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 gut churned. How could Michael have gotten mixed up with something so obviously crooked?
But Michael’s perception had been altered. His gambling had become an addiction. Compulsive. An illness. The high stakes would have been as tempting to Jonah’s mentor as a cold beer would be to an alcoholic.
“So how big is the pool? How many people have paid in?”
Farrout shook his head. “Proprietary information.”
When Jonah scowled, Pulliam chortled. “What? You can trust us.”
Trust them to fleece him like they’d fleeced Michael, perhaps.
Annie returned with the men’s orders, and as she set Farrout’s plate in front of him, he seized her wrist. “I didn’t want toast. All I ordered was an omelette. Don’t try to charge me for toast I didn’t order, ya hear?”
Jonah bristled, remembering the thug’s rough treatment of Annie a couple of nights earlier. He leaned forward, ready to rip the bastard’s throat out.
But something in Annie’s posture stopped him. Her mouth tightened, and color crept to her cheeks. Squaring her shoulders, she stared at Farrout’s grip on her arm, then stepped closer to him. “The omelette comes with toast. There’s no extra charge.” She circled her wrist, twisting her hand toward his thumb. And freeing herself from his grip. “Sir.”
She stepped back, her expression almost as stunned as Farrout’s. Jonah bit the inside of his cheek to contain his proud grin and his chuckle of amusement at Farrout’s expense. He wasn’t in a position to gloat over Annie’s victory while he had business of his own to conduct.
Farrout glared at Annie’s back as she marched back to the kitchen. “She just lost her tip.”
Jonah squelched his gnawing disgust for Farrout and focused on his goal. If his plan worked, he’d have the sweet satisfaction of ending Farrout’s days of manhandling waitresses. Permanently.
He sat through the rest of his meeting with Farrout and Pulliam wishing he could scoop Annie into a bear hug and congratulate her for taking a stand, for her skilled use of the technique she’d only learned last night. He prayed that this demonstration of the technique’s effectiveness would convince her to continue with the private lessons.
But did he want to teach Annie one-on-one for her sake—or for his? He couldn’t deny his attraction to Annie. He wanted to spend more time with her, get to know her, explore the mysteries that surrounded her. But even without his nine years at the Little Rock Police Department, anyone could have figured out the intimate nature of the private lessons bothered Annie.
After Farrout and Pulliam left the diner, Jonah headed up to the lunch counter to pay for his breakfast. His encounter with the two bookies left him feeling contaminated, tainted by association. His gut told him these two lowlifes were responsible for conning Michael, sending him into the downward spiral that ultimately killed him.
Jonah itched to get into the ring and work off his frustration with the slow pace of his investigation. He needed to sweat off Farrout’s invisible filth, which clung to his skin and infected his soul.
If you lie down with dogs …
Susan hustled over to the cash register to take his money, a wide grin at the ready. “Off to the mill, handsome?”
“You lied.” Jonah mentally flinched remembering Annie’s reaction to his cover of shift work at the paper mill.
“‘Fraid so.” He handed her his cash and managed a polite smile.
The blond waitress was attractive enough, and he usually enjoyed exchanging flirtatious banter with her. Today he only wanted to ruminate on where his investigation was going and how to crank it up to the next level without arousing suspicion.
“I think pot roast is on the menu for tonight.” Susan handed him his change. “Tempt you to come back in for dinner?”
“Susan, you know it’s not the food that brings me back every night.” Jonah gave her a wink, then scanned the dining room.
He needed to speak to Annie in private before he left—and not just about her self-defense lessons. Something had spooked her this morning. When she’d arrived at the diner and seen him, the flush tinting her cheeks had waned to a ghostly pallor.
Jonah stalled, taking his time putting away his change and unwrapping a mint from the basket by the register. Finally, Annie bustled through the swinging door from the kitchen, casting a wary glance toward the table where he’d had his meeting with Farrout and Pulliam. Relief flashed over her face when she found the table empty.
Jonah moved behind the counter so he could speak to her without raising his voice. “Annie, do you have a minute?”
Spinning toward him with a startled gasp, Annie frowned. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”
He hitched his head toward the front door. “So follow me out, and we’ll talk there.”
She gave the dining room a meaningful glance. “I have customers.”
“They’ll wait. I just need a minute.” He took her elbow and nudged her toward the front door.
With a sigh of exasperation, she accompanied him to the sidewalk in front of the diner.
The March sun warmed the air, and a spring breeze lifted her hair, revealing her scars. Annie quickly combed the tousled wisps back over her cheek with her fingers.
Tempted to thread his own fingers through the glossy strands, Jonah shoved his hands into his pockets. “They’re not that noticeable, you know. I don’t see why you cover them.”
Annie shot a startled look toward him.
He angled his head. “Besides, sexy as that side part is, it hides your best feature. You have beautiful eyes, Annie.”
She gaped at him for a moment as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Is this what you brought me out here for? Patronizing flattery?”
He jerked his shoulders back. “Patronizing? I’m not trying to insult you.”
She twisted her mouth into a dismissive frown. “What did you want to talk about? I have to get back to work.”
“Why were
