Bombshell by Coulter Catherine

Author:Coulter, Catherine [Coulter, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-07-09T05:00:00+00:00

Maurie’s Diner

Maestro, Virginia

Sunday evening

Griffin eyed Anna, the kick-butt waitress wearing a Maurie’s red apron, and decided her full name, Lilyanna, brought to a man’s mind a vision of a flowy-dressed Southern woman with long loose hair lifting romantically in a summer breeze while she served sweet tea on the front porch. Nope, this was a solid Anna with a Glock 22 stuck in her jeans. He realized he’d like to get into it with her, let her wrestle him down. Griffin shook his head. He was losing it. He watched her, always friendly to the customers, always a smile in place. She was moving closer to their booth.

He’d brought Delsey here for dinner after she’d awakened, showered all the hospital off her again, she’d told him, since once wasn’t enough, and managed to cover the sutures with a small bandage, a hank of hair covering it.

A ketchup-drenched french fry paused on the way to her mouth. “Hey, whatever are you thinking about, Griffin?” She smiled over at Anna, watched her wave a menu at them, then start over.

She saw her brother’s eyes follow. “Hmm. Maybe you don’t have to tell me. She’s something, isn’t she?”

“What? Who? What did you say, Delsey?”

“Anna. She’s very cool, isn’t she? And here she comes, and would you look at that, her eyes are locked right on you, like a laser. Hmmm again.”

Griffin eyed his spoonful of mushroom soup. “Shut up.”

“Have I been missing something since I got my brain addled?”

“No more than usual. Eat your salad.”

She forked up some lettuce with Maurie’s signature dressing. “So if you’re not checking out Anna, what are you thinking about? That DEA agent? I’ll tell you, Griffin, I can’t get over that. Every time I think about him, I get cold and want to cry. I wish I knew why he was in my apartment in the first place.”

Griffin was silent as a post and spooned up some more soup.

“Hi, Anna.” Delsey popped another french fry into her mouth. “Tell Maurie his fries are still the best, and the salad—I’ll eat the salad if you put a gun to my head.”

“I’ll tell him, but he knows it. He always eats two fries out of every order, for quality-control purposes, he tells me. And would you look at him, skinny as a fence post. Hey, Mr. FBI, how’s your soup?”

“It’s great.”

Anna looked down at the nearly full bowl. “Great, huh? You on a diet, Griffin? Nope, not even a shadow of flab on you. You’re not eating because you’re still worried about Delsey, aren’t you? Well, stop it. Look at her, she looks ready to salsa on Main Street.”

“Maybe tomorrow, Anna,” Delsey said, and Griffin saw his sister look from Anna back to him. “We were talking about that poor DEA agent. I overheard Griffin and Ruth talking about him at the hospital and why he was here in Maestro.” She drew a deep breath. “And I heard them talk about maybe Professor Salazar being the drug czar, or whatever you’d call it.

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