He nodded, sucking the last of his pasta into his mouth. The action resulted in a drop of marinara landing on his chin.
She crumpled the paper towel in her lap and raised it to dab his chin.
He flinched, but she swiped it off anyway.
“Can’t take me anywhere.” He scrubbed his own paper towel across his mouth until his chin was redder than the original drop of sauce.
“Do you feel like you make a difference in the drug war?”
“I wouldn’t stay in this job if I didn’t think that.” He dragged the tines of his fork through the sauce on his plate. “And what about you? Where do you live? What do you do for a living? Do you have any children?”
She pinned her hands between her knees. She shouldn’t have gotten personal with him. He demanded reciprocity. He’d shown her his, and now he expected her to show him hers.
“I—I’m a teacher—an art teacher.” She pressed a hand against her heart. Something felt so real about that statement. Could it be the truth? Were her memories brimming at the edge of her consciousness, ready to overflow and make her whole?
He nodded, stuffing a meatball—just a piece of one—into his mouth. When he finished chewing and swallowing, he said, “That would explain what you’re doing out here in the middle of the summer.”
It would explain that. She obviously hadn’t been going to or coming from a job. Had she been in Mexico? She hadn’t noticed the license plates on the car before it went up in flames. If she had memorized the license number, maybe she would’ve been able to discover her identity. Had she left a purse in the car? ID? Money? Why hadn’t she thought of all that before scrambling from that car?
“Are you all right?” Rob planted his elbows on the table on either side of his plate.
The words expressed concern, but his face didn’t match. His dark eyes drilled into her, probing her vacant mind. If he could read it, more power to him.
“I’m fine. I’d rather not discuss my life.” She pushed back from the table so abruptly the chair tipped over, and she saved it from falling.
She stacked her bowl onto the plate. “Can I get your dishes? Are you finished?”
Rob curled his fingers around her wrist, his light touch feeling more like a vise due to the intensity in his dark eyes.
Her pulse fluttered, as she leaned toward him, the magnetic draw of his gaze reeling her into his realm. This attraction between them couldn’t be stopped, even though she hadn’t a clue who she was. She could be married with four children, and not even that possibility could dampen the fire that kindled in her belly for this man.
Her eyes drifted closed. Her lips parted. Her breath caught in her throat.
But when she felt the warmth of his mouth inches from her own, the imminent kiss turned into harsh words.
“How the hell do you know El Gringo Viejo?”
Chapter Seven
Jane blinked her whiskey-colored eyes, and Rob clenched his back teeth, trying hard not to imagine whether or not her lips would taste like the color of her eyes. He could’ve satisfied his curiosity by indulging in a small nip before dropping his bombshell, but that just didn’t seem right.
Realizing she was still poised for the kiss that hung suspended between them, Jane jerked back. Her gaze darted around the room as if looking for an escape. Then she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in the red T-shirt borrowed from April.
When her eyes found their way back to his face, they narrowed. Her nostrils flared, and she pulled back her shoulders. Ready for conflict.
“Why do you think I know El Gringo Viejo?”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Rob pinched the bridge of his nose. Did he think this was going to be easy? He scooted his chair out from beneath the table and clasped his hands on his knees. “I saw your search history on the library computer.”
Her left eye twitched. “You were spying on me all this time?”
He’d been around criminals long enough to know they went with a swift offense when backed into a corner. “Did you think I’d let a strange woman into my home for an overnight stay without doing a little checking?”
“You didn’t do any checking that first night.” She thrust out her chin.
“You were injured, confused. I wasn’t going to turn you away, but I did keep that knife from you and I retained your water bottle for fingerprints.”
Her head snapped up, and she gripped the seat of the chair. “You ran my fingerprints? You know who I am?”
“You probably already know I didn’t find a match.” He tilted his head to the side, studying her face. “So, I know you’re not an art teacher. Teachers’ prints are on file.”
Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. “You didn’t find out my identity from running my prints, so you followed me around this afternoon and snooped into my activities at the library?”
“Snooped?” He rolled his eyes, smacking his hands on his thighs.
She flinched.
“You’re giving me too much credit. I happened to see you walk away from the library when I went to the main drag to pick up some food for dinner. You told me you were going to nap this afternoon, so I got curious. That’s when I discovered your first search was for El Gringo Viejo.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, as if to give her plenty of room to hang herself. “Why?”
She sucked in her cheek before answering, formulating her lie. “If I knew who he was, like you claimed, why would I be searching him?”
He snorted. “You randomly did a search on El Gringo Viejo the first opportunity you had? If you didn’t know him or know who he was, why would you do that?”
“But I had heard his name before.”
