Hawk (A Stepbrother Romance #3)(40)

Behind the main dining room is a dance floor and a second bar. Through another set of doors is a smaller dining room, and through that is the deck out back. The hot air hits me in a wave as we step outside. The breeze does a little, the fans overhead do a little more, but hot is hot. The falls run in a steamy cascade to the north and to the south the new bridge looms, towers standing as giant sentinels over the town.

Sitting at one of the deck tables, three men are clearly waiting for us. There’s a fourth chair, but I have to pull up my own from one of the other tables. I sit close to Tom, because I don’t want to sit close to the others.

At the far end, the head of the table really, there’s a man in a pinstripe suit. He’s somewhere between thirty and fifty, well built and dark, with lanky black hair and rough, stubbly cheeks. He doesn’t seem to sweat.

To his right is a thinner man, older, gray hair in a light linen suit, and he is sweating. Perspiration has soaked his collar and tie and he dabs at his face with a napkin before tossing it on the table in annoyance. He looks more through me than at me, focusing on Tom as he settles into his seat.

The last man is bald, squat, and in shirtsleeves with a loose tie, his sport coat tossed over the back of his chair. At first, I think he’s wearing thick leather suspenders, but then I spot the gun. Tucked into a holster under his left arm is a little pistol, silvery with a black grip. I rip my eyes away from it and focus them on nothing as he leans back and leers at me. I can feel his gaze on my legs.

“Gentlemen,” Tom says.

A waitress comes out from the restaurant. She gives the sweaty skinny man a beer, pinstripe suit a martini, I think, and the big man with the gun a glass of water. Tom orders a beer for himself and orders me a Shirley Temple, a sickly sweet cocktail with no alcohol in it. I don’t get to pick what I want.

He hands me a menu.

None of them say anything. When the waitress comes back with ours, she looks at me expectantly.

It’s too damn hot to eat a real meal out here. Soup is out of the question and I couldn’t stomach anything warm. I order a club sandwich, and Tom orders meat loaf. Still, the four men do not speak.

I sit there and sip my drink and try not to be too obvious in watching them. The guy with the gun scares me. There’s something off about him, the weird mechanical way he moves, and he keeps looking at me. If he was only leering, I’d almost be relieved. He’s sizing me up somehow, judging my value. Like I’m something he could sell.

Finally, the food arrives. A second waitress joins in and they carry out plates of appetizers along with the main course. I’m tempted to try the calamari rings but they look hot, spicy, not just hot in temperature from the fryer.

Only when the plates of food have been set before them and Tom starts to cut off a bite of meatloaf does the man in the pinstripe suit speak.

“You’ve met with the new supplier?”

“Yes,” Tom says. “He’s most agreeable.”

“Any word on alternate means of transport?” the thin man asks.

Tom starts to answer, but the heavy one cuts him off. I pick up a hint of an accent. Russian, maybe.

“Before we discuss business, who’s this lovely one?”

He looks right at me.

Tom laughs. “This is my daughter, gentlemen. She can be trusted. She’ll be working closely with me after I take office.”

The heavy man nods, but frowns.

“Well?” the thin man says.

Tom eats a bite of meatloaf and dabs at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “I spoke with Eli this morning. Our new partners can move some of the product themselves. So far I’ve found no alternative to the Leviathans. They want their usual cut.”

Pinstripe Suit saws into his steak. “Why should we deal with them after the last debacle?”

“The leadership has all been shuffled around after the recent unpleasantness. I think the new, ah, administration will be more amenable to our methods. I’ve spoken to them about some of their sidelines. They won’t be running a brothel in the county again.”

I flinch when I hear the word brothel.

Back when the school burned down and all the weirdness happened, something odd happened over in Port Carol, a one-stoplight town a few miles away from Paradise Falls. There was a bar there, an illegal strip club that attracted a lot of truckers.

Supposedly there was a shootout, gang stuff, and the place was shut down.

I put my sandwich down before any of them notice my hands are shaking. This is some kind of criminal thing. These guys are criminals. I’m sitting in a secret criminal meeting and they’re talking about illegal things. Oh God. Oh God. They saw my face. They keep looking at me.

“How goes the campaign?”

Tom laughs and takes a drink, then spears a chunk of meatloaf into his mashed potatoes. “I’m running unopposed. I’d say it’s going well enough.”

“Once you’re in place,” the thin man says, “We need to ramp up operations quickly. We’re losing money tip-toeing around.”

Tom nods. “Once I’m in office and I ‘clean up’ the police department, the state should get its nose out of our town. I take it my wonderful friends will speak to some officials on my behalf and ease the process.”

“Of course,” the man in the pinstripe suit says, nodding.

“I think this’ll be a very productive relationship for all of us, gentlemen. I’m going to meet with Eli again this evening and review his facilities. From what I’m told, the plain folk are amazing to work with.”