Plates arrived. Bread baskets were passed. For a few minutes, conversation stayed light and skimmed safely along the surface.
Duke almost relaxed.
Then Matthew cleared his throat. “Just to let you all know, I ran Colin Hoffman’s background.”
Duke’s fork paused mid-cut. He kept his eyes on the lasagna, but his focus sharpened. “And?”
“His online activity spiked after the breakup. Relationship forums. Self-improvement threads. And . . .” Matthew hesitated. “I found an old assault charge. Restaurant altercation from a few years ago. Details are thin.”
An assault charge changed the equation. It wasn’t proof, but it was enough to shift probabilities, enough to move Colin frompossibletoprimary. Violence that surfaced once had a way of surfacing again.
Before Duke could press Matthew for more, a familiar voice cut in.
“There you all are. I was beginning to think you’d staged a coup.” Rupert appeared at the end of the table, tie immaculate, expression harried, eyes already darting from plate to plate.
“Sit.” Duke nodded toward an empty chair.
“I can’t.” Rupert waved a hand dismissively. “There are timelines—plural—not to mention my gluten sensitivities. Besides, I have a meeting with someone who insists on being called adigital synergy consultant. But I wanted to say excellent job today. Our social engagement is through the roof. People are loving you even more.”
Rupert left a bag of energy drinks with them and then vanished a moment later. The table settled again, the way a place does once a storm has moved on but traces of its fury remain behind.
A server appeared beside Andi. “Drink for you.”
The woman set a short glass near Andi’s plate filled with pale liquid topped with a curl of lemon peel.
Andi squinted. “I didn’t order?—”
“Compliments of the bar,” the server said with a quick smile before moving on.
Duke scanned the room, his muscles instantly tightening. “Who sent that?”
Andi shook her head. “I have no idea.”
Duke rose to his feet, tension thrumming through him. “I’ll be right back.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Duke approached the bar,positioning himself so he could keep the glass in sight without drawing attention to it.
The bartender was busy but alert. Glassware clinked as he wiped down the counter, music thumping softly from overhead speakers.
“That drink.” Duke nodded toward the table. “Who ordered it?”
The bartender paused mid-motion, a towel still wrapped around a glass. He frowned, thinking. “Someone paid for it about five minutes ago.”
Duke kept his voice even. “Description?”
The man hesitated, eyes shifting as he seemed to replay the moment. “Average height. Dark jacket. Baseball cap, maybe?” He shrugged. “Didn’t say much. Just nodded toward the table.”
Tension locked down hard in Duke’s gut. “Did he pay with a credit card?”
“Cash.”
“Is he still here?”
The bartender glanced around. “Maybe. I mean, I don’t see him now.”
