Page 12 of Connected
“I was— Shit. I was worried I’d run into someone who knows me.” Owen wouldn’t meet his gaze.
Instead of asking why this would be a problem, Keaton said, “I can make sandwiches. I haven’t eaten yet either.”
“Do you dote this much on all your guests?”
“Only the ones I’ve overcharged.”
After a short discussion, it was decided that Owen would clean up and meet Keaton in the big house. Keaton managed to hide his delight, although he felt guilty that he could mask his feelings while Owen’s were easy for Keaton to sense. But since it wasn’t intentional, it wasn’t Keaton’s fault and there was nothing he could do about it.
Owen came into the kitchen twenty minutes later, smelling of soap and shampoo, his hair still damp, and wearing jeans and a navy T-shirt. He took a seat at the table in the breakfast nook. “Smells great in here.”
“Muffins.” Keaton set down a couple of plates full of food—turkey sandwiches, potato chips, apples—and then poured glasses of iced tea before joining him.
“I really appreciate you feeding me so well.”
“It’s nice to have company for a meal.”
Owen squinted at him. “You haven’t found people to hang out with here?”
“Haven’t really tried. I’m, um, kind of a loner.” By necessity rather than choice, but Owen didn’t need to know that.
“Innkeeper is kind of a weird profession for a loner.”
Keaton ate a few bites of sandwich before answering. “Like I told you, I don’t actually have guests that often. I get residuals, you know. Not a lot, because mother dear wasn’t the great negotiator she thought she was, but almost enough to live on. Guests just fill in a few gaps. And with the separate guest house, well, most of them pretty much do their own thing.”
The response was a grunt that could have meant anything. Owen seemed to be enjoying the food, though. Keaton wondered how often people cooked for him, and how often he ate alone.
“Do you have a husband?” Keaton asked. “A boyfriend?”
That earned him a long, considering look—which he didn’t shy away from—followed by a shake of the head.
“Is it a problem being a gay Bureau agent?”
“The being gay part isn’t a problem. We have agents all over the gender and sexuality spectrums. Hell, my boss is queer and his partner is, um, unconventional. Being an agent is the problem. Life with the Bureau is… weird. Hard. Some of the agents have spouses, but almost always they’re married to someone else in the Bureau. Or to someone who’s out of the norm.”
Interesting phrasing. “What does that mean?”
“Well, one agent has a partner who’s some kind of house spirit. Not a ghost—something different. The spirit’s a nice guy. Agent Alvarez married a vampire a couple of years ago. When I was first hired, the man who ran our lab up north was shackedup with a Sasquatch. They’re retired now. Then there was a dog-shifter who— Well, you get my drift.”
Keaton digested this information while chewing his sandwich. He would have assumed that Bureau agents would be hostile toward NHSs, but apparently not always. Owen certainly seemed nonchalant about it. Keaton wondered if he was equally accepting of humans who were freaks of nature. Such as, for instance, people who could read others’ emotions.
He decided to change the subject. “Did you find anything at the tipple?”
“Just a lot of coal waste and rotting machinery. I’m going back when we’re done here, but I doubt anything will turn up.”
“What kind of reports did the Bureau get, anyway?”
Owen shrugged. “Vague shit. Weird sounds, lights moving around at night, faint screams. A couple of the people who live closest have claimed that sometimes they feel the ground shake. Sounds and lights and screaming could be kids messing around. Animals too—coyotes, raptors…. And the shaking, well, fracking and oil production can produce quakes, and both of those things have happened around here. And the whole hill’s probably swiss-cheesed from mining.”
That made sense. Keaton wondered how often agents got sent on wild ghost chases.
“How about you?” Owen asked. “Have you ever experienced something unusual at the tipple?”
“I’ve only been there once, back when I first moved here.”
Owen’s mouth tightened slightly and something like suspicion emanated from him. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Right. The guy did have decades of experience in law enforcement—or something like that. “I didn’t see or hear anything weird,” Keaton said. “I went out there just because I’d heard about it and I was curious. I’d never seen a coal tipple.”
