One dark eyebrow dipped over Jonah’s incisive stare. “Who what?”
Annie pressed a hand to her swirling stomach and shook her head. “I … Nothing.”
Had the man behind the tree been her imagination? Had she really been tailed to the diner, or had she conjured the sensation because she’d expected Jonah to escort her?
She twitched her lips, the closest thing to a grin she could manage at the moment. “Forget it. I …”
She cleared her throat and tried to shake the jitters that danced down her spine.
Jonah’s concerned gaze lingered, reminding her that just hours ago she’d been in his arms, held close to his masculine heat and strength. Yesterday, when his hands had been splayed intimately against her ribs, his warm breath fanning her nape, how could she not have entertained sexual images of him? And how did she keep those same images from taunting her this morning?
She fumbled to unfold a clean apron, and though she studiously avoided Jonah’s gaze, she felt his eyes tracking her movements behind the counter.
Susan, one of the other waitresses, stood by the order window, her long blond braid trailing down her back as she rolled silverware into napkins. “Mornin’, Annie. Am I ever glad you’re here! It’s been a zoo.”
Annie returned a smile, glad for the distraction. “Good morning.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than the morning took a decided turn toward bad. Two regulars, the rude and intimidating men Jonah had been sitting with the night she was mugged, sauntered into the restaurant. The men slid into their usual booth, and the larger man snapped his fingers to call her to the table.
As if she were a dog he could summon to grovel at his feet.
Annie’s skin crawled, and she gritted her teeth.
Susan stepped over to top off Jonah’s coffee. She gave the new arrivals a meaningful glance and rolled her eyes. “Want me to get their order for ya, hon?”
Jonah glanced over his shoulder toward the men in question. His shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. If Annie hadn’t been looking for his reaction, she’d have missed the subtle flinch. Why had Jonah been talking with the two men the other night? Were they involved in the gambling and money-laundering investigation he was conducting?
Hands shaking, she tied on her apron and shoved a fresh order pad in her pocket. She gave Susan a grateful smile and shook her head. “No. Let me go clock in, then I’ll take care of them.”
“Devereaux!” the shorter man called to Jonah.
Jonah sent Annie what she could only call a sharp, warning glance before he faced the men’s table and nodded an acknowledgment.
The second man returned a nod, and Jonah carried his coffee over to sit at the men’s booth.
Squelching the uneasy jangle inside her, Annie hurried into the kitchen to clock in.
“You’re late!” Hardin shouted at her from his post beside the grill cook.
Without answering, Annie walked carefully on the slick floor and consulted the time clock as she punched her card. She was, in fact, ten minutes early.
He’s trying to rattle you. As if she needed further rattling that morning.
Someone had followed her to the diner from her apartment. She was sure of it. If not Jonah, then who? And why?
And what was she supposed to make of that odd look Jonah had just sent her? Was he trying to tell her something? Serving the goons was unnerving enough without Jonah sending her unspoken signals.
Taking a deep breath for courage, Annie grabbed a coffeepot and headed to the goons’ table.
Temporarily setting aside his concerns surrounding Annie’s strange mood that morning, Jonah eased into the booth next to Pulliam and across from Farrout. “Morning, gentlemen.”
Farrout arched one thick eyebrow. “You have something for me?”
So much for small talk.
Jonah fished in his back pocket, then slid a folded envelope across the Formica table. Farrout lifted the flap and verified the contents—a cashier’s check for eight thousand dollars. The bookie sent him a dark look.
Jonah shrugged. “Like I said before, I’ll have the rest at the end of the month, after I get paid.”
Pulliam scoffed, and Farrout silenced him with a hooded gaze. “With interest.”
His anger spiking, Jonah balled his hand, then sucked in a deep breath to cool his knee-jerk reaction. “You never mentioned interest the other night. We agreed that—”
“You want in or don’t you?” Farrout interrupted, his tone flat.
Frustration gnawed at Jonah. He had to play by this scumbag’s rules if he wanted firsthand knowledge of how the operation worked. He ground his teeth and finally gave a jerky nod. “How much interest?”
Farrout exchanged a look with his partner.
“Twenty-five percent,” Pulliam said, angling his body to lean his back against the wall.
Jonah was ready to argue the point when Pulliam’s gaze shifted.
The scents of fresh coffee and flowers alerted Jonah to Annie’s arrival even before he turned. His libido snapped to attention. While she filled Farrout’s and Pulliam’s mugs with hot brew, Jonah inhaled deeply, and the floral aroma of her shampoo sparked memories of holding her body close at the gym. With effort, he shoved down his natural reaction to Annie.
For her sake, he couldn’t give Farrout or Pulliam any indication there was any outside connection between him and Annie. He prayed she’d read his unspoken message warning her of the same before he’d joined the shysters at their table.
He hazarded a glance at her, but she kept her eyes on her pad as she took the other men’s order. Before she left, her doelike eyes found his. “Anything else for you?”
Her gaze clung, asking more than just what food he wanted. Jonah schooled his face, wanting with every fiber of his being to reach up and stroke the worry lines creasing her brow.
He shook his head and tore his attention away before anything in his expression gave him away.
Once Annie left, Farrout got back to the business at hand. “Here’s how it works. Your money goes into the pool with everyone else’s. If your team wins, you split the pot with anyone else who had money on the winner. Minus our cut, of course.”
Jonah frowned. “Your cut.”
Farrout shrugged blithely. “Like your friendly office pool, but with higher stakes.”
“And your rules.”
“Exactly,” Pulliam answered, a smug grin pulling his cheek. “We gotta make something for our services.”
Jonah’s
