Or rather, he was enjoying his dinner, until Chase walked in and punched him right in the face.
The maître d’hôtel squawked in outrage, while half a dozen shark shifters scattered through the restaurant shot to their feet. Two tiger sharks seized Chase's arms in crushing grips.
“Well, that sure makes my life easier,” Sammy said, dabbing at his bleeding nose with a napkin. “Thanks, son. You're going to be watching the air race from a jail cell. If you're lucky.”
From the doorway, Commander Ash cleared his throat softly.
The two shifters holding Chase's arms abruptly let go. Another shark shifter hastily blew out the lit candle decorating the dining table.
“Commander Ash.” Sammy's eyes narrowed. “What an unexpected pleasure. Can't see any fires here, though.”
The Commander gave him a courteous nod, then turned to the flustered maître d'. “Table for one, please.?
?
The maître d' dithered, looking from Ash to Sammy. “Er… shall I call the police, sir?”
“No need. Just a little misunderstanding,” Sammy told him. He stared hard at Chase. “Pull up a chair, son. You've got my attention.”
*I believe that I should remind you that I am forbidden from burning them, even if they become violent.* Commander Ash sent telepathically to Chase, so that the sharks couldn’t hear. *Under the terms of my asylum, as granted by the Parliament of Shifters, I may only use my powers against other shifters if they commit arson.*
*I know that,* Chase sent back as he seated himself at Sammy's table. *And I'm pretty sure Sammy knows that, too.*
Commander Ash appeared to be completely focused on his menu. *Then I fail to see how my presence can act as a deterrent.*
Chase grinned, watching the shark shifters. They were all eyeing the Commander as though he was a ticking time bomb. The Phoenix was such a stickler for following the rules, it never even occurred to him that other people could worry that he might break them.
*I know you don't,* he sent to Ash. *Trust me. Try the shrimp, it's excellent.*
“So, son.” Sammy leaned back in his chair, his eyes suspicious above his gleaming smile. “What's this about?”
“You know very well.” Chase's own smile sharpened, showing his teeth. “You tried to kill my mate.”
Sammy spread his stubby hands. “Pretty certain I haven't tried to kill anyone, let alone your mate. I don't even know who the lucky lady is.”
“Oh, but you do.” Chase's rage burned in his blood. His pegasus was desperate to trample Sammy into a bloody pulp. “Shane West's daughter, Constance. She was flying his Spitfire when your hired assassin attacked. It's only thanks to me that she isn't at the bottom of the sea along with the plane.”
The front legs of Sammy's chair crashed down. “My Spitfire is where?”
“Don't play the innocent with me,” Chase snarled. “Bad news, Sammy. It takes a lot more than a wyvern to knock me out of the sky.”
The Great White shark shifter stared at him, to all appearances genuinely baffled. “Son, I haven't the faintest idea what you're rattling on about.”
This is why I really needed Griff…
If Griff had been here, they would have been able to get Sammy arrested—the shifter police force knew Griff well enough to act on his testimony without hesitation. But without the half-eagle shifter's special ability, Chase had no way of proving that Sammy was lying.
Just got to keep charging ahead. Keep Sammy off-balance, in the hopes he'll trip up.
“I know it was you,” Chase said. “You're the only one with a motive. And I have iron-clad proof that you hired that wyvern.”
“You'll regret it if you try to catch me with fake evidence, son. My lawyer is a real shark.” Sammy rubbed his chin, his expression unreadable. “Wyvern, you say? Boys, do any of you know a wyvern shifter?”
A general murmur of “No, boss” ran around the table, as Sammy's goons shook their heads.
“Pity.” Sammy snapped a claw off his lobster. “I'm suddenly real eager to make one's acquaintance.”
A couple of Sammy's goons quietly got up, abandoning their half-eaten dinners. With the speed of sharks following a blood-trail, they headed out the door.