Blood in the Ozarks

29. That's My Girl

My boots were going to rub holes in the hotel room carpet. I couldn't keep circling the tiny square room while I waited for KT to call me back or for someone from the Sheriff's Department to magically call me and apologize for taking my partner into custody. I was driving myself insane.

Trying to crush the nervous energy building inside of me, I sat down on the bed and opened my laptop. The screen glowed in anticipation of my next step. I closed the lid.

Then I opened the laptop again.

Then closed it.

I didn't know what to do next, and the hotel room began to feel more like a cage than a shelter. So I threw the laptop into my bag, grabbed my keys, and walked out the door.

But even as I waited for the elevator to descend, I wasn't sure what I was doing or where I was even going.

Would they let me see Ortega if I went to the county jail? Were they allowed to deny visitors? I needed to know what he found out about the fiends. Werewolves? I needed to know what else he knew about the werewolf.

Naturally my thoughts wandered to Cian. Had he picked up on the other wolf in town? Would he be able to talk to them without things turning into another farm-side fist fight? So far he hadn't answered any of my calls. All texts were left unread. Complete silence since he left hours ago.

As I got in the car, I realized leaving the room didn't change anything. I still didn't know what to do. I couldn't come up with my next step. I couldn't even come up with a place to drive to. For a while, I drove around in aimless circles in the rain trying to figure out how to move forward out of my spiral.

The windshield wipers on my rental car whipped back and forth adding a mechanical zip zip zip to the pounding already beating in my head.

I turned what felt like my millionth circle around Little Bluff. Down Main Street, past the post office, and back down the central loop. Then I hit the breaks. Thunder cracked outside and I whipped the car around picking a new direction.

#

The diner welcomed me like the space had been since I got to town, with a warm rush of air and slap in the face scent of maple syrup and bacon grease.

Walking through that front door somehow felt like home. Like walking into your own kitchen as a child and having your mom make you a snack while she asks you about your day. The diner refilled my soul.

I took a seat at one of the cracking booths, folded my arms on the worn table top, and laid my head down with my eyes closed. I let the warmth and the smell of the griddle comfort me. I let that room wrap me up and hold me. And then I began to cry.

I wanted this to be my case. I wanted to prove I was worth more than the Bureau thought and do everything myself. And now I truly was alone.

The person who wanted to help me the most was in jail and the one whose job was to help me I'd blatantly drove away.

While I was in the middle of my pity party, a handle tapped me gently on the back.

I lifted my head and peeked up at Yvonne. The waitress's welcoming features settled into a concerned frown.

"Need anything, sugar?" she asked. Her mauve-tinted lips were holding back questions that I could see bubbling behind her eyes.

I swiped at the tears on my cheeks and produced a weak smile for her. "Just coffee, please," I answered.

Yvonne went off to grab the ancient coffee pot and a clean white mug. As she stepped away my phone finally rang and I answered so quickly I didn't even take stock of who was calling.