided it was good. "You are an ass," he said, shoulders hunched as he glared at me from over his cup. "No wonder your mother is crazy."
My first feeling of goodwill died, but I calmly took a bite of my scone, enjoying the tart lemon icing. "My mother isn't crazy," I said as I chewed. "She simply has a harder time than most reconciling her reality with everyone else's reality. You sure you don't want one of these? I got three."
He only glared, and kept glaring, his brown eyes hard. "I should throw you over my shoulder and take you home right now. I can't believe you left without telling me."
"Okay," I said, head tilting. "Let's talk about that."
"Didn't last night teach you anything?" he barked at me, and my resolve stiffened.
"Other than you're a bully? No, not really."
Wayde jabbed a short, powerful finger at me. "If you want to go out, fine, but give me ten minutes to get dressed."
"It was eleven in the morning!" I said, not caring that people were looking at us. "You never did get me in the car last night. You tell me you can keep me alive, but you aren't dressed like you're supposed to be, or paying attention like my dad is paying you to do. I had people over and you never came down. Never woke up as far as I could tell! You aren't taking this seriously, and yes, I've got a problem with it."
"Is that what you think?" he said sharply. "That I'm lazing about? Ignorant of everything that's going on?"
"If the bone fits, chew it," I said, heart pounding but voice calm. "The only reason I'm alive is because of my friends. I know I'm vulnerable, but I'm not helpless, and I don't like being manhandled. The only reason you got me over your shoulder and down those stairs last night without a broken nose and a fractured wrist is because I didn't want to hurt you!"
"Is that so?"
"Yes. That is so, you big douche bag. As far as I'm concerned, you can walk out of here and explain to my mom why you're not cashing her checks - bud-dy."
I sat back, ticked. Damn it, I still hadn't gotten any coffee. Now I was going to have to drink whatever the FIB had in their back offices.
Frowning, Wayde looked at my bag. He knew I'd made up some new charms, knew I was prepared this time, knew that he might end up on the floor, unconscious, with no ID and in his underwear, the I.S. responding. Growling something it was probably just as well I didn't hear, he pulled his coffee closer, almost spilling it.
"I'm going to finish my coffee," he muttered. "If you aren't on the back of that bike when I walk out of here, I quit - I will quit, Rachel. I have never worked with a more annoying, self-centered - "
"I am not self-centered," I interrupted. "I gave you my coffee, didn't I?"
" - irritating flake of a woman in my entire life," Wayde finished. "And trust me, I've seen some fool women while working your dad's shows. You think I'm fixing up that belfry because I like heights? I knew Marshal was on the church's grounds a good three minutes before you did. I also knew exactly who he was, having looked him up the night before after you mentioned having him over. The license numbers matched, and though you are right that I probably should have come down, I thought the risk less than your need to have the illusion of not being watched all the time."
Excuse me?
"I am good at what I do," he said, pointing a finger at me. "So good that it looks like I'm not. You think your dad would send some jerk-ass wannabe to protect his only daughter?"
My face was cold. Embarrassed, I scrunched down in the seat. I needed a crowbar to get my foot out of my mouth, I'd jammed it so far down. I had no idea he had moved into the belfry for that reason, much less that he was screening people. "But you keep making newbie mistakes," I offered lamely. "Breaking that guy's nose yesterday. Running after me in your boxers."
Wayde smirked, coffee in hand as he leaned back, his eyes scanning, still scanning. "I broke that guy's nose because he disrespected you and it pissed me off," he said, making me feel about three inches tall. "That, and to get that undead vampire's eyes off Ivy. She's come too far out of her addiction to be pulled back in by a bored lamprey. The boxers, though . . ." He hesitated, the rims of his ears going as red as his straggly beard. "You got me there. That was a mistake. I should have been dressed. I never imagined you would leave. Without telling me."
His accusation was clear, and I winced. "I'm really sorry," I said, meaning it. "I am an oblivious ass, and I don't blame you if you leave. Please stay. I won't doubt you again."
My eyes flicked up as Wayde leaned forward over the table. He was smiling. That was one of the things I loved about Weres. You didn't have to say much, but you had to mean it. "Apology accepted," he said, scratching his stubble like a dorm student after an all-nighter. "If you're ready to work with me now, I have just one question."
I waited, cringing. He could ask me anything right now, and with me feeling the way I did, I'd answer him with self-humiliating honesty. I'd been wrong, so wrong, and yet he sat there ready to let it go. I owed my dad a huge thank-you and Wayde a great deal more respect.
"Tell me why you walked off this morning," he said, and I blinked, caught off guard.
Wayde put one arm on the table. "Walking out like that was stupid." I took an angry breath, and he added, "All right. You're not as helpless as I've been making out . . . obviously." He frowned at my shoulder bag. "But what you did was the out-of-the-ordinary crap that smart people die from. I want to know why. I can't fill in the gaps of your security if I don't know how you're going to react."
My shoulders slumped. Shit.
Wayde leaned closer. "What happened?"