Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)
Lisa Renee Jones
The Walker Brothers…
Tall, dark, and deadly, these three brothers run Walker security. Each brother is unique in his methods and skills, but all share key similarities. They are passionate about those they love, relentless when fighting for a cause they believe in, and believe that no case is too hard, no danger too dark. Dedication is what they deliver, and results are their reward.
Prologue
Myla
Fourteen months ago…
Entering through the employee door at the back of one of the three San Francisco located Shivers, a “something for everyone” kind of restaurant, I still can’t believe the “something” for me is a job. At twenty-five years old, I’m supposed to be progressing in my career, not taking food orders. But then, waiting tables wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I’d packed up my car in Texas and used my savings to get here for a job that fell apart before I even arrived. I knew being a fashion designer was still a long reach for me, but a move from merchandiser for a smaller retailer to one of the largest on the planet would have been a step in the right direction.
Shutting the door behind me, I cut left into a small locker room, stopping at the first of twelve metal doors. Grabbing the lock, I turn the combination, and open the door, quickly sticking my purse inside before grabbing the pink apron on the hook. Fitting it over my jean-clad hips, I wish like heck it covered the low V of my hot pink “Shivers” t-shirt. But then, unlike some of the girls here, I prefer using my brain as an asset to get ahead in the world over the DD’s. Though I guess I should thank the girls, since I’m fairly certain they are why I was hired, considering my boss, Eduardo, spends way too much time looking at them for my comfort. I might not like that reasoning, but I need to pay my bills.
I shove the locker shut and set my lock in place before turning and all but running into a big, broad body. “Eduardo,” I gasp. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
He gives me one of his heavy-lidded stares, his thick arms crossed in front of a broad chest some might think is rather stellar. I, on the other hand, think it’s as creepy as the way he looks at me. “The CEO of the chain is in the house tonight, in the private, lower-level dining room. You’ll be attending his needs.”
“Me? I’m still learning.”
“He’ll like you. That’s all that matters.” He settles his hands on his hips. “There’s a two-thousand dollar bottle of tequila with Joe at the bar waiting on your service. And make it fast. He’s thirsty.” He turns and leaves and I stand there for several beats before I shake myself and start moving, following in his footsteps, down a long hallway past several offices.
Exiting into the main restaurant, the clusters of wooden tables and bar booths are half-filled, but considering it’s Friday night, I am certain they will soon be at capacity. That means big tips I pray I don’t miss out on for an owner not likely to tip at all. Turning right, I head to the end of the horseshoe-shaped bar and Joe meets me at the counter, setting two glasses down in front of me. “Don’t spill this. It’s liquid gold.”
“I don’t even know where the downstairs is.”
He motions behind me and I glance over my shoulder to an archway and then back at him to discover he’s already walking away. Inhaling, I pick up the two glasses and head in that direction. Right now I really wish I was back in Texas, where at least I had a job in my field, and I’d still have Sally, my best friend, who was recently married and now pregnant. Exhaling, I head down about a dozen stairs and reach a landing to cross to a large archway. Entering, I find a cave-like room with a long rectangular booth horizontal to me that could easily seat a dozen, but leaves no walking room in the small space. There are only two men present. My boss, who has his back to me, and a Hispanic man in an expensive looking suit, who is facing me.
“You must be Myla,” the man says, an arrogant, worldly air to him, the slight graying at his temples aging him to what must be his forties. “Come,” he adds, lifting a hand. “Bring me my drink.” There is something about this man’s command that is powerful, almost sexy, and yet…he is sinister. Scary even. I walk toward the table and set both men’s drinks in front of them. “Thank you,” he says, and surprisingly, he does not look at my cleavage. He just looks at me, and does so with uncomfortable intensity.
I force my hands to my hips, when I really want to hug myself. “Can I get you a menu?”
“How old are you?” he asks, as if I haven’t spoken.
“Twenty-five.”
“Why are you waiting tables?”