Page 21 of Consumed
“Why?”
The answer seemed obvious. “It’s ugly. I showed you.”
“Yeah, you did, and I told you I don’t think you’re ugly. Anyway, even if you were, who gives a fuck? You’re not here on this planet to be decorative for other people’s sake.”
Now somewhat annoyed, Con saved his document-in-progress and shut the laptop. “That’s easy foryouto say. You’re gorgeous. You could be a model.”
“But I’m not responsible for my looks. I work out, yeah, but that’s because I enjoy it and because being in good shape is an asset with this job. I’m not trying to be pretty.”
That was probably true. He tended to be disheveled in his attire, and not in a hip, rakish way. His hair was generally a barely-tamed mop, and Con was fairly certain he didn’t get it cut at an expensive LA salon. When he wore a handsome scruff, it seemed to be more out of disinclination to shave than anything else. He didn’t preen in front of mirrors. He hadn’t packed a zillion bottles of skincare cremes or hair goos. But he was beautiful nonetheless.
“You can’t understand what it’s like to feel like a freak.”
“My God, Con, let your freak flag fly! Literally unbutton yourself. Stop giving a shit about whether God or other people will judge you, because if they do, that’s their problem not yours. Do what makes youhappy.”
“Isn’t that what was getting you in trouble before you joined the Bureau? Self-indulgence and ignoring consequences?”
Isaac made a loud grunt of frustration and shook his head. He looked as if he might say more, but instead he swung his feet onto the floor and pulled on a pair of sneakers. “Trish said there were ghosts. I’m going to look for ’em. Join me if you want.”
He stomped out of the room and slammed the door before Con had a chance to ask him whether that was wise.
* * *
Hours passed.
Con finished the day’s notes, triple-checked them for accuracy, and shut down his computer. He took another shower because he felt a little dusty. He tried to read a book about the Sinagua people, builders of those now-ruined pueblos that Isaac had mentioned, but the words didn’t register. He stared out the window. And around midnight, he started to worry.
He tried to imagine what Isaac was up to. Maybe Con’s unintentionally harsh barb about Isaac’s past had made him so angry that he’d rented a separate room. But then, wouldn’t he have come back to fetch his belongings? He could be outside walking around, but the area was poorly lit, the footing treacherous in the dark. Even Isaac surely had enough sense to avoid that. Maybe he’d found a bar, here at the hotel or elsewhere in Gerard, and had fallen off the wagon. Maybe he’d found a woman or man—or heck, why not both?—and was currently engaged in a low-scale orgy somewhere. If so, that was his own business, and that thing Con felt was absolutely not jealousy.
It was bad form to abandon your partner like this. An agent needed to know where his partner was so that they could back each other up if needed. They’d been taught this repeatedly during training.
It was badmannersto disappear for hours without a word of explanation, most likely returning at some ungodly time, then turning on the lights and making all sorts of noise so that the person sharing your room was awakened.
By all rights, Con should record Isaac’s absence in his daily notes.
He didn’t.
But he did pace the room, which was too small for pacing, and finally stopped when the frequent pivots began to hurt. He stared out the window some more.
And then, inevitably, he recalled what Isaac had said right before leaving. Ghosts. He said he was hunting for ghosts.
Fuck.
CHAPTER8
Despite the late hour,the reception desk was staffed. The frowzy-looking young man looked up from his game of solitaire, blinked quickly, and pasted on a professional smile. “Need something? Restaurant’s closed, but there’s drinks in that cooler and snacks on the rack.” He waved toward one corner of the lobby.
“No thanks. I’m, um, looking for someone. For my partner. My work partner, that is.” Well, that sounded inane. Con tried again. “We’re here on business. My coworker left the room several hours ago and he hasn’t returned yet. I was wondering if you knew where he went.”
The young man shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe. I’ve been on duty since eight, so if he left the building, I probably saw him.”
“He’s in his thirties. Dark hair. He was wearing black suit pants and a white shirt.” Which was mostly unbuttoned when Isaac had stormed off, but Con didn’t mention that.
The clerk’s posture relaxed a bit. “Oh yeah, sure. Isaac, right?”
Ofcoursethey were on a first-name basis. “Yes.”
“Man, I’ve never met an agent from the Bureau of Trans-Species Affairs before. It’s so cool! Do you guys really, like, stake vampires and hang out with sasquatches?”
