Ignacio Torres, of the Torres’s—as in the Torres’s who founded Villa San Juan—gave a little smile and a sympathetic nod of his head. “I couldn’t put my finger on where I knew you from until you batted your eyes at Dante. I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Harley offered a weak smile, ?
??My memories of this place weren’t too fond.”
“You let my sister scare you away.”
“No,” her eyes scanned the restaurant toward the men’s room where Dante excused himself. “I didn’t belong here.”
“Nonsense.” Ignacio reached for Harley’s hand and spun her around. “You belong here as much as anyone else. Does he know you’re back?”
A dagger stabbed her heart. She pushed Ignacio’s questions out of her mind and focused on her so-called husband. Dante headed off for some alone time, probably to figure out how to tell her the truth and she danced here like a hypocrite. She hated to admit it but, until the close connection between him and Leonardo, tonight’s date had gone swell. They’d gotten to learn more about each other. He loved his sister. Was she being too judgmental? She was in Villa San Juan in pursuit of Javier, but that was more justifiable because Javier was her niece’s fiancé.
“Harley?”
Harley blinked back to Ignacio. She smiled, realizing she’d zoned out thinking about an ex, whom she’d known for years, but never wanted her, compared to how she barely knew Dante, yet he wanted to spend forever with her.
It sounded crazy, but Dante was crazy.
Cutting her eyes back through the restaurant, Harley spotted a familiar sight causing her heart to flop into the pit of her stomach. The geek squad from Christopher Alfaro’s group entered the restaurant. She was positive it was him. His face cut into her memory after staring at him praying his gizmo wouldn’t give her true identity away. With three hours drive between Villa San Juan and Little Mexico, Harley didn’t believe in coincidences.
“No, he doesn’t, Ignacio,” said Harley, “and I’d like to keep it that way. If you don’t mind, I need to get back to my husband.” She flashed her ring finger with a smile. Ignacio nodded with admiration and let her go.
Harley’s glare aimed toward the bathroom door where Dante stood, unarmed.
“Would you like dessert, ma’am?” asked the tuxedo-clad waiter, “Shall I wait for your husband?”
“What?” Harley whipped her head around to the man standing in front of her. “I’m sorry, no, no dessert.” Her body weaved to get a better view of the henchman; he disappeared but not quite to the men’s bathroom. The coat room. Not that Villa San Juan needed a coat room, the city’s temperature never dipped below seventy.
The bottom of the cherry wood scraped against the hardwood floors as she pushed away from the table and grabbed her black clutch bag from the chair next to hers. Dante may have frisked her body before they left tonight but he didn’t have to check her tiny purse. If he had, he may have spotted part of her .22. The nozzle nestled in the clip holding her hair on top of her head. As she walked she put her piece together all the while pretending to look for something in her purse.
The coat check room sat off to the side of the hostess stand. The young lady who’d taken them without reservations was busy with the line of people still waiting to get seated. Harley slipped inside. The hangers were bare, as expected with the summer weather, but the room was also empty. Harley looked at the ceiling, then down and around. Had the henchmen gotten out while she was distracted with the dessert?
Harley slipped back out the door, her heart racing. Dante hadn’t come out of the bathroom. The last thing she wanted was for him to find her gone once again. But his preoccupied state helped give her enough time to run outside through the kitchen for a quick check to settle her nerves. Dishes rattled in crates while bus boys whizzed around at her in surprise to have a guest back there with them. Young boys were easy. She pressed her finger to her red lips, motioning for them to be quiet. The chefs barked out orders to the assistants, servers shouted orders and demanded time on dishes. Harley went through with a breeze.
A distant sound of pounding music penetrated the sea air. Somewhere at the end of the street Javier was living it up while Hannah sat in a jail cell. Somewhere at the end of the street Javier sat like bait. If Alfaro’s men were here, she and Dante needed to move fast. Damn it, she swore under her breath. Because her purse was so rinky-dink, she couldn’t cram her cell phone and the body of her .22 at the same time. She needed to get in touch with Tai to tell her of the plan at the teen club. At least having eyes there could help.
Harley’s black heels clicked on the cobblestone alley echoing along the brick walls of the restaurant as she walked further down the alley. People with common sense would have walked to the front of the building toward the light and community but Harley did not want to draw anyone out into the open in case there was gunfire. Tonight didn’t have to end with her having to shoot someone, but she would if needed. The further away from the back door and Main Street she went, the easier she could hear the heavy footsteps. Someone was behind her. She drew a rugged breath, ready for action. This was her favorite part of the job—the fight. This was the time she got to release all her pent up aggravation. Working with TPD and Steve Lundy had done that to her. A stupid national holiday had done it to her. Dante had done it to her. As much as she loved undercover work, long-term cases drove her crazy. She wanted to let loose and be free. She wanted to kick ass.
“Stupid chica,” a deep voice said behind her and a heavy hand lay on her bare shoulder.
Kick ass time. Harley shrugged the hand off and with a spinning reverse round house kick, caught her assailant in the throat with the back of her black heel. The knife shaped heel sliced the side of his face. Under the pale moonlight, she pushed him against the brick wall for a better look. It wasn’t the geek from inside but it was one of Alfaro’s men. Stunned, the man’s shoulders pressed against the back of the wall. His jacket opened and revealed the butt of a Glock.
“You lookin’ to get blown tonight?” Harley asked, licking her lips. A pre-satisfied smile spread across her face at the knowledge of what was to come. For half a moment, her assailant squared his shoulders as if ready to take her up on a bit of back alley action. Men were so stupid. Harley flung herself toward him, her hand resting on the trigger. “Stupid muchacho,” she whispered huskily toward him. “You realize Glocks don’t have a safety?”
“The easier to kill you, puta,”
Harley frowned at the use of foul language. “And the easier for me to blow your dick off.”
“Oh shit!”
“Don’t shoot!” A voice yelled from the end of the alley.
Harley’s eyes narrowed to where her car sat parked under a street light. A burning tingling sensation crept down her spine. She felt violated. “What the hell? You drove my car? That’s worse than wearing my panties.”
“Put the gun down,” the voice yelled with authority.
Groaning, Harley rolled her eyes facing her assailant. Was it a cop? She saw no sign of a uniform. The second set of footsteps she heard behind her slowed down but she couldn’t see him. Trapped, Harley weighed her options. Though the one guy to her right stayed in the shadows, the man approaching stepped forward and there was no mistaking the glare of his pistol.