“We’ll get him,” Anthony said curtly, referring to Smiley.
“You’d better,” Tony said. “The press has gotten a hold of it. It’ll only get bigger from here.”
“Yeah, thanks for the reminder,” Anthony muttered. He picked up his coffee cup again. Still empty. “Damn it. Where the hell is what’s-her-name? Is it too much to ask to get some damned coffee around here?”
“Now there’s a good plan,” his sister mused. “Blame poor Maggie because you can’t catch a pip-squeak cat burglar.”
As if on cue, poor Maggie appeared at their table, coffeepot in hand.
“I’m so sorry,” the pretty waitress said, a little breathless. “You all must have been waiting ages for more coffee.”
Anthony rolled his eyes, even as he snuck a glance at her. Her friendly smile was meant to hide the fact that she was frazzled, and for most of her customers, that apologetic, dimpled smile probably worked.
It was a damned good look on any woman, but especially her.
Maggie Walker had become their default waitress at the diner back when their old waitress Helen had retired. And while he missed Helen and her too-strong floral perfume, he had to admit that Maggie was better to look at.
She had a wholesome, girl-next-door look that appealed to him mightily. Brown hair that was always on the verge of slipping out of its ponytail, wide, compelling green eyes that made you want to unload all your darkest secrets.
Curvy. Hips that were exactly right, breasts that were even better.
And then there was that smile. It managed to be both shy and friendly, which was handy because he was betting it was very hard for even the most impatient customers to get annoyed at her.
But Anth didn’t buy the exhausted, doing-my-best routine, and seeing as she was dealing with an entire table of observant cops, he was betting the rest of his family wouldn’t buy it either.
Then Luc leaned forward and gave Maggie an easy grin. “Don’t even worry about it, Mags. Didn’t even notice I was running low!”
He stared at his brother. Okay. So maybe the family bambino could be fooled by pretty Maggie.
He rolled his eyes as Luc shoved his mug toward the edge of the table so Maggie wouldn’t have to reach as far.
Then he watched in utter dismay as Vincent did the same. Vincent, who’d practically devoted his life to being perverse, was trying to make life easier for their inept waitress.
Un-fucking-believable.
Anthony was so busy trying to figure out what about the frazzled waitress turned his brothers into a bunch of softies that he didn’t think to move his own mug to be more convenient, and Maggie had to lean all the way in to top off his cup.
It was a feat that their old waitress could have handled readily, but Helen had retired months ago and for reasons that Luc didn’t understand, the rest of the Moretti family had embraced Maggie as Helen’s replacement.
Anthony didn’t realize that his mug had overflowed until scalding coffee dripped onto his thigh.
“Son of a—”
He caught himself before he could finish the expletive, grabbing a large handful of napkins from the silver dispenser and trying to soak up the puddle of coffee on his jeans before it burned his skin.
“Nice, Anth,” Elena said, tossing another bunch of napkins at him. Like this was his fault.
“Oh my god,” Maggie said, her voice horrified. “I’m so sorry, Officer…”
“It’s Captain,” he snapped, his eyes flicking up and meeting hers.
Silence descended over the table until Vincent muttered douche bag around a coughing fit.
But Anthony refused to feel chagrined. The woman had waited on the family every Sunday for weeks; one would think she could get his title right. To say nothing of mastering the art of pouring coffee.
Her green eyes flicked downward before she turned away with promises to bring back a rag.
He watched her trim figure for only a second before glancing down at his lap. A rag wouldn’t do shit. He now had a huge brown stain on his jeans.