Page 13 of The Witness

“Vandalism?” No way the shitty car microphone’s limited audio capabilities properly conveyed exactly how pissed I was that Kennedy had characterized the attack like that. I’d seen all those cookbooks and magazines at her house. She’d been dreaming, working to have a restaurant of her own for years. It was her life’s passion.

“Not my word choice. It was Smith’s. He said telling her will only freak her out and make her do something stupid.”

“Those were John Smith’s exact words?” I worked for one heartless bastard.

“No. He said something about unnecessarily upsetting the poor woman and making her feel more powerless.”

My anger drained away in an instant with the change in perspective. Fuck, I hated when John Smith was right. The last thing we needed was Sabrina trying to see the damage firsthand. That was exactly what the assholes that shot up the place wanted. Then the same four vehicles full of bad guys with semiautomatic weapons would… Nope, not even going to think that thought.

If Sabrina knew that her place had been damaged, she would do anything and everything to see thevandalismfirsthand. We had a few jail cells at the office, but I’d rather not see her in one, even if it was for her own good.

I sighed and got with the John Smith program. “Any of the PD on scene guys we know?”

“Ah, yeah, Richards is here.”

“Tell him the owner is our client. We’re going to need the reports fast-tracked for her insurance company. And have PD keep an eye on the restaurant and her house.” I rattled off her home address, not that I expected Sandoval’s thugs to shoot it up next. They’d made their play. If she didn’t come to see Viande, she wouldn’t resurface to check on her house either.

“Roger that. See you soon.”

The moment the line disconnected, I called the office.

“Smith Agency.” It was the man himself.

“Smith, it's Steel.” No doubt my boss already knew I was calling, and he’d only answered the phone to talk to me. Caller ID was a son of a bitch.

“I assume you’ve heard about her restaurant.”

“I’m on my way there now,” I answered.

“Don’t bother. Noah has it in hand. And Quinn will start the insurance paperwork as soon as we get police reports. I assume Noah explained Sabrina doesn’t need to hear about the vandalism at this precise moment?”

“Yes.” I hated agreeing, but her life was far more important than broken glass.

“Good. You have other things to handle, like Sabrina’s family.”

“Understood.” I made a U-turn to head back to the office. I hoped Sabrina was awake. We needed to reach out to her mother and brother. If Sandoval would shoot up a building in the heart of Miami, her family needed protection.

The photo of the teenage girl holding the shallots flashed in my memory, and I pressed down on the accelerator a little harder.

Chapter 7

Sabrina

“Imade everyone breakfast.” I turned and glanced over my shoulder at Steel. “There were tons of leftovers from the party and a carton of eggs.”

“You didn’t have to. But it smells great.” He smiled and stepped all the way into the break room. His beard hid a lot of his expression, but the tone was somber. My mother’s intuition told me something serious had happened.

“I wanted to do something for all of you. And cooking is my stress reliever.” I carefully lifted the edge of my egg frittata. It had started to brown. I turned down the heat and pushed the plunger on the toaster.

“Thank you. Normally, it’s a microwave egg white burrito or a doughnut around here.” He clicked the mute button on the TVI had tuned to the local news, so we didn’t have to talk over the broadcast.

“Yeah, I saw those in the freezer.” I shuddered a little, imagining the flat, dull taste of rubbery microwaved egg whites and low-fat cheese.

“I was at your house early this morning. Brought you some things.” He put a huge duffle bag I recognized on the floor.

I shut off the burner and moved the eggs off the heat before I pounced on the bag. On top were my knife roll and my recipe book. I’d debated long and hard about leaving them behind when I went to meet Lewis. Thank God I had.

“This is incredible. My recipes. And my knives. You sure know the way to a girl’s heart.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed. I intended it to be a quick embrace, a throwaway thing. But when Michael’s arms folded around me, I lingered pressed to his chest. It had been too long since I had been held by a man. Two embraces with him in less than 24 hours and I was addicted. My devotion to the food truck to restaurant in five years plan meant I lived and breathed work. Even my dreams were about recipes, not broad-shouldered men with swirling tattoos and a delicate touch that sent goosebumps racing down my arms.

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