Tyler and Walters seemed to ponder, but they also seemed to not quite believe us. They just stared as though they expected the whole setting to turn into a joke.
“Do you all want anything to drink?” Shaun tried again.
“My treat,” I said. “Go crazy.”
Walters looked at Tyler, almost asking permission. “I could really use a beer,” he said.
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Tyler actually chuckled.
“When was the last time you
guys had a beer?” I said.
“When we deployed. No alcohol in the field, and since then . . .” He trailed off, shrugging.
“Maybe you’d better hold off,” I said. “Not until we know you’re not going to sprout claws and go bonkers.”
“Cokes all around then?” Shaun said. He probably liked the idea of not having a couple of military werewolves going bonkers in the restaurant.
Tyler and Walters acquiesced. Tyler wore a smile, a bit thin, a bit wry, as though he’d thought of a joke. Even with half the smile his face lit. “Is this all some big ploy to show us that werewolves are real people, too?”
“You haven’t actually listened to Kitty’s show ever, have you?” Ben said.
Neither one showed any sign that he had.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t think I’m broadcast in Afghanistan.”
“Kitty’s the supernatural self-help guru,” Ben said. Tyler raised a disbelieving brow. I couldn’t blame him; it did sound a bit ridiculous.
“Why do you think Shumacher called me? I’ve faked knowing what I’m talking about for so long I’ve become an expert.”
“Sounds like the army to me,” Tyler said.
Shaun arrived with a tray of sodas, and the others managed not to flinch at his approach. I nodded, and Shaun left us alone; but he lingered behind the bar, glancing back at us, keeping an eye on us.
Walters didn’t pay much attention to the drink in front of him; he seemed distracted. I looked to where he was staring: to Becky. She was staring right back at him, and frowning.
“Walters,” I said. I had to say it again before he looked at me. “Stop staring.”
“I know her,” Walters said, nodding at Becky, quickly glancing away. “She was in the woods the other day. With you. The other wolf.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You kind of beat her up.”
He flinched, cringing. But his gaze inevitably crept back to her. “What’s she doing here?”
“I think she was hoping for an apology.”
Walters blushed and looked into his glass. But he glanced at her a couple of times in the space of a few seconds, with a longing, hungry gaze, looking for all the world like an awkward teenager. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and I was afraid to ask. Ben wore a smirk, leading me to think that he understood what was going on in the guy’s brain. Now, was that because he was a guy and this was a guy thing, or because Ben was a criminal law attorney and he understood the dynamic? I’d have to ask him about that later. I wondered if I should move to block Walters’s view of Becky.
So. Here we were. Having drinks. Like normal grown-up people. What came next, again? Conversation? Oy.
We managed a half hour of small talk—a very human activity. I was pleased. By the end the two soldiers had even stopped looking around like they expected an attack.
Then Walters said, “I wish Van was here. If we could get him here, you could help him. Show him that we can be normal—”
“Ethan, you have to let Vanderman go,” I said.
He appeared so forlorn, looking at me with a lost gaze. He had both hands wrapped around his glass, clinging to it.