“I’m off to have breakfast with the hotties,” she said, heading to the pickup window. “It’s a dirty job but someone’s gotta do it.”
“I volunteer,” Nicole called, raising her hand.
“Lucky duck!” Emily heard Margaret mutter as she loaded the hot plates onto a tray and carried it over before anyone could grill her further.
Alec waited until she set everything down then stood and motioned her into the booth. When he settled—so close his thigh pressed against hers—she arched a brow. “Are you afraid that what you have to say will send me bolting for the door?”
Rhys answered smoothly. “It’s courtesy where I come from, luv. The gentleman guards the aisle.”
“Says the man who learned to drive on the wrong side of the road,” Alec muttered, adding a splash of cream to his coffee.
“We’ve been doing it properly for nearly two millennia,” Rhys countered. “Since knights jousted, thank you very much.”
Emily laughed at their banter, but her appetite had evaporated. She salted her omelet out of habit and nudged it around the plate.
“Can we talk and eat?” she asked. “Because I’m about to spontaneously combust if someone doesn’t start explaining.”
“You need protection,” Rhys announced—delicate as a sledgehammer.
Alec exhaled. “Ever heard of easing someone in?”
“Certainly.”
“Then, let me,” he ground out.
“Fine.” Rhys shrugged and speared a bite of pancake. “Do carry on.”
“What kind of protection?” Emily asked. “Better locks and a tracker?”
“Think up several notches.”
“I can’t afford even one notch.”
“Cost isn’t your concern,” he replied.
“Why? What’s this about?”
Alec turned toward her, his food forgotten. “You remember the mob boss who was shot in Miami earlier this year?”
“Yes. What does he have to do with me?”
“He was part of an international drug and human-trafficking ring.”
“Young girls. Barely eighteen. It’s sick and twisted,” Rhys added around a mouthful of pancakes.
“Do you mind?” Alec snapped.
“Sorry,” Rhys said, shooting Emily an apologetic look. “These scones, though? Brilliant.”
She managed a smile. “I didn’t make them, but thanks.”
“Em, focus.”
“Isn’t the bad guy getting shot a good thing?” she asked. “I still don’t see how this relates to me.”
“It didn’t end when he went down, which suggests he was only a minor player. More girls have gone missing recently, including two who worked for Gold Coast Catering.”
Her fork slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the plate. Heads turned.
