Chapter 2 - THE SILVER POCKET WATCH
"How did you see it?"
Julian Cross’s voice was barely a murmur over the clinking glasses at the bar, but it carried the weight of a command.
Mara didn't flinch. She kept her hands steady on the polished mahogany rail. "He was sitting three inches off-center. A clean sightline to your back. He hadn't ordered, but his right hand was under the table. People who are just waiting for a friend keep their hands on their phones or their water glasses. People who are waiting to draw a weapon keep their hands hidden."
Julian studied her. The stillness in his dark eyes wasn't empty; it was calculating. He was measuring the exact dimensions of her competence. "You didn't scream. You didn't call the police."
"Screaming gets people shot," Mara said evenly. "And the police take nine minutes to respond to this neighborhood. You would have been dead in two."
He tilted his head, a microscopic acknowledgment of the truth. "What's your name?"
"Mara."
"Well, Mara. You just cost me a very expensive dinner." Julian reached into the inside pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He pulled out a crisp, folded bill and slid it across the bar. It was a hundred-dollar bill. Underneath it was a plain white business card with only a phone number printed on it. "Carver's isn't going to be safe for you anymore. Whoever sent that man knows you interfered. When your shift ends, call this number. My driver will be waiting."
Mara looked at the card. "I don't need a ride. I have a deadbolt."
"A deadbolt won't stop the people who sent him." Julian turned to leave, but paused. He glanced back toward Table Nine.
Mara followed his gaze. The busboy was wiping down the table, but he had pushed something aside. A small, heavy object glinting in the amber light.
Mara walked over and picked it up. It was a silver pocket watch, heavily tarnished, the crystal face cracked.
Julian was suddenly standing right behind her. The air shifted. The calculated discipline in his posture vanished, replaced by a raw, immediate tension. He reached out and took the watch from her hand, his thumb tracing a deep scratch on the silver casing.
"Mr. Cross?" she asked softly.
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"This belonged to my older brother," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave. "He died in a car fire five years ago. This watch burned with him."
He snapped his gaze to Mara. "Get your coat. We're leaving now."
