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“All right. Medium-rare to rare.”
“She likes it bloody,” DeWitt said, nodding, as if he’d delivered seriously sage advice.
Ignoring him, the waitress asked, “What kinda dressing on your salad?”
“You have a vinaigrette?”
“Yep.” She scribbled that down, then asked, “Baked potato, mashed, or fries? Comes with it.” Her eyes slid toward DeWitt. “He might want to share some fries,” she suggested meaningfully.
Clearly, the waitress wanted him to eat something, so Savvy said, “Okay, fries.”
“Anything to drink?”
“Another Scotch,” DeWitt answered, jumping in at the same time Savvy said, “Just water, thanks.”
The waitress’s pencil was poised.
“Just water,” Savannah repeated.
“And a Scotch,” DeWitt insisted.
The waitress put in the order, and she and the bartender conferred for a while. In the end DeWitt got his drink, and he swallowed half his glass in one take.
Savvy dispensed with the salad in record time, feeling ravenous, as ever, and when her main dish arrived, she turned the plate so the french fries were closest to DeWitt. He ignored them, merely sitting back in his chair and waiting, chin down on his chest, as if he were about to nod off.
The steak was good, much better than she’d expected it would be, and she wanted to moan about the way it practically melted on her tongue. It felt like she hadn’t eaten in a week, and she would have really enjoyed herself if it weren’t for DeWitt’s eyes watching her every move.
Finally, she slid her plate away and took a long drink of water. DeWitt finished his drink and studied her, and for a moment she thought he was asleep, until she saw him blink several times. He seemed to be staring at the floor, but Savannah thought he was calculating something. Even though it seemed as if he’d had a lot to drink, and the bar staff certainly thought so, he was fairly lucid. She opened her mouth to ask him another question, but he got there first and blew her thoughts to smithereens.
“He fired me. The old man. But it was Hale who wanted me gone, because I knew, y’see. I knew about his wife. I saw her at the house, and I knew.”
More about Kristina. Savannah felt cold inside. “What house?”
“The Donatellas. What we’re talking about,” he said, as if she were dense. “And she wasn’t with St. Cloud. Uh-uh.”
“But she was with someone,” Savvy said, picking up on his tone. If he said, Marcus Donatella . . .
He wagged a finger in front of her nose. “You think I don’t know who you are? You’re the sister. Carrying the next little St. Cloud. Bet Declan’d like to piss himself, he’s so excited to have a great-grandson on the way.”
The sex of her child was the worst-kept secret on the planet. “You say you saw Kri
stina with someone?”
But DeWitt wasn’t ready to switch back to the original topic. “A boy. That’s what she said.” He gave her a sly look. “She was talking all about it to him.”
“Who? Kristina?” Savvy asked. No wonder he was the goat around the office. Criminal incompetency and just being an all-around asshole.
“You figure it out, Miss Cop.” He lurched up from the table and headed for the door. “I need a cab,” he threw over his shoulder to the bartender.
“I can give you a ride,” Savvy said. She didn’t want to be in his company any longer than she had to, but she wanted to know what the hell he was alluding to.
“You as hot as your sister?” He leered at her. “I’ve never made it with a pregnant woman before.”
“Not that kind of ride,” she said levelly.
He grinned and staggered back a step.
“I’ll get that cab,” the bartender put in, saving Savvy from wanting to blast the worm.
