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Connor’s brows lifted. “Is he?”
“It was the only reparation I could think to offer.”
“There’s an entire bar of booze.”
“Offered, declined.”
“Well, damn,” Connor said. “That usually works in a bar fight.” He considered, nodded. “All right. I’ll talk to him. And nicely done.”
“Thanks,” I said and meant it. It had been fun to play the badass Pack problem solver.
Connor looked at Dan. “You okay?”
“He dumped her,” Dan said. “Said he was moving on. She was devastated, and I gave her what comfort I could.”
There was sadness in his voice, and a kind of resignation that said this wasn’t the first time Dan had played this particular role. And interesting that he hadn’t mentioned that in the bar. Maybe it wasn’t the kind of vulnerability that crowd would appreciate.
“Take it from one who knows,” Theo said. “It’s her responsibility to move on.”
Dan nodded. “I know. But I enjoy myself, and so do they. And for a little while, we’re both at peace.”
***
Theo called an Auto, headed back to the OMB office.
“I get the sense you weren’t the only reason Dan left Memphis,” I said, when Connor and I were alone again.
“He’s... working through some things,” Connor agreed. He put an arm around my waist, pulled me toward him. “It’s been a night.”
“It has,” I said. And as if to prove the point, my screen buzzed. I pulled it out, found a message from Petra.
take a look at this, the message read.no building-owned surveillance, but postage store across the hall had a camera. only takes a pic every ten minutes, but got this one.
I opened the image she’d sent, found a grainy color shot. Two men, both with lightish skin, talking near what I presumed was the coffee shop. I couldn’t identify either from the wide shot, so I enlarged, focused on the man on the right.
It was Blake, coffee cup in hand, and still wearing the pendant. Based on the time stamp, this was minutes before he was killed.
So who was he talking to? Had he talked to the killer in those last moments?
I scrolled over, focused on the other man. And stared. There, talking with Blake in front of the coffee shop where he’d been killed, stood Jonathan Black.
“Holy shit,” I murmured, and zoomed in on the time stamp again, the faces again, to confirm I hadn’t misunderstood, hadn’t imagined a coincidence. But I’d seen the truth. And the other pieces fell into alignment.
He’d said he wanted to meet me.
He had blond hair and a white sedan, just like the man who’d struck Connor.
And now, proof he’d been with Blake a few minutes before Blake’s death.
Jonathan Black wasn’t a vampire, but he was connected to this somehow. It was time to have a discussion.
“Elisa.”
I blinked, looked up at Connor, whose head was tilted as he stared at me. “What did she send you?”
I showed him, but his expression was blank. “Who’s the man talking to Blake?”
“Jonathan Black.”
