Chapter Ten #8
“New note on the bookstore door.” Zavier kept his voice level. “Bagged it without touching the paper. Need a contact at the station to run it for prints.”
On the other end, traffic hissed faintly and then a turn signal clicked twice. “I’m on my way to the bookstore now,” Colton said. “Call Sheriff Owen. I’ll text you the direct line.”
“Got it.”
After hanging up, Zavier called the number as soon as the text came through. Owen answered with the tired voice of a man already having a long day. Zavier gave him the essentials, kept it concise, and got confirmation someone would meet them or take custody of the bagged note within the hour.
They were suddenly taking this seriously after Zavier gave his credentials.
When he ended the call, Flynn was staring at the evidence bag like it might start talking.
“I need coffee. Lots of coffee,” Flynn muttered.
“You’re leaving with me.”
A humorless smile twitched across his mate’s mouth then vanished. “Good. Because I was one weird sound away from climbing into the return bin and living there.”
Zavier took another sweep through the store, slower this time.
He checked the alley-side window at the back, the warped frame near the storeroom, the rear exit, and the trash area outside.
Sunlight hit hard when he stepped into the alley, and the smell back there was wet cardboard, old coffee grounds, and the metallic tang of the dumpster heating up.
Nothing looked disturbed. No fresh scuffs near the rear door.
No loiterers. A gull cried somewhere sharply overhead.
He circled the building once, scanning parked cars, doorways, and the bakery next door. A woman with a stroller moved along the opposite sidewalk. An old man carried a paper sack out of the pharmacy. Nobody watched too closely, but that meant very little. Perps learned camouflage fast.
When he came back inside, Flynn was exactly where he’d left him, though now he had one hand pressed to the side of his neck, grounding himself.
“We’re going to get your coffee,” Zavier said.
Flynn blinked up at him. “That sounded like witness protection.”
“Come on.”
Hash It Out sat a few blocks over. Inside, the air smelled of bacon, maple syrup, buttered toast, and the rich aroma of brewing coffee.
Dishes clinked in the kitchen. A waiter laughed somewhere near the counter.
The low hum of conversation and the hiss from the grill settled around Zavier’s shoulders.
Zack spotted them first.
He came around a booth with a coffee pot in one hand and a pen tucked behind his ear, eyes bright despite the breakfast-rush beginning to build. “Hey, guys. Need caffeine?”
His smile faded a notch when he glanced closer at Flynn. He jerked his chin toward the back. “Booth’s open over there. It’s my section.”
They slid into the booth, the vinyl squeaking under Zavier’s weight. Flynn reached for the menu even though his hands still were not fully steady.
Zack set down two waters and a pair of laminated menus. “Here’s your coffee.”
While he poured, Zavier looked over the menu without seeing much of it. Eggs. Hash browns. Biscuits. Pancakes. He was more aware of Flynn beside him, of the brittle quiet that had replaced his usual chatter.
Flynn traced a fingertip under a menu item, then another. “I think I’ll have pancakes.”
Zavier folded his menu closed. “Sounds good, kitten.”
Less than fifteen seconds later, Zack reappeared with a pad. “Ready.”
Flynn looked up, managed a faint ghost of himself, and said, “Coffee. A lot of it. And pancakes. Thanks.”
Zack scribbled. The pen scratched over paper. “Got it.”
Zavier handed over his menu. “Eggs over medium. Bacon. Hash browns. Rye toast.”
“Got it again.” Zack tucked the pad into his apron. “I’ll have that out to you. Wish I could stay and talk, but it’s busy as hell right now.”
Flynn let out a tiny breath through his nose that almost counted as a laugh. “I appreciate any way you get them here.”
Once Zack headed off, Zavier wrapped both hands around his coffee mug as soon as it arrived. The ceramic was hot enough to sting pleasantly. Across from him, Flynn sat curled slightly inward, shoulders narrower than usual, eyes fixed on the sugar caddy.
“We’ll handle it,” Zavier said. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
Flynn peeled open a sugar packet though he drank coffee black most mornings. “I know.”
A spoon clinked against ceramic as he dumped sugar into the mug anyway. He stirred and stirred, though the granules had long since dissolved. “I just hate that they saw you. That’s the part making me want to throw up.”
Zavier held his gaze. “You don’t get to apologize for somebody else’s threat.”
Flynn’s hand stilled on the spoon. Steam rose between them, carrying roasted freshness and cold milk from somewhere nearby. “Still feels like I should.”
Before Zavier could answer, Zack appeared balancing plates.
“Okay, so,” he said as he set them down, “if anything is wrong, blame the universe.”
He vanished again before either of them could speak.
Zavier looked down.
A plate of blueberry waffles sat in front of him, syrup already pooling into the butter. In front of Flynn sat a skillet of eggs, sausage, and potatoes with a side of wheat toast.
He stared at the food. Then at Flynn’s pancake-less place setting. Then back at the food.
Flynn picked up his fork like this happened every day and maybe it did. “Just go with it.”
Zavier lifted his gaze. “This is not what we ordered.”
“Correct.” Flynn cut into the eggs with eerie acceptance. “But the pancakes looked good in concept. In practice, who knows. This has potatoes. Potatoes have never betrayed me.”
The words had barely left his mouth when Zack hurried back, eyes widening. “Oh my God. No. No, that is not— I am so sorry.”
He whisked both plates away in a clatter of ceramic. “Do not touch anything. I’m fixing it.”
Zavier watched him disappear through the swing door.
Flynn took a sip of coffee and shrugged with one shoulder. “Maybe breakfast is just improv now.”
A minute later, Zack returned with fresh plates, set them down with determined care, and stepped back.
This time Zavier got French toast buried under powdered sugar and fruit compote. Flynn got biscuits and gravy with a side of scrambled eggs.
Zavier looked at the food. Very slowly, he looked up at Zack.
Zack closed his eyes. “I quit. Axel can run his own damn diner.”
From the pass-through, a booming voice barked, “No you don’t.”
The other waiter shook his head.
Flynn didn’t even flinch. He tore off a piece of biscuit, dipped it in gravy, and said, “Honestly? Let’s just commit. Besides, the pancakes looked good, but this has potential.”
Zavier kept staring at his French toast.
Flynn nudged the syrup toward him. “Live a little.”
The door swung open and Colton strolled in. He scanned the room once, spotted them, and headed over. On the way, Zack nearly collided with him.
“Whoa, easy there,” Colton said, catching the edge of one plate before it tipped. His eyes dropped to Zack’s face, and everything turned visibly warmer. “You okay?”
Zack blew out a breath and shoved damp hair off his forehead. “I’ve delivered the wrong breakfasts to the same table. Twice.”
Colton’s mouth curved. “Never change, Blue.”
With a groan, Zack hurried off.
Hooking a wooden chair with one hand, Colton spun it around, then dropped onto it backward, forearms folding over the top rail. The movement looked loose, almost lazy, but Zavier knew better. Colton never stopped assessing a room.
“What’d it say?”
Keeping the evidence bag low, Zavier slid it across the table but caught Colton’s gaze first and tipped his chin a fraction toward Flynn. Colton gave a single nod, easy as breathing, then took the bag by one corner and angled it toward himself.
Zavier wrapped his hand around his mug, feeling the heat bite into his palm.
“It was taped to the bookstore door when we got there this morning, paper flapping in the breeze. No sign of forced entry anywhere. I swept the building inside and out. Nothing obvious. I called Sheriff Owen. He’s sending someone to collect it. ”
Across from him, Flynn traced the rim of his coffee cup with one fingertip. “And because my life can’t just be normal for five consecutive minutes, they mentioned Zavier in the note.”
Zavier cursed. Flynn must’ve picked it up and read it when he was outside. Rookie fucking move.
Colton’s jaw tightened for half a second before smoothing out. He looked over the bag once more, then folded it shut against his thigh. “So, they’re watching close enough to notice the change.”
“Yeah.” Zavier leaned back, though every part of him stayed keyed up. “They obviously saw us together.”
Zavier hadn’t left his mate’s side in two weeks.
Flynn blew across his coffee and eyed Colton. “You’re weirdly relaxed.”
That earned him a glance. Colton rested his chin on his crossed arms. “Compared to when?”
“When we first met.” Flynn tore off a piece of biscuit, then stopped, looked down at the plate in front of him like he’d forgotten it wasn’t pancakes, and popped the bite into his mouth anyway. “You looked constipated, and scary.”
A rough huff of amusement left Colton. “Protective of Zack. Also feeling you out.”
Flynn chewed, swallowed, and tipped his head. “Makes sense. If some random guy showed up claiming to be my half-brother, I’d probably assume organ theft.”
At that, Zavier’s mouth twitched despite the knot still sitting behind his ribs. Flynn had a talent for stepping sideways into humor so cleanly it took the edge off a room.
He might’ve thought his mate was deflecting, but after spending time with Flynn, he’d learned not everything was a shield. Sometimes humor was just humor.
Colton rubbed a thumb over the edge of the evidence bag. “Meeting a new half-brother was insane for both of you.”