When the waitress left, Jake saw her—the woman who’d caught his eye outside the restaurant—now sitting at a booth across from his. His heartbeat quickened, and he sat up a little taller. She was observing a man in his mid-fifties who was seated at a nearby table and wearing a fitted dark-gray suit. He was swarthy, fat faced, and fat lipped, with a bulbous nose, receding black hair, and dark cold eyes. Something about the man warned Jake that he was a threat, not someone to anger. Not just a man having an affair on his wife.
The fact she was watching the man bothered Jake. He saw it as a case of her flaunting danger. She was maybe five-five in stocking feet with a small build and tendrils of curls spilling from her upswept hair to tickle the back of her neck. She was not nearly big enough or mean-
looking enough to take on whomever the man was and win the confrontation. Now Jake could see her eyes—the color of rich chocolate, just like her hair. Her eyes were narrowed a hint and her brows knit into a small frown.
She pursed her full glossy lips, a shimmering shade of peach, as she wrote something on a notepad. Her gaze returned to the man. Her lips garnered another look as she worried the bottom one a little, and Jake had the urge to coax her mouth into a smile with his, to take away the frown, to give her something positive to think about. Like him.
She glanced toward the door as a man walked into the restaurant. Wearing an expensive black suit, he was similar in build to the first: stocky and dark-haired, swarthy and all business as he glanced around the place with a wolf’s wary manner. The woman quickly averted her eyes.
Surveillance. Jake bet she was working some kind of surveillance. But who were the men she was watching?
And who did she work for?
The waitress returned to the table, delivered his steak and eggs, and asked, “Is there anything else you’d like?”
She favored him again with a way too intimate pass, the connotation in her sugar-coated voice suggesting she could be on the menu if he was the least bit interested.
With a quick smile to indicate he’d gotten her message, but just as quick a shake of his head to show he wasn’t interested, he said, “No, thanks. I have everything I need, right here.” He glanced back at the woman in the suit as if emphasizing he meant that included the woman who continued to be the object of his fascination.
The waitress’s smile quickly faded. “Oh, you’re interested in her.” She paused, as if she was thinking of saying something more about the woman. But then she shook her head and said, “I’ll check back with you in a bit, then.” She gave the woman in the suit a derisive look, but before the waitress could hurry off, Jake seized her scrawny wrist.
When she stopped and turned to face him, her pale hazel eyes wide, he released her wrist and asked, “Do you know the woman?”
She gave a soft snort. “Oh, yeah, she and her mother have been coming here for years. Skiing, ice skating, hiking, you name it.” Then the waitress leaned down lower and said conspiratorially, “She’s mixed up with some bad types, and nobody but nobody wants to associate with them—or her. Let’s just say it can lead to a dead end.” She gave a little shrug.
“Bad types?”
The waitress rolled her eyes. “Mob ties.”
“She’s in with the Mob?” Jake asked, sounding incredulous. The guys she was observing looked like they might have connections, but…
“Her mother was dating one of them.”
That put a totally new spin on the situation. “And the daughter?”
The waitress’s lips curved up in a menacing grin. “Sure, like mother, like daughter. She gave up an honest-to-
goodness decent sort to consort with a bunch of criminals.”
He had the sneaking suspicion the daughter wasn’t seeing someone like that. If anything, she was watching the two men in a way that made him think of a police sting operation, not as though she was friends with them. If she had been, she would have joined them.
But the waitress’s words still gave him pause. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” The waitress flipped around and hurried off, swaying her hips in an exaggerated fashion.
He sliced into his juicy steak, the aroma of the T-bone making his stomach rumble again, but the food still didn’t interest him as much as the woman. Taking a bite of the tender meat, which was seasoned to perfection and melted in his mouth, he sat back and observed her further. She looked to be all work, no play, just like he was normally.
For some inconceivable reason, he wanted to gain her attention. Maybe because she’d hooked his to such a degree. On the other hand, he enjoyed watching her, studying her, and taking pleasure in her without her knowledge, without the anxiety-ridden pretension that often existed between two people meeting for the first time.
He looked again at her jacket. She could be an undercover cop. Maybe. Aslight bulge under her jacket on one side could indicate she was packing a gun.
He raised his brows. She could be armed and deadly.
Even more intriguing. Although the waitress’s words still lingered in his thoughts: she could be dating a mobster like her mother was. She could be armed because she was one of the criminal element. Yet he couldn’t help but feel she was working as an undercover cop. But if she was, he thought she was in way over her head on this case.
He glanced around the room. None of the other diners seemed to be watching the men or her. Why didn’t she have backup if she was a cop?
Getting involved in human affairs that didn’t pertain to the good citizens of Silver Town was not a good idea. Yet if she encountered any trouble, he’d be in the thick of it, rescuing her without thought of reward. Well, maybe a little reward. A heartfelt hug from that sweet body of hers would do for starters. A kiss from those lips would be welcome.
He sat back and finished his steak and eggs, while she sipped more of her tea. She’d taken a bite of a cinnamon roll, but nothing more. Was she as frugal as he? Or just not a big breakfast eater? Or was ordering the breakfast just as a ruse while she conducted her surveillance?
He wondered what it would be like to pull the pins from her hair, release it over her shoulders, and comb his fingers through the lush, silky strands. To disarm her—to see her wearing something softer, something that would reveal her womanly curves even more, or wearing nothing at all. And to taste her lips, sweetened by sugary cinnamon.
Turning his attention to the two men she was observing, he listened, trying to hear their exchange. The men spoke in low tones, but with the murmur of conversations in the busy restaurant and the distance Jake was from the men’s table, he couldn’t make out their words, even with his enhanced wolf’s hearing. The men didn’t seem to take any notice of the woman, either feigning ignorance or showing her that her effort to rattle them was in vain.
Jake glanced at one of the plate-glass windows and the pin-striped awning stretched over the top to shade customers when the sun rose in the sky. Two men sat out front in a darkened Mercedes—the one bearing the license plate that his mystery woman had photographed earlier. Bodyguard, driver, he assumed. And parked in front of that vehicle was another: similar make and model, same setup—two men.
Inside the restaurant, the two men under surveillance shook hands. One smiled, the look pure evil. The other nodded.
Jake glanced back at the woman to see her take on the matter, and his blood instantly heated with ire. A bruiser of a man wearing a dark gray suit towered over her as he motioned for her to leave. When the hell had he entered the restaurant and approached her?