up the menu. “So, what do you think? Lots of choices here.”
She lifted a brow. “All five of them? That qualifies as a lot to choose from?”
A grin slid across his lips and she felt her face flush for a different reason this time. He was teasing her. Then his eyes flickered as he glanced at his options on the menu. “Choices. I’ve made a lot of choices in life.”
“What kind of choices?”
“Right ones, wrong ones.” He smirked. “Seems like the wrong ones outweigh the right ones some days.”
Gisella blinked at his sudden flash of vulnerability. Where had that come from? But she knew what he meant. And because of that, she felt herself drawn to him. “I guess you have to pray about it and believe that God won’t steer you wrong.”
He pulled in a deep breath and studied her, his blue eyes piercing to her soul. “I haven’t prayed in a long time.”
More vulnerability. “Why not?” She couldn’t help it, she was curious about him.
He flushed as though he regretted bringing up the topic, then shrugged. “I guess I’ve just been so busy trying to catch the bad guys, I haven’t given God and prayer a lot of thought.”
“That’s understandable. I’ve been there.”
“But you’re not now?”
“No. God got my attention a few years ago. I finally realized I had to make the time to spend with Him, it wasn’t just going to magically happen.” She smiled, but didn’t elaborate further.
She’d been mad at God for a long time after the death of her brother, but had eventually made her peace with it. A story she would be happy to share with the man before her. Maybe when she knew him a little better, though. She couldn’t talk about it without tearing up. And after his doubtful comments about her superiors sending a woman down to work on this case, crying in front of Brock wasn’t going to happen.
Brock kept silent, then seemed to realize she wasn’t going to say anything else. He sighed. “Today when Lenny had that gun pointed at me and murder in his eyes…well, I have to say, I prayed.”
“Guess God still has work for you to do.”
“I guess.” His smile finally touched his eyes.
“Whew! Sorry it took me so long to get over here. Y’all ready?”
They looked up to find a young girl probably not much older than sixteen standing at the edge of the table, pen poised above her order tablet. Her blond ponytail swung behind her and her blue eyes smiled with her lips.
Brock smiled back at her. “I’ll take the special.”
Gisella shut her menu. “Make that two.”
“Country fried chicken, gravy, greens and cornbread. You got it.” She spun on her heel and headed for the kitchen.
Gisella let her eyes wander around the restaurant. Another young waitress worked the back tables. “Nice little place they have here. How did you find it?”
“A drug runner I arrested about a month ago was from here. He jumped bail and I was determined to get him back. I teamed up with a bounty hunter and we tracked him down. Found him holed up in his mother’s attic about two miles from here.”
“Probably part of the organization we’re trying to eliminate.”
“Now that wouldn’t surprise me.”
“So that’s when you met the sheriff?”
“One of the times. I come through here occasionally on business.”
The waitress came back and placed their drinks and a couple of straws on the table. Gisella took a sip of her water and leaned back. “You’re not a very by-the-book kind of guy, are you?”
“What makes you ask that?” he deadpanned.
She gave a short laugh. “Right.”
The food appeared on the table with a flourish and Krista asked them if they needed anything else. Gisella smiled at her. “No, this looks great, thanks.”
“Just holler if you need something then.”
“How old are you?” Gisella asked the girl.
“Sixteen.”
So, she’d guessed right. “You’re very good at this waitressing thing.”
The girl gave a giggle. “Thanks. I don’t normally work school nights, but two of the regular waitresses are out sick with the flu so…” She shrugged. “I told Pop—my grand-father—I’d help him.”
“Very kind of you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not totally selfless. I like the money. Enjoy.” She flashed another smile and twirled back to the kitchen.
“At least she’s friendly,” Brock said after a bite of his chicken.
Gisella didn’t bother to answer as she tucked into her food.
The next ten minutes passed in relative silence as they both ate and tried not to let the stares from the remaining few customers faze them.
Gisella finally put down her fork and leaned back. “I’m stuffed. Reminds me of Mom’s cooking.” Cooking that she hadn’t had a lot of lately. But that was her fault.
“Where are you from?” Brock lifted his glass and took another drink.
“San Antonio. Well, my parents are from Mexico originally, but I was born in Texas.”
He smiled his thanks as Krista refilled their glasses then turned his focus on Gisella. “Did you bring that little black book in?”
“Yes.” She tilted her head and eyed him. “It’s in my bag.”
“I want to have another look at some of the other letters and numbers again.”
“Sure.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the book.
He took it, opened it and read aloud. “JZ, RP, QV. And the mixture of numbers and letters: 3149NJZ10724WRPQV. JZ, RP and QV could all be initials, maybe? As for the other symbols, it could be a safe combination written in code. Or the numbers could be someone’s birthday. 3149. Could that be March 1, 1949?”
“Possibly.”
“And 10724.”
“October 7th, 1924.”
“And look, the letters JZ are repeated in the string of letters and numbers as well as RP and QV.” Brock gave a frustrated grunt. “Could be anything.”
He turned the page. “Look at this list of numbers.”
“I know. I’m wondering if those are actually the dates and the numbers on the other page are something else.”
She studied the list.
Brock shook his head. “Doesn’t look like dates to me although I guess they could be.” He rubbed his chin. “This shouldn’t be that complicated. I think we’re making it harder than it is.” At her expression, he held up a hand. “I’m not saying all drug runners are stupid, but it looks like it made the rounds, passed from one member to the next. Surely they’d have to have some kind of common code or something so that whoever had the book could easily decipher it.”
Gisella tapped a finger against her lips. “Agreed, but it would have to be complicated enough so that if it fell into the wrong hands,” she wiggled her fingers at him, “such as yours truly, they wouldn’t have to worry about it being decoded.”
He grunted. “Okay. True.”
“And look at this.” She reached over, her fingers brushing his as she flipped the pages until she reached the back of the small book. Ignoring