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“Happy to help. Your guest’s name is Nancy Drew, and she’s looking for work. Says she has experience as wait staff.”

Laci smiled. “Hmm. Think I’ll talk to her, see if she’d be interested. Speaking to her when she came in, there was just something about her. I liked her almost immediately.”

“Me, too.” Jenny said. “And she doesn’t look like a princess, either.”

Laci nodded. “That’s not to be discounted. Especially with the recent memory of Amber Kaye.”

“Sounded like a stripper name.” Patrick’s comment made both Jenny and Laci burst out laughing.

“Just sayin’. Amber is one of the top stripper names.” Patrick treated them to a small grin, shrugged, and returned to his cooking.

She figured if even the steady and always affable Patrick could say that about their last part-time hire, it was a good thing she’d cut and run when she had.

Jenny placed her now ready orders onto a tray and headed out to deliver them. I wonder if Jenny is a stripper name. I’ll have to look that up when I get home. Of course, that just put her thoughts right back on her men. She sighed. Hopefully the day wouldn’t seem too long. And they had said they’d come by for supper. It would be nice to work the last couple of hours with her men in house and close by.

* * * *

“I hear you’re looking for a bimbo.”

Doug Vance cringed as the sound of that voice cut along his nerve endings, spiking an equal measure of fear and distaste in his heart. At least it’s not that other fucker, Tyro. Tyro would be worse, because his entourage included a couple of bruisers with baseball bats. Vance’s nerves were fraying, fast. I’ve got to get the fuck out of this city.

It took all his will to keep those emotions off his face. The man who’d spoken from behind him slowly moved into view and sat down across from him at the restaurant table.

“Mr. Carp, what an unexpected…pleasure.” And a definite disappointment if an establishment as upscale as The Cache allows the likes of this thug inside its doors. Who was he kidding? The whole fucking world was being taken over by thugs. Nowhere was safe anymore.

Brody Carp smirked. He looked at someone behind Vance—probably one of his ever-present henchmen—and nodded just slightly.

Only knowing the man wouldn’t have him attacked in public allowed Vance to appear calm. He felt anything but. There was no reason for the man to be in his face now. They had a deal, damn it. And you’re just an idiot if you believe in honor among thugs.

He pushed aside his inner voice and pretended he hadn’t heard Carp’s opening line. “To what do I owe the honor of your company?” It was clear to Vance that Carp didn’t recognize sarcasm when he heard it.

Brody Carp tilted his head to the side. “I’m a curious man, Mr. Vance.”

“Indeed?” Vance could remain calm in the criminal’s presence. What he couldn’t do, could never do, was treat the man as if he was just another business associate, as if he was Vance’s equal. I was born into the Featherstone family. I can trace my lineage back to the first American settlers to arrive in Texas. I’m someone, by God.

“Indeed.”

The waiter came to the table, set Vance’s meal before him, and then turned an inquiring glance to Carp. Vance took a moment to rein in his thoughts. He couldn’t afford to let his mind wander or his temper grow. He need to find some discipline.

“I’ll just have coffee,” Carp said. “I won’t be here long.”

The waiter nodded and departed, presumably to get the man his caffeine. I hope the pot’s a couple of hours old and tastes burnt. It was all Vance could do not to chuckle.

“Here’s what I’m wondering about. I happen to know your aunt’s last will and testament was read last week and that you’re likely awaiting a check from the lawyer. I expected you to do any number of things on the heels of that happy day. And yet what I discovered is you’re looking for a young woman. An heiress, I’ve been told. And I have to ask myself, ‘did ol’ Dougie get a windfall from his late relative, or not?’”

How did Carp find out about that? Vance mentally sighed. That flat rate P.I. I hired likely sold the information to this bottom-feeding piece of shit.

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