Risking It All: London Calling Book Three Read Online Free Page B

 
    Too bad.
    He had disappointed her. Worse still, his investigations into her life hurt her despite his best intentions. He suppressed the voice in the back of his head reminding him he hadn’t had intentions at all, really. Just bored curiosity.  
    But what else would an Internet security expert do?
    They arrived at a little pub five blocks from where Bennett lived. Devon turned to Dom, cheeks rosy. “This is it. Prepare yourself for a blast from the past.”
    They sat in a beat-up navy leather booth. The seats were lumpy, the lighting atrocious, and the tabletop bore the carvings and engravings of customers past. Dominic loved it.
    He pulled a lighter out of his jacket and lit the votive candle pushed to the wall inside the booth. As he looked around he saw nothing but old wood, old flags, and battered tapestries. The interior was so sooty it looked like it personally housed the Industrial Revolution. Sniffing, Dominic rather doubted they enforced the smoking ban with anything approaching diligence.
    Devon sat across from him, grinning. “What do you think?”
    “So far so good, Devvie. But is the food any good?”
    “It’s a far sight better than what you’d be getting from me,” she joked. Both were well aware of their culinary deficiencies. Devon often stated, with absolute conviction, that she’d rather eat cat food than cook. “That aside,” she continued, “you’re going to love it here. Pure Southern barbecue, Dommie.”
    He grabbed a menu that sat propped against the wall, alarmingly close to the small lit candle. “No way.” His eyes perused the typed page, noticing several blacked-out items. Most were replaced with hand-written entries, the ink smeared by time and fingerprints. He looked up at Devon, who bounced in her seat with suppressed excitement.  
    “You really miss American food, don’t you, Dev?”
    “You know it. And this place actually gets it right. They have a smoker .” She emphasized the word with the appropriate reverence of a true barbecue apostle.  
    Dom grinned. “Recommendations?”
    Immediately, she shifted forward and tapped the worn page. “Brisket. Ribs if you must, but do the spares. No baby backs, Dom.” She eyed him sternly. “And no chicken, for God’s sake.”
    “Done. What do you want to drink? I’ll go over and order.” It wasn’t the kind of place that sported serving staff or table service. Dominic was surprised to feel at home, despite his usual haunts in Chicago with white tablecloths and sparkling crystal. He missed this sort of thing almost as much as Devon.
    “Hard cider. You should do the same, if you can tear yourself away from your usual.” She winked, knowing Dom’s preference for Irish stouts.
    “Thank God our fathers can’t hear you,” he said. John Sinclair and Patrick Martin’s Friday routine included stops at their favorite pub for pints. Dominic adopted Guinness as soon as he was old enough to drink.
    Well. Sooner, if he was honest.
    He placed their order then carried the drinks back to the table, ignoring the beep of another incoming text. He sat down and took out his phone to switch it to silent. The message was from Moneypenny.
    “Girlfriend?” Devon asked.  
    He frowned. “No,” he answered, short. There hadn’t been anyone since Natalie.  
    “Hmm,” Devon mused.  
    “What?”
    “Well, that’s unusual, isn’t it?”
    “What do you mean by that?” He knew his tone was defensive but couldn’t seem to stop.
    Devon leaned back against the booth, brows raised. Dominic stared back silently until she uttered one word.
    “Natalie.”  
    Dominic crossed and uncrossed his arms. Strumming his fingers on the tabletop, he looked around the bar, thinking he should have noticed the place was a barbecue joint from the mouthwatering smells of smoked meat wafting from the back. He brought his gaze back to Devon and saw she was still watching him, head tilted and smirking.
    He sighed and rubbed a hand underneath his collar.