2
After returning to his hotel,Zeke carried his duffel bag of artifacts to his room, showered, and changed into a gray button-down shirt and black slacks for his prearranged dinner with his older brother Ash.
Now, he followed the hostess of the Grand Marquis Hotel restaurant to a booth across from the bar, feeling like a stink bug amidst a kaleidoscope of butterflies.
His idea of a nice evening involved him wearing a T-shirt and jeans, on his deck, with a beer in hand, steak on a plate, and a sunset beautiful enough to bring tears to his eyes.
But his brother had more refined tastes, and he’d insisted on this hotel and warned Zeke to wear something besides said deck-wear. Normally, he ignored fashion advice from his brother, but he didn’t want to set their rare get-together off on the wrong foot. Plus, today was his birthday. Why not celebrate in style?
The hostess handed him a menu and laid another in the empty place opposite him. “Your server will be with you shortly, Mr. Blackwell. I’ll show your wife to your table once she arrives.” She smiled at him with generous red lips and blue eyes. Long black hair draped over a bare shoulder, the perfect complement to the strapless white dress that outlined her curves in all the places he liked.
The slight emphasis she put on “your wife” sounded like a question to his ears, one he found himself not interested in answering, despite the obvious temptation.
“Thank you,” he said, picking up the menu.
She had barely turned away before his mind shifted to Lupos and Sardoff’s promise to text him the name of the longsword’s owner. Zeke had allowed his hopes to rise many times over the past year, only to be disappointed. But this was the first time the description matched his family’s heirloom so perfectly.
“Hello, I’m Keith. I’ll be your server tonight,” a tall young man with curly brown hair and a sunburned nose said. “Can I get you anything to drink while we’re waiting for your guest?”
Zeke glanced down at his watch and noted the time.
8:27 p.m.
Way to cut it close, bro.
“Two glasses of your best bourbon.” He scanned the menu. “I’ll have the beef tenderloin.”
“Would you like for me to put your order in now or wait for your guest?”
“Put it in now.” One thing the last decade had taught him—never hold up food for his brothers. Out of the five of them, he seemed to be the only one who didn’t lose track of time. It’s why he’d made such a great operations manager.
He pushed the thought away. Later. He would get into that later.
The restaurant buzzed with guests. A few were men like him in town for business. Most of them dined on a tumbler of amber liquid. A large group of people in business casual, with matching blue lanyards around their necks, sat at the bar, releasing a continual series of ear-grating laughter.
Several couples dotted the dining room, each sharing different levels of longing looks and intimate touches. Except for a twenty-something couple near the fireplace, who seemed more captivated by their electronic devices than each other.
Everyone in the restaurant had a story. Stories that had led them here, to this place and time.
Zeke allowed his curiosity free rein, picking out the loners, the seekers, and the drinkers.
His surveillance snagged on a guy at one of the high tables in the bar. He didn’t know why, exactly. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting about the man’s stocky build, tousled hair, or stubble-cured face, nor did his plain loafers, dark jeans, and pressed polo shirt inspire the imagination.
Then he keyed in on the intensity of the guy’s face. He followed the man’s line of sight until it stopped on one of the bar sitters. A woman.
He stopped short of snorting. It didn’t take a detective to unravel that bit of domestic drama. Unrequited love. The worst, most devastating kind.
What sort of scenario would elicit such visual fervor? Did he fall in love with his childhood friend? Coworker? Boss? Best friend’s wife?
Or maybe the guy just had a hard-on for redheads.
“Here you go,” server Keith said, placing twin glasses on the table. “Two Old Fitzgeralds.”
Zeke looked at his watch. His jaw clenched.
8:42 p.m.
Would it be so hard for Ash to take a few seconds and send him an update on his status? Or couldn’t G-man be bothered with common courtesy anymore?