Warrior's Cross

by Abigail Roux

  The man removed a bill from his wallet and placed the money on the edge of the table without looking away from the blinds. Then he walked away with his coat over his arm, not bothering to struggle back into it despite the cold weather. Just before he got to the door, Blake emerged from the hallway that led to the private offices and stopped him for a few words.

  The man towered over Blake, but Blake Nichols’ presence alone could overpower a room. Blake had been a medic in the Special Forces, though Cameron had never had the nerve to ask which branch or for how long. Blake carried himself like a capable soldier as well as the affluent businessman he had become. He was a hard man to outshine.

  Cameron watched nervously, knowing his boss was asking the dark man about the service and what had happened. The man pointed at the slats with his good hand and spoke to Blake heatedly. To Cameron’s horror, Blake actually laughed in response. Cameron stepped back so fast he almost knocked down another server. Jesus, what was he telling Blake to make him laugh like that?

  He cautiously crept back to the shutters to try to see what was going on. The man said something else, and Blake laughed harder. He took the bigger man’s arm and led him toward the door, helping him into his coat as they went. Surely if Blake were amused, it wasn’t anything bad. Right? Cameron swallowed hard, replaying the evening in his head. There wasn’t a single thing he could see that had been done wrong, aside from knowing the answer to that question. And Blake knew Cameron was gay, so that wouldn’t come as a surprise to him or anyone else who knew Cameron even remotely well.

  Blake actually walked out of the restaurant with the man into the lobby of the top floor of the building to the elevators. Cameron held his breath for a moment and let it out slowly to calm himself. It was okay, he told himself. Everything was okay. And he had work to do before he could go home and try not to dream about the man again.

  Several minutes later, Cameron just happened to glance up while clearing a table, and he froze. He stood motionless, like a rabbit caught in the eyes of a cougar, as Blake moved toward him. No point in running, after all.

  Blake went by the alcove table and swept his hand across the linen tablecloth as he made his way over to Cameron. “May I speak to you for a moment?” he asked politely as he passed Cameron by and crooked his finger, indicating he was to follow.

  Cameron reminded himself this was just Blake. He was the restaurant owner and Cameron’s boss, yes, but he’d also become a good friend over the years. He nodded and placed the used glasses back onto the table before following. They walked to the front of the restaurant and into the hallway off the front foyer, where Blake led Cameron into his private office. He ushered Cameron in.

  “He wasn’t upset with you, kiddo,” he told Cameron as soon as the door closed.

  Cameron blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “He wasn’t upset with you,” Blake repeated slowly as he reached into his breast pocket. He handed Cameron a hundred-dollar bill and nodded at it. “Your tip.”

  “What?” Cameron looked at the folded bill in his hand. “I don’t understand. He told me to…”

  Blake smirked, obviously trying not to show his amusement. “He was trying to bring to your attention that he doesn’t appreciate Miri waiting on him,” he told Cameron with difficulty, since he was clearly trying not to laugh.

  Speechless, Cameron stood there just looking at Blake. “I don’t understand,” he finally said. “Appreciate?”

  Blake allowed himself to laugh softly. “He doesn’t like Miri, kiddo,” he told Cameron sympathetically. “Says she’s too nosy. Don’t let her bring his food again.”

  Cameron shrugged helplessly. “Okay?” He looked down at the money again. “He could have just said so. But there’s only so many of us here who work the floor. He’s bound to be put in her section sometime.”

  “No.” Blake laughed as he opened the door for Cameron to shoo him out. “No, he’s not.”

  Cameron wandered back out onto the floor, more confused than ever. He still held the money between his fingers and after a moment slid it into his pocket. Shaking his head to clear the daze, he went back to work. He’d have plenty of time to ponder the mystery of the dark man who came every Tuesday when he was done.

  “Happy anniversary,” Cameron offered with a wide smile, placing the special dessert on the table in front of the wife’s wide eyes. The husband smiled and nodded, and Cameron left them to the remainder of their romantic dinner.

  It was a busy Saturday night, finally starting to wind down at almost eleven. The restaurant was running perfectly, and Cameron was in his element, mostly directing the wait staff and making certain the patrons enjoyed their dinners. On Saturday nights, there was enough staff working that Cameron didn’t have to actually wait tables. Other duties required his attention on these busy nights, and he liked the variety.

  He breezed through the service area in time to catch several of the bus-boys peering up at the television in the corner.

  “What are you doing?” he asked them in annoyance. That TV wasn’t even supposed to be on during service hours unless there was bad weather or a big game the patrons might inquire about.

  They scrambled as the sportscaster finished up his spiel of NFL predictions for the next day’s games. Cameron shook his head and looked around for the remote to turn it off.

  “And in local news,” the television droned on as he searched. “The body of a man found in Lake Michigan this morning has been identified as Mr. Steven Bosley. Bosley disappeared roughly three weeks ago after a night out at the Zenith Club in downtown Chicago. The authorities initially thought Bosley left the country to avoid prosecution for his dealings with local organized crime syndicates, and police are calling his death a homicide. Speculation from an inside source claims his murder to be the result of a, professional hit.”

  Cameron clicked off the television, shaking his head. The mention of the Zenith Club immediately brought his obsession to mind. The mysterious man hadn’t been spotted at the restaurant for nearly a month, and Cameron was certain he wasn’t coming back. He’d almost gotten the handsome stranger off his mind—until now. Cameron sighed and gathered two wine bottles to take back out to the birthday party in the private room.

  Several minutes later, Keri edged into the party room, got Cameron’s attention, and pointed at a four-spot along the wall of windows. It had a lovely view of the snow-covered city from the restaurant’s top-floor location, and a man sat there alone.

  It was him. Him.

  Cameron stood there for more than a minute, studying him. He wasn’t at his usual table. He wasn’t even anywhere near Cameron’s usual section. But Cameron knew without asking that Blake had directed that he wait on this table, and he had a pretty good idea why. Cameron walked across the dining room slowly as he tried to suppress the nerves bubbling inside him.

  “Good evening,” he said once he stopped in front of the table.

  The man tore his gaze away from the cityscape and looked up at Cameron, his eyes registering the briefest glimpse of surprise. When he turned, the lighting of the main floor highlighted fading bruises on his cheek and upper neck. They were different from the ones he sported before, and Cameron would have sworn the bruises above his throat were fingerprints. The cut over his eye that had been newly stitched the last time he’d come to Tuesdays was now a fading scar, barely visible. Whoever had done the stitching was very good.

  Tipping his head to one side, Cameron looked over the man for just a moment. Perhaps he was a professional fighter of some sort? He had the size for it.

  “The evening special and house wine?” Cameron asked instead of allowing himself to ponder. The time that had passed since the man’s last visit to Tuesdays and the unpleasant way in which it had ended had helped alleviate the fixation he’d developed, and Cameron was easily able to keep his composure. For now, anyway.

  The man nodded and tilted his head to the side discreetly, as if he were aware of the light hitting him and highlighting the b
ruising. Cameron acknowledged him silently and deliberately lowered his eyes; he didn’t want to make the man uncomfortable. Apparently, they were back to the silent dance.

  Cameron returned five minutes later with the bottle of wine and a crystal glass, setting them down along with the bread-basket from a tray he handed off to another server. He started working on uncorking the bottle, pausing to look out at the falling snow with a pleased smile before returning his attention to what he was doing.

  The man watched him contemplatively, his expression giving away nothing else as he waited for Cameron to finish. Humming just slightly under his breath, Cameron looked up at him as he set the cork aside. The man had never examined it before, and Cameron didn’t figure he would now, so he went ahead and poured a few blurbs into the glass.

  “We’ll be needing another,” the man said to him as he poured, his voice barely above a whisper, as always.

  Cameron’s hand shook a little as he pulled the wine bottle back. “Of course, sir,” he said. He wondered if the odd ritual from that night weeks ago would be repeated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see it; that was when his fascination had gone into overdrive. But if the man wasn’t going to repeat that gesture, that meant he was actually meeting someone.

  The dark man reached out and took the glass gently, his big hand cupping the crystal and bringing it to his lips without even disturbing the liquid inside. He tasted it slowly and nodded his approval as he set the glass down on the table.

  Cameron’s mouth curled up at one side. He would never tire of watching this man sample wine, he knew that much. He left the man sitting for a few moments before reappearing with the other glass, placing it carefully with the other place setting, and departing without comment.

  The big man stood suddenly as Cameron moved away from the table. His eyes were on the entrance, and his fingers deftly buttoned his suit coat as he stood straight and tall. The movement nearly startled Cameron into turning toward him again, but he managed to keep moving as he glanced toward the entrance.

  Keri was escorting a woman to the table. She was tall, blonde, and thin, pretty in a fake sort of way, her long legs accentuated by her stiletto heels and the high slit in her black dress. The man greeted her with a murmur of words and kissed her cheek as he pulled out her chair for her.

  As soon as he reached the service area, Cameron had to hold himself back from darting to the shutters to try to see what was going on. He reminded himself to act properly, to be respectful of the customer and his privacy, and then he sighed, knowing it was a losing battle.

  “That’s the first time he’s ever had someone with him,” Miri said as she stopped next to him and peered through the shutters.

  “Quit spying,” Cameron chastised, even though that was exactly what he wanted to do. Miri looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and Cameron bit his lip as he looked at her. “What are they doing?” he asked, almost against his will.

  “He’s definitely talking to her,” Miri answered with a wry smile as she turned back to watch some more.

  Cameron sighed and picked up a water pitcher. If the man had someone at the table with him, then he needed to go check on them. It had never happened before, and it struck him that he might be slightly jealous. Cameron thought of the man’s time at Tuesdays as his, no matter how unrealistic it was. And if it were a date, it was poking all kinds of holes in Miri’s theory.

  He unobtrusively approached the table, silently taking up first her water glass and filling it, then his.

  “I received your offer this morning,” the woman was saying in a low, pleasantly smoky voice as Cameron filled their glasses. “That’s not the price we agreed on, Julian.”

  “It’s the price, nonetheless,” the man she addressed murmured as he leaned back and looked up at Cameron. He nodded his thanks.

  Cameron swallowed hard on a knot of nervous excitement. Julian. That was the man’s name. Finally, after all these months, he knew the man’s name. It was such a rush and a relief. Why had he never thought to ask Blake?

  “What’s good here?” the woman asked as she picked up her menu. “I assume you’re footing the bill?”

  Julian merely nodded.

  “The special tonight is braised boar marsala over creamed potatoes with baby peas,” Cameron offered after clearing his throat. “The house favorites are vegetable penne in lemon sauce and marinated shrimp in champagne beurre blanc.” Somewhere inside, he was turning over the man’s name. Julian. Julian. The dark man looked like a Julian.

  “Shrimp sounds wonderful,” the woman responded with a smile that showed a glimpse of perfect teeth. She closed her menu and handed it to Cameron. “I’d also like a cosmo,” she added. She looked at Julian and grinned mischievously. “You don’t mind if I drink on the job, do you?” she teased.

  Julian narrowed his eyes and cocked his head slightly. “If it will improve your performance,” he responded with all seriousness.

  Cameron pressed his lips together to keep from frowning. He took the menu with a soft murmur of acknowledgment and turned toward the bar. One cosmo, coming up. Surely to God the woman wasn’t what she was talking like. She looked far too classy for that, and the man—Julian—certainly he’d never need to pay for companionship.

  Cameron put in the woman’s order and couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to the mirror to watch them. They were obviously talking, the man still stoic as the woman waved one hand around lazily. Cameron’s eyes widened as he saw the woman’s foot rise and deliberately rub along the man’s calf. Julian tilted his head and said something in response.

  Coughing slightly, Cameron picked up the drink. He headed back over to the table, delivering it silently, trying not to listen to the end of their conversation and failing.

  “Do I look like a whore?” the woman asked him before he could back away from the table. Cameron’s eyes widened, and he could only blink at her.

  Julian barked a laugh and shook his head. The sound sent a jolt through Cameron’s gut, and he found himself flustered again despite telling himself he wouldn’t be. Cameron glanced quickly to Julian, who was looking out the window, probably to hide his smile. It made him unbelievably gorgeous. His dark eyes watched Cameron’s reaction in the reflection on the glass.

  Despite his surprise and the sudden heat under his collar, Cameron tore his attention away from the man’s transformed face, tipped his head, and answered with the first thing that came to mind. “If you are, ma’am, there’s no way I could afford you.” Cameron bowed slightly and turned away, hoping his haste wasn’t overt as he fled the table. His heart pounded so hard that he felt lightheaded. He stopped at a nearby table of several people to answer questions.

  “At least you’re an expensive whore instead of a gold-digging married woman,” Julian said to the woman with a smirk while Cameron was still within hearing range.

  The woman sighed loudly and shook her head. “I thought they said you were professional about these things,” she groused. Julian remained silent, merely raising an eyebrow in response. She sighed heavily again and began tapping her wedding ring against her glass nervously. “So, how do we go about this?” she asked.

  “Leave that to me,” Julian responded, his voice low and calm. “You’ve already done your part simply by coming here. As soon as I receive payment, we continue.”

  “And if I change my mind at the last moment?” she asked with a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

  “Will you?” Julian asked her in that oddly calm, smooth voice.

  She stared at him and then looked down at her drink with a frown. She inhaled deeply and then shook her head. “No,” she answered. “No, I want to do this.”

  Julian nodded wordlessly. “Then enjoy your dinner,” he suggested, “and stop worrying about what comes next.”

  Making his way back to the service area, Cameron didn’t know what to think about what he had overheard. The woman was obviously joking about being a prostitute. There was no way she would advertise so blatantly if s
he really were one. He stepped through the doors and walked over to the counter, thinking that he certainly hoped it was a joke. Julian was too gorgeous a man to pay for sex. Then he stopped still, staring at the wall. What if Julian wasn’t the one paying? That last snatch of conversation he’d heard certainly sounded incriminating.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Miri asked as she whisked by him.

  Cameron shook himself. “Uh. Just thinking,” he said weakly. “I’m okay.”

  Miri stopped and looked at him doubtfully. Cameron waved her off. “Just got too much going on,” he said. “Go on.”

  “All right,” she responded with a frown as she took her next tray of food and made her way back out into the dining room.

  Fifteen minutes later, Cameron emerged with both dinners, setting the tray down expertly before moving to place their plates. He glanced between them to wait for their attention.