Page 22 of The Witness

“Am I interrupting?” Quinn’s kind voice had me pulling back from Sydney and sitting up tall.

“I needed a moment to, ah, process, I guess.” Wiping under my eyes, I checked my cheeks for stray tears and was proud not to find any. I’d had more near breakdowns in the last thirty-six hours than I’d had since Hailey’s death. Next, I’d be making vats of bouillabaisse, trying to cook away my unsettled emotions.

“Process away. But do it fast. Minerva is on her way, and if she is anything like my mom, you will be smothered in concern if she finds you like this.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” I stood and moved to the coffeemaker in search of a distraction. Caffeine and another slice of that chocolate cake from last night would bolster my mood and everyone else’s. “Everyone want cake with their coffee? It’s really good.”

“O-M-G so flattered, you liked my cake.” Quinn pressed a hand to her chest and gave me a big smile.

“Liked? It was delicious.” I pulled a knife from the butcher block and got to work.

“I didn’t get any at the party. Now I’ve got to try it.” Sydney said.

My mother arrived with a rustle of silk caftan and a cloud of Chanel N°5. She dropped dramatically into a chair at the table with a sigh that drew all of our gazes.

“Poor Captain Morgan. He’s beside himself. I think he may molt from sheer stress.” My mother looked better than I’d expected her to. With her blood pressure issues, I’d worried she’d be physically drained after this morning.

“That bird has lived through worse.” I shrugged and went back to pouring the water into the coffee machine.

“True. The fire at Vito’s shop and two armed robberies. But he was a younger bird back then.”

“A spring chicken?” Quinn offered with a barely repressed giggle.

“Why yes? Well played, my dear. I enjoy a good bird pun. So does the Captain. When he’s feeling more himself, I’ll have to show you his tricks. But be warned he has quite the salty vocabulary.”

“That’s true. He knows all the most foul words and phrases.” Yep, another bird pun. My mother rolled her eyes at me.

“His formative years were spent living at Vito’s diesel engine repair shop. It was not a finishing school.” Mom twisted in her chair to offer Sydney a thank you for “springing us from the cops” while I finished making coffee and served Quinn’s cake to everyone.

“Where is Mr. Steel? I want to thank him now that I’ve caught my breath.” Mom looked about the room like a six-and-a-half-foot-tall man might have hidden in a corner where she’d overlooked him.

“He’s at the hospital,” Quinn told us.

“Was he hurt?” Mom fumbled her fork, and it clattered to the tabletop.

“No. He and John went to check on a patient. Your FBI agent.” Quinn nodded at me.

“Poor Lewis. He didn’t deserve to get sucked into this. I’m still not sure I should have involved all of you, either.” I took my cake and settled next to Quinn. The need to repay my mounting debts to these people weighed heavily.

“Mark my words.” Quinn's serious tone had me pausing before I cut into my cake. “If John Smith had known what you saw and who you could identify, he’d have sent a team to kidnap you. He’s been working on the Sandoval problem for years. And you are the solution.”

“Whether you want to be or not,” Sydney added.

“John isn’t that bad.” Quinn defended her boss with a passion that made me think she trusted John Smith to do more than give her a paycheck.

“He’s not a white knight, either.”

“Syd, none of us are pure as the driven snow. And Steel will keep her safe.” Quinn winked at me.

A blush or something close to it crawled over my cheeks, and I wanted to hide my face. Instead, I rushed to pour the coffee.

“The tattoos and beard were off-putting at first, but he’s a good man. I have a sixth sense for that kind of thing. Saved more than one widow at Silver Palms from a fortune hunter.”

“Mom.” I groaned and poured coffee for all the ladies. At my age I should be immune to my mother embarrassing me, but nope. She got me, every single time. Mom was right, though; Steel wasn’t my type at all. I learned my lesson about tattoos and motorcycles a very long time ago. My infatuation, I reminded myself firmly, was all about circumstances. I was grateful, period.

The four of us started chatting about men and life, everything and nothing. For a few brief moments while we ate cake and drank coffee, I relaxed and pretended that my life wasn’t a disaster.

Too bad it wouldn’t last.

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