she said quietly as she mopped up the spilled drops of water from the table using a rag she pulled from her apron pocket. Her voice, almost as familiar as his own, came out in a heavy, convincing Kaziri accent. “My name is Yasmin and I will be your server tonight. Would you like to try the mint tea?”
So it wasn’t amnesia. There had been a part of him that almost prayed it had been memory loss from the plane crash that had kept her away for so long, but those hopes had been dashed the second her eyes met his. They’d widened, the pupils dilating with shock, before she’d lowered her gaze and set about hiding everything she’d briefly revealed.
He knew what that Kaziri accent hid—a South Georgia drawl as warm and slow as a night in Savannah, where Risa had been born and her parents still lived.
They’d mourned her, too, he thought.
How could she have chosen to disappear the way she had, letting everyone who knew and loved her think she was dead?
He struggled to keep the anger burning in his gut in check, careful not to let it show in his expression. He, too, was good at wearing masks.
“When does your shift end?” he asked quietly.
She pretended not to hear the question. “The special tonight is lamb kebabs with rice.”
“We have to talk, Yasmin.” He put extra emphasis on her alias.
“No.” Her hazel eyes lifted to meet his gaze before she added, “Sir.”
“You don’t think I have a right to ask a few questions?”
For a second, her mask faltered, fierce emotion burning in her eyes. But she looked away quickly. “Take your time to study the menu. I will return in a few minutes. Would you like something to drink while you are waiting?”
“Mint tea,” he said finally.
She gave a nod and walked away. Her gait was subtly different, her back arched from the weight of her pregnant belly. He realized with some surprise that he’d never before imagined what she’d look like pregnant.
How could that be? Why had they never thought about children, about a family?
A few tables away, a slender young woman in a simple, shape-hugging dress and a matching peacock-blue roosari was taking orders from two middle-aged men. The one nearest was dressed in an elaborately embroidered payraan tumbaan. Connor couldn’t get a good look at his face. His companion, however, sat facing Connor, though his gaze was lifted upward to smile at the pretty server. Connor didn’t recognize him.
But there was something about the shape of the other man’s head, the slight wave of his silver-flecked black hair, that tugged at Connor’s memory.
How did he know the man? Was it from those years he’d spent in Kaziristan? Or was the acquaintance more recent?
He sensed more than saw Risa’s approach and turned his gaze toward her, watching her walk to his table. She carried a small tray with a glass of iced mint tea, even though he hadn’t indicated whether he wanted it hot or cold. She placed the glass of tea on the table in front of him and started to turn away.
“I didn’t ask for my tea to be iced,” he murmured. But of course, she’d given him ice because she knew that’s how he liked it.
She froze in place for a second before she turned and lowered her gaze. “I am sorry. I will bring you another cup.”
He closed his hand over hers as she reached for the glass. “Washington Park. Are you familiar with it?”
For a moment, her fingers flexed beneath his grip. But she gave a tiny nod.
He dropped his hand away before they drew unwanted attention. “I will be on a bench near the bandstand by the water park. Tomorrow morning at ten. If you want to talk.” He handed her the menu. “Tea will be all. Thank you.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “The table will be needed once the dinner crowd picks up.”
“Understood.” He took a couple of drinks of the cold mint tea and realized she’d added a packet of sweetener, the way he liked it. “Thank you for the tea. It’s perfect.”
She averted her gaze but didn’t move right away. He thought he saw a hint of moisture glimmering in her eyes before she finally walked back to the kitchen area.
He released his pent-up breath and glanced at the table nearby where the two Kaziri men continued flirting with the young waitress. It was at that exact moment that the second man turned his head, giving Connor a good look at his profile.
A ripple of unease darted through him. He didn’t recognize the man, but something was ringing alarm bells in his head. He felt as if he should recognize him somehow. But why?
He looked at the phone lying on the table in front of him. Unhurriedly, he picked it up and swiped the screen to unlock it. Glancing toward the other table, he pushed the camera application button, bringing up the viewing screen, and slowly angled it toward the men at the other table.
Pretending to send a text, he snapped a quick shot of the man facing him. He waited for the other man to turn again, but he was looking up at the flirtatious waitress, who seemed to be regaling them with a story in rapid-fire Kaziri.
The clatter of silverware nearby drew his attention away for a moment, until he spotted the toddler at a table near the door who had thrown his spoon on the floor. As the mother shot a look of apology toward the approaching server, Connor looked back at the table where the two Kaziri men sat. The second man had turned in his chair to watch the young mother and child, his expression harsh with disapproval.
He was perfectly framed in the phone’s viewer screen.
Connor snapped a couple of photos before the man turned his back again. While he was at it, he took a few other shots, one of the dark-haired man who seemed to be the restaurant manager, another of the pretty young waitress attending to the table where the Kaziri men sat, and finally, carefully, a shot of Risa as she served a nearby table, her roosari sliding backward to reveal her dusky hair and delicate profile.
After one more shot, he pocketed his phone and retrieved his wallet. He put a twenty on the table next to the half-empty tea glass before he walked out the door, careful to keep his face averted from the two Kaziri men.
Outside the restaurant, the night had turned bitterly cold, the last fluttering of snow drifting silently from the winter sky. Tugging up his collar to guard his neck from the icy wind, he hurried down the block to a coffee shop angled across the street from The Jewel of Tablis.
A blast of heat welcomed him as he entered. A freckled waitress with straw-blond hair and bright red lipstick greeted him from the counter. “Take a seat, sir. I’ll be with you in just a sec.”
Connor sat at one of the tables by the window, not entirely happy with the view through the plate glass. The bright interior of the diner reflected back at him, making it difficult to see much of the street outside, though the colorful lights of The Jewel of Tablis were just visible through the reflection.
He pulled out his phone and opened the photo gallery, studying the images he’d snapped at the other restaurant. He’d gotten a good shot of the younger man who had sat facing Connor’s table. He texted Maddox Heller
