Page 7 of The Sin Eater (Carnival of Mysteries #27)

Sunday and Monday, I hit the gym hard. Tuesday it’s back to the grind.

I take the light rail and hike up the hill to the hospital, more or less ready for action.

There’s a line out the door to Brew on the Hill, so I figure I’ll wait till my morning break to get coffee.

As a result, my brain hasn’t quite kicked in when I get my first page.

An old, unhoused dude won’t leave the ER waiting room, even though there’s nothing wrong with him.

That’s followed by a pair of ambulances fighting for the closest spot to our ER entrance, and a guy on 5 South who thinks his mother is there even though she was discharged last week.

He’s putting up quite a fuss, and while we can tell him she’s gone, HIPAA won’t let us tell him where.

I get him settled, or at least out the door, and my pager goes off again.

And again, and again. It’s two p.m. before things quiet down a little and I realize I haven’t had breakfast or lunch, so I ping Zach that I’m headed for the Brew.

Cool. He texts back. You can take some files to the morgue on your way.

I take the stairs to the ER desk, where Zach is waiting for me. Grab the files. Hit the stairs. Try real hard not to get too excited about seeing Ezra.

Funny thing, that. When I get to the morgue, he’s standing in the doorway, hollering at someone over his shoulder.

“Hey, uh, hi.” I hold out the files like they’re some kind of defense. “These are for you.”

“Give ’em to Geneva. I’m on break.” He shifts his weight like he’s going to shuffle-step around me.

I stand my ground. “Heading for the Brew? I’m going that way, too.”

Geneva, the blond I talked to on Saturday, sticks her head through the doorway. “Look, Ezra, your friend is back.”

“They asked me to bring you these... “ I wave the files and hope I’m not blushing. “I’m on my way to the Brew.”

“Coffee date it is.” She snatches the files from me, giving Ezra a little shove. “Y’all have fun.”

The door to the morgue swings shut. Ezra and I stare at each other for a minute. “How are you feeling?” It’s the only thing I can think of to say.

It’s the wrong thing, too. “Like I need a cigarette,” he snaps.

“Let’s get coffee first.” I speak slowly, like I can temper his surly attitude with calm.

He crosses his arms with a scowl that should have scared me off. “Sure,” he says finally. “Coffee first, then a cigarette.”

The idea of being trapped in an elevator with the guy has me heading for the stairs. He follows, and neither of us says anything till we hit the street.

“Um... thanks.” He’s looking out into traffic, so I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or not.

“Thanks?”

“For the other night.”

“Oh, sure. No problem.” We reach the door to Brew on the Hill. I can’t decide whether I should follow that with a question or just let it alone. “So, do you want to tell me what happened?”

I’m either terminally curious or asking for trouble .

The look he gives me is answer enough. Okay.

Not talking about it. I push the door open and stand aside so he can go in.

There’s his scent again, cigarettes and lavender, and while he’s a good six inches shorter than I am, there’s a strength to him that I like.

He’s tough in a way I can’t quite figure out.

“So... “ We’re standing next to each other in the short line, both facing front. He’s slightly ahead of me, as if he doesn’t want to let anyone know we’re together.

Not that we’re together-together, but we did walk over and.

.. aw, hell. I figure I’ve got ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops before he grabs his drink and runs. “Are you from Seattle originally?”

He slides his gaze in my direction, his lips tight, fighting a grin. He’s got one hand in his pocket, fingers moving like he’s got a worry stone in there. “Nah, I grew up outside of Little Rock.”

“In Arkansas?” Which is a stupid thing to say, especially since I’d caught a hint of Southern in his voice the other night.

He gives in and grins. Well, on anyone else that slight curve in his lower lip a grin wouldn’t qualify as a grimace. I recognize it for what it is. “Yes. Arkansas.”

“What made you decide to move to the furthest corner of the country?”

His hand doesn’t stop moving. “Sorta worked my way across to the West Coast. California was too hot so I came here.”

“Makes sense.” This is as close as we’ve ever come to having a conversation, so of course my mind has gone blank. Damn it . On the other hand, it’s a relief just to see him. Whatever happened the other night, he seems to have recovered.

“You from around here?” he asks, gaze directed at the floor, fingers moving in his pocket.

“Yup, born and raised in Renton, went to UW.”

“Huh.” He nods, like something I said checked a box in his head. “You got kind of a funny gig for a college grad.”

There’s more of an edge to his grin, and I don’t mind admitting that his comment bugs me. Yeah, so hospital security guard was never on my wish list growing up, but the work’s steady and the benefits are good. “This is just temporary.”

While I figure out what’s next . Because something’s next. I just don’t know what.

He nods again, this time with more enthusiasm. “Sure.”

The guy in front of us pays for his drink. It’s our turn. Jett’s at the counter—Jett is always at the counter—and their smile is a shade wider than normal. “Gentlemen. I’m happy to see you both.”

“Hi, Jett.” I turn toward Ezra Morgue. “I’m buying.”

His sneer is almost a snarl. “Don’t worry about it.” He tips his head at Jett. “I’ll have the usual, without your bullshit cards.”

“Come on now.” Jett brings out a deck and gives the cards a quick shuffle. “Here, Damon. You go first.”

Jett fans out the cards and I pick one from the center. “Knight of Cups.” I turn it so both of them can see it. “Should I be ready for jousting?”

Jett returns the card to the deck and gives it another shuffle. “Only the romantic kind.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Their knowing laugh makes it seem like they’ve guessed my secret. Am I that obvious? Jesus. While I’m lost in embarrassment mode, they fan the deck and hold it toward Ezra. “Now it’s your turn.”

“Fuck.” Ezra rolls his eyes and after a brief pause, he takes a card. “What’s this bullshit?”

He’s pulled The Devil out of the deck. “You know what? I gotta get back to work.”

He pushes away from the counter and walks out, leaving me speechless.

“He’s trapped by something,” Jett says. picking up the card and tucking it back into the deck. “The cards make that plain.” They meet my gaze, expression somber. “I hope he’s able to find his way out.”

“Me too.” And I mean it, though hell if I know why.