Lost but not Forgotten
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The grunt Mitch gave signaled his satisfaction. “So we agree she’s pretty. Do you think we can start there and work up? I’m going to ask her out again, Ethan. Until she says yes, as a matter of fact.”
Ethan called Taz to heel. The dog had strayed to sniff a parking meter a few feet away. “Regan and I ended up not asking anyone over to play cards this weekend. I admit, the offer I made was a ploy to set you up with a hometown girl. If you’re not afraid to get Regan’s assessment of Gillian Stevens, I’m off next Saturday. I’m willing to reschedule dinner and let you bring your own date.”
Mitch glanced thoughtfully at the caf'e. “She might be more comfortable going to someone’s house.” Turning back, he crossed his arms. “You’ve got to promise me Regan won’t launch one of her all-out psychology evaluations.”
“Aw, man. Regan tells everyone you’re her adopted brother. Maybe we’d better forget the whole thing if you’re gonna hold me responsible for any nosy questions my wife asks. Regan’s her own woman.”
“I know.” Mitch hooted. “It’s refreshing to know there’s a lady who doesn’t slaver like Taz every time you flash the famous Knight smile.”
“Now you’ve gone too far, Valetti. I never dated a woman who slavered.”
Mitch thumped Ethan’s chest with one finger. “Nor have I. Remember that, please.” Leaving his former partner, he ambled toward the caf'e. At the curb he stopped and glanced back. “I’ll call tonight and let you know if she agrees. If she does, I want another concession. No shop talk. I’m not an officer anymore, and sometimes women bail when they’re forced to dwell on the bad stuff that can happen to a cop.”
“Okay. Sure. You have my permission to kick me under the table if I start talking about a case. But I have a feeling that old habits die hard….”
“I understand. It’s just…cop talk can get intense. And Ethan—talk about gut feelings. I can’t put it into words, but this lady…uh, darn.”
Ethan said nothing for a heartbeat. Then he feigned interest in what his dog was doing. “It’s no mystery to me, Valetti. You always had a weakness for a nice ass.”
Fighting a smile, Mitch returned to the caf'e. That was point two he and Ethan agreed on concerning Gillian Stevens.
Embarrassed by the direction of his thoughts and afraid Gillian might read his mind, Mitch turned instead to plotting what he’d say to her when she came to take his order.
Good, the back booth was available. Easier to make a play without an audience.
Even if he no longer worked at the precinct, he had friends there and the place was a hotbed of gossip. If Gillian rejected him again, he could do without Amy getting wind of it. Why didn’t Gillian come and take his order? Maybe he was all wrong in thinking they felt a mutual attraction.
The crowd had thinned. But a full house wouldn’t have stopped Gillian from being aware of Mitch’s return. She found it odd that he’d passed several clean booths to hide in the corner. Or was someone joining him? She hated to think it might be Christy Jones. That would explain why he’d plant his back to the wall near a ready escape if Royce happened to stop by.
Heavens, she could be guessing all wrong. Maybe Ethan Knight went to collect materials on the case they’d disappeared outside to discuss. Again her heart did a flip. What if a handbill with her picture on it had come across his desk? What if they wanted to compare an old picture of Noelle McGrath with the waitress they knew as Gillian Stevens?
Pacing nervously, she tried to figure out if there was any likelihood of New Orleans or Flagstaff police finding out that Noelle McGrath’s birth name was really Gillian Noelle? It could all depend on what Daryl’s neighbor, the one who’d relayed his dying request, had told Daryl’s brother, Conrad. Conrad was his only sibling—his only living relative. He’d never liked her much. No telling how he’d react once he discovered Daryl had kept her on as joint owner of McGrath CPA.
“Hey, what does it take to get service around here?” Mitch’s voice held a teasing quality. If not for that, Gillian might have been tempted to ask Flo to wait on him. No, she wasn’t a coward. Besides, Flo would demand an explanation if she tried too obviously to avoid Mitch.
Gillian plopped a glass of water and a menu down in front of him. “Sorry. I wasn’t ignoring you. You made such a point of wanting privacy, I assumed you were waiting for someone to join you.”
“I am.” He turned up the wattage of his smile. “This is about when you took a lunch break the other day. Truth is, I’m sick of my own company, and was hoping you’d consent to join me.”
“Oh, I…think there’s a rule about not fraternizing with customers.” Gillian hoped she sounded normal, even though she was dealing with a rising panic. She fumbled the napkin-wrapped silverware before dropping a set near his right hand.
Mitch steadied her elbow in time to keep the whole pack from spilling onto the floor. “Give me one good reason anyone would make such a stupid rule. You’re entitled to lunch. In fact, it comes with the job.”
Suddenly pulling back, Mitch inspected his hands. “I forgot I petted Taz. I probably smell like dog. Excuse me while I go wash. When I pass the kitchen, I’ll stick my head in and tell Bert I want a burger. Tell me what you want, and I’ll pass it on.”
Her sigh was probably more exasperation than capitulation. Mitch chose to misunderstand. Keeping his smile in place, he slid out of the booth and brushed against her, murmuring, “My mother would tell you I’ve always known all the angles to get my own way.”
Gillian smiled in spite of herself. “Does your mother live in Desert City?”
He wasn’t fast enough to cover his guarded expression. “My parents winter in Palm Springs and summer in Vermont. Right now they’re somewhere in the Mediterranean finishing a world cruise. At least, that’s what their housekeeper told Ethan when he tried to notify them I’d been shot.” She was aware that he watched her closely as he spoke, as if to garner a reaction.
Gillian couldn’t hide her shock at his parents’ absence. “They didn’t come to see you?”
“No big deal.” His shrug matched his proclamation. Gillian noted a deeper pain in his eyes. Clearly he was hurt by his parents’ indifference—a revelation at odds with his tough-guy image.
She’d rather not think about the inner man. Her purpose in furthering their acquaintance had only one reason—to find out whether Mitch Valetti was connected to the criminals she’d seen him rendezvous with a few nights ago. Keep all contact superficial.