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“Would you like me to put in an appetizer?” Keith asked.
“No appetizer. Bring out my meal when it’s ready.” An image of his Gram’s narrowed eyes flashed through his mind, and he added, “Please.”
Once the server left, he fired off a text to his brother.
We still on for dinner?
He lifted the glass to his lips and took a healthy swallow. Old Fitz’s headwind smoothed a path down his throat for the crackle of fire that soon followed.
No longer interested in Intense Dude, he focused on the woman. With her back to him, all he could make out was the curve of her slender neck, her long, red ponytail, black pantsuit, narrow waist, long legs—and sensible shoes. Nothing jaw-dropping extraordinary like the hostess, but nice.
He didn’t take her for a seeker. Not with those shoes. Even if she thought leather slip-ons were sexy, she seemed more interested in the booklet spread out on the bar before her than anyone around her.
Too bad for Intense Dude.
A fruity cocktail sat sweating by her left elbow, so not a drinker.
Loner then.
By choice? Or circumstance?
Did she know Intense Dude? Or was she oblivious to her wannabe-lover’s existence?
Broad shoulders wedged into a tailored charcoal-gray business suit snuffed out his view of the woman. Zeke looked into the familiar blue eyes of his brother Ash.
Zeke rose and extended his hand. “About damn time, asshole.”
Energy poured off his brother, despite the late hour. Unlike Zeke’s constant five o’clock shadow, the G-man’s jaw was clean shaven and his silver-striped red tie was still cinched tight at the neck.
Ash gripped his hand. “Sorry, something’s come up.”
A tall, fifty-something black woman, wearing a purple silk blouse and knee-length skirt, materialized next to Ash, along with a blond-haired man carrying a thick, canvas briefcase.
All three wore the same blue conference lanyard as the group of loudmouths.
Now Zeke understood why Ash had picked this swanky hotel restaurant over a billion others in the city. He was attending an FBI conference.
Which meant Zeke sat in the epicenter of his enemy.
Intellectually,Zeke understood his dislike of the FBI was irrational. After all, they didn’t seek out Ash and rip him from the family business, leaving Zeke reeling at the loss and scrambling to take his brother’s place at the helm.
No, Asher Cameron Blackwell had done that mindfuck all on his own. To follow his passion, his dream. Something he had failed to share with Zeke, until three years ago, when he’d called it quits and left Steele Ridge.
He’d even left his fucking name behind. Wanted the family to call him Cameron now. A clean split.
To hell with that shit.
Tonight was going to be the first step in fixing things with his brother.
Or so he’d thought.
Instead, the FBI crammed the knife deeper into his heart.
“Let me guess,” he took in the other two agents, “duty calls.”
Ash’s jaw worked, as if he wanted to say something, but not in front of an audience. Instead, he stuck with the tried-and-true. “I’m sorry, Zeke. I’ll make it up to you.”
He felt the woman’s eyes on him, but he refused to look at her. Had no wish to stare empathy in the eye.
