There, half hidden by the edge of the wood, sat a small black device no bigger than a deck of cards.
She slid the card through it, a quick flick, like dealing.
Then she brought the card back up, and ran it through the real terminal as though nothing had happened.
The whole movement lasted perhaps two seconds.
But I had been in the restaurant business for thirty years, and I knew the sound of a register, and that wasn’t it.
Then I looked at Hunter.
He had followed my eyes.
He was looking at Krista’s hand, and for the briefest instant, his face changed.
He wasn’t simply angry anymore.
He looked alarmed, the way a man looks when he hears his own name read aloud in a place he didn’t expect.
“OUT!” he shouted.
He shoved me through the glass doors with the flat of his hand.
