Page 7 of Warrior's Cross

Several minutes later, Cameron just happened to glance up while clearing a table, and he froze. He stood motionless, like a rabbit caught in the eyes of a cougar, as Blake moved toward him. No point in running, after all.

Blake went by the alcove table and swept his hand across the linen tablecloth as he made his way over to Cameron. “May I speak to you for a moment?” he asked politely as he passed Cameron by and crooked his finger, indicating he was to follow.

Cameron reminded himself this was just Blake. He was the restaurant owner and Cameron’s boss, yes, but he’d also become a good friend over the years. He nodded and placed the used glasses back onto the table before following. They walked to the front of the restaurant and into the hallway off the front foyer, where Blake led Cameron into his private office. He ushered Cameron in.

“He wasn’t upset with you, kiddo,” he told Cameron as soon as the door closed.

Cameron blinked. “Excuse me?”

“He wasn’t upset with you,” Blake repeated slowly as he reached into his breast pocket. He handed Cameron a hundred-dollar bill and nodded at it. “Your tip.”

“What?” Cameron looked at the folded bill in his hand. “I don’t understand. He told me to...”

Blake smirked, obviously trying not to show his amusement. “He was trying to bring to your attention that he doesn’t appreciate Miri waiting on him,” he told Cameron with difficulty, since he was clearly trying not to laugh.

Speechless, Cameron stood there just looking at Blake. “I don’t understand,” he finally said. “Appreciate?”

Blake allowed himself to laugh softly. “He doesn’t like Miri, kiddo,” he told Cameron sympathetically. “Says she’s too nosy. Don’t let her bring his food again.”

Cameron shrugged helplessly. “Okay?” He looked down at the money again. “He could have just said so. But there’s only so many of us here who work the floor. He’s bound to be put in her section sometime.”

“No.” Blake laughed as he opened the door for Cameron to shoo him out. “No, he’s not.”

Cameron wandered back out onto the floor, more confused than ever. He still held the money between his fingers and after a moment slid it into his pocket. Shaking his head to clear the daze, he went back to work. He’d have plenty of time to ponder the mystery of the dark man who came every Tuesday when he was done.

“Happy Anniversary,” Cameron offered with a wide smile, placing the special dessert on the table in front of the wife’s wide eyes.

The husband smiled and nodded, and Cameron left them to the remainder of their romantic dinner.

It was a busy Saturday night, finally starting to wind down at almost eleven. The restaurant was running perfectly, and Cameron was in his element, mostly directing the wait staff and making certain the patrons enjoyed their dinners. On Saturday nights, there was enough staff working that Cameron didn’t have to actually wait tables. Other duties required his attention on these busy nights, and he liked the variety.

He breezed through the service area in time to catch several of the bus-boys peering up at the television in the corner.

“What are you doing?” he asked them in annoyance. That TV wasn’t even supposed to be on during service hours unless there was bad weather or a big game the patrons might inquire about.

They scrambled as the sportscaster finished up his spiel of NFL predictions for the next day’s games. Cameron shook his head and looked around for the remote to turn it off.

“And in local news,” the television droned on as he searched. “The body of a man found in Lake Michigan this morning has been identified as Mr. Steven Bosley. Bosley disappeared roughly three weeks ago after a night out at the Zenith Club in downtown Chicago. The authorities initially thought Bosley left the country to avoid prosecution for his dealings with local organized crime syndicates, and police are calling his death a homicide. Speculation from an inside source claims his murder to be the result of a professional hit.”

Cameron clicked off the television, shaking his head. The mention of the Zenith Club immediately brought his obsession to mind. The mysterious man hadn’t been spotted at the restaurant for nearly a month, and Cameron was certain he wasn’t coming back. He’d almost gotten the handsome stranger off his mind—until now. Cameron sighed and gathered twowine bottles to take back out to the birthday party in the private room.

Several minutes later, Keri edged into the party room, got Cameron’s attention, and pointed at a four-spot along the wall of windows. It had a lovely view of the snow-covered city from the restaurant’s top-floor location, and a man sat there alone.

It was him.Him.

Cameron stood there for more than a minute, studying him. He wasn’t at his usual table. He wasn’t even anywhere near Cameron’s usual section. But Cameron knew without asking that Blake had directed that he wait on this table, and he had a pretty good idea why.

Cameron walked across the dining room slowly as he tried to suppress the nerves bubbling inside him.

“Good evening,” he said once he stopped in front of the table.

The man tore his gaze away from the cityscape and looked up at Cameron, his eyes registering the briefest glimpse of surprise. When he turned, the lighting of the main floor highlighted fading bruises on his cheek and upper neck. They were different from the ones he sported before, and Cameron would have sworn the bruises above his throat were fingerprints. The cut over his eye that had been newly stitched the last time he’d come to Tuesdays was now a fading scar, barely visible.

Whoever had done the stitching was very good.

Tipping his head to one side, Cameron looked over the man for just a moment. Perhaps he was a professional fighter of some sort? He had the size for it.

“The evening special and house wine?” Cameron asked instead of allowing himself to ponder. The time that had passed since the man’s last visit to Tuesdays and the unpleasant way in which it had ended had helped alleviate the fixation he’d developed, and Cameron was easily able to keep his composure. For now, anyway.

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