Chapter 3: The Offer in the Alley
The bodyguard didn't lunge or threaten; he simply stood there with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, a monolithic wall of broad cloth and quiet menace.
"Mr. Vance would like a moment of your time," the man said, his voice flat, devoid of regional accent or warmth.
"I'm off the clock," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I stepped backward toward the bright safety of the diner's back door. "And I have nothing to say to him."
"Mr. Vance doesn't repeat himself often, Miss," another voice called out from the dark interior of the car.
The rear window of the sedan rolled down with a soft mechanical hum, revealing the tattooed man sitting in the leather upholstery. The overhead streetlamp caught the hard planes of his cheekbones and the dark intensity of his eyes. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket now; his sleeves were rolled up, exposing thick forearms banded with dark, intricate ink.
"Get in, Rosa," he said quietly. "It's freezing out here, and I'd rather not have my men carry you. Though they will if I tell them to."
"You can't just snatch people off the street," I snapped, my fear finally giving way to a sharp, defensive anger. "This isn't Chicago. We have a sheriff."
"Sheriff Miller? Nice man. Likes his coffee black with two sugars," Vance replied smoothly, leaning his elbow against the open window frame. "He also knows my family's foundation is currently funding the new county hospital wing. He'd probably let us borrow his car if I asked nicely."
The casual assertion of power sent a cold shiver straight down my spine. This wasn't a random encounter. He knew who I was, or at least he knew enough to track my movements.
"What do you want from me?" I asked, my fingers digging deep into the canvas strap of my purse until my knuckles turned white.
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"I want to know how a waitress in a diner three hundred miles from the loop makes my grandmother's beef stew down to the exact grain of cinnamon," Vance said, his gaze dropping to my hands before rising back to my eyes. "Get in the car, Rosa. We can talk in the warm, or we can talk at the station. Your choice."
I looked down the dark alley. My apartment was just past the car. If I bolted, his bodyguard would catch me in three strides. Slowly, deliberately, I opened the back door of the sedan and slid across the leather seat, pulling my coat tight around myself.
