Chapter 6: Fiancee in the Steakhouse

On Wednesday night, Quinton took me to dinner at a steakhouse on the east side.

He had picked it on purpose.

"Dexter has a client dinner here at eight," he said in the car. "Paloma will be with him."

"They're still doing dinners together?"

"They think it's a family emergency. He told the client she's his protegee."

"And you want to walk in."

"I want to be seen walking in."

I looked down at my left hand.

His mother's ring sat on it, small and pale in the dark.

"What do I do?" I asked.

"Hold my arm. Look at the menu. Don't look at them."

"That's all?"

"For now."

The dining room was all dark wood and low amber light.

The hostess knew Quinton by name.

She led us past a long table in the center, and I saw Dexter before he saw me.

He sat with two older men in good suits.

Paloma sat at his right in a red dress, holding her phone up and laughing at something in the screen.

She was filming.

I held Quinton's arm and looked at the menu.

My hand was steady.

I would have bet money it wouldn't be.

"Dexter," Quinton said.

He had stopped at their table, with me beside him.

Dexter looked up.

His face did the same three things it always did, but slower, and the last one did not arrive.

"Quinton," he said. "Linnea."

"Evening."

"What are you doing here?"

"Having dinner with my fiancée."

The word sat on the table among the wine glasses.

One of the older men stopped chewing.

Paloma lowered her phone halfway.

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