Darkness Falls (Dark Angels 7)

“That’s okay.” I smiled at the waitress as she handed me the menu. “I don’t think the newlyweds are worried about anything but each other right now.”

“True.” He studied the wine list for a moment, then said, “What would you like to drink?”

“Just water, thanks.” Even if my wolf constitution did allow me to drink a little alcohol withou

t the risk of harming my child, my damn stomach was churning so badly I probably would have brought it right back up.

“Make that two, thank you.” He closed the wine list, handed it to the waitress, then once again turned his full attention to me. There was something unnerving in the way he watched me—there was an intensity, a stillness, that reminded me of a predator about to pounce. “How was your day, my dear?”

Was there just a little too much interest behind that casual question?

I studied him for a minute, seeing lines in his face and shadows under his eyes that I couldn’t remember seeing before. Maggie’s comment about the drain the Ania attack would have caused ran through the back of my mind and I couldn’t help connecting two and two. But was I seeing things—sensing things—simply because I wanted to see them? Because there was some minor part of me that wanted them to be there?

If Kiandra’s warning was correct—and I had no doubt that it was—then in all honesty I would much rather the person who wasn’t what they seemed to be, be Mike than anyone else in my life.

Because everyone else in my life was someone I loved.

“Fine,” I said eventually, “but the café is so busy we’re thinking about employing several more waitstaff. We’re run off our feet during peak hours.”

“You have to be careful if you do,” he said. “Prime costs are sitting at about sixty-three percent of the total volume of sales. You don’t want to run it too much higher, especially if you ever want to sell it in the future.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What gave you the idea that I might want to sell it?”

“It happens. Partnerships break up, or it just gets too much.” He shrugged. “What happens if you—or indeed, Ilianna—get pregnant? What will you do with the café in that sort of event?”

“The days of a woman giving up her job or her business when she becomes pregnant are long gone.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that.” He half shrugged. “It was just a theoretical question.”

There was nothing but casual interest in either his voice or his expression, and yet that odd watchfulness was still very much present.

The waitress reappeared, filling our glasses with water, then taking our orders.

“I can’t see there’d be any difference to the current situation if either of us did get pregnant,” I said, once she’d left. “We’d just hire in someone to take our place. Why?”

“As I said, I was just curious as to whether you’d given it any thought.” He produced a small manila folder and handed it to me, then lightly began to tap the table. I wondered whether it was impatience or something else.

“That’s all the information I could find on those properties you asked me about,” he said. “I believe the bulk of the information has already been shredded.”

I looked through the folder. The information wasn’t even as detailed as what Stane had told me, though what information it did contain was the same.

I handed the folder back and said, “Would it be possible to talk to either Sands or Macintyre and ask them if they remember anything about the properties in question?”

“Macintyre?” He frowned. “That’s the first time I believe you’ve mentioned someone by that name.”

I silently cursed the slip, even as I wondered whether it was a slip. “Sorry, I meant Greenfield. He apparently owned one of the properties my friend is interested in.”

“Absentmindedness seems to be catching lately.” His brief smile appeared warmer than it actually was. “Even I’ve been struck with the malady. Most inconvenient—though not unexpected, given my age.”

“I’d hardly call you old,” I said.

“Very gallant of you to say so, even though you must know I’m in my sixties.”

He didn’t look it—or at least, he hadn’t up until tonight. And while his somewhat gaunt and tired expression did add more than a few years on him, it was more his eyes that told of his age. They were a clear gray and not only filled with a vast sense of power but oddly magnetic . . . I felt myself leaning forward and jerked back with a frown. What the fuck was going on? I had no sense of magic, either coming from Mike or in the near vicinity, and surely I would have if some sort of spell was in operation.

I cleared my throat and said, “As I said, if you have contact details for either Sands or Greenfield, I’d really appreciate it.”

“If I had such details, you could have them. But they have not been clients of mine for some years now, and I only have these records on the off chance the tax department queries me about them.”