Without a word, Jason turned and headed for the parking garage, striding through the crowd like he expected them to clear a path for him. Most of them did.
Serena shot me a bewildered glance. “Okay, since when does Jason Sheffield care about his reputation?”
I sighed. “It’s not that. I sort of didn’t tell him you were coming.”
The look on her face slid from bewilderment to reproach. “So he doesn’t know why I’m actually here? Oh, this is going to be fun.”
“I just couldn’t figure out how to tell him.”
“Well, you’d better think fast,” she said, falling into step next to me as I started after Jason.
“Did you really tell everyone we were in Vegas?”
She nodded. “Figured it was either that or say you had a pregnancy scare and ran away because you didn’t know which of them was the baby daddy.”
“Soap opera much?”
Serena shrugged. “We do live in Hemlock.”
Truer words had never been spoken. I shook my head. “Thanks for coming.”
“Are you kidding?” She grinned. “Denver is like the ultimate werewolf hot spot. I’ve been dying to check it out for years.”
We reached the stairs to the upper parking level. Jason was almost at the top. The set of his shoulders was stiff and he dangled Serena’s backpack by one strap, gripping the fabric so tightly that his hand shook.
“Jason?”
He kept walking.
I jogged up the stairs. Serena didn’t follow, trying to give us the illusion of privacy even though she’d hear every word. Werewolf hearing.
“Jason? Would you stop for a second?” I grabbed the other strap of the bag.
He turned and slipped off his shades with his other hand. His expression was carefully blank as he slid the glasses into his jacket pocket, but his eyes glinted like pieces of broken glass. The backpack dangled between us, each of us holding a strap like it was the prize in a tug-of-war. “You want to tell me why Serena’s here?”
I swallowed. “I thought she could help.”
“So you called her without telling me?”
“You like Serena,” I reminded him. “At least you used to.” The before you found out she was infected hung heavy and unspoken.
“Sure. For a—” He caught himself. “—for what she is, she’s great.” He ran a hand over the light stubble on his face. “That’s not the point. If you think Serena can help, fine, but you can’t get pissed about me meeting the Trackers without telling you and then call her behind my back.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“It’s exactly the same. You never trust anyone.”
The idea of being lectured about trust by Jason was so ridiculous that only the look on his face stopped me from laughing. “I trust people who deserve to be trusted.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Like Kyle? Leaving you a Dear John letter and slipping out before you woke up is really deserving of trust.” Almost at once, Jason realized he’d gone too far. His eyes widened and the expression on his face softened. He released his grip on the bag and it thudded against my legs. “Mac . . . I didn’t . . .”
I set the bag down and crossed my arms, using them like a shield even though the words had already hit. What Kyle had done, he had done to try and keep us all safe. That had to make it better, didn’t it? “It doesn’t matter,” I said, even though it did.
I glanced over my shoulder. Serena was at the top of the stairs. I sucked in a deep breath and turned back to Jason. “Serena’s here to help us find Kyle, but if we don’t have any luck by morning, the two of you are going home. I’ll stay here and keep looking, but you’re going back to Hemlock.”
“You’ve got to be joking.” Jason stared at me, incredulous. “I do one thing you don’t like and you want me gone?”
I was pretty sure meeting the Trackers and falling off the wagon counted as two things, but I didn’t point that out. “I can’t look for Kyle and worry about you at the same time.”
“You can’t force me to leave.” Jason’s voice came out with the edge of a growl, almost as though he were infected.
“You’re right.” Serena was suddenly beside me. She flexed her hand and muscles shifted under her skin. “Mac can’t force you, but I can.” She didn’t look happy when she said it, but she flashed him a wolf’s grin, showing teeth that were a little too long and a little too pointed.
Jason swore under his breath and walked away. When he realized we weren’t following, he turned. “Are you coming?”
I hesitated and he pushed a hand roughly through his hair. “Look. I want to find Kyle. You want to find Kyle. We can argue about everything else”—his gaze darted to Serena and a thunderstorm played out across his face—“later. The Trackers said Montbello was fleabag friendly. It’s one of the few parts of Denver we haven’t checked.”
“You’re still going to help?” Serena asked the question before I could.
“It’s not like I have a choice.”
I followed him to the SUV. “Jason, you’ve always had a choice.”
“Kyle’s my best friend and you . . . you won’t come back to Hemlock without him.” He pulled open the driver’s-side door and slid behind the wheel. “Choice doesn’t factor into things.”
3
A SMALL WOODEN SIGN JUTTED OUT OVER THE NARROW brick building. The words Jumping Joe—barely visible in the fading light—were carved in block letters and painted the color of coffee beans.
Serena stared up at the sign. “I wonder if they have smoothies. I’m dying of thirst.”
Jason tugged on his turtleneck, making sure his tattoo was still hidden. “Yeah, all that flirting you did back there must have left you parched.” A set of bells jangled as he pulled open the door.
“Don’t hate on my investigative methods,” Serena chided as we followed him inside.
Jason made a noncommittal noise and headed for a table. We’d spent the day combing Montbello and the immediate surrounding area with no luck. A guy working at the last place we tried—a 7-Eleven on the edge of the neighborhood—had given us the name of the coffee shop in exchange for Serena’s number.
The mingled scent of coffee grounds and baked goods made my stomach rumble as Serena and I joined the line in front of the counter. Framed posters of old art deco travel ads covered espresso-colored walls and most of the illumination came from sleek, cylindrical lamps hanging above small round tables.
Serena’s phone buzzed. She pulled it from her pocket, glanced at the display, then slipped it back without answering. “Trey,” she said in response to my questioning look.
I cringed at the thought of all of the things her brother would say to me—most of them justified—when I got home. “I can’t believe he let you come on your own.”
She snorted. “I didn’t call and tell him until I was halfway here. Even then, I didn’t say where I was going.”
Trey wasn’t going to just yell at me. He was going to outright kill me.
“Don’t worry,” Serena said, catching the look of panic on my face. “I wanted to come and he needs to be less obsessively overprotective. This will be good for him.”
Somehow, I doubted Trey would see things the same way.
I pulled my own phone out and scrolled through the photos until Kyle’s face smiled up at me. Warm brown eyes, sharp features, and chestnut hair that always needed a cut.
An ache spread through my chest. Without him, Hemlock wasn’t home.
I glanced around the shop and my eyes locked on Jason. He was sitting at a table near the window, legs sprawled out and hands clasped behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Who would watch over him if I made him go back without me? Not his parents; they treated him like a problem they could just throw money at.