Brian was light on his feet, calm in his mind and peace in his soul as he led them towards the entrance. They would stand out by their size and appearance alone, but their clothes weren’t as intimidating. They weren’t going to recover any bounties today, so Dana had on blue jeans and a black long john shirt under his army green bomber jacket. Ford had on black fatigue pants, but his tan Champion hoodie and blue jean jacket made it appear less militant.
They made a straight line for LaRoy’s, attracting some attention, but they knew how to play the part. As if they ran all this. Brian saw the same young girl at the hostess stand. He turned slightly to his brother. “Translate for me and use your ‘Dana’ voice.”
Dana laughed, so he must have understood exactly what Brian signed and meant. Everyone talked differently when talking to their lover.
“Excuse me,” Ford growled darkly.
“That right there.” Dana pointed, and Brian nodded giving his brother a bold-ass grin.
“Just go,” Ford said in the exact same tone, looking annoyed.
They stood in the line at the hostess stand. The restaurant seemed to be the popular Sunday lunch spot. Even the bar was full. Brian kept his eyes on the hostess, knowing his team was scoping out the inside from where they stood. He’d pass out in shock if their jumper was sitting at a table, reading the Wall Street Journal while casually eating a bowl of the she-crab soup.
The hostess finally noticed Brian, recognition flaring immediately. She cleared her throat then started cheerfully. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you.” Ford stood slightly behind Brian and spoke his words for him. And, just like he’d asked, talking in that whisky roughness that was very much… like Brian’s real voice. The hostess gaped, but she recovered quickly. Ford nodded for him to continue.
Brian smiled at her, keeping his expression light. He’d been told his eyes gleamed when he was happy. Shone like black sequins. “Don’t you look beautiful this Sunday. I didn’t even have to go to church to see an angel today.” Brian inched closer, and she stared up at him as if he was a popstar. “We’d like a table for three, please. We’ll wait.”
She was focused on Brian when she answered. “For you, no wait. Chef was clear about that,” she smiled. She leaned over and whispered something briefly to another woman who’d just walked up. When she rushed away, the hostess turned to them, her glossy lips spread wide as she picked up three menus and motioned for them to follow her. Brian noticed a few perturbed scowls from some distinguished men still waiting for a table and enjoyed ignoring them when he moved past.
The three of them were shown to a curved booth towards the back. The area was gorgeous. Linen-dressed tables with plush chairs. Booths covered with expensive-looking upholstery. A nice fireplace sat behind a black grand piano. The room was elegant with tall vases overflowing with orchids, lit sconces on the wall and affluent displays of art. They were underdressed for a Sunday in a four-star restaurant, but they were still being treated like VIPs. Ford and Dana slid into the booth and one of the server’s assistants scurried over to fill their water glasses. Dana glanced around then gave Brian an impressed smirk.
I know, right? They weren’t used to this.
Brian saw the chef coming out of the corner of his eye, a surprised smile on his face. Showtime. Brian made eye contact as he approached, and slowly reached into his jacket pocket—his coat splaying open to show the left side of his chest beneath his tight, black, ribbed turtleneck—and removed the business card. The chef tracked the movement hungrily, licking his lips as if Brian was a freshly picked white truffle from Soria, Spain’s orchard.
“Holy shit. This guy is already down with the plan and he don’t even know what it is,” Dana joked, seeing the same thing Brian had. “He’s eye-fucking the hell out of you, B.”
The chef was looking rather starved, and not for anything on his fancy menu.
“Please don’t make me keep saying this corny shit, Brian,” Ford bitched under his breath. “The angel line? Come on.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Dana piped in, then pulled rank. “Back him up, Ford.”
Ford clenched his jaw and turned back to him. Brian caught the hint of defiance in his brother’s eyes. He wasn’t used to taking those kinds of orders… especially from someone he slept beside each night. But, the fact remained this wasn’t Ford’s SEAL team. This wasn’t the military. This was a different world. And in this civilian one, thirty-four-year-old Dana had field seniority since he’d been with Duke longer than both of them. As long as Dana did his job there’d be no changing the pecking order. Brian had no qualms following him. Dana was safe first and foremost, quick, smart, and he was able to guide as well as listen to advice.