Page 87 of Eyes in the Shadows

“I will be home in 20 minutes.” I end the call.

“Has he heard from Mac?” she asks me, her brows lifting in the middle in distress.

“No, but I am not worrying. James was the one who texted me to come to the restaurant,” I say. I do not explain that he did not mention Rossi, just his men. “Rossi arrived after you had finished?”

Her lips flatten and she nods. Now she stares at the gun she is holding in both hands. I reach over and take the weapon, stashing it in the middle compartment.

“And you knew it was him?” I ask. She nods again, and I have to choke down a growl of frustration. I hate non-verbal answers, especially when I am driving and cannot safely look. “Tell me what happened. Now. Speak.”

She grimaces at my clipped tone, but I cannot take it back. “We finished dinner and Mac went to the bathroom. While he was gone, the chef came to our table. The mayor walked in and saw him there and stopped to say hello and Rossi was with him. He…” her lower lip trembles a bit and she bites down on it. “He knew who I was, I think. Or, he recognized me, maybe.”

I curse him inside—stupid little goat man. I wish I could have killed him tonight. “Why did you stay?”

“What?”

“You understood the danger?” I ask, gratified and confused when she nods stiffly. “Why did you not leave the table?”

She shifts uncomfortably on her seat. “I didn’t know what to do and I had no way to contact any of you guys. I thought Mac was coming back. And I,” she pauses, chewing briefly on her lip, “didn’t have any money. We ordered everything on the menu and a super nice bottle of wine—”

I curse aloud this time. Of all the stupidity in the world… “Do you think being polite is more important than being alive?”

“I know, I know. Now that I say it out loud, it was so dumb.” She grimaces. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not be sorry. Learn.”

“Our waiter would have had to pay our bill,” she says sadly, as if not done proving her point. Which is no point at all, in my opinion.

I scoff. “You think he would kill you for $800?”

“What? No.”

“No,” I agree. “It would have been your life for his $800, so it is basically as I said. I would never kill someone for so little, either. Your death would be worth more than that.”

“That’s the… weirdest nice thing anyone’s ever said to me. At least, I think it was nice.”

I do not completely understand her meaning so I choose to ignore it. “You need a cell phone.”

She blows out a frustrated breath, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah. You’re telling me.”

Her anger placates me, proving she will not begin crying quite yet. “Yes, I just did.”

“No, I meant… never mind.” She fists the hem of her dress with both hands and pulls the skirt down over her knees. “Thank you for coming to get me. I hope I didn’t… I hope you can still get him.”

“As do I.” I can see from the edge of my vision that she has started shaking. That will be the shock. I reach forward and blast the heat, though I know it will dry my eyes. “When we get home, have a big glass of water, then take a long, warm shower and put your clothes in the machine that cleans them.”

“The washing machine?”

“That is what I said.”

32

Mac

I’ll… owe you one.

I tense my stomach, hardening the abdominals in preparation for another hit. The other two guys holding my arms against the brick wall tighten their grips as the fist comes flying my way. I grunt, doubling over as far as I can as the pain radiates though already-sore muscle tissue and skin.

They didn’t buy my “just out for a smoke” routine, likely a by-product of being on edge from nearly becoming a casualty at the "storage unit massacre." Their words.

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