Frisk Me(98)

He surrendered to the inevitable.

“Dad, I told you. It’ll get handled.” He went for another sip of coffee, only to find his cup was empty. Diner fail.

He scanned the dining room for the waitress, partially because he wanted more coffee, partially because he wanted a distraction. Partially because—

“You’ve been saying it’ll get handled for weeks,” Tony said, refusing to let the matter drop.

“Yeah, Captain. You’ve been saying that for weeks.” This from Anthony’s other brother, Vincent. Two years younger than Anth, Vin was a homicide detective and the most irritable and irreverent member of the family. And the one least likely to kiss Anth’s ass.

If Anthony was totally honest, he was pretty sure that most of his younger siblings respected him, not only because he was the highest ranking active family member, but simply because he was the oldest. He was the one they’d come to when they needed to hide that broken vase from Mom, or when they were scared to death to tell Dad about that D in chemistry, or in the case of his brothers, when it was time to learn their way around the female anatomy.

But Vincent didn’t respect anyone. Not even big brother. Vin was always the first to jump at the chance to gently mock Anthony’s status as captain.

A title that had been hard-earned, and still felt new. As though it could be ripped away at any time.

Which was exactly the reason his father was on his ass right now. Anthony had passed his captain’s test three months ago and had every intention of climbing the ladder all the way to the top. The very top.

It was a path Anth had never questioned. A path that up until recently, had been remarkably smooth.

And then…

And then Smiley had happened.

“Well surely you’ve got a couple leads to go on,” Tony said, leaning forward and fixing Anthony with a steady look.

Anthony looked right back, hoping the bold gaze would counteract the hard truth. That Anth didn’t have a damn clue who or where Smiley was.

For the past two months—the majority of Anthony’s tenure as captain of the twentieth precinct—the Upper West Side had been plagued by a smug and relentless burglar.

Nickname? Smiley. Courtesy of the idiotic yellow smiley-face sticker he left at each of his hits.

The plus side, if there was one, was that Smiley hadn’t proven dangerous. If it had been a violent criminal on the loose, Anth’s ass would have been on the line weeks ago.

But still. It had been eight weeks since Smiley first hit, and the man was getting bolder, hitting three brownstones last week alone.

And Anth wasn’t even close to catching him. Neither was anyone else in the department. Hence why number two on his life priorities—the NYPD—was making him crazy recently.

“We’ll get him,” Anthony said curtly, referring to Smiley.

“You’d better,” Tony said. “The press has gotten a hold of it. It’ll only get bigger from here.”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder,” Anthony muttered. He picked up his coffee cup again. Still empty. “Damn it. Where the hell is what’s-her-name? Is it too much to ask to get some damned coffee around here?”

“Now there’s a good plan,” his sister mused. “Blame poor Maggie because you can’t catch a pip-squeak cat burglar.”

As if on cue, poor Maggie appeared at their table, coffeepot in hand.

“I’m so sorry,” the pretty waitress said, a little breathless. “You all must have been waiting ages for more coffee.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, even as he snuck a glance at her. Her friendly smile was meant to hide the fact that she was frazzled, and for most of her customers, that apologetic, dimpled smile probably worked.

It was a damned good look on any woman, but especially her.

Maggie Walker had become their default waitress at the diner back when their old waitress Helen had retired. And while he missed Helen and her too-strong floral perfume, he had to admit that Maggie was better to look at.

She had a wholesome, girl-next-door look that appealed to him mightily. Brown hair that was always on the verge of slipping out of its ponytail, wide, compelling green eyes that made you want to unload all your darkest secrets.

Curvy. Hips that were exactly right, breasts that were even better.

And then there was that smile. It managed to be both shy and friendly, which was handy because he was betting it was very hard for even the most impatient customers to get annoyed at her.

But Anth didn’t buy the exhausted, doing-my-best routine, and seeing as she was dealing with an entire table of observant cops, he was betting the rest of his family wouldn’t buy it either.

Then Luc leaned forward and gave Maggie an easy grin. “Don’t even worry about it, Mags. Didn’t even notice I was running low!”

He stared at his brother. Okay. So maybe the family bambino could be fooled by pretty Maggie.

He rolled his eyes as Luc shoved his mug toward the edge of the table so Maggie wouldn’t have to reach as far.

Then he watched in utter dismay as Vincent did the same. Vincent, who’d practically devoted his life to being perverse, was trying to make life easier for their inept waitress.

Un-f*cking-believable.

Anthony was so busy trying to figure out what about the frazzled waitress turned his brothers into a bunch of softies that he didn’t think to move his own mug to be more convenient, and Maggie had to lean all the way in to top off his cup.