Secure Location - By Beverly Long Page 0,14
breeze blowing through the trees, skimming across her warm skin was almost sensual.
When the waiter came for drink orders, she chose red wine and Cruz got a beer. He ordered twelve ounces of Texas rib eye with a loaded baked potato and a Caesar salad. She ordered salmon and a side of broccoli.
“Some things never change,” he said, as if he’d read her mind.
“I have a full day tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll start around seven and won’t be done until late tomorrow night. I have an event.”
He sipped his beer. “At work?”
“No. There’s a not-for-profit in town called A Hand Up. Their mission is to help the recently incarcerated acclimate back into society by finding employers to offer six-month internships. The employers get a break financially because half the salary is paid by donations. The clients get a chance to demonstrate that they are walking the straight and narrow and can be good employees.”
“And your connection with this group?”
“The hotel has offered several internships. I’ve been their contact.”
He pushed his beer aside. “You’re employing convicts?” he asked, his voice hard. “You don’t think you might have mentioned that before now?”
She frowned at him. “Formerly incarcerated. They are vetted very thoroughly. We’ve had four clients, two have finished their rotation and two are more than halfway through. They’ve all been wonderful.”
“I want their names.”
“No. There’s absolutely no reason to think that they have any grudge against me. It’s known in advance that the assignments are six months long so they aren’t surprised when the work ends. And they will be scared to death if some badass Chicago cop comes knocking on their door.”
He picked up his beer and took a drink. “You think I’m a badass?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Yes. As bad as they come.”
“Where is the event?”
“Six blocks from here. At another hotel.”
“You have to go?”
“I’m the main speaker.”
The server delivered his salad. He worked his way through it. When he spoke again, he surprised her. “You’ll do great.”
“I’m nervous,” she admitted. “I told the director no initially but she was very insistent. Also, Scott thought it would be good publicity for our hotel.”
He put down his fork without finishing his salad. “Good old Scott.”
She ignored him and was grateful when the server delivered the main course. Cruz dug into his steak. She did little more than push her salmon around her plate. When the waiter came to clear their dishes and offer dessert, Cruz looked at her expectantly. Was he remembering that she’d always been a sucker for crème brûlée?
That was before. When it was fun to linger over dessert, to say deliberately provocative things over coffee, to see Cruz’s eyes heat up, knowing that each whisper, each casual touch, would be collected upon in full.
Now she simply asked for the check. When the waiter slid it on the table, Cruz grabbed it. “I’ll take that,” he said.
Meg waited until the waiter had wandered off. “We should split it at least.”
“No.” Cruz pulled enough bills out of his pocket to cover the check and leave a generous tip. “Let’s go.”
It was close to ten and both sides of the River Walk were jammed with people. Young, old, fat, skinny, black, white—it was a crowd as diverse as the food choices. The restaurants and bars were still going strong, with their doors wide open. Music came from every direction. Rock. Blues. Jazz. Dueling pianos. Something for everybody.
Late spring was a beautiful time to be on the River Walk. While it was already hot, there had been more rain than last year. Annuals, in borders and beds, blossomed, gathering butterflies. Perennials, with their strong root system, crawled up the sides of brick walls, making the space intimate.
It was lovely. The huge trees, some growing right out of buildings, arched over the river, their branches swaying and dipping in the gentle nighttime breeze. Lights and candles and even the occasional flare from a cigarette gave the space warmth. The gentle murmur of conversation and the burst of a child’s laughter or cry made it hum with energy.
It was probably too crowded for Cruz. She remembered the year that she’d managed to drag him Christmas shopping on the day after Thanksgiving. They’d been shopping on Michigan Avenue with a million other people determined to support the economy. He’d been as edgy as a wild animal. She’d teased him about having an aversion to spending money but in truth, she’d known that he was always on guard, always ready. And