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“I better get back to the kitchen,” she told Lauren and Lette. “But yes, I’d love to hang when this is all over.”
Jax walked her to the espresso station in the breezeway, hand remaining at the small of her back, enjoying the fit there. “I’ll take care of everything out here.”
Feb glanced over her shoulder, heat still smoldering in her gaze. “Take care of you too.”
Jax nodded, and Feb continued down the breezeway, passing Hawes striding the opposite direction. Jax waited at the edge of the dining room, then accompanied him to greet Ariel. Hawes showed him to his table, slipping him a comm device inside the menu, while Jax prepared the Manhattan he ordered. It wasn’t until they delivered the drink that they noticed the gold band Ariel usually kept in his wallet on his left ring finger. By the sharp inhale over the comm, Fletcher, in the van with Holt, glimpsed it too. “Can I get you anything else?” Jax asked.
He spun the ring around his finger. “The lost years of my life back?”
“Only you can do that.” They nudged the Manhattan closer. “This might help in the meantime.”
“And whatever curry I’m smelling from the back.”
“I’ll make sure Feb gives you extra.”
And she did, of everything. The roasted chickpeas, the sesame and persimmon salad, the morel and pasta midcourse, each of which Ariel raved about, asking Hawes to tell Feb she had more than earned his Render review. Her “fuck yeah” over the comms when Hawes relayed the message made Jax and the entire dining room, including Ariel, smile. It was a shame he only managed two bites of the red chicken curry before Holt radioed, “Bogey incoming. Male, midfifties, six-two, two-twenty, dark hair.”
“That doesn’t sound like Fitzpatrick,” Jax said.
“We’re running facial.”
Ariel the foodie vanished, replaced with the professional, straightening in his chair and angling toward the door, knife within reach.
The door opened, the stranger—not Fitzpatrick—entering, but judging by the jolt Ariel tried and failed to suppress, the target wasn’t a stranger to him. Mixing a drink, Jax lowered their chin and spoke low. “That’s not Fitzpatrick. Ariel knows this person.”
The man didn’t wait for Hawes to reach the host stand. He walked straight to Ariel’s table, pulled out the chair, and sat across from him.
“What are you doing here?” Ariel asked.
“It’s what you want, isn’t it? The message in your Render review was pretty clear.”
“Yes, but why you?”
“Because maybe you’ll listen to me before you make a terrible mistake. Your family wants?—”
Ariel shot to his feet. “How do you know what my family wants?”
“Fuck, that was his CIA boss. Officer—” The bang of the surveillance van door cut off Holt’s words. “Fletcher! Wait! Fuck!” The door slammed closed, then Holt was back on the line. “That’s Officer Damian Barbas, and this is about to go sideways. Hawes, secure Feb.”
Jax forced themselves to ignore the scramble in the van and now in the kitchen and listened closely to the scramble playing out at the table on the other side of the bar from them. Ariel was on his feet, squaring off against Damian. “I repeat,” Ariel said. “What do you?—”
“Ariel,” the other man said, calm and stern. “Lower your voice and sit down.” He aimed his gaze directly at Ariel’s chair, effectively repeating the order. “You’re drawing attention. I taught you better than that.”
Good, Barbas didn’t seem to realize the onlookers at neighboring tables were more than casual observers. Either Ariel recognized that too or the lure of answers, the opportunity to clear his name, was too powerful to resist. He lowered himself back into his seat. “Was Fitzpatrick tailing me on your orders?”
“Not mine. Your family’s.”
He leaned forward and braced his forearms on the table. “And back to my original question: How the fuck do you know what they want?”
“They want you back. I vouched for you.”
“So you’re on their payroll too?”
“I’m not that dumb.” He stole Ariel’s wineglass, sipping as he settled back in the chair, legs crossed. “But there is a payday waiting for me, and you’re the ticket to getting it.”
“I gave up everything to bring them down. We spent years cutting them off. We were a team. And now you’re doing their dirty work?”
“Not the dirty part. I’m the bring-you-in-peacefully part. The other part, that would be when things get dirty.”
