Lars arrived first, sprawling in one of the rickety chairs in the corner table I’d claimed. I kept my back to the walls and watched the rest of the room, my nerves twitched every time someone moved or sneezed. A hockey game on the TV over the bar provided just enough ambient noise so I could forget it was there, until the crowd screamed for a goal or fight. I’d put down two rum and Cokes by the time the tall cameraman arrived.
He retrieved a bottle of rum and a bottle of whiskey, mixers, glasses, and ice. When I raised my eyebrows, he smiled with half his mouth. “Easier this way. Saves us a lot of trips to the bar.”
“Great.” I slid my glass over to him. “Three quarters rum, one quarter Coke.”
“You got it.”
We drank in silence, though I sipped instead of chugged, as the rest of the crew trickled in. Archer and Isidro came in last, Isidro leaning on crutches. He grinned widely and started proclaiming how much he loved everyone, and Archer rolled his eyes. “They gave him good painkillers. We’ll be paying for it the rest of the night.”
“Better him with than without,” Giselle said under her breath. “Remember the last time this happened? He broke his arm and wouldn’t shut up about it. Every single bump turned into a fucking dramatic retelling of the event. Drug him off his ass and put him to bed.”
Archer leaned back, sipping neat whiskey and closing his eyes. “Can’t leave him alone in the hotel room. There’s a phone.”
Ryan snorted. “King of the drunk dial.”
I watched them, mystified by the camaraderie. Obviously they were a team, but they didn’t react anything like a film crew. More like I imagined cops or soldiers would respond to being attacked and almost dying.
“Remember when he called your mom?” Giselle laughed, holding her side. A white bandage showed when her shirt moved. So she’d been hurt, too.
Isidro eyed the drinks. “I should have one.”
“Sure thing, buddy.” Lars cracked open a Coke and I leaned forward to stop him, horrified that he’d give the man alcohol in that state, but the cameraman just grinned. He made a big show of pouring rum over the ice while Isidro encouraged him to keep going, then Archer distracted Isidro so Lars could switch out glasses and hand his friend a watered-down Coke instead.
It felt like I hovered over myself again, like when I charged at the sasquatch to save Hopper. The five of them joked and traded barbs, drinking and eventually ordering food, and I sat there in their midst like an outsider. An observer allowed to intrude but not to participate. My throat closed. That’s all I ever was. I didn’t belong to anyone, I didn’t have any cliques of friends or a book club or work colleagues. I stood back and watched everyone else, pretending like it didn’t bother me that I did so alone.
“Ada,” a quiet voice said, and I dragged my attention away from the bottom of my glass and up to Archer. He offered a tablet across the table. “This has what you’re looking for. Take it home, go through the files, evaluate the data. We can talk about it tomorrow.”
I took it, my heart pounding. So he had evidence. Data. Maybe videos. I nodded and debated getting up to go home so I could crash. Whatever I’d faced in the forest, apparently it was an antidote to vampire blood because none of that perfect high remained.
“Ada,” someone called from across the bar, and I looked as the detectives approached.
I half-stood, Archer holding my elbow to help me, and started to squeeze around the table so I could talk to them without the crew overhearing. “Detectives. Were you looking for me?”
“Yes,” Schultz said. He glanced at the strangers before turning his attention back to me. “We wanted to show you some pictures.”
My heart thumped against my ribs even as it tried to choke me. Pictures. Pictures to identify someone. Maybe — Jamie. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. I shook my head and tried to retreat, stumbling over my chair. Archer rose next to me. His arm slid around my waist and he murmured, “Easy. Just breathe.”
That got him a sharp look from Hightower, who knew me well enough to know I didn’t normally tolerate that kind of foolishness from men.
I didn’t look away from Schultz. “It’s not — who is it for?”
‘Not Jamie,’ my heart said with every battering thump against my chest. Not Jamie. Anyone but Jamie.
Schultz cleared his throat. “Why don’t we step —”
“You should do it here,” Giselle said. She glanced at Lars and he started recording with his camera. “It’s in the contract.” She moved her chair back and shoved the dishes aside. “Just put the photos here, officer.”
Hightower and Schultz looked at me. The taller one folded his arms. “Ada, why don’t you come with us? We can do this at the station.”
At the station. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t ever good. I shook my head, every inch of me shaking almost as badly as when the werewolf’s bloody eyes locked in on me, and tried to retreat more. Maybe if I ran it wouldn’t be true. I could outrun almost every kind of bad news.
But I couldn’t wait the ten minutes it would take to reach the station, stewing over whether they’d found Jamie and it was too late. I cleared my throat a couple of times. “Just — just show me.”
Hightower didn’t like it, but he didn’t want to draw it out, either. He was a good guy, even if he had terrible fashion sense.
He nodded and frowned at Giselle and Isidro until they gave him more room. I held my breath. Archer’s arm tightened around my waist, pulling me against his side, and I twisted my napkin in my hands to try and channel the anxiety that consumed me.
Please let it not be Jamie. Please. Anything but him.
Schultz took a plain folder out of his leather portfolio and retrieved a few papers. He placed one on the table in front of me. “Does he look familiar?”
My knees failed and I dropped like a stone.