ONE #3
He fixed her in his gaze. His eyes were deep gray, as shadowed as the darkest parts of the alley that were now being lit by spotlights.
“Look, if you want to question me about the body, I didn’t see anything. You watched me walk out of—”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out some cash.
She stared at it. “Are you trying to silence me?”
One corner of his mouth actually twitched in amusement. “Yes.”
“Is it blood money?”
“I won it fair and square.”
Great. She was dealing with a gambler and a possible killer. Worse, he had one of those lazy drawls that snagged her interest every single time.
“I want you to take it, go inside and get yourself some food. Sit where I can see you. I need to take care of this.”
She looked inside and saw cops crawling all over the restaurant.
“Sit where I can see you,” he ordered.
“Am I being detained?”
“Yes.”
The only reason she took the money was because she’d been running on the fumes of morning coffee, two French fries and rage since her shift started.
“I’m only agreeing because I’m hungry.”
“Good enough.”
By the time she settled at a table with a slice of pizza, the man joined her. When he took a seat across from her, she was struck again by his size.
“Do you know who died?” She picked at her slice of cheese pizza.
“Yes.” He looked more annoyed and his glower wasn’t helping her appetite.
She took a small bite and chewed slowly. “What’s your name?”
“Rome.”
“Rome? That sounds made up.”
“As made up as Stina Velez?”
Panic almost made her choke, then she realized her manager must have told him her name. She nibbled another bite.
“Why are you eating so slow?”
“If I stretch the food out, it lasts longer.”
His expression changed in a way she couldn’t read. It wasn’t pity, which was good. She hated pity. But it wasn’t a level of annoyance either. It looked like he didn’t know how to respond, so she helped him by moving to the questioning part.
“So who was he?”
“The dead man?”
“No, Rome. This pizza.” She held up the half-eaten triangle.
“Who do you think he was?”
She pushed the food away. “The FBI doesn’t show up for random dead people. It could be Jimmy D.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “He’s a drug dealer. If he says he’s going to deliver a pizza…” She gave Rome a wide-eyed look of knowing.
She leaned even closer and whispered, “Or it could be the new waitress. She’s missed so many shifts, but the manager still keeps her. Rumor is he keeps her because she’s a mafia princess and the family will…” She made a slicing motion across her throat.
He didn’t respond to anything she said, which only made her keep going. She named three more suspects, each more reasonable than the last in her opinion. He became increasingly annoyed with every guess.
Finally, he cut in. “Have you noticed anyone watching you?”
The pizza suddenly sat heavy in her stomach. “No.”
“Think.”
She started to answer with something snarky, but nothing came out as she realized she had noticed somebody watching her.
“There was a black car…parked near my apartment a few times. I saw the driver. Then I saw him sitting in my section three nights straight. And—” She swallowed hard.
Rome watched her, not saying a word.
“The same guy questioned my coworkers about me. And I got a few hang-up phone calls.” She finished and waved a hand to dismiss everything she just told him.
“It was nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Stina.” He leaned in.
None of this was about her. She was only a waitress. She didn’t have anything to do with the dead man outside or any reason for this man to be questioning her.
Except…she had received that photo earlier today.
“It’s probably a creepy customer. Or an angry ex. Or some guy I rejected who couldn’t handle it.” She waved a hand. She wasn’t going to let one dead man, a bossy gambler and several FBI jackets turn her life into a conspiracy.
A couple began arguing near the counter, and Stina turned her head. The woman stormed away, chin lifted. The man stood frozen by the table.
Stina pushed to her feet.
Rome’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you going?”
“To fix that before he makes it worse.”
She crossed the room, told the guy to buy the woman the house special martini and apologize without using the word. By the time Stina returned, the woman had come back to the table to find a martini waiting for her, and the disaster had been downgraded to a minor event.
Rome watched her closely as she sat.
“What?” she asked.
“You just counseled strangers in the middle of being questioned about a murdered agent.”
She shook her head. “I don’t have anything to do with that.”
Rome stood, all trace of humor gone. “Time to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“Why?”
His stare moved over her face, hard and focused and far too serious for the bubble of denial she was trying to keep around herself.
“Because whoever killed that man thinks he removed your protection.”
The room noise dulled. The sirens faded.
Rome leaned closer, voice low enough that only she could hear.
“And I’m not leaving you here long enough for him to find out he’s wrong.”