Janey resembled the child he had lost. And Alex had the uncomfortable feeling that she might have just gained a father figure.
TWENTY
Janey paired three-inch-heeled knee boots with the black leather skirt she hadn’t been able to wear before, nude stockings, and a shimmering violet blouse for the night.
Beneath it, she wore a violet push-up bra and matching thong that she knew Alex had seen her bring down from the apartment upstairs to change into.
Thankfully, most of her clothing was intact, as well as her precious store of shoes. Within hours the restaurant was packed, with the waiting area filled. There weren’t enough tables, and Janey was watching money flow out the door with each couple that gave up on getting a place between reservations. She was desperate.
Cell phone in hand, she sent Tabitha to seat the next couple and made a desperate call to Rogue. “Get dressed and get over here. I need a waitress.”
“Darling, leather is in.” Rogue sighed. “I can be there in twenty minutes, but take me as I am.”
“Get here,” she begged, then turned to Hoyt and Natches. “Open that banquet room now. Hoyt, get the linens and silverware and get it ready.”
Hoyt and Natches exchanged alarmed looks.
“I said now,” she hissed as she grabbed menus. “Right now.”
“The register.” Hoyt looked frantic.
“Timothy.” Janey threw the agent, who had lingered around, a hopeful look. “Can you run a register?”
“In my sleep.” He smiled his patient grin. The one he kept giving Natches as he moved behind the counter. “Go, boys. She told you what to do.” His voice became commanding, in charge. God, if she wasn’t already in love with Alex, she might have had to fall in love with Timothy. Or make him adopt her.
“Thank you.” She gave him a quick kiss on his rough cheek and turned back to the waiting area. “If you’ll be patient,” she announced. “We’re opening the banquet room. Seating will be available soon.”
Then she rushed back to the kitchen.
A frantic, vocal argument with Desmond had him placing a call to extra staff and getting them in, followed by a slamming of pans and Italian curses. But his eyes had glittered at the challenge.
“I hire my assistant tomorrow,” he announced. “He’ll be here by evening. No arguments.”
“No arguments, Desmond. I swear.”
Janey rushed back to the dining area, apologized to the waiting couple at the reservation counter, and led them quickly to their table.
Rogue showed up, dressed in leather pants, though a silk blouse topped it off and three-inch heels made her look like a goddess as her hair flamed around her.
Thankfully, Rogue understood the reservation computer, and she went to work as Tabitha, Janey, and the other waitresses fought to handle the additional seating and orders. Two more waitresses and three busboys were called back in. Within the hour, the banquet room was filled, as well as well as the reservation area.
Janey was rushed, stressed, and loving every minute of it.
Desmond was her angel, though he was cursing like a sailor. His wife and the additional sous-chef were working the kitchen; the extra stoves were in use for the first time since Janey had taken over the restaurant.
She was in heaven. Natches was even cleaning tables, beneath the eagle eye of his wife, and Timothy Cranston was working the register with patient confidence.
It was nearing ten when Janey had to begin turning away customers. Her legs were shaking with fatigue,
and Rogue and Tabitha were looking beautiful but harried. Reservations ended at ten; they couldn’t possibly take in more after that.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head at the group of three men who’d just arrived, dressed in business attire and obviously a little too drunk to be in public. “Seating is closed for the night.”
At the head of the group, the older male, possibly in his thirties, frowned back at her, then leered. “That’s not possible. You can take three more.”
Behind him were a few other couples. “I’m sorry, sir. If you’d like to make a reservation for tomorrow . .
.”
“Bitch. I’m here now.” He kept his voice low, a warning hiss that had her flinching at the virulence in it.
“Find a table.”
Janey looked around. Timothy was buried at the register, and Natches was busing a table while Alex quickly helped him. Hoyt was across the room helping wait a table. She didn’t have time for this.
“You don’t want the kind of trouble you’re getting ready to start here,” she said quietly. “I think you and your friends should leave.”
He sneered. “Trash like you doesn’t tell me when I can leave. Now find me a table.”
The other two moved, blocking her from sight of Timothy. Gossip was good for business, but a fight wasn’t.
Alex looked back to where Janey stood at the reservation counter. At first, it looked as though she were merely talking to the businessmen standing around her. But something warned him, some instinct told him she was frightened. It was in the line of her shoulders, the tensed set of her head, and the indication that her arm was at an unusual angle in front of her body.
“Trouble,” he told Natches quietly and headed her way.
He could see Timothy trying to peer around the register and becoming concerned.
“This is a really bad idea.” He caught her words as he neared her.
“You traitorous little cunt,” the older of the men rapped out, jerking her wrist, pulling her hard into the counter. “Give me the fucking table before I show you what a real man would do for you.”
A red haze of primal fury enveloped Alex. It washed through his mind, shattered decades of control.
He knew Natches heard; Timothy heard. They moved for the group, but it was Alex who took on the one that had dared touch his woman.
Alex’s hand slapped over the little prick’s wrist, exerting enough force that his fingers immediately loosened. His arm went around the bastard’s neck and he jerked him back, smiling at Janey’s surprised face over his shoulder. “Be back in a minute, baby,” he ground out furiously. “You just wait right here for me.”
Natches had the other man in a similar grip, but Timothy was a brutal, sadistic son of a bitch. The third man was purple, gasping, as Timothy led him through the shocked bystanders, his fingers curved around the taller man’s balls as he forced him to walk.
Janey stared, wide-eyed. The glass door closed, and seconds later those in the waiting area were rushing for the door as well.
“Now, that was interesting,” Rogue drawled as she eased up behind her. “You do know Alex and Natches left their table unfinished, right?”
“They’ll kill them.” Janey started for the door.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Rogue caught her arm as Chaya looked up from where she had taken over for Timothy at the register.
“Rogue, Alex will kill them,” she whispered. “I know Natches will.”
“Then we’ll send flowers.” Rogue rolled her eyes. “Give it a break; let the men do their thing. We’ll do ours and coo over their little boo-boos and tell them how heroic they are.”
Janey swung around in outrage. “You’re as crazy as they are.”
To which Rogue pouted prettily. “Now, Janey, let’s not bring the question of sanity into this.” Then she grinned. “And I’m proud of being crazy, remember?”
A yell filtered in from outside, laughter, a whoop.
“Damn. I’d like to see that fight.” Rogue sighed. “I’ll go finish their table; you stay put.” She glared at
Janey. “Don’t challenge Alex when he’s in defensive mode.” She grinned. “Unless you want a little some-some against the wall rather than a bed.”
She sauntered off then, waving a busboy over and putting him to work. She marshaled the waitresses and busboys as though she had been born to give orders.
Janey turned to Chaya as the customers rushed outside to watch after paying for their meals.
“Stay,” Chaya mouthed with a fierce look.
Stay? Like she was a puppy. A dog.
“This isn’t going to be good for business, Jane,” Hoyt spoke behind her.
Turning, she stared at the young man who didn’t have a hope of managing the restaurant by himself. Hoyt was capable, but even with the two of them, they couldn’t keep up.
He was frowning, his gaze disapproving.
Janey pasted on a smile. “That’s what I thought about the bombing of my apartment last night.” She flinched as another whoop filtered through. “I bet we’re packed tomorrow.”
She turned away from Hoyt and rubbed her wrist, then flinched at the sound of a siren in the distance.
God, just what she needed. She breathed out wearily. She needed more help, because sure as hell, tomorrow was going to be even busier.
Alex stood back as the sheriff and two city cops arrived. Three less-than-courageous jackasses were writhing on the blacktop as he, Natches, and Timothy leaned against a nearby car.
The crowd that had gathered to see a good, brutal bloodletting was mumbling in disappointment. It didn’t take long to put three soft-core little bastards to the ground.
Mark and Tyrell were inside watching Janey. They’d slipped into place as Alex, Natches, and Timothy headed outside.
As the sheriff’s car and the city cops pulled in, Timothy stepped forward, badge in hand.
“Special Agent Timothy Cranston.” He smirked at Zeke as the sheriff bit back a curse. “Cuff ’em and take ’em in. I’ll follow along behind later.”
“Charges?” Zeke sighed as the two police officers moved to cuff the three men despite their protests.
“We’ll start with endangering a federal agent and move on from there.” Timothy hitched his pants and grinned placidly back at Zeke. “Is that a problem?”
“Probably,” Zeke bit out. “Cranston, I’m just about tired of you trying to run my county.”
Timothy waved the objection away. “Don’t worry. The chief of police really likes me. I can just deal with him.”
Alex stared at the dazed assailant who had dared to bruise Janey’s delicate wrist. He could feel his shoulder throbbing; he was bleeding again, but fuck it. His fist in that little asshole’s face was worth it.
Adrenaline was still surging through him, though. There had been no outlet for the fury that pounded through him, and now it was turning into something more. Another man had dared to touch Janey, to insult her. He turned his head and glared at the crowd gathered around.
“Natches”—his voice was overly loud—“the next asshole that touches my woman may never be found again.”
Natches stared back at him in mocking disbelief. “Yeah, well, I might help you hide the body.”
Zeke rubbed his hand over his face in frustration as Timothy chuckled. Alex stared at the crowd. He couldn’t forget Janey’s accusation, her belief that he was ashamed of her, ashamed of his relationship with her.
The thought slammed into his mind. Blood surged through his veins. He left Natches and Timothy to deal with what he could see was Zeke’s anger building. He pushed through the crowd, aware of several couples following him out of the cold.
He entered the restaurant, his gaze meeting Janey’s, seeing the worry, the concern, the acceptance that he was going to pretend he was doing no more than defending a friend.
Fuck that.
He stalked to her, pulled her from behind the reservation counter, and as he curved his fingers around her neck and her lips parted, he pressed his lips against hers. His tongue delved inside her mouth, taking her gasp and filling her with his lust.
He felt her hands press against his abs, her fingers curling, her lips softening. And he pulled back.
“Next time, yell for help, dammit,” he snarled. “And the next bastard that tries to manhandle you might not survive it.”