Page 50 of Philly
“I assume the FBI took her computer, too. Did she have a personal one?” he asked.
She shook her head, then hesitated. “She had an iPad but not a computer.”
“Was her phone an iPhone?”
She turned and faced him, then nodded. “Lyda has her iPad. I sent it to her when I packed up Liza’s things.”
“Any chance Liza might have synced it to her phone?”
Callie grimaced. “She shouldn’t have. Her phone was a work phone, and the iPad was a personal device, but…”
“But it’s worth a try?”
She nodded and walked toward the bed. Grabbing her purse, she plopped down beside him—though not close since it was, after all, a king-size bed—and pulled her phone out. A few minutes later, she received a text back from Lyda confirming she still had it.
“Have her send it to Leo and Sabina. They’ll figure out the password. Or how to get around it,” he suggested.
She nodded and typed out another message, asking him the zip code of Mystery Lake before she hit Send as she hadn’t memorized it yet.
When she set her phone down, she rolled her head to look at him. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a pre-dinner drink at the cave bar.”
28
“Two prickly pear margaritas, please,” Gabriel said, leaning against the bar.
“I wanted a gin and tonic,” she said.
“Liar,” he replied when the bartender turned away. “You can’t resist an adventure, and prickly pear anything is a specialty in this part of the country. No way are you not interested in trying it.”
The only adventures she ever embarked on had been with him when they were kids. He’d made her brave and creative. With him, she’d wanted to embrace life rather than simply survive it. Or slog through it.
It was a far deeper conversation than she wanted to get into, though. Ever.
Instead, she turned her attention to the cozy cave bar they’d almost walked right by. The tiny opening, no more than a fissure between two rocks, disguised the entrance. Once inside, though, it opened into a space that she wouldn’t call large, but, filled with comfy couches, colorful throw blankets, dim lighting, and a woodburning stove that vented to god-knew-where, it waswelcoming. And a little romantic. If she were inclined to think that way.
“Here you go,” the bartender said. She’d never given a thought to prickly pear margaritas, but if she had, she wouldn’t have pictured the bright pink drinks he handed over. “The fire’s lit and the prime seats are open,” he continued, nodding toward the loveseat. “You won’t get that lucky if you’re back after dinner. The staff likes to tell people they’ll be tired by the end of the day. But in my experience? If you’re here, you’re more likely to be the sleep-when-I’m-dead kind of person.”
“Truth,” Gabriel said, raising his glass before leading her to the loveseat.
“We’re in for a series of late nights, aren’t we?” she asked.
He nodded. “Joseph isn’t a heavy drinker, but he loves people. He’ll be here every night, and by the end of the week, he’ll be everyone’s best friend.”
“That sounds like an exhausting way to live,” she admitted before taking a sip of her drink. She paused, holding the liquid in her mouth. “Oh,” she said after swallowing.
“Dangerous, aren’t they?” Gabriel said, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Promise you won’t let me have more than three a night.” She gave him a hard look. Like Joseph, she wasn’t a heavy drinker, but damn the margarita slid down her throat like, well, nothing she’d ever had. Sweet, but not too sweet, tart but not too tart. And no hint of the alcohol she’d seen the bartender pour in.
Gabriel chuckled. “You are asking the wrong person to police you. We never drank together growing up. What I wouldn’t give to see you even a little tipsy.”
She glared at him. For five seconds. Then she snorted a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
He shrugged. “I don’t think I ever saw you drink. Not even when drinks were available.”
“Remember, academics, sports, drama, debate—I couldn’t afford to do anything that might fuck up my schedule.”
“It was worth it, though, wasn’t it?”
