Kentucky Confidential. Пола Грейвс

      She froze in place for a second before she turned and lowered her gaze. “I am sorry. I will bring you another cup.”

      He closed his hand over hers as she reached for the glass. “Washington Park. Are you familiar with it?”

      For a moment, her fingers flexed beneath his grip. But she gave a tiny nod.

      He dropped his hand away before they drew unwanted attention. “I will be on a bench near the bandstand by the water park. Tomorrow morning at ten. If you want to talk.” He handed her the menu. “Tea will be all. Thank you.”

      She lifted her gaze to meet his. “The table will be needed once the dinner crowd picks up.”

      “Understood.” He took a couple of drinks of the cold mint tea and realized she’d added a packet of sweetener, the way he liked it. “Thank you for the tea. It’s perfect.”

      She averted her gaze but didn’t move right away. He thought he saw a hint of moisture glimmering in her eyes before she finally walked back to the kitchen area.

      He released his pent-up breath and glanced at the table nearby where the two Kaziri men continued flirting with the young waitress. It was at that exact moment that the second man turned his head, giving Connor a good look at his profile.

      A ripple of unease darted through him. He didn’t recognize the man, but something was ringing alarm bells in his head. He felt as if he should recognize him somehow. But why?

      He looked at the phone lying on the table in front of him. Unhurriedly, he picked it up and swiped the screen to unlock it. Glancing toward the other table, he pushed the camera application button, bringing up the viewing screen, and slowly angled it toward the men at the other table.

      Pretending to send a text, he snapped a quick shot of the man facing him. He waited for the other man to turn again, but he was looking up at the flirtatious waitress, who seemed to be regaling them with a story in rapid-fire Kaziri.

      The clatter of silverware nearby drew his attention away for a moment, until he spotted the toddler at a table near the door who had thrown his spoon on the floor. As the mother shot a look of apology toward the approaching server, Connor looked back at the table where the two Kaziri men sat. The second man had turned in his chair to watch the young mother and child, his expression harsh with disapproval.

      He was perfectly framed in the phone’s viewer screen.

      Connor snapped a couple of photos before the man turned his back again. While he was at it, he took a few other shots, one of the dark-haired man who seemed to be the restaurant manager, another of the pretty young waitress attending to the table where the Kaziri men sat, and finally, carefully, a shot of Risa as she served a nearby table, her roosari sliding backward to reveal her dusky hair and delicate profile.

      After one more shot, he pocketed his phone and retrieved his wallet. He put a twenty on the table next to the half-empty tea glass before he walked out the door, careful to keep his face averted from the two Kaziri men.

      Outside the restaurant, the night had turned bitterly cold, the last fluttering of snow drifting silently from the winter sky. Tugging up his collar to guard his neck from the icy wind, he hurried down the block to a coffee shop angled across the street from The Jewel of Tablis.

      A blast of heat welcomed him as he entered. A freckled waitress with straw-blond hair and bright red lipstick greeted him from the counter. “Take a seat, sir. I’ll be with you in just a sec.”

      Connor sat at one of the tables by the window, not entirely happy with the view through the plate glass. The bright interior of the diner reflected back at him, making it difficult to see much of the street outside, though the colorful lights of The Jewel of Tablis were just visible through the reflection.

      He pulled out his phone and opened the photo gallery, studying the images he’d snapped at the other restaurant. He’d gotten a good shot of the younger man who had sat facing Connor’s table. He texted Maddox Heller a quick message and attached the photo. Then he picked out the best shot he had of the older man and sent the image to Heller as well. Does this man look familiar?

      As the waitress arrived with a pot of coffee and a menu, his phone hummed. He took the menu and checked his messages. There was a text from Heller.

      Not sure, Heller had written. The image isn’t clear. Can you track? Get a better shot?

      Will try, he texted back and set his phone on the table in front of him, peering through his reflection at the door of the restaurant down the street.

      * * *

      PANIC BURNED IN her chest, stealing her breath. She forced herself to slow her breathing, to concentrate on staying calm. Thanks to the pregnancy, her blood pressure was a little higher than normal, so she had to deal with the stress for the baby’s sake as well as her own.

      Don’t think about Connor. Don’t think about anything but the job.

      “Are you okay?” Darya’s voice startled her, setting her nerves rattling. Darya had been born in Cincinnati and spoke Kaziri with an American accent.

      “I’m feeling a little tired,” Yasmin answered, her own Kaziri as authentic as a native’s, thanks to her mother and those years spent in Kaziristan, first with her mother’s brother and his family, and then undercover with the agency.

      Her gaze drifted toward the VIP table. Maybe that’s why she’d thought one of those men looked familiar? Had she seen him before in Kaziristan?

      Darya followed her gaze and lowered her voice to a soft hiss. “Pigs,” she said with a viciousness that caught Yasmin by surprise.

      The younger woman’s parents put great stock in tradition and they had raised their daughter to observe their customs, but perhaps Darya had a rebellious side. Despite her flirtations with the VIPs earlier, Yasmin now noticed a pinched look around the girl’s eyes and mouth that suggested she had found her role vexing.

      Not worth the tips they would leave when they departed?

      “I think that handsome customer you served earlier liked you,” Darya added, her voice back to its normal, teasing tone. “The one with the leather jacket? Very manly.”

      “I am pregnant and hardly looking my best,” she countered, trying to forget the look of betrayal in Connor’s eyes. A pain began to throb behind her forehead. “You were right. I am not feeling well.”

      She had to get out of here. Go somewhere to think. Figure out what to do next. Try to reach Dal again.

      “Go. Your shift is nearly over. I will tell Farid you became ill and left.”

      Yasmin glanced at her watch. It was eight forty-five. The restaurant closed at nine. “I’ll tell him,” she said, already heading toward the kitchen. Farid would probably dock her the final hour of her pay, but money was the least of her problems at the moment.

      How had Connor located her? What kind of game was he playing?

      She found Farid in his cluttered office behind the kitchen and told him she was feeling unwell.

      “You’ll get an hour less in your paycheck this week,” he warned her. “Unless you can pick up an hour later this week.”

      “I will do that,” she said, not at all certain she’d be back to the restaurant at all.

      Instead of going out the back door into the darkened alley behind the restaurant, she chose the relative safety of the well-lit front exit. As she left, she spared another glance at the two men sitting at the VIP table. They leaned toward each other over the table, deep in conversation. The older man’s demeanor seemed angry, while the younger man looked tense and worried. From her vantage point, she couldn’t see the older man’s face, but there was something vaguely familiar about the way he held himself erect, about the shape of his head and his slim but masculine build.

      Flicking her gaze toward the front exit, she realized she could see the older man’s reflection quite clearly