Chapter 5: Nobody Was Watching

Edgar's Monday table was at Carmine's, a steakhouse on Wells Street, at seven.

He'd held it for six years with the same eight men.

I had sat at it every Monday for four of them.

"Why here?" Willem asked, pulling the truck into a spot half a block away.

"Because it's the one place in Chicago where he's sure to be."

"You know that tells me you've been going to the same steakhouse for six years."

"Four. I got bored."

He looked at me over the steering wheel, and one corner of his mouth went up.

I had changed in his bathroom into the navy slip dress from Friday, because it was the only thing in my suitcase that didn't smell like the hospital.

He'd changed into a clean gray shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow.

His forearms were tanned and scarred from the job, and I had looked at them more than once in the last ten minutes.

"Rule two," I said. "You only touch me when they can see."

"Understood."

He held the restaurant door for me.

The hostess knew me, and her face went through three expressions before it settled.

"Ginny. The Koehler table is in the back."

"I know where it is."

We walked through the dining room with his hand on the small of my back.

It was a warm, heavy hand, and it didn't move.

At the long table in the back, eight men in blazers turned their heads.

Edgar sat at the head, where he always sat.

On his right sat Mallory, in her coat.

It was buttoned to the neck, and her hands were folded in her lap, and she wasn't eating.

She looked up and saw Willem's hand on my back.

Something went over her face that I couldn't read, and then she looked at her plate.

Edgar stood.

"Gin. We didn't expect..."

"Evening," I said. "I'm having dinner. Willem, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Willem."