Rob smacked his hand on the countertop, probably wondering how he’d gotten in so deep. “I have a few things to do before I report to the station, so I’ll leave you ladies to get ready for the lunch crowd. Thanks, Rosie. Good luck, Jane.”
When the door closed behind Rob, Rosie asked, “Are you a friend of Rob’s from LA?”
Los Angeles? That was big and sprawling enough to cover all situations.
“Yes, we’re friends from LA.”
Rosie shook her head. “Such a sad situation for him, but he’s a strong man.”
“He is.” Jane bit her bottom lip. Had his wife left him? Was he in witness protection? Did his dog die?
“I’m glad you’re here, Jane.” Rosie brushed her hands together. “I’ll explain what I need, and you can let me know if you have any questions.”
For the next few hours, Jane wiped down tables and plastic menus, refilled the condiments at each station, prepped little plastic baskets for chips by dropping a sheet of paper in each one and stacking them, and even helped out Sal the cook in the kitchen.
Her head still throbbed a little and her memories were as elusive as ever, but this job had given her a purpose for now and that was what she needed—along with money, clothes, an ID. At least she had a place to stay.
She wouldn’t hold Rob to that promise made for Rosie’s benefit. Maybe the advance Rosie gave her would be enough to get into a motel.
She knew she couldn’t stay in this town forever, pretending to be someone she wasn’t, someone without an identity, someone without a home or family. But the thought of delving into her past frightened her. She’d be walking right into a murderous plot.
Paradiso could be her jumping-off point, a place from which to launch an investigation of her identity. And maybe Rob Valdez could help her.
“Two minutes until opening.” Rosie stood in the middle of the floor, hands on her ample hips. “Estás lista?”
“I’m ready.” Jane used the corner of a white towel to rub an imaginary spot on one of the tabletops. “Let ’em in.”
Rosie unlocked the door and flipped the sign to Open. “It’s a slow stream at first, but then we get the employees from the pecan processing plant and there’s a rush.”
“Bring ’em on, Rosie.”
Jane handled her first few tables as if she’d been born to it. Maybe she was a waitress—with people out to kill her.
The lunch rush had her hopping, and she reconsidered the notion that she’d been a waitress in her previous life as she forgot items and spilled iced tea all over.
Rosita’s did a brisk take-out business, and a line of customers had formed at the counter to pick up their orders.
Jane’s gaze flicked over the line of people, and when a man yelled out that he wanted extra chips with his order, her blood ran cold in her veins. That voice.
With trembling hands, she delivered the salsa to her table and scurried back to the kitchen, keeping her head down. She pressed a hand against the butterflies in her belly as she leaned against the food prep counter.
The man who’d yelled out for food sounded like one of the guys who’d set her car on fire. Why would he still be in this town? She wiped her sweaty palms on the pants covering her thighs. She’d imagined it. What had she really heard of that man’s voice?
She ducked her head to peer through the window from the kitchen to the dining room. She hadn’t seen the men at the scene of the accident and couldn’t identify them, which put her at a distinct disadvantage. She remembered the black boots with the silver tips, but any number of people could be wearing those.
“Taking a break?” Anna, the other waitress, backed into the kitchen, her hands clutching two empty plates. “It can get hectic. If you need a breather from the dining room, you can package some of these to-go orders.”
“I-if that’s okay.” Jane surveyed the containers of food crowding the countertop. Even if the voice didn’t belong to one of the men from the highway, it had rattled her. She didn’t want to serve food looking over her shoulder.
“More than okay.” Anna picked up a slip of paper on top of one of the containers and waved it in the air. “Here are the orders. Just bag them and staple the slips to the handles of the plastic bags. Rosie will grab them and call them out by number.”
“Got it.”
For the remaining fifteen minutes of the lunch rush, Jane packaged the orders and kept her head down. She’d been mistaken. There would be no reason for those men to be in Paradiso. They thought she was dead, incinerated in that car. They’d be reporting back to whoever wanted her dead. Husband? Boyfriend?
She shivered and then jumped when someone patted her on the shoulder.
Rosie’s pat turned into a squeeze. “I’m sorry I scared you, mija. I just wanted to let you know you did a good job today. I’m glad Rob brought you to me, and now he’s here for lunch. Go see.”
A lock of hair had escaped from Jane’s ponytail, and she tucked it behind her ear as she sidled past Rosie out of the kitchen.
Seated at a table by the window, Rob raised his hand. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him, which she put down to the fact that his was the only familiar face she had in her sparse memory bank.
On her way to his table, she touched Anna’s arm. “Do you need help with the tables?”
“Jose will clean those. Go have lunch and leave. You did all the setup today, so I’ll take care of closeout.”
Lunch? Was that what Rob was doing here? He wanted lunch with her. This morning it seemed he couldn’t wait to wash his hands of her. That was before Rosie corralled him into taking her in.
As she
