Eater of Lives(SPECTR #4) by Jordan L. Hawk Page B

the foot was rotted or fresh before he panicked? What the
fuck do they teach at the police academy nowadays, anyway?”
    Word had already spread that the raid had
turned into a bust. John walked down the stairs, wincing at the
pull of overtaxed muscles from running up them in the first place.
Caleb followed him down, big boots clunking loudly on the wooden
risers. “I’m sorry.”
    “It isn’t your fault.”
    “No, but…” Caleb trailed off and shrugged,
the leather coat creaking with his movements. “I’m glad we got to
her before it was, you know, too late. But the wendigo is still out
there someplace.”
    “Yeah,” John agreed, stepping out onto the
porch and taking a deep breath of winter air. “And we’re no closer
to finding her than we ever were.”
    * * *
    “Hey,” Sean said. “You want to get some
lunch? I’ve got something I’d like to talk to you about.”
    Caleb looked around the confines of John’s
office, but no, he was the only person there. Sean must be talking
to him. “John is, uh…”
    “With the rest of the team, sorting through
all the dead-end leads the tip line is bringing in,” Sean said with
a wry twist of his lips. “You know John won’t leave; it’ll be a
sandwich brought up from the cafeteria for him. Right now, you’re
sitting here bored as fuck, because you don’t have the training to
figure out what might be genuine and what’s bullshit. Well, except
for maybe the tip we got in last night about seeing the wendigo
take off in a flying saucer from the Battery.”
    Caleb snorted. “Yeah. Even I could figure out
that one is probably bogus.” But truthfully, Sean had a point. No
one even had time to find something for him to do at the moment, so
he’d spent the morning wondering if he could get away with surfing
for porn on John’s computer, or if it was some kind of federal
offense to use SPECTR equipment to watch videos of hot guys
fucking. “Okay, sure. Let’s get out of here.”
    Sean’s sedan was identical to John’s, except
the upholstery reeked of cigarette smoke. Caleb’s hypersensitive
nose itched like he’d just snorted fiberglass insulation, and he
prayed Sean didn’t intend to drive them very far. “Where are we
headed?”
    “A little Middle Eastern deli a few blocks
from here. They’ve got hummus and falafel sandwiches. I figured it
would be a safe place for you to eat. Unless you don’t like hummus
and falafel.”
    “Love both.”
    “Good.” Sean seemed to relax slightly. He’d
acted a lot nicer ever since Caleb moved in with John; maybe he
really did want to be friends. Considering everyone else at SPECTR
looked at Caleb like he might vamp out and start sucking blood any
minute, it was good to have Sean on his side, even if just for
John’s sake.
    “You into NASCAR?” Sean asked, after they’d
driven a few minutes in silence.
    Too bad Caleb sucked at small talk. “Uh, not
really. I watched a few races with John, though. Some of the
drivers are cute.”
    Sean flushed slightly. “I’ll take your word
for it.”
    Fortunately, Sean parked the car not long
after. He’d picked out a true hole-in-the-wall for lunch, and
diners already packed the tables inside. In the spring and summer,
no doubt it offered café seating as well, but they hadn’t bothered
putting out tables and chairs on a winter day threatening rain.
    “Maybe we should try somewhere else?” Caleb
suggested, even though he didn’t want to spend any more time in the
smoke-impregnated car.
    “We’ll get it to go and walk while we’re
eating.” Sean touched his left shoulder, where the bullet had
grazed him. “I haven’t totally given up on my new health kick
yet.”
    Caleb glanced at the overcast sky
uncertainly. But hell, maybe Sean thought a little exercise was
worth getting his suit wet. “Sure.”
    Sean ordered a lamb gyro, and Caleb hummus on
pita. As they strolled away, Caleb sniffed it cautiously; the man
at the register had assured him the basil-pesto