Once he'd set on a path for his room--the Fabulous Fifties as they were--Connor traced the scent of coffee beans in the air and entertained a brief hope he'd find the Lieutenant at the source. More and more, the man was trading in the Eristoff for the espresso.

No such luck.

Naturally. Connor would have heard the man before he saw him, most days. Still, he lingered before the cart, considering getting the attention of the young man who sat behind it, but found himself at a loss as for what to say.