Keystone (Crossbreed #1)(51)
“I cannot take the chance,” he stressed in slow words. “Christian is not here, and we would have no one to take care of witnesses. You would have a body to deal with—blood and emotional imprints. You are smarter than that. Leave early in the morning, and keep your phone charged. Put it on vibrate so it doesn’t draw attention.”
She laughed softly. “You must think I’m an amateur. I keep my clothes well hidden when I shift.”
I scurried down the hall and ascended the stairs. When I reached the top floor, I slammed right into Wyatt.
“Well, it looks like we meet again. Does something have you… spooked?”
Once my heart stopped hammering against my chest, I put my hands on my hips, still out of breath. “Feel up to some covert spy stuff?”
Wyatt put his arm around me, and we strolled toward his game room. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
Chapter 15
The car lurched to a stop, and I gripped the driver’s seat in front of me, which happened to be on the right side of the car and not the left. “I thought we were going to be covert?”
Wyatt shifted to park and turned off the engine. He jerked his thumb at Shepherd. “He’s my partner. If I keep anything from him, he’ll move my bed into a graveyard while I’m sleeping.”
“I meant the car.”
Wyatt’s expression twisted comically. “Leave my girl alone. This is a vintage 1971 classic Mini Cooper.”
“Yeah, nothing conspicuous about that,” I said with a snort.
Shepherd opened his door, looking like a sardine trying to climb out of a can. “Stay here while I circulate the blood in my legs.”
We waited in the car for a minute while Shepherd scouted the area. I’d only filled them in on part of the conversation I’d overheard, leaving out all the warnings that Viktor had given Blue. What this organization needed was new blood to shake things up.
“Are you sure this is the place?” I asked.
Wyatt checked the map on his phone. “I put a tracker on her cell last night, and the signal is coming from right here, so my bet is that her stuff is up yonder,” he said, pointing at the roof of the pastry shop.
We didn’t have trouble figuring out where Darius was supposed to show up. Viktor said something about reservations, and the only place in the immediate area besides the movie theater was a restaurant named Angelo’s.
Wyatt tilted his mirror. “It hasn’t even been a week and you’re already going behind Viktor’s back. You are a bad girl.”
“Viktor’s too worried about visibility.”
“He likes to keep a low profile. Don’t hold your breath on us getting uniforms with name tags anytime soon.”
I pulled off his hat. “Open the door. If I have to sit in this cramped car for another minute, I’m going to scream.”
Wyatt got out and pushed the seat forward. I stumbled onto the curb, and he snatched his beanie out of my hand and put it back on his head. It was more stylish than practical, with the fabric loosely flopped over in the back as if it were meant for a larger head.
I raised an eyebrow at his T-shirt that said YOU’RE DEAD TO ME. It was partially tucked in, revealing a belt buckle with a skull.
“I bet you’re a real hit with the ladies.”
All he did was pucker his lips and give me an invisible smooch in return.
There was nothing subtle about the way Wyatt walked. He had the swagger of a fashion model who’d just discovered his calling. I scanned the streets, hurrying toward the pastry shop where Shepherd was holding open the door.
Once inside, Shepherd stole a seat next to the window and slanted his eyes, signaling for us to buy something.
“Holy Toledo!” Wyatt exclaimed, flattening his palms on the counter, gazing upon row after row of mouthwatering pastries. “Is it possible for me to just work my way from left to right and you can send me the bill?”
The girl behind the counter smiled coyly. “You can have whatever you want and as much as you want.”
He folded his arms on the high counter and rested his chin on his wrist. “Is that so?”
I nudged him and cleared my throat.
“Tell you what, buttercup. My friends will have two brownies, and I’ll take the biggest cinnamon bun you make.”
“Coming right up,” she said, using a singsong voice.
Wyatt turned, scoping out the empty room.
I glared at him. “Is it possible for you to not draw attention?”
“You do things your way, and I’ll do them mine,” he said coolly.
“Says the man who drives a red car with a blue door.”
He leaned in. “Says the woman who has one brown eye and one blue. Sometimes things that are different have more personality.”
Wyatt was too adorable to hate, so I just shook my head and wandered toward a table in the back. Shepherd kept a close eye on the restaurant across the street. The valet parking allowed us to see people coming and going, and although I didn’t have a clue what Darius looked like, Shepherd did.
Wyatt set a plate in front of Shepherd and then headed toward me. He didn’t wear the lace-up boots most men wore, or even sneakers. Wyatt lived in a pair of old black cowboy boots. I wondered what he looked like in the century he was born—if he’d worn spurs on his boots or had dressed more like a city boy.