The tables nearest the windows were plain dark wood, a little scuffed up. Homey.
No music played, or if it did, it was drowned out from the thrum of conversation. People sat at tables with coffee, tea, food, laptops, and handhelds, content to call Get Mugged their second living room.
I grinned. Noisy, crowded—I loved it here. Even though it was smaller than the dining room at Maeve’s place, it somehow managed to feel cozy, not claustrophobic. Plus, having the best coffee in town went a long way toward securing my affections.
Grant was at the end of the room, his back toward me as he bused a table. He wore a tight gray T-shirt with a dish towel thrown over one shoulder, dark jeans, and cowboy boots. Had good arms, a nice ass, and a strong, trim build.
When he turned, he gave me a howdy-baby smile.
Or more likely he gave it to Zayvion, who glided in behind me.
I walked toward the counter, pushing the hood of my jacket down and then unzipping it. I wished I’d thought about taking a heavier coat to my workout.
Grant swung behind the counter, his hands filled with plates and mugs, which he carried into the back room. He deposited the dishes with a quick comment to another employee there I couldn’t see before he came out to stand behind the cash register.
“Allie. Good to see you, girlfriend. Hey there, Zay. What can I get you two?”
“Sixteen-ounce, black,” I said, “and the freshest scone in the case.”
He grinned. “My scones are always fresh. Last out of the oven was lemon poppy seed. Is that okay? And for you, Zay?”
“Just coffee. Black.”
“For here?”
I shook my head. “To go would be better.”
He plucked a couple paper cups off the stack beside him.
“So who’s looking for me?” I asked.
“The man at the back of the room near the stairs to the loft. The woman who was with him is in the bathroom.”
Okay, I am not a spy. I’m pretty sure I would fail spectacularly at spy school. So instead of trying to make it look all accidental, I just turned and looked at the guy.
Light hair, big eyes that were sort of puppy-sad, chin too narrow, he was the kind of man who spent his life disappearing in crowds. No one would guess he was a part of the Authority, a magic user, and a damn good one too.
He was also my stepmother’s bodyguard. Kevin Cooper.
Well, so much for being followed by bad guys. Violet probably just wanted to talk about Beckstrom Enterprises. Business. Or maybe she had news about the baby she was carrying—my only sibling.
I didn’t even have to ask Grant who the Hound was. I could smell his scents among the people in the room, though the subtleties of his scent had changed. No more sweet cherries, which was good. That meant he hadn’t been around Blood magic lately.
Hunched against the wall to my right, close enough he wouldn’t have to push many people out of the way to get to the door, was Anthony Bell. The same kid Pike had been trying to help.
My heart did double speed for a minute. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been beaten to a bloody mess on the floor of the warehouse where Dr. Frank Gordon was trying to raise my dad from the dead. Dr. Gordon had used Anthony as a Proxy and made the kid pay the price for the magic Frank threw around. I’d heard Anthony survived it. Spent some time in the hospital. Then in the courts. I hadn’t followed his case, not much caring whether he would be convicted of the charges of working with Lon Trager and dealing in illegal Blood magic, kidnapping, murder.
I hated following the media when it came to things that touched me personally. I’d never been much of a spotlight lover when I was growing up in my very influential father’s spotlight-filled life.
Still, another Hound, Davy Silvers, had told me Anthony got off pretty easy, since he was a minor and hadn’t had an actual hand in kidnapping the girls. He’d gotten some counts on forgery of a magical signature, he’d spent some time in juvie, and, last I heard, he was doing community service.
Didn’t seem like a fair trade for Pike’s life.
“Coffee,” Grant announced, as he placed the cups on the counter. “Scone.”
I looked away from Anthony, put a few bucks down, and picked up my cup and the scone Grant had put in a small bag.