Page 51 of Bitter Spirits

Within minutes, Locke was turning into the quiet parking lot outside a private clinic. The Cordova Family lawyer, Maribel Ortiz, was waiting for them out front with a scrub-wearing twentysomething manning a wheelchair. After pulling up to the curb, Locke got out and helped Zev guide the still-groaning teen into the wheelchair so the PA could whisk her away.

“Her parents?” Zev asked Mari.

She shook her head. “We’ve left messages at the numbers on file. Nothing yet.”

“I need to know as soon as she’s able to talk,” Locke said.

“She’s a minor, Locke.”

“I’m aware, but right now, she’s the best link I have to tracking Isaiah down.” And something told him Micah’s brother was running out of time.

Mari worried her bottom lip.

“You asked for Emilio’s help,” Zev reminded her.

“I know.” Mari blew out an aggrieved sigh. “I’ll make it work. Once she’s sober, I’ll tag you.”

“Thank you.” He quickly took his leave and hopped back into his car, impatient to get back to Isa. He checked his text and frowned when it showed that it had gone unread. An uneasy prickle raised the hair on the back of his neck. He thought about calling her, but considering Isa’s escalating irritation with his so-called hovering, he decided against it. Besides, Wonderland was only fifteen minutes away. He’d be there soon enough.

Locke pulled into Wonderland’s empty lot, that unease slithering down his neck and knotting his shoulders. Where the hell is Des’s SUV?

The thought had barely formed when the vehicle in question turned in. As it came to a stop, Locke saw that Des was alone. His hands fisted, and he barely waited for the man to get his door open and step out before snarling, “Where’s Isa?”

Des’s dark brows rose above the edge of his sunglasses as he threw his door closed. “Inside.” He started for the entrance. “You’re late.”

“And you left her alone,” he snapped as he matched the other man step for step.

“I had to run Kelly home.” Muscles coiled and bunched, indicating that Locke’s barb had found its mark. “It was a rough meeting.”

A pinch of empathy pierced Locke’s frustration, and he forced his hands to uncurl. “She going to be okay?”

“Depends on how far the police want to push things.” Des reached the door, yanked his sunglasses off, and shot Locke an assessing look. “It would help if someone could provide proof of how that jackass was suddenly able to throw around magic.”

“I’m sure they have their theories.” Reassurance was beyond Locke, because if things got truly dire for Kelly, what got shared with whom would be up to Emilio.

Des’s lip twitched with ill-disguised disgust, but he turned away and reached for the door only to stop and mutter a low curse.

“What?” Locke’s question was a sharp bullet of sound.

“The security is on standby.” Des yanked open the door, and the two men rushed down the stairs.

Nebulous shadows filled the space, distorting the normally friendly floor into an otherworldly maze of unseen threats. At the far end, a light burned over the bar, and just beyond that was the soft luminance of the graffiti art along the back wall.

Des didn’t slow as he navigated through tables and booths. “Isa?”

There was no answer.

“Isa?” Locke called, his magic pushing forward, whining to be used.

Still nothing.

Des went to the far end of the bar, just beyond the pass, and hit a switch. Harsh illumination burst into life, wiping away the shadows.

Locke blinked away the small stars as his vision adjusted. At first, everything appeared undisturbed, but a bitter bite rode the air, and it took him a second to place it. “Is that gin?”

Des didn’t answer but shoved through the pass. A small shot glass rolled off the counter and tumbled to the floor. “What the—” His gaze went to the right and landed on something behind the bar. He froze.

“What?” Alarmed, Locke rushed forward, his magic settling around him like a second skin, the predator at its heart, yanking at the leash.