Chapter 2
Chapter Two
CHRISTIAN
It was late afternoon by the time they pulled into Silver Rock, the sun just low enough to make Christian squint as he drove.
He missed his damn jeep. This rental felt like a tin can—the eco-friendly kind, because Dave had given him that look when he’d hovered over the Mustang on the booking site.
He’d given in, but neither his spine nor his pride looked like forgiving him anytime soon.
Dave went to check them in to the motel, and Christian prowled the parking lot. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for—threats, maybe. Easier than standing still and pretending to care about reception-desk small talk.
Dave was good at that kind of thing, easy and calm, the kind of man people opened up to without even realizing. Christian didn’t always understand how he did it, but he’d come to rely on it.
Dave reappeared a few minutes later, sliding a keycard into his pocket. “We’ve got it for three nights. Should be easy to extend, if we need longer.”
Christian’s attention had already shifted across the street. A sign in the bakery window read World’s Biggest Cinnamon Rolls. It was not a subtle ad. It also wasn’t a fair fight.
Dave followed his gaze. “Seriously?”
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t.”
“Because you’ve already threatened to kill three people today, and the last thing you need is a sugar rush?”
Christian grinned and headed across the street. “I’ll walk it off.”
The bell above the bakery door jingled, and the shop smelled so sweet it made his teeth ache. He scanned the display case and found—empty trays.
“You gotta be kidding me,” he muttered.
The woman behind the counter offered a sympathetic smile. “We sold out this morning. Always go quick.”
“Shame,” Dave said. “They sound legendary.”
“We’ve still got scones and cookies,” she offered.
Christian gestured at Dave. “Any of it vegan?”
She winced. “No, sorry. I keep meaning to try a few things, but…”
“No worries,” Dave said easily.
Christian listened as Dave drew her into conversation—asking about the town, what was worth seeing, how long she’d lived here. A couple of years, it turned out. That was enough to rule her out as a lead, so Dave didn’t push further.
They thanked her and stepped back into the street, sun dipping toward the horizon.
Christian didn’t know what he’d been hoping for, exactly. Perhaps a mention of something that might tell them where to look.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “We’re gonna have to work out how we’re actually doing this.”
“That’d help,” Dave agreed.
They crossed the street again, Christian trying not to be disappointed that the cinnamon roll gods had forsaken him. It wasn’t exactly the first time the world had offered something and snatched it away.
“Let’s walk a bit,” he said. “Get the lay of the land.”
Dave arched an eyebrow. “Looking for another bakery?”
“Looking for someone with answers,” Christian said. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.”
“So… we’re walking into it.”
“Yeah, well. I didn’t say it was a good plan.”
This part of town didn’t seem like much, though they bookmarked a diner and a couple of bars for later. Every person they passed looked at them a beat too long.
“You think they can smell we’re not local?” Dave asked under his breath.
“Probably wondering if we’re property developers,” Christian said. “Or feds. Or both.”
They passed a bookstore with a Local Author Signing banner hanging lopsided in the window. Christian took it in with narrowed eyes, like if he stared hard enough, the town would give up its secrets.
“You do realize you’re not going to glare the killer into confessing, right?”
Christian didn’t answer. His jaw flexed once.
“Hey,” Dave said gently. “It’s not all on us.”
They walked on in silence a few paces. Then Christian said, quieter this time, “I want to get started. But I don’t even know the right questions yet.”
Dave bumped his shoulder. “So let’s figure them out together, over dinner.” He paused. “Assuming you can find somewhere to eat that serves steak by the pound.”
Christian smirked. “A pound’s just the starter.”
DAVE
They’d walked around for a while, scoped a few locations, and grabbed some food before returning to the motel. The room wasn’t bad. It just felt like it was resigned to its fate, with everything from the faded curtains to the rattling air vent looking weary. Still, it was clean. Mostly.
Dave stepped over Christian’s duffel bag—dropped in the doorway like it had offended him—and crossed to the kitchenette. No kettle or electric hotplate, but there was a microwave, and a chipped white mug that didn’t smell too much like coffee. That would do.
He set his little bag of tea supplies on the counter. It contained a few fruit blends and a zippered pouch with dried ginger and hibiscus flowers he liked to add for a kick. Although not the full setup he used at home, it was enough.
Christian tossed himself backward onto the bed, and the springs creaked in protest. “How’s the microwave?”
“It exists,” Dave said, filling the mug with water. “Not sure if it’ll turn the tea radioactive or just make it taste like instant oatmeal.”
Christian didn’t answer. Dave glanced over to find him staring at the ceiling, hands laced behind his head, boots still on.
He looked relaxed to anyone who didn’t know him, but Dave could see the signs.
The stillness that wasn’t ease and the tightness in his jaw.
Whatever they found in this town—even if it was nothing—would haunt Jesse, and that wasn’t sitting well with either of them.
He turned back to the microwave. One minute on high, then he’d let the water sit a little, trying not to scald the hibiscus.
Christian’s phone sounded, and he dug it out of his pocket. “Damn kid, thinks he’s so smart,” he groused as he read the message.
But through the grumble, Dave could see he was pleased.
“Tristan, about Diablo?” he guessed.
“Sent me a picture of my horse’s ass,” Christian said, typing something before shoving the phone back in his pocket.
“Well, you did tell him to check for ticks,” Dave pointed out, prodding the teabag hopefully.
Christian grunted, before rolling his head on the pillow to look at Dave. “We need to start hitting the bars, find out what we can before the Council gets their flunkies down here, asking questions that’ll just make people shut up—especially if they think they’re being accused.”
“Yeah.” It wasn’t ideal, having to do this quickly, yet subtly enough to avoid alerting anyone.
Because although the massacre of Jesse’s old pack had been years ago, another pack—Cale’s—had been murdered only weeks back.
The odds of two packs with ties to an Argent being wiped out by different people were vanishingly small, which meant the murderer was still around, still watching.
Dave squeezed the teabag to get every last drop of goodness out of it. He still didn’t know what he thought about Jesse’s pack, whether they’d all been Argents, or it was just his parents. He supposed it didn’t really matter now.
From what Jesse remembered, the pack had kept to themselves, way out in the middle of nowhere. After seeing the kind of attention Jesse attracted, Dave could understand why. People seemed to think the fact he glowed silver in moonlight made him magical.
Dave loved Jesse, the same way he loved all the pack, but “magical” wasn’t the first word that came to mind. If Jesse had any powers, he’d have hexed the chickens into behaving by now, instead of fending off pecks and swearing about devil birds every time he fed them.
Christian sat up. “We should start with the busiest bar. You can charm the bartender while I brood in a corner and see if anyone will talk to us.”
Dave hummed in response, pulling out the teabag and stirring the suspicious-looking liquid in the mug. “Wait for your fan club to show, you mean.”
Christian grunted. Then he looked at Dave, his eyes honest. “You know it don’t mean anything, right?”
Yeah, Dave knew. People flirted with Christian, and sometimes he didn’t shut it down.
But he never encouraged it either, and he’d never cheat.
Christian didn’t do half-measures in any part of his life, and his love for Dave was like his temper—ferocious and absolute.
Even though he never said it, Dave knew.
“I know you don’t mean it to,” he said softly. “You want a coffee?”
“Nah. Finish that, and let’s go get a beer. See if we can get someone talking.”
* * *
The bar didn’t look like much from the outside—a faded sign, a few flickering neon beer ads in the window—but inside, it had just enough people and noise to promise a night that might be okay.
A handful of men were sitting at the bar, the sound of clacking pool balls echoed from the back, and the jukebox crooned a country song.
They took a small table near the bar. Dave angled his chair so he could make eye contact with the bartender, but Christian didn’t bother. He sprawled back with one boot propped on the opposite chair, spinning his beer bottle slowly between his fingers.
They were halfway through their first drinks when two women wandered over. Mid-thirties, better dressed than he’d expect in this bar, and eyes locked on Christian.
“Mind if we join you?” the blonde asked, even though there were half a dozen empty tables.
Dave gave a polite nod and stayed quiet. He’d seen this show before. Christian didn’t even glance at him before he said, “Sure.” But his chair stayed angled toward Dave, the way it always did.
The women settled in, leaning close to Christian, asking the usual questions in voices a little too loud, giving away they’d been in the bar awhile. Where you from, are you passing through, what brings you to town?
Christian answered easily enough, voice low and even, but he wasn’t encouraging them. This was just Christian sitting there, existing, and somehow that was enough to keep them hooked.