Sunglasses at Night (Claws Clause 3)

“Sure thing. I’ve been meaning to get together with you, have a drink, shoot the shit.” Diaz paused, as if something just occurred to him. He probably realized that this was the first time, well, ever that Adam set up a time to see each other. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

If Deb’s tip checked out, everything might be.

He didn’t expect Diaz to drop whatever he was doing to meet him for a drink. Surprisingly, though, the cop readily agreed to meet with him later that night. He actually sounded like he was looking forward to it.

In a way, so was Adam.

Huh.

Seemed like Shea might’ve been right when she scolded him gently the last time he visited her at her shop. Going out and hunting for Rafe might’ve been his only reason to keep on living, but it had already been close to five months and there was no sight of him.

It was easy to close in on himself. To forget that he had a life that was brutally cut short when Rafe ripped out his throat.

Instead of dying outright, though, he was turned into something worse. And, because of that, he didn’t want to have this life. He didn’t want to be a Para.

And he sure as hell didn’t want the people he used to know when he was human to see him like this now.

One look and they would know he was different. One look and they would know he was changed.

Unless he could get his hands on the elixir...

It was another downside to being a Nightwalker. While every Para he met tried to explain the benefits to being turned—long life! enhanced senses! super strength and speed!—none of them ever wanted to get into the shitty side. Like the whole never-seeing-the-sun thing, or how he’d lose nearly all of his color. His tan skin had faded to a sickly pale, his warm brown eyes were a mirror-like silver, and he couldn’t forget the way his fingernails turned into thick, black, pointed claws.

Plus the way that everyone from his old life was a memory.

Well. No. Not quite. He still had Evangeline, who kept contact with him in spite of her overbearing mate. Diaz, who was free for a drink as soon as Adam called. And, of course, Colt and Shea.

Jesus, he couldn’t believe he actually agreed to their ridiculous suggestion. Maybe it was busywork. Who knew? It seemed like it, since the idea of being a late-night delivery guy was crazy to him. And, while it might be, that didn’t stop Colt from sending him a message that he already had his first delivery scheduled for that night.

As soon as the sun set, he drove out to the Bumptown, loaded up the delivery van, and made two stops. Then, because Diaz had agreed to meet him at ten o’clock, he drove Colt’s van over to this little hole in the wall bar that was on the other side of Grayson from his old precinct.

It had a mixed clientele, more Para than not, and though it surprised Adam the first time he met Diaz there, it seemed the perfect place to talk to the detective.

Though Adam was right on time, Diaz was already seated at a booth near the entrance when he arrived. Leaving his shades on, he wove through the crowded tables, plopping in the seat opposite of the other man.

Luis Diaz was a good fifteen years older than Adam, with tanned skin, grey streaking his black hair, and friendly dark brown eyes. He picked up the glass in front of him, saluting Adam as he sat.

“Lou. It’s been a while.”

“You look good, bud.”

Diaz was full of shit.

“Thanks. How’s Connie doing? The family?”

The older cop’s eyes lit up. As if no time had passed at all, Diaz sipped on his beer, bullshitting with Adam. He talked about his beloved wife, whatever their four kids were into, and—as it was almost inevitable—he brought up Grayson PD.

Adam resigned himself to that. When he was on the force, all talk eventually turned to cop talk. Cases. Precinct gossip. Ragging on lawyers. Shit like that. Adam used to live for it, back when the job was his life.

Now, he couldn’t wait until the older cop took a fucking breath so that he could finally ask, “Hey. What can you tell me about slayers? Finding them, I mean, instead of staying off their radar.”

&nbs

p; Diaz immediately went stiff. Frowning, he said, “Why would you ask me about that?”

“Um, because you’re the one who brought up slayers last time?”

“Oh.” Diaz visibly relaxed. “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry for being so jumpy. It’s just… you don’t talk about slayers.”