Manuel’s eyes widen, and then they dart off to the side before returning to Connor even though I asked the question. Connor meets the kid’s gaze, and I’d swear they’re having a silent conversation, but they just met and things like that take time. Right?
“Who?” Connor demands in a quiet, almost kind voice. A kind demand . . . that’s a new one for me.
“It’s fine. No worries,” Manuel says, looking over his shoulder again, but this time, it’s to check out the bored cashier. I can hear it now. This kid’s worried, scared. But not of Connor.
“There’s blood on your apron, residue on your nose,” Connor states matter of factly. “You didn’t have a spontaneous bloody nose, Manuel. Who?”
Now that Connor mentions it, I do see a tiny spot of dried blood on Manuel’s left nostril, and low on his apron, down by the hem, is a bright red spot. Manuel fidgets with the tied strings at his waist.
“Who?” Connor growls, harsher this time.
Manuel flinches and whispers. “You said you’re a friend of my dad’s? Can you get the laptop back?”
Connor nods but bursts the kid’s bubble of hope. “I gave it to your dad not realizing that it was important to someone.” Manuel looks at me in question, and Connor confirms. “Yeah, it’s hers. She needs it back, but I’ll replace it.”
I jump in, figuring that if Connor can be the rock, I can be the pillow for this kid. “Look, I’ll buy you a laptop, one of those big jobs that can game all day if you want. Or an Xbox . . . a PlayStation . . . anything you want. I just need my laptop back.”
Manuel looks more and more excited as I list out all the things I’m willing to buy him. I don’t have any idea how I’ll afford it, but I’ll figure something out . . . if I can just get my manuscript back so I can get to work.
“A laptop,” Connor corrects, giving me a hard look. “Only a laptop. We can talk upgrades after we get the original.”
Manuel shrugs like that’s a more than acceptable deal. “Line cook. Tall guy, built like a tank. In back.”
Connor nods. “Name?”
“Derrick,” Manuel spits out.
Connor stands and then thinks better of it. “Stay here,” he tells me, pressing his finger into the tabletop. An order and demand all wrapped up in one, if ever I heard one. And this one isn’t nice.
Connor walks toward the kitchen before I can argue, but I still glare at his back, willing him to feel the painful pinpricks of my gaze. He walks through swinging door, and I look to Manuel.
“You plan on making me do what he said?” I intentionally drop my voice, trying to sound deadly serious. Judging by the smile Manuel tries unsuccessfully to hide, it doesn’t work. But he shakes his head anyway. I stand up and roll my neck. “Good choice. You should go talk to her,” I suggest, cutting my eyes to the cashier. But the kid shrugs, looking shy again.
Focusing on my own problems and looking as badass as I can, I stomp across the dining room. I steady myself before I go through the swinging door too.
This is not the time to be rash and impulsive, not when there’s so much at stake.
Steady as can be, I push through the door to find . . . nothing. And no one. The kitchen is empty, but the back door is open. Slowly, I move that way, acting like the food burning on the grill might jump up and get me. To my shame, I even look back at the swinging door wishing Manuel had come with me to offer a bit of moral support.
When I peek out the door, I see a small group of men gathered in the fenced in alley area and Connor pointing his finger in a tall guy’s face. This must be Derrick because he is definitely built more like a tank than a human. For his part, Derrick is grinning impishly, his arms crossed easily over his chest, not at all worried about the man in front of him demanding answers.
“Where’s the fucking laptop?” Connor snaps.
“Check your mama’s cunt,” Derrick says. “It’s wide enough.”
I expect punches then, but Connor doesn’t take the bait. “Don’t make me say it again, asshole. The laptop.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Connor’s jaw clenches, and he lowers his hands to his side. “You’re making a huge mistake.”
I know I shouldn’t do anything, but I can’t control myself and suddenly find myself jumping between the two men. “Where’s my laptop, asshole?”
Connor doesn’t react verbally, but I can sense him moving slightly to restrain me. Derrick’s white teeth flash as he laughs and tells Connor, “Better get your bitch under control, man. She’s losing it.”
“His bitch?” I ask, growling. “He doesn’t control me. Nobody does.”