Page 54 of The Twilight Theft

Chapter 22

Drew

Therewererestaurantsyoufrequented for the food and others for the price. In DC, many were where you went to see and be seen. But di Sano’s, a dimly lit Italian restaurant near Dupont Circle, was about privacy.

The host greeted me at the door. “Welcome back, Mr. Donovan. We made your regular table available.”

“Thank you, Luca.” I followed him past intimate tables with pendant lights on long chains. I always sat in a circular booth at the far end. From there, I had a view of everyone else but was close enough to the kitchen that the chef could duck out for a chat.

He ushered me into the booth, and I slid to the rear of the worn leather bench. “Would you like a menu?”

I waved it off. “Ask Martina to surprise me.”

“Of course.” He left with a slight bow and a subtle nod toward a young female server who delivered fresh cutlery and a small candle in a stained glass holder.

Alex had introduced me to the restaurant five years ago, when he’d been in town. The head chef, Martina, was an ex-girlfriend of his he’d maintained close ties with. She’d originally opened the restaurant in New York, but it proved successful enough she opened this one a few years later.

The candle flickered and I ran a finger along the side. The Flame of Khvarenah. How had Alex gotten mixed up with them?

And what was I going to do about it? Anything?

“Would you look at that?” A male voice grew too close to my table and I looked up. Emmett Reynolds stood there, hands on his hips, with Rav LaPierre looming behind him. “He walked right past us without saying hello, didn’t he, Rav?”

I blinked at the men. So much for privacy.

“Why thank you for the invite!” Emmett slid into the booth from the other side, stopping at the midpoint. “We’d love to join you.”

Rav sat next to him, pushing the dark hair from his forehead as he did. “Better view from here.”

Emmett nodded, taking the drink menu from the middle of the table.

“Better view of what?” I asked.

Emmett opened the menu and held it high enough to disguise the way he was staring at someone. “Yeah, perfect view.”

I followed his gaze and my stomach tied in the most ridiculously large knot, which then rose progressively up my throat.

Jayce sat at a small two-person table along the opposite wall. She had one foot tucked underneath herself and she leaned forward on the table. From the side, she appeared more slender than usual, her athletic shoulders hidden by a pale blue silk blouse. She was smiling and laughing, without the malice or sarcasm I normally brought out in her.

Across the table from her—Wyatt James. He was also laughing, in that obnoxiously loud way he did. The way he did when he was playing up his Southern charm.

“We’re chaperoning,” said Emmett. “He called and invited her to dinner, she told us, and we snuck in. Our other table required craning necks, so when we saw you sit down, figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“You’re spying on her?” I asked.

Emmett cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

“I came for dinner.” Although I was no longer craving Martina’s cooking. I waved to a server I didn’t know—time for a drink. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.” Rav folded his thick arms and leaned on the table, casually glancing in Jayce’s direction. “I wasn’t on the last job you did, so I’m not familiar with Wyatt. Is he trustworthy, you think?”

I shifted in my seat. “He’s twice her age.”

Emmett shrugged. “Only about ten years older, by my estimation.”

The server arrived. “Have you had a chance to look over the drink menu?”

“A glass of the Barolo Cannubi, and whatever these gentlemen would like.”

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