Keystone (Crossbreed #1)(53)
“I don’t think…” I glanced past her, searching for the Mage I’d fought in the bathroom. “His partner should have my face memorized, but I don’t see him.”
Blue stripped off her thin jacket and wrapped it around me, drawing the hood over my eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she said in a hushed voice. “We can’t take the chance since your eyes stand out. Keep your head down, and go sit with Shepherd. It looks suspicious to have him sitting there by himself. Hurry!”
I launched to my feet and scuttled over to the table in front, taking a seat so I was facing the door.
Shepherd discreetly slid his brownie in front of me and held my hand as if we were dating. I felt myself blush with the weight of his touch. He seemed to be a contradiction in so many ways. I always thought Sensors would be more empathetic and compassionate, but Shepherd was hard and raw. Maybe that was why it caught me off guard to have an affectionate moment with him, even a staged one.
I glimpsed an entourage crossing the street, and Shepherd lifted my knuckles and kissed them with expert timing as the door opened.
“Hurry up and finish. We’ll be late for the movie,” he said in a soft voice.
I’d never heard Shepherd speak so tenderly. If he ever decided to quit Keystone, he could either be a street fighter or an award-winning actor.
I lifted the fresh brownie with two fingers and hunched over my plate, peering through the opening in my hood at the two men approaching the counter.
“Pick out whatever you like,” a gentleman said in an Irish accent. His tone was pleasant, not dark and disdainful like Christian’s, but lyrical.
When I saw a little boy in a Zorro mask pressing his hands against the glass casing, my heart sank. I’d secretly been working out a plan to lock the doors and take out Darius once and for all. The man with the Irish accent didn’t appear to be one of his bodyguards, who were all waiting outside with their suits and sunglasses. But the child threw a monkey wrench into the plan; I couldn’t risk accidentally hurting him in the melee.
The Irishman tapped his ring against the counter. “We should do this more often.”
“I’m a busy man, Patrick. But I can always make room for you,” Darius remarked.
I couldn’t see anything but his legs because of my hood, but I immediately recognized his voice. My fangs descended, and I quickly snapped my mouth closed before anyone saw them.
Patrick lifted the boy into his arms. “We’ll take the small cupcake. Which color, boy?”
“I want the green one,” the little guy said, pointing his finger. I guessed him to be about four.
Shepherd’s green eyes locked on my plate, but his full attention was on the two men standing just five feet behind him.
What the heck were we doing? Our enemy was standing in the open, and our response was to casually eat brownies and pretend to be invisible?
I lifted my head to get a better look. I deduced that the lanky man on the right with the faded red hair was Patrick, which made the Italian-looking man with the black curls Darius. I didn’t find anything remarkable about him. He had a small mouth, tall forehead, sideburns, and a clean-shaven jaw. Beneath his dress shirt and slacks, I could tell he was a fit man. Some guys had that look about them. You could put a suit on Shepherd, and he’d still look like a bulldog in clothes.
When Darius settled his soulless eyes on mine, he didn’t blink. If his bathroom buddy had told him anything about me, he would have mentioned my mismatched eyes.
When I smiled at him, he made a tight fist.
Patrick looked between us and strode over. “You two look like old acquaintances. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
Shepherd twisted his body around to look up at the man.
When the little boy reached out for Shepherd, Patrick gripped his arm. “That’s impolite. What did I say about doing that? Go stand outside.”
The black-haired boy quickly looked over the man’s shoulder. “But my cupcake…”
“When you learn the rules, you get rewards. Stand outside like a good boy and we’ll see.”
Patrick opened the door and snapped his fingers at a big guy in a black turtleneck. The guard moved in close and kept his attention on the boy.
Whoever this guy was, he was big-time. Darius’s men looked like amateurs compared to Patrick’s bodyguard.
“Such a precocious child,” Patrick said.
“Is he yours?” I asked, having sensed Patrick was a Mage.
Aside from not being able to reproduce, a Mage had no business with a child. If Patrick was recently turned and this was his human child, the Mageri would have made him sever the relationship. But something in his eyes told me he was very old.
Patrick cupped an elbow with one hand and pinched his chin, looking at the child. “Sadly, no. I have many people in my employment, one of whom was my Relic. Helen was an exceptionally bright woman, and I was quite fond of her in some ways. A year ago, she was walking to a restaurant when a Mage juiced her energy to the point where it killed her.” Sadness brimmed in his eyes and he shook his head. “Terrible tragedy. The boy was hers. As is the custom, he would have been in my employment after his mother retired, so it just made sense to raise him. It’s not the ideal situation, but what can you do?”
My heart sank. Tragedies like that occurred far too often—I’d seen them. So many rogues developed an addiction to energy. If they couldn’t find another Mage to juice from, they’d choose any Breed. Their light was dimmer, so it wasn’t uncommon that it resulted in their death.