Page 54 of Tested
Lydia must give her girls some unspoken sign, because they grab a table for two, leaving us with a booth to ourselves. We settle in; Lydia with her dog piled high with cheese and onions, and me with my sundae, which appears to be a tamale smothered in chili and cheese. We each have a soda to wash down all this mess, and once we’re on our own, we’re both surprisingly quiet.
I’m good with devouring my dinner, hungry enough to wonder if living on vampire time had me missing more meals than I realized. Of course, my recent blood donation might have something to do with it. If I dig too deeply into why I’m really here, though, it’ll spoil my dinner, so I make a deliberate choice to worry about how my lipstick is holding up while I chow down.
“This food is really good,” I manage between bites.
Lydia’s poking at her dog. “Gotta keep a young wolf healthy. I am wondering what’s up with you today, though.”
I pause, fork in mid-air. “Welp, it’s like this. Connor’s doing this private investigator thing, and he’s got me helping him.”
“Private eye to the stars?”
“Nah.” I laugh at the thought. “Private eye to the supes, more like it. He’s working with Adam Smith, the supernatural liaison to the LAPD.”
“I know Adam.” She pauses for a swig of her coke. “He’s a good dude.”
“Seems to be, yeah.”
Lydia’s a good person, too. The lines on her face are honest, and I see both humor and caring in her gaze. Her wolves seem settled, secure, which makes me think she’s the kind of alpha I would like to be.
“So Connor and Adam are investigating a string of murders. There are three victims, and they’re all in their mid-fifties and they all attended Beverly Hills High School.” I give her an apologetic smile. “I was just thinking if you were living here then, you might remember something that happened at that school, maybe around 1980.”
She starts to laugh. “You say 1980 like you’re afraid I’m going to be mad at you for guessing my age.”
“Well, no, I didn’t mean—”
“Sure you did. That’s okay, too. I’m old enough to remember 1980, but sadly, off the top of my head, I don’t remember anything that might help you.”
I start to respond, but she interrupts me.
“Wait, now. Who might remember…”
She traces a fingertip through the sweat on the side of her soda, and I keep my mouth shut and let her think.
“One of my girls,” she says finally, “her mother is about my age, and she’s local, too. Let me talk to her and see if we can come up with something.”
“Thank you. That would be awesome.” More awesome than paying to dig through fifty thousand newspaper citations, anyway. We keep eating and I keep talking, and maybe it’s because she’s giving me older-sister vibes, I get into the thing with Trajan and Connor. Well, Connor’s end of it, anyway. I’m not sure what’s going on with Trajan.Yet.
“I don’t want to lose either of them, you know?” The chili is sitting heavy in my gut. “But Trajan was pretty clear that he wanted Connor to leave the Elites, and Connor agreed.”
“Why does Trajan get to say that?”
“I don’t know.” I smooth some hair that’s starting to escape the product I applied.
“He try and dictate what you do like that?”
“No.” The lie is kind of annoying because Trajan has been scheming for me to take over as his day rep for business. “I mean, he wants us to be happy and safe, and he was hurt pretty bad when Connor faked his own death.”
She taps a French fry on her plate. “I agree that fake death was a shitty thing to do, but honestly, Connor could pull the same kind of bullshit even if he’s not working for the Elites. The issue is trust, not what he’s supposed to do with his life.”
“That’s true, and now he feels trapped in a situation where he’s going to break Trajan’s trust again.”
“Seems like they need to work this out for themselves.”
“But—”
“But you’ve got a stake in whatever they decide. I’m sorry, David. You’re in a tight spot.”
I smile in response, because even though she’s right, it helps having someone get it. “Thank you for listening to me prattle. Worse comes to worst, I’ll knock their heads together.”
“And if that doesn’t work, we can always make you an honorary lesbian if we need to.”
No response is big enough for that honor, so I hope my smile is enough. I couldn’t have said another word if I’d wanted to, not without crying anyway.
And if I cried it would ruin my mascara, so.
We finish dinner in a comfortable silence. Right before Lydia and her girls are ready to take off, I remember the Los Feliz alpha. “Did you ever hear back from that loser who thought he could grab your territory?”
Her grin takes on a dangerous edge. “Not yet, but when I do, I’m going to call you. If there’s a rumble, I want you on my team.”
I hold out my fist and she bumps it. “Any time, my friend. Any time.”
