Ignacio started speaking to the man in Spanish and Kara’s gaze shifted beyond his shoulder, to a corner booth where a young, twenty-something blond female in a waitress outfit huddled with the restaurant manager, Eduardo, a bit too intimately to be his employee. Kara’s nerves prickled and her fingers curled into her palms. Women had a way of disappearing after coming to work at this location, and it was all she could do not to go yank the girl up and send her home before she got into trouble, or worse, dead. Mysteriously, their HR files were deleted after they went MIA from their jobs, as if they never existed. And the HR person actually claimed they never existed. Kara couldn’t push without raising suspicions, but she’d taken to copying every file for the employees as they were made. No one else was going to just disappear without her having proof they’d existed.

“Kara?” Blake’s voice snapped her back to the table, and when her eyes met his, she felt that familiar flutter of awareness he so easily created in her.

“Yes?” she answered, barely finding her voice as the memory of being beneath him in the truck swept over her.

“What do you want to drink?” he asked softly, a warm quality to his brown eyes saying he hadn’t shaken off their intimate encounter anymore than she had.

“Drink. Right. Yes.” Kara cast the waiter an apologetic look, her senses reeling as Blake’s hand settled on her leg, heat pooling low in her belly. “Sorry. Coffee, please.”

The waiter departed and Ignacio’s gaze settled on Kara, his lips twisting snidely. “I thought I was buying you a drink?”

“I prefer a clear head,” she replied tightly. And a steady hand on my gun.

“Talk to me about the staff here at the restaurant,” Blake said, pulling Ignacio’s attention to him, and Kara had the distinct impression it was intentional. He didn’t like Ignacio focusing on her. That made two of them.

Ignacio stared at her several more seconds that felt like an eternity before shifting his attention to Blake. “What do you want to know?”

“Who’s in the know about the true nature of the operation?”

“The restaurant runs like any other with a staff who know no differently. Eduardo, the manager, and the entire warehouse staff are, as you say, ‘in the know’.”

“How many does that make?”

“Thirty, mostly non-English-speaking illegals who do our handling.”

“What time do the daily shipments go out?”

Kara watched Ignacio’s jaw flex, a subtle sign he didn’t like to be questioned. But then, no one had questioned him in a long time. “Ten. That allows us the coverage of restaurant traffic.”

“And who’s in charge of overseeing the product making it to the pier?” Blake asked.

“Eduardo signs it out and I personally sign it in.”

“Every day?” Blake pressed. “Seven days a week?”