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After an only momentary hesitation, Cat shrugged. “There’s no big rush to get home. I think I’ll forgo the soup, though, and have a slice of pie.”
Only one other customer was in The Oasis when Sloan and Cat entered it, and he was an old-timer, sitting at a back table, nursing a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper. Darkly tinted windows allowed little of the sunshine to filter inside, leaving the place dimly lit in both the bar and eating areas. There was no clank and clatter from the slot machines, and the jukebox was silent.
Pausing a few feet inside the door, Cat scanned the interior and murmured to Sloan. “This used to be such a bright and cheerful place when Sally owned it. Now it’s—” She checked the rest of her comment when she noticed the new owner emerging from the bar’s shadows to approach them.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Donovan greeted them. “At this hour, you have your choice of tables. Would you like menus?”
“No, thanks,” Sloan answered for both them.
“Have a seat then.” He gestured to the tables. “Your waitress will be right with you.”
Cat nodded an acknowledgement and led the way to a table situated at a midway point between the front door and kitchen. The entire time Sloan’s gaze never stopped moving, searching in every dark corner. For what? She wasn’t sure. But it was goaded by the high tension that screamed through her, demanding answers.
Her gaze continued its watchful dart as she sat at a table and slipped off her coat, letting it drape over the back of her chair. High heels made a sharp, clicking sound on the wooden floors. Certain it came from the bar area, Sloan looked in that direction.
A cold anger swept through her when she saw a redhead sauntering toward them, dressed in a jumpsuit of metallic blue spandex that hugged every line and curve of her body. The front of it was partially unzipped to reveal the deep cleavage created by her ample breasts. Sloan’s catty side immediately dismissed them as implants.
There was an air of supreme nonchalance about the redhead when she paused at their table and divided her glance between the two of them. “What can I get you ladies?” Her pouty red lips twitched with a smile as if secretly amused by the term.
Looking at the woman, Sloan saw nothing but red—in more ways than one. Everything about the waitress screamed sex, from the tumble of titian hair and overdrawn scarlet lips to the slinky, skintight outfit and staggeringly high heels.
“Do you have any banana cream pie?” Cat asked.
“Sure.” The redhead stood hip-locked, a play of amusement still in evidence.
“I’ll have a slice of that and a glass of water,” Cat ordered.
With an effort, Sloan managed to find her voice. “A cup of soup, please.”
“Cream of broccoli or beef pepperpot?” The redhead fixed her gaze on Sloan, something smug and knowing in her expression.
“The pepperpot.”
“Anything to drink?”
“Milk.”
“I’ll bring it right out,” the redhead promised and made an unhurried turn away from the table. Hips swaying, she angled for the free-swinging kitchen door.
Chair legs scraped the floor as Cat pushed back from the table. “My hands smell like shrimp. I’ll wash them before I get that pie. I won’t be a minute.”
Sloan responded with an absent nod, tension coiling through her nerves. Mere seconds after Cat left the table, the redhead sashayed out of the kitchen, a serving tray negligently balanced on her right palm. Again her gaze made an amused skim of Sloan when she approached the table.
Halting next to Sloan’s chair, the redhead reached in front of her, first to place a glass of water, then a napkin-wrapped setup at the place Cat had occupied. Sloan kept her gaze rigidly fixed on the table area in front of her, refusing to look up. But she couldn’t avoid seeing the scarlet-nailed hand that kept passing across her vision—or the gleam and glitter of the diamond bracelet that draped the redhead’s wrist. Instinctively Sloan knew it wasn’t a piece of costume jewelry.
Suspicion was running too thick to allow Sloan to ignore it. “That’s a lovely bracelet you’re wearing.”
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Keeping the hand extended in front of Sloan, the redhead turned her wrist to let the diamonds flash in the low light. “They’re real diamonds, too. Not CZs. My guy gave it to me.”
“How nice,” Sloan murmured, tasting bile.
Regret was in the sigh the redhead expelled. “I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like. He tries to make up for it with little things like this.”
“I wouldn’t call that so little.” A cold fury tightened Sloan’s jaw.
“It sure isn’t.” Her red lips had a feline curve to them as she set a glass of milk before Sloan. “When’s the baby due?”
“Soon.” The single word was all Sloan you could manage.
