Page 19 of Bratva Hunter

“He’s the chef?”

She waves her hand with a huge smile. “Oh, he’d love that. Yeah. He’s the cook. Been here forever. He and the owner go way back.”

I taste the first bite of berry pie and relish the sweet explosion in my mouth. “This is good.”

“Yeah? The waitress who left taught me how to make them. Never would have thought someone who looked like a supermodel would be such a dynamo in the kitchen.”

I nod. “Supermodel?”

“Yeah. She looks like a fairytale princess, and she’s got a hunter, get it? Like Sleeping Beauty.”

“You mean Snow White.”

She chuckles as she walks to get the pot to refill my coffee. “I’ll miss her.”

“Won’t she be back? I mean, the boyfriend will realize she’s not his anymore and give up.”

“No.” Her smile dims. “She wanted to get back to Mexico with her family, but was afraid they’d track her down. I asked her why his whole family was involved in tracking her down, and she didn’t have an answer.” She shrugs.

“You seemed to like her well enough.”

“Oh, I did. Everyone loves her. She’s a princess.”

“Do you know where she decided to go?”

The server leans against the counter. “She said maybe she’d stopover in Phoenix and stay with an old friend.”

I smile at the server as I toss down a hundred-dollar bill. “Thank you for your excellent service.” Glancing at my watch, it’s just in time for her to close. Strolling to my SUV, I call Fingers. Not waiting for him to respond when answering. I blurt out. “Phoenix. Who does she know in Phoenix?”

Fingers clicks away on the other end of the call. I can imagine he’s got his tongue leaning out of his mouth to one side as he studies his screen. “A model friend.”

“I need the info and a flight now. Charter me one if necessary. Heading to Albuquerque now.”

Chapter 5

THREE DAYS BEFORE

ROSA

“Hey!”

Why do men think ‘hey’ is an appropriate way to get a woman’s attention? I flick my hand and smile at Marcel, the cook.

“Men are pigs.”

Chuckling, I cock my head. “You’re a man.”

“Eh. I don’t count, chère. I’m Cajun.”

Sure, whatever that means. I guess chère must mean sweetheart or honey. It’s nice, and that’s all that matters. He and my taxi driver’s brother, Jefferson, have been so great for the past few weeks. My uncle’s cartel continues to snoop around my grandparents in Dallas. My mom went back, and I risked a call to her the day before. I really want to go home, but I like ithere. It’s a sweet little town. The apartment above the restaurant and bar means I don’t have to go far. I feel safe. Jefferson concocted a story that I was his niece from California. Not that I really engage with anyone to talk about myself, but the regulars noticed there was someone new.

“Hey?”

Turning, I glare at the older bald man with wandering hands. “Hold your horses.”

“Be careful little girl, or you’ll be riding my pony.”

Ew. Seriously. Rolling my eyes, Jefferson moves toward the man. He’s a regular at the restaurant and gets kicked out regularly from the bar next door.

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