“It’s perfect,” I said, snatching the knife out of his hand. Another badass comeback for the record books.
Actually, I did want to finish what I’d started last night. In the worst way possible.
I was in love. I didn’t realize just how much until thirty seconds ago. I knew it the minute my eyes landed on him. Even angry and hurt and volatile, he liquefied my bones and infused my heart with warmth and life and a sense of security. He was like a sanctuary. Like shelter from a storm. I knew, beyond anything known and not known, beyond the future and the past, that I could count on this being, on this man, to be there for me.
It was the whole rote memory thing. I’d woken up in that alley knowing how to talk. How to walk. How to search the Internet. And I woke up in love. It was ingrained in my DNA. I loved Reyes Farrow. I craved him, and there was nothing I could do about it.
This went beyond the fact that he’d saved my life. Then again, he did. He couldn’t be evil. That angel had every intention of dismembering me. Reyes – and the details were still a bit hazy – fought it off. Somehow he fought a celestial being. For me. Was even wounded in the process.
But angels weren’t evil either. Maybe it wasn’t as simple as good and evil. Maybe there were an infinite number of grays in between.
It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. What he was. Where he was from. How he freaking turned into smoke, because damn. He was mine, fire, smoke, and all. I staked my claim right then and there.
“Sorry I’m la—”
Cookie had rushed in like a frozen tornado but stopped short when she saw Reyes and me. She cleared her throat and walked to the storeroom to de-cloak.
I took my prizes and continued to the drinks station to start the coffee, but not before sampling a bite. When Cookie walked up, I groaned aloud and took another bite.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“If you think it’s authentic enchiladas, then yes.”
“I caught a whiff when I walked in, but I thought I was dreaming.”
“Here you go.” Reyes handed Cookie a plate as well through the pass-out window.
She sucked in a soft breath and took the plate as if it were a delicate treasure. And so the morning passed with the two of us sampling Reyes’s cooking – when he wasn’t looking, of course – and waiting on tables. But only because we’d get fired if we didn’t.
Mr. P and the dead stripper came in. Ordered the usual. Garrett came in. Ordered the usual. Osh came in. Ordered off the menu, thus the usual. And a plethora of women filled up every other seat we had. The words morning rush were taking on a whole new meaning. Reyes might have been good for business, but I had blisters from trying to outrun the headless horseman last night and then running all the way home after the Reyes incident. And now they throbbed like the fires of a thousand suns. Still, like Dixie had said, dude could cook. I could forgive a few blisters if it meant a steady supply of chile et al.
When Bobert came in, I asked him if he could look into Mr. Ian Jeffries. Surely I wasn’t his first crush. If he’d gone stalker on other women, there would be a record of some kind, even if he’d never been formally charged.
I also told him about the phone call I got from the FBI agent.
“She’s really good at her job,” he told me. “Said she’d get back to me if they found anything.”
“Bobert, what if I just endangered them more?”
“Janey.” He covered my hand with his. “You did the right thing. The fact that you noticed what was going on may save their lives.”
I gave him an unconvinced nod.
By eleven, Francie and Erin had arrived and dined on the now-famous enchiladas. Francie’s face turned bright red, and her nose ran for the next half hour, but she carried on like a trouper. Mostly to impress Reyes.
But it was eleven and past time for Mr. V’s usual phone call. I waited for his order, but none came.
“I’m going on break,” I told Cookie. She was on break herself, sitting with Bobert. They both looked like they’d just had sex, but it was only the enchiladas.