Silvio frowned, his gray eyes narrowing in accusation. “You haven’t taken it upon yourself to spy on Madeline, have you? Because that would be a very foolish thing to do, Gin, directional microphone or not. I believe we addressed this during last Friday’s morning briefing.”

He might have found that microphone for me, but he’d also realized exactly what I wanted it for. Last Friday before the restaurant opened, Silvio had made me turn off the lights so he could set up a projector and give me a presentation, listing bullet point by bloody bullet point all the ways I could get captured and killed if Madeline caught me spying on her.

I’d smiled and nodded through the whole thing, but I hadn’t told him about my tree house in the woods outside the Monroe mansion. I didn’t want to add to his lecture about what a foolish risk I was taking—and how he should be the one doing the spying instead. Silvio took his self-assigned duties rather seriously that way. He’d even offered to help Sophia get rid of bodies, although the Goth dwarf had just snickered and gone on about her business solo as usual.

Apparently, Silvio didn’t want to have to find a new boss because he was always chiding me about spying, proper body disposal, and other things like that, as if I hadn’t spent my entire adult life being an assassin and careening from one dangerous situation to the next. His concern was touching, really, it was, but I’d been on my own for so much of my life that it also felt a bit . . . smothering. Most of the time, I felt like a wayward baby duck that Mother Silvio was trying to wrangle back in line.

“Of course I wouldn’t spy on Madeline,” I chirped in a bright voice. “Like you said, it’s far too big a risk to take.”

The vamp kept eyeing me, so I escaped his steady, suspicious stare by going over to a table Catalina was clearing.

“Did he tell you to be careful again?” she asked in a soft, amused voice, having overheard more than one of my conversations with her uncle.

I sighed and took a stack of dirty dishes from her. “Something like that.”

She chuckled. “Well, I’m glad that he finally has someone else to worry about besides me. Takes some of the pressure off.”

I stuck my tongue out at her, but Catalina just laughed again.

*  *  *

The lunch rush came and went with no problems, although I had to stop one of my waiters from opening the freezer with the dead body in it. He mistakenly thought something else was in there besides blood, ice, and frozen peas.

A little after one o’clock, the front door opened, and the bell chimed, signaling a new and most welcome customer—Owen Grayson.

I focused on him, taking in the rough, rugged beauty of his black hair, violet eyes, and slightly crooked nose, as he strolled over to me. Owen leaned across the counter, brushing his lips against mine. I returned his kiss and inhaled, drawing his rich, metallic scent deep down into my lungs, before he drew back.

“It’s good to see you,” I murmured.

He grinned. “It’s good to be seen.”

Owen had been busy with some big business deal the past week, so we hadn’t spent a lot of time together. On one hand, I didn’t mind the separation, as it gave me more time to spy on Madeline. But I always missed Owen when he wasn’t around. Of course, we’d talked on the phone a couple of times a day, but it wasn’t the same as being with him, watching him smile, hearing him laugh, feeling his arms around me. So it was good to see him, and it meant more to me than he knew. Because when he was here with me in the restaurant, I knew that he was safe.

“What about me?” another, far whinier voice called out.

Finn stepped up next to Owen. Their offices were close to each other, so the two of them must have met up and walked over here together to grab lunch.

“Well?” Finn demanded, crossing his arms over his chest, a petulant look on his handsome face. “Don’t I merit some sort of greeting?”

I waved my hand at him, just to annoy him. “You? I saw you yesterday. Why, you’re just everyday old stuff.”

Fletcher would always say that whenever he wanted to rein in his son’s ego a bit. Not that it ever worked for long, though.

Finn huffed and slapped his hands on his hips. “Everyday old stuff? Everyday old stuff? I am insulted, Gin. Deeply insulted.”

Owen winked at me, amused by Finn’s exaggerated histrionics. I ignored my foster brother, leaned across the counter, and kissed Owen again.

Finn might have been deeply insulted, but his wounded feelings didn’t keep him from plopping down on the stool next to Silvio, with Owen taking the one that was the closest to my seat behind the cash register. Owen and Finn said their helloes to the vamp, who was texting on his phone, working his sources to try to find out about Dobson as well as Madeline’s mysterious party. Silvio murmured a polite response, but his eyes never left the small screen.

Sophia and Catalina took care of the rest of the customers while I fixed up my friends’ food—a grilled-cheese sandwich and sweet-potato fries for Silvio, a fried-chicken salad slathered with honey-mustard dressing for Finn, and a double-bacon cheeseburger and onion rings for Owen, with triple-chocolate milkshakes all around.

I had just set the guys’ food on the counter in front of them when something entirely expected happened. The front door opened, and Madeline strolled inside, with Emery trailing along behind her.

Madeline looked the same as always—auburn hair, green eyes, crimson lips, white suit. Her silverstone crown-and-flame necklace glittered like a ring of ice around her throat, while the matching ring flashed on her finger. Emery wore her usual black suit with a white shirt, almost as if she were playing opposites with her boss’s clothes.

Catalina seated them in a booth by the storefront windows that was almost directly across from my position at the cash register. Madeline gave me a cheery little wave as she settled herself in her seat, then leaned forward and started talking to Emery in a low voice the second that Catalina had taken their drink order and moved away from them.

It didn’t surprise me that Madeline was here. She’d come to the restaurant at least once a week to eat—and usually more—since she’d been in Ashland. In her own way, I supposed that Madeline was keeping as close an eye on me as I was on her with my tree house outside her mansion.

Still, her smile seemed particularly smug, and her mood particularly perky today. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was creeping up on one thirty, and the library dedication was at three, the event she said that I wouldn’t be attending for some mysterious reason.