She scowled at him. And the moment those eyes turned up toward him, he was lost in the hidden pain he saw there. The shadows that haunted her soul deep. “Pardon?”

It took him a second to register her word. He jerked his chin toward the filthy e-pad in front of her. “That one doesn’t work. You’ll need this to place an order.” He handed her his pad and felt the softness of her fingers as they brushed against his.

“Vicar!”

Wanting to trip Izak with his powers, he forced himself to behave. If she was a mercenary or assassin, the last thing he needed was to expose himself.

Please don’t be someone I have to kill.

For one thing, he was really tired of people coming at his back. For another . . .

She was the epitome of what he’d wanted so long that he’d almost forgotten the sensation. Tough, beautiful. Confident.

And from the looks of her, capable.

Don’t be another disappointment. “Enter point-oh-six under waiter and I’ll bring your order to you.”

“Thanks.”

Inclining his head to her, he went to get the orders that were piling up and take them to their designated tables. But he made sure to keep his eye on her.

Not just because she could be threat, but because he wanted her to be no one important.

Except someone who could be important to him.

Jayne frowned as she watched her gorgeous waiter set a black backpack down behind the counter she was facing, and leave.

It can’t be this easy.

Her luck never was.

Yet he matched the photo and description of her target. Exceptionally tall, lean muscles . . .

And insanely handsome.

Yeah, okay, that last bit hadn’t been part of his description, but she’d noted it as soon as his photo had come over with the warrant.

In all honesty, that photo didn’t do him justice. It had failed to capture the mischievous light in his blue eyes. The intelligence. Or the quirk to his lips as if he had a secret he was keeping from everyone.

His long brown hair was held back from his face in a shoulder-length ponytail that would normally have turned her off. Yet he made that look work.

Shabby elegance.

Sadly, looks like his weren’t the norm. They were as rare as a smile on her face.

Not to mention, there was no missing the regal aura that clung to him like skin. That slow loping grace. What was it with the aristos that they all had the same carriage and deliberate mannerisms? Like it was genetically encoded in them.

And her target stood out in this filthy diner where most of the waitstaff and clientele hadn’t bathed in a few . . .

Millennia.

Yeah. Breeding like his was a definite gimme.

Jayne flipped to her comm, which had a photo of a younger version of the waiter.

Definitely him. But why would a rich aristo be working in such a grimy shithole? This was a far cry the playboy vacation spots they normally frequented.