table five. Two eggs, over easy, dry toast,” she said, opening her eyes again.
A smile tipped up both sides of his mouth and showed a row of nice even teeth before his gaze went back to the front windshield. “I usually go by Max. But that works, too.”
Reggie felt her face warm. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not like customers wear name tags.” His teasing gaze found hers in the mirror again. “Actually, I’m kinda flattered you remembered my meal.”
“You left one of the girls a twenty-dollar tip when she complained about the price of diapers. She talked about it—and you and your plans to start a bed-and-breakfast—for an hour after.”
“Ah. My wanton display of wealth. Should’ve known.”
“Generosity with no strings,” she corrected, then blushed a little more at how emphatic she sounded.
“Always glad to help,” he said with another glance at her in the mirror. “Never any strings.”
She sensed a question in the words, and she wasn’t sure what it was. Which made it even harder to answer. After a moment, she settled on something easy.
“Thank you. For picking me up and for taking me back, too.”
He replied just as simply. “You’re welcome. And speaking of which...we’re here.”
She fought the dizziness and propped herself up to look out the window. The street was eerily empty. And even though she knew it was because Jesse Garibaldi owned the whole block and all the owners were probably just getting ready for his party, it still made her shiver. Even the familiar sight of her family’s restaurant couldn’t help her shake her unease.
“See anything you don’t like?” Max asked.
“I don’t see anything at all,” she admitted. “But I still don’t like it. Could you drive around to the alley?”
“Sure.”
Very slowly, he guided the car to the end of the road. Reggie didn’t have to strain to see that it was as empty as the street.
Unless there’s a body behind the Dumpster.
She swallowed nervously and reached for the door handle.
“What are you doing?” Max demanded immediately.
“I need to get out and check.”
“Check what?”
Ignoring his question—mostly because she wasn’t sure she could answer without panicking again—she pushed open the door. From the front seat, the big man muttered something unintelligible, and before Reggie could even get both feet on the ground, he’d flung open his own door and made his way to her side of the car.
He positioned himself in front of her, arms crossed over his wide chest as he repeated, “Check what?”
She met his gaze as steadily as she could manage with her head swimming the way it was and made herself say the words. “Check for a body.”
Max’s eyes widened, then darkened as he shook his head. “We’re not checking for a body.”
“We have to.”
“Body checking is a police job.”
“Unless the police created the body.”
“Chuck?”
Reggie nodded, wincing at the sharp pain the motion caused. “There was a gun and another man and cop or not... I’m sure it wasn’t something legal.”
“Then you definitely shouldn’t be checking.”
“I have to, Max. What if the other guy is still alive and needs help?”
His mouth twisted like he wanted to argue, but after a second, he just shook his head again. “I’ll go.”
“No.”
“The second you step out of the car, you’re going to fall over. What’s going to happen if someone is back there, and he’s not happy to see you?”
Reggie wanted to protest that she wasn’t anywhere near falling down, but it would’ve been a lie. Her head definitely didn’t feel right. But she wasn’t excited about the idea of him risking himself either. Not for her sake.
She swallowed. “I don’t think it’s very safe.”
“I’ve got some experience dealing with the shadier side of life,” he assured her.
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“It just means I can handle whatever’s around the other side of that Dumpster.”
“You’re sure?”
“A hundred percent.”
She took a breath, then nodded. “Okay.”
He studied her for a second longer—like he was trying to figure something out—then moved to the passenger-side door on the front of the car. He opened it, then the glove box, too, and pulled out something shiny and metal.
A gun.
Reggie was shaking her head—pain be damned—before he even brought it back and held it out. “I can’t take that.”
“You’re scared. And for a minute or two, you’re going to be alone. This’ll give you some security,” he said.
“I don’t even know how to fire it.”
“This is an easy one. Flick off the safety, then click, point and shoot.” He demonstrated the steps once, then twice, then handed the weapon to her and made her repeat the sequence herself. “Good.”
Reggie couldn’t think of a worse word to describe the situation. Less than an hour ago, she’d been worrying that she wouldn’t have time to do her nails before Garibaldi’s party. Now she was sitting in a stranger’s car with a gun in her lap. And the stranger was telling her things would be fine and holding out his hand and expecting her to just take it.
“C’mon,” he said. “I’ll help you into the front.”
As she closed her fingers on his, a startling tingle shot up her arm. The sensation was strong enough that it momentarily blocked out the buzz in her head. Surprise made her loosen her hand, and she shot her gaze up, wondering if he felt the shock of sharp heat, too. But Max was focused on tightening his hold and pulling her out gently.
Reggie made herself dismiss the heady sensation as a side effect of her head bump, and let him guide her to the passenger seat. But it was impossible to deny the jolt of loss as he let her go.
“Key’s in the ignition,” he said. “If I don’t come back around that corner in five minutes, I want you to drive away. Fast and far enough away that you know your 911 call is
