Shepherd opened his door, looking like a sardine trying to climb out of a can. “Stay here while I circulate the blood in my legs.”
We waited in the car for a minute while Shepherd scouted the area. I’d only filled them in on part of the conversation I’d overheard, leaving out all the warnings that Viktor had given Blue. What this organization needed was new blood to shake things up.
“Are you sure this is the place?” I asked.
Wyatt checked the map on his phone. “I put a tracker on her cell last night, and the signal is coming from right here, so my bet is that her stuff is up yonder,” he said, pointing at the roof of the pastry shop.
We didn’t have trouble figuring out where Darius was supposed to show up. Viktor said something about reservations, and the only place in the immediate area besides the movie theater was a restaurant named Angelo’s.
Wyatt tilted his mirror. “It hasn’t even been a week and you’re already going behind Viktor’s back. You are a bad girl.”
“Viktor’s too worried about visibility.”
“He likes to keep a low profile. Don’t hold your breath on us getting uniforms with name tags anytime soon.”
I pulled off his hat. “Open the door. If I have to sit in this cramped car for another minute, I’m going to scream.”
Wyatt got out and pushed the seat forward. I stumbled onto the curb, and he snatched his beanie out of my hand and put it back on his head. It was more stylish than practical, with the fabric loosely flopped over in the back as if it were meant for a larger head.
I raised an eyebrow at his T-shirt that said YOU’RE DEAD TO ME. It was partially tucked in, revealing a belt buckle with a skull.
“I bet you’re a real hit with the ladies.”
All he did was pucker his lips and give me an invisible smooch in return.
There was nothing subtle about the way Wyatt walked. He had the swagger of a fashion model who’d just discovered his calling. I scanned the streets, hurrying toward the pastry shop where Shepherd was holding open the door.
Once inside, Shepherd stole a seat next to the window and slanted his eyes, signaling for us to buy something.
“Holy Toledo!” Wyatt exclaimed, flattening his palms on the counter, gazing upon row after row of mouthwatering pastries. “Is it possible for me to just work my way from left to right and you can send me the bill?”
The girl behind the counter smiled coyly. “You can have whatever you want and as much as you want.”
He folded his arms on the high counter and rested his chin on his wrist. “Is that so?”
I nudged him and cleared my throat.
“Tell you what, buttercup. My friends will have two brownies, and I’ll take the biggest cinnamon bun you make.”
“Coming right up,” she said, using a singsong voice.
Wyatt turned, scoping out the empty room.
I glared at him. “Is it possible for you to not draw attention?”
“You do things your way, and I’ll do them mine,” he said coolly.
“Says the man who drives a red car with a blue door.”
He leaned in. “Says the woman who has one brown eye and one blue. Sometimes things that are different have more personality.”
Wyatt was too adorable to hate, so I just shook my head and wandered toward a table in the back. Shepherd kept a close eye on the restaurant across the street. The valet parking allowed us to see people coming and going, and although I didn’t have a clue what Darius looked like, Shepherd did.
Wyatt set a plate in front of Shepherd and then headed toward me. He didn’t wear the lace-up boots most men wore, or even sneakers. Wyatt lived in a pair of old black cowboy boots. I wondered what he looked like in the century he was born—if he’d worn spurs on his boots or had dressed more like a city boy.
“The way you’re staring at my boots is making me blush,” he teased in an exaggerated Southern accent. “Why, I do believe I just might feel one of my fainting spells coming on.”
“You do that accent so well it scares me.”
He winked, his voice back to normal when he said, “I used to be a Southern boy, but when you live in different places, you start losing pieces of yourself.”
I gaped at the size of his cinnamon bun. “That thing’s bigger than your head.”
He peeled off a strip around the outer edge. “I hear that a lot. So what’s the big plan if we see Darius?”
“It depends on how many goons are protecting him. There’s one I wouldn’t mind taking out myself.”
“Just don’t do it around me,” he said, chewing on a wad of the sticky bun. “The last thing I need is some freshy who wants to haunt me because I hang out with the girl who snuffed out his light.”
“Your life must be miserable if all that’s true.”