J Duncan - Deadworld

“She wants to help us, Jackie.”

“I don’t like this, whatever it is. Maybe we should all meet together.”

Laurel laughed. “You are jealous.” She stood up and kissed Jackie on the cheek. “It’s so cute.”

Jackie didn’t quite know how to respond. “You better call me as soon as you’re done. I want to know what she has to say.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“I mean it, damnit.” It was sad. She almost did feel like a mother at the moment. “Seriously. You need to be careful with her.”

“And you don’t?”

“I can handle the Nicks of the world,” she said. “Shelby Fontaine is a whole other animal.”

“Jackie, I don’t think there are any other Nicks of the world.”

“You know what I mean. Watch yourself is all I’m saying. I’m still not convinced they aren’t trying to put us off the trail somehow.”

Laurel’s grin faded to a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, I will. I think you can trust them.”

“And we both know where I stand on that,” she snapped back. “I’m going to let Belgerman know what we’re doing just in case some shit goes down we’re not expecting.”

“Quit being paranoid.”

Jackie got up, pointing a finger at Laurel. “It’s my job.”

Her voice followed Jackie down the corridor. “And you do it so well.”

Ernesto’s was a quaint little restaurant tucked into the middle of a row of 1920s brick storefronts. One of those local eateries that had likely been in the neighborhood for forty or fifty years, where the owners knew 90 percent of the people who came in to eat. Not the sort of place one would expect a wealthy, blood-drinking PI to frequent, but, then, what was expected from them? Jackie stared in through the front glass window for a moment, seeing only her tousle-haired reflection. Rain pattered on the awning overhead and dripped behind her onto the sidewalk. The dull, gray backdrop matched her complexion all too well. She had looked better.

And I am worried about this because? She shook her head and stepped into cool darkness, surrounded immediately by the soft sounds of Italian opera. Old black-and-white photos from Italy and Sicily decorated the walls, and pristine white tablecloths dotted the landscape before her. It was not so neighborhood as Jackie had suspected. It was more the romantic-dinner-for-two kind of eatery. For a moment, she pondered spinning on her heel and walking back to her car.

“Ah! You must be the lady Mr. Nick is having lunch with, yes?”

A thick-mustached, portly Italian man with a graying fringe of hair ringing his head stepped out of the kitchen area, clasping his hands together like he was entirely too happy see her. Mr. Nick? So he was a regular.

“Yes, I’m supposed to meet him here.” Old Mr. Ernesto looked far too under the impression of this being some kind of date.

“Excellent, excellent! Follow me, please,” he said with a wave of his hand. He dropped back in step with Jackie. “Mr. Nick did not say you were so beautiful a lady. The man needs a good woman.” He flashed a big, mischievous grin at her and winked.

Lovely. Uncle Guido was friends with the vampire.

At the far back end of the restaurant, next to an open pair of French doors that stepped out onto a small patio with a few more tables, sat Nick Anderson, a faint smile on his face as they approached.

“Hello, Agent Rutledge,” he said, standing up as Ernesto brought her to the table. Even with the glare from the doors, his eyes had that soft, eerie glow about them.

“Mr. Anderson,” Jackie said, nodding curtly and seating herself in the chair Ernesto had pulled out for her.

Nick seated himself. “Two espressos please, Ernesto.”

“Right away, Mr. Nick.” He gave a quick bow and walked briskly away.

Jackie stared at his implacable mouth in order to avoid his eyes. It looked soft, relaxed. No annoyance or tension there. She realized hers was drawn tight. “I didn’t ask for coffee.”

“You didn’t want any?” The question was stated simply enough, but that slight quirk at the corner of his mouth flared with sarcasm. “You strike me as a die-hard coffee person, Ms. Rutledge.”

“Are we done with the small talk now?” she snipped back.

Nick sat up, folding his hands on the table. “Sure. We can get right to it then.”

“Great. Let’s,” Jackie began, meeting his eerie gaze for at least a second and a half. She got interrupted, however, by the bubbly voice of the waitress bringing their coffee.

Nick smiled at the woman, something Jackie could not recall his mouth ever doing to this point, and for just a moment, the tired, stern man vanished into something warm and caring. “Thank you, Mia. It’s good to see you.”

“You’ve not been here in months, Nicholas,” she said in a motherly tone. “And you bring this lovely woman with you, whom you’ve not even been polite enough to introduce to me.”

Nick chuckled softly. “It’s a business lunch, Mia. Have no fear. If I bring a date, I’ll call you personally ahead of time so you can make all the necessary preparations.”

“Bah,” she said, waving him off. “Ernesto foolishly implied otherwise. So sad. Perhaps you can make it both, eh?” She winked at Nick and gave Jackie the same mischievous grin Ernesto had.

Jackie gave a halfhearted smile in return. “Really, it’s just business.”

She leaned over and laid a conspiratorial hand on Jackie’s shoulder. “He’s a good man,” she whispered. “Very good catch, and I see the way he looks at you. He likes you.” With a little squeeze, Mia stood back up and turned to Nick. “So, Nicholas. What shall you two be having today?”

“Honestly,” Jackie said, “I’m not really hungry.”

“Surprise us, Mia. Something…” Nick looked back at Jackie for a moment, studying her intently. “Something seafood, I think.”

Jackie watched Mia walk away, still trying to process the interchange that had just taken place. “What was that? They talk like you own the place.”

“I do,” he replied, obviously pleased that something had come up she was unaware of.

“Seriously. You own an Italian restaurant?” Why had it not shown up in their profile of him? “And what was the deal there with Mama Mia?”

“I bought the place from Ernesto’s father about eighteen years ago. He was a friend of mine and about to lose the place, so I helped him out.”

“And that other bullshit?” Jackie demanded. “You set them up for all that just to amuse me?”

The humorous smirk faded. “No, Ms. Rutledge. Mia is the motherly sort, and it’s her way of showing she cares, that’s all. I’ll apologize if you were offended by the implications.”

Heat rose up in her cheeks. Shit, shit, shit. Embarrassment was the last thing she needed. “No, no. That’s fine. I just don’t want you getting any ideas from them, that’s all.”

“I don’t date, so you’re safe.”

“Is that because you’re old enough to be most women’s great-great-great-grandfather?”

He paused for a second, espresso cup poised at his lips, and then nodded. “So you believe the evidence now?”

“To be honest, I’m still on the fence about what I believe.” She flicked her gaze back up to his and found him watching her, unblinking. “And would you quit with the staring already? It’s fucking rude.”

He sat back, surprised at himself. “Oh. I apologize. It’s habit, watching for subtle changes of behavior and inflection. Easier to see what is going on with a person.”

“And what is going on with me, Mr. PI?”

The stare came back, and Jackie forced herself to defiantly return the look, feeling her guts begin to squirm like a bucket of angry worms. “This case is stressing you out beyond what you’re used to, but you also have personal matters that are making this case even more difficult.”