Page 1 of Softer Than Stone
1
CHRIS
There was a twitch this time.Barely there. Not even countable as a fraction likely, but it was there all the same. If I’d blinked, I would have missed it. But I hadn’t.
Was the fact that I was staring intently, refusing to even bat an eyelash to stop my straining eyeballs, a little intense? Most likely, but I had zero fucks to give. And whatever was less than zero when it meant I’d caught the barest of lip twitches from Waru.
Fuck, he was beautiful.
Handsome when he scowled. Striking when he cussed and threw out orders. And hands-down mesmerising when he smiled. Though was it technically a smile if the quirk of just one side of his mouth only made it up? Truth was, it didn’t matter.
What should have mattered was me doing a better job of observing the restaurant floor and getting ready to intercept my mark after her meeting. All of that seemed impossible—and would likely get me a major arse-kicking from my boss, Lucas. In fairness, though, practically every one of my colleagues, boss man included, had been more than a little distracted by a sweet arse and a sexy smile while being on the job.
Except for Kent maybe.
The only thing she tended to be distracted by was whose balls she could bust. It was an art form, and hell if she didn’t have an impressive knack for it.
But back to Waru, who I absolutely should not be dreaming of gobbling up and laying across the stainless steel countertop he usually stood next to as he checked the meals before the waitstaff ran them out to customers. But here I was.
Fortunately, none of the customers could see me drooling. Nor could they see how hypnotic Waru became when a pissed-off, reached-the-end-of-his-tether expression turned his brown cheeks ruddy. They couldn’t see the way he gnawed at his poor lip, either, to the point I scented blood a time or two. Fuck, he all but lit up. All pouty and growly, his panther seemed to be just below the surface.
I wondered just how much one of his kitchen staff would have to screw up to bring even more out. Not that I should want to see that happen in real time—especially in his crowded restaurant—but damn if the thought of shifting into my lion form and rubbing along his sleek black fur didn’t get me hard.
“Copy, Chris. Over.”
I clicked the mic on my discreet earpiece, responding immediately to Smythe, who was my tech support on this mission. “Copy. All quiet. Over.”
Another scan of the restaurant from the two-way mirror off the side of the kitchen showed no sign of my mark. I glanced at the clock above the bar. Still ten minutes to go until the arranged meeting time. Brax was punctual, and if Jenna wasn’t here yet, it likely meant she’d show up just in time to avoid lingering—or maybe she didn’t want to risk being alone in his company for too long. Not that I blamed her.
“Chris.” Smythe’s voice crackled in my ear, the faint hum of his many monitors in the background. “I’ve got fresh intel on Brax. You ready for it? Over.”
I clicked my mic. “Go ahead, Smythe. Over.”
“Turns out Brax isn’t just the number two in a blood racket. He’s also got his claws in something nastier—extortion using medical data from an off-the-books lab up north in Queensland. Guess who got their hands on those files? Yours truly.”
“Nice work. That why Jenna’s on his leash?”
“Yep. She’s been feeding him patient intel in exchange for keeping her sister’s existence off the radar. Brax has the kid on lockdown in some suburban shit-hole. Poor girl’s only sixteen.”
My grip tightened on the edge of the table. “SICB hasn’t moved in yet?” The Supernatual Investigation & Crime Bureau as a whole wasn’t always known for moving as quickly as they—we—could. At least in our unit, the Infiltration and Tactical Unit, we tended to be able cut through some of the red tape the government imposed on us.
“This isn’t our jurisdiction, technically,” Smythe admitted. “But the ITU got wind of it through a little creative digging on my part. You’re welcome. Over.”
I grin, “Smythe, you’re the reason the SICB has increased our paycheques so damn much. Over.”
“And you’re the reason Michaels is rolling his eyes at me right now,” Smythe quipped. “He says to tell you to quit swooning over the chef, by the way.”
I froze mid-scan, my gaze flicking automatically towards the kitchen window where Waru was currently glaring at a human junior chef. Heat crept up my neck.
“I’m not swooning,” I muttered into the mic. “I’m surveilling. There’s a difference. Over.”
“Sure there is, mate,” Smythe snorted. “Michaels says he’s seen less heart eyes in romcoms.”
Before I could snap back, Michaels’s voice cut in, dripping with faux innocence. “Don’t mind me, just reminding you thatWaru isn’t the target here, Chris. Maybe try imagining him with spinach in his teeth? Over.”
I bit back a curse, refusing to rise to the bait. Of course, that was when I felt it—a weighty gaze on me from across the room. My head angled away from Waru’s hands like a magnet to find the man staring straight at me. His brow was furrowed in that perpetually pissed-off way that only added to his intensity, but his stunning amber eyes were sharp, assessing. And maybe—just maybe—a little amused.
Damn it. He’d caught me.
