Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Undercover Cook

Undercover Cook
Jeannie Watt


Detective Nick Duncan will do anything to crack his latest case. Even if it means engaging in some less-than-legal undercover work. When his grandfather begins taking cooking classes at a catering company suspected of laundering drug money, it's almost too easy!Until Nick meets Eden Tremont–his new cooking instructor and the suspect's sister. The bubbly blonde is a whiz in the kitchen…and with his old grandfather. And before he even realizes what's happening, Nick is ambushed by his feelings for the woman. It's been a long time since he's cared about anything other than his job. But his reckless deception may cost him more than his case.







Working undercover has never been so…delicious

Detective Nick Duncan will do anything to crack his latest case. Even if it means engaging in some less-than-legal undercover work. When his grandfather begins taking cooking classes at a catering company suspected of laundering drug money, it’s almost too easy!

Until Nick meets Eden Tremont—his new cooking instructor and the suspect’s sister. The bubbly blonde is a whiz in the kitchen…and with his old grandfather. And before he even realizes what’s happening, Nick is ambushed by his feelings for the woman. It’s been a long time since he’s cared about anything other than his job. But his reckless deception may cost him more than his case.


“I can learn by watching.”

Eden, their cooking instructor, set a clean skillet on the counter in front of him. “Use this pan. Cook some eggs. Make your grandfather happy.”

Gabe gave a soft snort as Nick started stirring his eggs in the bowl. A few minutes later, the old man said, “You know, Eden’s cute.”

“Yeah.”

Gabe tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. “Aren’t you ever going to start looking again?”

Nick sucked in a breath. It’d been two years since he’d lost his wife in a car wreck. And no, he hadn’t started looking again. “This isn’t the time to discuss this, Granddad.”

“When is?”

Nick shook his head and reached for another egg. He cracked it on the side of the counter and the whole damned thing exploded in his hand, splattering yolk on his shirt and pants.

“Thin-shelled egg,” Eden said from behind him. “They need to feed the chickens more calcium.”

“Good to know,” Nick said, looking down at the yolk spots. Eden smiled at him and he smiled back…wondering what it would take to get her to trust him.

While she began talking to her gathered students, Nick pretended to listen. Which of those closed doors across the room might hold a computer? he wondered. There was a computer in the front reception area, but he doubted it was linked to financial accounts. He would check it out, though.

When he got the chance.


Dear Reader,

Have you ever heard the old saying, “What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive?” Detective Nick Duncan hadn’t planned on tangling webs when he joined Eden Tremont’s cooking class. All he wanted was the quickest way possible to discover if Tremont Catering was involved in laundering drug money. Unfortunately, thanks to the efforts of an enthusiastic member of his investigative team, he ends up masquerading as a home security expert and actively deceiving the first woman he’s been interested in since losing his wife.

Trust is paramount to Eden Tremont after being raised by a father who made promises he never kept and recently discovering that her ex-boyfriend was a serial cheater. Nick Duncan, the man who’s installing her home security system seems utterly trustworthy, but after Eden starts to fall for him, she discovers all is not as it seems.

The challenge of writing this story was to keep Nick’s character sympathetic as he actively deceived the heroine. He had good reasons for what he did, but as time passed, he became less and less certain that the end justified the means—especially when he was bending the law himself. Eden had to come to terms with her trust issues and decide if the man she’d fallen for was the real Nick Duncan.

I hope you enjoy reading Undercover Cook, which is the second of my three-book series, Too Many Cooks? I’d love to hear from you at jeanniewrites@gmail.com or via my website, www.jeanniewatt.com.

Best wishes,

Jeannie Watt




Undercover Cook

Jeannie Watt







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jeannie Watt lives off the grid in rural Nevada and loves nothing better than an excellent meal. Jeannie is blessed with a husband who cooks more than she does, a son who knows how to make tapas and a daughter who knows the best restaurants in San Francisco. Her idea of heaven is homemade macaroni and cheese.


To Jake, my consultant in kitchen and cop matters.

Thank you.


Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#u23578fd5-af63-5ff5-943f-e86634cd3383)

CHAPTER TWO (#u8a5d8a09-7a43-523f-9562-b8d85d11e06b)

CHAPTER THREE (#u5a7b2f01-7084-59ae-862d-905183acd124)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

“COOKING LESSONS?” Detective Daphne Sparks paused with her coffee halfway to her lips and made an are-you-kidding face. “We have a missing, probably dead, informant, and your solution is cooking lessons?”

“Dumb idea,” Marcus Jethro echoed from across the table.

Nick Duncan kept his eyes on Daphne, his partner, because if he looked at Marcus he was going to say something he regretted.

“It’s simple,” he said. “I go with Granddad to the lessons at the catering kitchen, get the layout, figure out how best to get at the company financial records.” And from those, determine whether Tremont Catering, based in Reno, was laundering Lake Tahoe drug money. As he’d said. Simple.

He pushed his chair back slightly to make room for his legs under the small table in the back corner of a Virginia Street deli—the place where he and Daphne usually met for lunch in the late afternoon, after the noon-hour crowd was gone and they could talk.

“How is it that the lessons happen to be at this particular kitchen?” Daphne asked mildly, pushing long black hair over her shoulders. Nick shrugged. “I see,” she said, lifting her coffee cup in a small salute.

“Any information you get that way is totally inadmissible,” Marcus interjected in a superior tone, before adding a carefully measured half teaspoon of sugar to his coffee. He hated to be left out, and since he was a forensic accountant for the Reno PD, and because of that usually chained to his desk, he often was. Marcus had visions of crime-fighting glory that weren’t quite working out.

“I’m not going to seize the records,” Nick said. “I’m going to examine them, see if we’re wasting time on something that isn’t going to pan out.”

He and Daphne had been working for months as Reno PD members of the Washoe-Tahoe Drug Task Force, trying to get a toehold into the drug traffic moving through the Tahoe Summit Hotel and Casino. They knew kitchen personnel were involved, and they’d gotten some indication of how the money might be moving. But task-force funds were spread so thinly that after eight fruitless months of investigation, the Tahoe Summit had been shoved to the back burner…despite the fact that Nick and Daphne’s twenty-one-year-old confidential informant, Cully, had recently gone missing. Nick thought that circumstance warranted further investigation. His lieutenant had disagreed. Strongly.

“I don’t like it,” Marcus said.

It didn’t matter if he liked it, because Nick didn’t answer to him. Technically, since his asshole lieutenant had suspended him for thirty days after their heated “discussion,” Nick didn’t answer to anyone in the department, which was why his investigation into Tremont Catering fell into the unofficial category. His own time, his own dime. But how the hell else was he supposed to get the answers he needed, not only to work on the drug trafficking, but to find out what had happened to Cully?

“What do you suggest?” he finally asked Marcus, more to mollify him than anything. They needed his expertise once Nick got copies of the financial records.

The accountant rolled his shoulders and then took on a thoughtful expression while slowly stirring his coffee. “If you decide to go with the cooking-lesson angle, you could use it as a means to conduct an indirect investigation and try to determine if there are indications of expenditures exceeding legal income. Then go before a judge and ask for a warrant.”

“And perhaps wait for a glacier to melt in the process?” Nick asked.

Marcus flushed. “It’s the only course of action that will lead to admissible evidence.”

“Look,” Nick said. “I understand admissibility. And I don’t like doing things this way, but I also don’t want to waste time.” He stabbed his fork into a bowl of ravioli, spearing one and holding it poised in the air. “I don’t need to make a formal case. All I need is enough information to get Justin Tremont to roll and give me names if he’s involved.”

“And if he isn’t?” Marcus asked, putting the spoon on a napkin.

“Then we’re at a dead end. For now.”

In Nick’s last discussion with Cully, the CI had indicated that Tahoe Summit drug money was being laundered through a small Reno business. He’d sounded excited when he’d called to set up a meeting, and Nick had been relieved to finally get a break in the case. Chasing dirty money often resulted in a bust.

But Cully never showed for the meeting. Or called. Suspecting the worst, Nick and Daphne had started digging into small businesses connected with Tahoe Summit personnel. It hadn’t taken long to discover that only one person on the kitchen staff had ties to a small business. Justin Tremont, part-time pastry chef, owned a catering business with his two sisters.

Marcus shook his head. “Risky. My way may take time, but at least you won’t end up getting investigated by Internal Affairs.”

“That won’t happen,” Nick said.

“You hope.” Daphne eyed him over the top of her coffee cup.

“Stop being such a ray of sunshine,” he muttered.

“I vote against this idea,” Marcus said, pushing his lank dark hair to the side of his forehead.

“You don’t have a vote,” Nick said.

“When you want me to look at the figures, you might change your mind on that.”

“All right, you have a vote. But it’s still two against one.”

“Marcus,” Daphne said, fixing her large, coffee-brown eyes on his face in a way that told Nick she was on her last nerve. Marcus was, of course, oblivious. “I have sworn to uphold the law. I truly believe in the law, but I want to get the sons of bitches that nailed Cully. Don’t you?”

“Of course I want to get them,” the accountant said adamantly. He wanted anything that Daphne wanted—he’d had a wild crush on her since he’d first come to work two years ago.

“Then man up!” she said, and Marcus went instantly red.

“Fine,” he sputtered. “I’ll man up. I’m more than capable of bending the rules.”

“You don’t need to bend anything,” Nick said. “All we want is your unofficial expertise after I get the financial records in an unofficial way. All right?”

Marcus was still red. He shot a quick look at Daphne who stared back impassively. “Yes. All right. But I’m not the dweeb you think I am.”

“No one said you were a dweeb,” Nick insisted, since Daphne wouldn’t. She had no patience with their colleague and Nick couldn’t blame her, since Marcus was hell-bent on impressing her and impervious to hints—or blatant declarations—that she wasn’t interested.

“You don’t have to say it,” the accountant said sullenly. “I can see what you think.”

Daphne dropped her napkin onto her plate, obviously having had enough. She reached for her purse, took out a handful of one-dollar bills and started counting them.

“What are you going to do now?” Nick asked.

“I am going to take my partnerless self back to the office to work on busting drug buys near the campus. Because it looks good in the newspaper.” She raised her eyes. “I don’t care how much of a jerk Lieutenant Davidson is, don’t ever do this to me again.”

Nick pulled a twenty from his wallet. “I’ll try very hard to never rile him again.”

Frankly, he wasn’t normally the lieutenant-riling kind, but this Cully deal bugged the hell out of him. Yeah, Cully had been slick, but he’d also been a sweet, personable kid, with plans, no less. Both Nick and Daphne had, during weak moments, mentioned that as much as they appreciated what he brought them, he needed to find a safer line of work.

Cully had laughed them off, saying that he was eventually going to Police Officer Standard and Training academy to become a professional undercover agent, and this was good practice. He wouldn’t have gone to ground without contacting either Daphne or Nick, and it had now been four weeks since they’d last heard from him.



EDEN TREMONT KICKED off the killer heels she wore to all her client meetings the instant she stepped inside the back door of the catering kitchen. She sighed as her bare feet hit the blessedly cool tile floor, then reached for her orange kitchen clogs. It didn’t pay to be short.

Sunday-morning meetings were not the norm for her. Usually she spent that time prepping meals for the two families she cooked for on a weekly basis—the Stewarts and the Ballards—in addition to her catering duties. Today, however, was the only time a prospective bride with a vicious travel schedule could meet with her, and Eden went with it. Happily so, since she had a signed contract in her hand.

No one was in the kitchen yet, so she stowed her portfolio and her purse in the small back office. Grabbing an elastic band off the top of her desk, she pulled her blond hair into a haphazard knot and secured it just as the rear door of the kitchen banged open, scaring the bejeezus out of her. Patty Lloyd, their prep cook, did not slam. Ever.

Then one of the lockers next to the back door rattled and Eden let out a breath.

Justin. Her brother. Who wasn’t supposed to be in until the early afternoon.

“Why are you here now?” Eden demanded, leaning out the door.

“Guess.” Justin barely held back a yawn before pulling a white, jersey-cotton stocking cap over his choppy blond hair. Sometimes Eden wondered if he still cut it himself, as he had when they were kids. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford a haircut. He was just never able to find a barber who could give him the dangerous skater-punk do he wanted.

“You took a cake order when you shouldn’t have?” Her voice dripped sisterly sarcasm.

“Hey, you’re one to talk. You volunteered to help with geriatric cooking lessons when you’re swamped.”

“I’m not as swamped as you, I have help with the lessons and it’s only for six weeks.” She folded her arms. “Besides, it’s community service and that’s not only great for the soul, it’s excellent public relations.” She cocked her head, scowling at her brother. Sometimes she honestly worried about him. “How late did you get in last night?”

Justin shrugged into a chef’s jacket with a blue-food-color stain dribbled down the front. His favorite jacket. He said it unleashed his creativity. “Two? Two-thirty?”

“So you got what? Three hours sleep?”

“I’m too tired to do the math,” he said as he headed past her to one of the two stainless-steel fridges and pulled open the door. A weary smile transformed his angular face as he glanced over his shoulder at Eden. “Did I tell you that I love Patty? That I’m going to make her my bride?” He pulled out a stainless-steel bowl of what had to be cake filling, and held it up. “One less thing to do. If I play my cards right, I may be able to sneak in a nap before I head back up to the Lake.” The Lake being shorthand for Lake Tahoe, where Justin had his second job.

By day, Justin was the Tremont Catering dessert chef, but he also worked three nights a week at a Lake Tahoe resort hotel as the pastry chef, and, in spite of those two jobs filling much of his time, he kept making high-end cakes. The more he made, the more the orders poured in as word spread. And they all seemed to be rush jobs. If they weren’t to begin with, then by the time Justin fit them into his jammed schedule, they became rushes.

“You’ve got to stop doing this,” Eden muttered. Her words were barely audible, since she knew they would do no good. She’d been saying the same thing over and over again for how long now? Since he’d taken that first emergency cake order for a bakery that’d had an electrical fire.

Even on that first order he’d been pushing things. They’d had three big catering events that week, yet he’d still somehow pulled off a masterpiece. And Eden knew the argument she’d get in return—the cakes brought in a lot of extra income. Some old equipment had finally been replaced, thanks to those cakes, and Justin had been able to refurbish the classic Firebird he’d bought from one of Eden’s clients. Plus he was socking away money to make a balloon payment on his condo.

At some point all this was going to catch up to him—physically, if nothing else—even if he did have Patty. When, exactly, had she made the filling? She was supposed to have gone home shortly after Eden left. Obviously, she hadn’t. Their prep cook needed to be needed, and with their sister, Reggie, out on maternity leave, and Justin’s ridiculous schedule, Patty was working at the right place.

“When’s this cake due?” Eden asked as she started breading beef for stew. She made five days of container meals for the Stewarts and the Ballards every Sunday and delivered them late Sunday evening. During the remainder of the week, between catering events and prep, she planned menus and typed up reheating instructions, which she saved to her computer for repeat performances. She had the personal-chef gig down to a fine science now.

“Tomorrow,” Justin said. “I have Donovan coming over to help me deliver.”

“Then I can have the van tonight?”

“All yours,” Justin agreed.

“Great.” Eden hated delivering in her small Honda Civic.

“Am I making crème brûlée for the Wednesday deal?”

“Yes. And mini tarts.”

“Got it.” Justin disappeared back into the alcove known as the pastry cave, and turned on his music. Eden chopped vegetables in time to classic Green Day songs as she browned the sausages for the lasagna the Ballard family requested as a weekly staple. Easy for two teenage boys to fill up on.

By the time Patty came in at eight-thirty, Eden had every burner on the stove going, as well as two ovens. She tended to hog the kitchen on Sunday, which was why they avoided Monday events if at all possible. Today was officially Patty’s day off, so she would be coming in for only one reason....

“Good morning,” she said, pulling a scarf from her permed curls. “I thought I’d stop by and see if Justin needed some help.”

“You know he does,” Eden said. “How late were you here last night?”

“Only until eight, but I didn’t put down the extra hours. It was my choice to stay.”

“Put down the hours,” Eden said. “It comes out of the cake money, since that’s what you were here for.”

“If you insist,” Patty said. “Even though I’m happy—”

“I insist. But, really, you shouldn’t stay late to help Justin out of situations he gets himself into.”

“It’s for the good of the company.”

“Yes.” Hard to argue with that.

“The oddest thing happened last night,” Patty said as she tied on her oversize apron. “When I went out to my car, there was a young man hanging out in the alley near the van.”

Eden looked up from the carrots she was dicing. “Just…hanging around? Loitering?”

Their Reno neighborhood was a quiet one, consisting of a couple small bistro-type restaurants that were open only for breakfast and lunch, law offices and boutique stores in refurbished houses and a quiet, upscale lounge two blocks away. They didn’t get many people lingering after hours—especially in their alley, which was a dead-end.

“Yes. I thought it was strange, but I just walked straight to my car, got in and locked the doors. Once I had it started, I checked and saw the man slipping into the space between our building and the law office, apparently on his way to the street. When I pulled out of the alley, he was gone. Or he may have been hiding between the buildings.”

“Any chance it was—”

“It wasn’t Ian,” Patty said in a definite voice, referring to Eden’s ex-boyfriend.

“Hey, Justin?” Eden called, loudly enough to be heard over the music. Her brother came out of the pastry room, stainless-steel spatula in hand. “Patty said there was someone hanging around the van last night when she left. Maybe you should take a look at it, see if he tried to pry the doors open or something.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He put the spatula down on the counter nearest him and headed for the back door. “Any chance it was Ian?”

“Patty says it wasn’t,” Eden answered wearily.

A few minutes later he was back. “Nothing. Maybe just a homeless guy looking for a place to sleep.”

“Probably,” Patty agreed.

“But maybe you should park out front on the days you’re working late,” Eden said. “And keep an eye on your surroundings, all right?”

Patty sniffed. She was the designated lecturer.

“For your safety,” Eden added. Ever since Reggie—her and Justin’s older sister—had started maternity leave, Patty had all but declared herself a full partner in Tremont Catering. Granted, they needed her. She was dependable and honest, and without her Justin would be in deep trouble. But she did have a few quirks, control issues being at the top of the list.

“I’ll watch myself,” she said. “And I am positive it wasn’t Ian. This man had dark hair.”

Eden gave a quick nod of understanding before she walked into the dry storage area. She hated that Patty was so aware Ian would be her number-one suspect. Eden very much liked to keep her private life private. It was her own fault, though, that Patty was so well-informed on the ex-boyfriend front, since Eden had taken a strip off his cheating hide when he’d had the audacity to show up at the kitchen with flowers and an apology, delivered with the perfect combination of sincerity and humility.

Eden hadn’t budged, and after a few words it became clear that he didn’t think coming on to Vanessa, his best friend’s wife, in the guest bedroom at a dinner party counted as cheating. He had, after all, been drunk, and they hadn’t done anything but a little kissing and groping. It was all a big misunderstanding. Surely Eden could see that? His friend understood, so why didn’t she? Shattering her trust? No big deal. Being drunk? Hell of an excuse.

Eden dragged the stepladder from one end of the metal shelving units to the other and started climbing so she could get two large cans of fire-roasted crushed tomatoes. After a stressful childhood with a father who said anything to keep people happy, then did as he damned well pleased, she had no tolerance for subterfuge, lying or “misunderstandings.” Which was why she didn’t care how many bouquets of flowers or apologies Ian sent her way.

They’d dated once before and he’d left her, shortly after college. It’d taken her a long time to get over him. When he’d appeared back in Reno six months ago, he’d come to see her. Apologized for being such a short-sighted jerk. Asked her back into his life. Eden had taken a chance, thinking they’d both grown and that Ian had dealt with whatever issue had caused him to leave her in the first place.

And the flame had burned hot.

Now, thanks to him, it had abruptly gone out, and that was it. Over was over, and he needed to get that through his thick head.

Unfortunately, Ian hated to lose. That probably made him a good lawyer. It also made him a pain in the ass.

Amazing just how quickly things changed once a person discovered that the guy who was supposed to be watching her back was actually more interested in someone else’s boobs.



“WHAT DO YOU mean, you aren’t taking the cooking lessons?” Nick stared at his stubborn grandfather, who stood next to the patio door of his small apartment wearing his favorite plaid flannel shirt and baggy police tactical pants. A couple quail ran across the courtyard lawn outside.

Gabe pulled the door open. The quail instantly took cover in a juniper bush. “Why in the hell would I want to take cooking lessons?” he asked as he grabbed the bag of seeds off the bookcase by the door.

Because I want to take them.

“Lois says you guys need to eat better. This is one way to do that.”

“I’m eating just fine.”

“You’re downing too much salt and fat. She said your blood pressure has redlined a couple times. If you don’t start eating right, she’s going to sentence you to the cafeteria.”

“When did this happen?” Gabe asked, shaking his head before reaching into the bag and tossing a handful of seeds out into the grass.

“What?”

“When did I hit the point in my life when I have to be treated like a damned child?” He didn’t look at Nick, just threw more seeds, his movements jerky. Angry.

Nick didn’t have an answer for that. His grandfather was a seventy-five-year-old heart-attack survivor. After the heart attack it became apparent that living alone in his north Reno home was no longer a possibility, so Nick had helped him sell the house and move into the Candlewood Center, an assisted-living facility that would allow him the most personal freedom. It cost a bundle, but Gabe had made a huge profit on the house, which allowed him to pay the fees and still have money in the bank.

Not a bad outcome, except for the part where Gabe resented being told what to do.

He did okay with community living, and had made several friends. But while he happily played poker, took the weekly trip to the golf course, sat in front of the huge TV and ate low-sodium popcorn while watching sports with his friends, he steadfastly refused to partake in the meal plan offered by the facility.

After Gabe had balked, so had a couple of his new buddies. Their rebellion was driving the woman in charge of health care in Gabe’s block of apartments crazy as their blood pressures inched up. Fortunately, Lois was no pushover and had come up with this cooking-lesson angle as a way to get the guys to eat healthier meals.

And when she’d mentioned her plan to Nick—in hopes that he’d convince his grandfather, the ringleader, to cooperate—he’d had the happy suggestion that perhaps she’d like to contact Tremont Catering, which was less than a mile away, and see if they could rent their large kitchen for the lessons. It made more sense than trying to squeeze all the participants into the relatively tiny cafeteria kitchen at the facility.

The only downside was that instead of simply renting the kitchen, the Tremonts had insisted on being involved with the lessons. Nick would have preferred to have the place to himself, in order to snoop around while Lois did her thing, but this was definitely better than nothing.

“I’m not going to live forever,” Gabe said, pushing the door shut. Little quail heads appeared out of the juniper. “But while I am alive, I want to eat decent food.”

“That’s what the class is all about. Taking stuff you love and making it healthier.”

“Making it taste like cardboard, you mean. Your grandmother went on a health-food craze once. Let me tell you, that stuff she made with those healthy—” Gabe’s mouth twisted into a disdainful sneer “—recipes was awful. And you know your grandmother was a damned fine cook.”

Nick’s grandparents had divorced long before Nick had been born and Gabe rarely talked about the woman who’d left him. It was interesting that he appreciated what a fine cook she’d been. “Things have changed.” Nick assumed they’d changed, anyway.

He knew nothing about cooking, other than frying up the occasional steak. Everything he ate came from the freezer or a take-out bag.

“I was kind of hoping you’d take the lessons for my sake.”

“Your sake?” Gabe sounded surprised, then his expression shifted. “There’s no possibility that an attractive woman might be teaching these lessons, is there?”

Not that again.

Nick toyed with the idea of simply saying yes, but heaven only knew what his grandfather would do then. Nightmare scenarios shot through his head.

Nick’s wife, Miri, had died more than two years ago in a car accident and Gabe, who’d adored her, had grieved along with Nick. But after a year and a half had passed and Nick had remained buried in his work, with no social life and showing no sign of changing his ways, his grandfather had grown impatient. It was time for Nick to move on, “join the land of the living” as Gabe put it.

Nick was in the land of the living; he’d finally gotten over the raw pain of losing his wife, but he felt no desire whatsoever to try to fill the void she’d left in his life. Yes, the void was dark and unfulfilling, but it didn’t hurt. Why fill it with something that might cause him pain later?

“I want to learn some cooking techniques, Granddad,” he said in an exasperated voice. “Not flirt with the instructor.”

Gabe’s mouth twisted in annoyance. “Take your own damned lessons, then. Leave me out of it.”

“Darn it, Granddad. Stop being so effing stubborn.”

“Effing? In my day, we just came out and said—”

“I’m trying to be polite.”

“Why aren’t you at work?” Gabe suddenly asked.

Nick rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to explain about his tool of a lieutenant or the reason he’d been suspended. For one thing, it was embarrassing. For another, Gabe would want every detail leading up to the suspension, and Nick wasn’t discussing the matter. Nick did not have a short fuse, but he’d been hot with the lieutenant. A little too hot. He honestly had a soft spot for the kid who’d been feeding them information and had then so abruptly disappeared. Wanted to look into the matter instead of having it shoved onto the back burner in favor of easier and more high-profile cases—such as busting drugs near the campus. Maybe they hadn’t made much headway in eight months, but in light of what had happened, pulling them entirely off the case made no sense, either.

“Different assignment, different hours,” he said dismissively. Gabe narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and Nick was suddenly reminded of all the times he’d unsuccessfully tried to pull a fast one on the old guy when he’d been a kid. “Come on, Granddad. Take the lessons. I want you to join, since I know jack about cooking, and I can’t if you don’t.”

“You want to take the lessons? You want to learn to make old-people food?”

“I want to learn to cook something healthy so I don’t end up having a heart attack.”

Gabe scowled at him, then shoved a hand through his thick white hair. “That’s dirty pool.”

“Only two of the guys have signed up, but more will if you do. And I honestly want to go.”

Gabe grunted, setting the birdseed bag down on the small table next to the window. “Sign me the hell up, then. You’re not going to rest until you do.”

“No. I’m not. It’s a win-win.”

Gabe then said the word that Nick had avoided in the name of politeness.



NICK WANTED TO take cooking lessons? Ha. Nick wanted to maneuver his grandfather into doing something he didn’t want to do and wasn’t above using emotional blackmail. Gabe still wasn’t quite sure why he’d let himself get wrangled into these lessons, except that it was obvious Nick had an ulterior motive and Gabe was curious as to what it was. Too bad it wasn’t the one he’d suggested—a cute teacher his grandson wanted to get to know.

Nick had changed since his wife had died. Drawn into himself, which was to be expected under the circumstances, and thrown himself into his work to deal with the grief. But after two years, he was still withdrawn, still totally focused on work and nothing but work, which worried Gabe.

He’d done the same back in his prime, after his wife had left him. And the result had not been good—in fact it had cost him dearly—and now here he was, alone, stuck in an old folks’ home. And he didn’t even have any decent memories to keep him company. The only thing that helped was that he was with some of his own kind. Lenny Hartman, the old son of a bitch, had been in law enforcement down in Vegas, and Paul Meyer had been a firefighter until he retired.

Both men had checked into Candlewood voluntarily, after their wives had passed away, something Gabe would never understand. He’d hung on to his independence until the last possible moment—where it was either Candlewood or Nick moving in with him after the heart attack. Nick had offered. Gabe had declined. His grandson needed to be in a position to get on with his life, and living with a cranky grandfather was not conducive to bringing home a hot woman.

Gabe walked over to his computer and brought up a screen, pleased that he was feeling a lot more comfortable using the contraption. For years he’d put off learning to use one, had allowed himself to be intimidated even though Nick had given him a laptop, until that damned Lois had forced him and the other guys into taking a basic class just a few months ago.

He couldn’t remember seeing a more intimidated group of men than he and his fellow inmates when they’d first settled in front of the computer screens at the community-college technology lab. Lenny’s first official act had been to pour coffee over his keyboard by “accident,” only to find that all the instructor had to do was unplug that keyboard, set it out to dry and plug in another.

After that they decided resistance was futile and discovered, grudgingly, that, yes, a computer could change a guy’s life. Open his world.

Make it seem less like he was in stir.

Gabe sat in his chair—an ergonomic model Nick had given him for Christmas instead of the recliner he really wanted, a blatant effort to get him to learn to use the laptop. He had to admit, though, that he liked the chair and because of it spent more hours on the computer than he had ever expected.

Which was how he knew that Nick didn’t even have a Facebook page. How in the hell was he going to socialize if he didn’t have the gumption to sign up for a social network?

Somehow Gabe had to come up with a way to kick his grandson in the ass and make him get on with his life—to not make the same damned mistakes Gabe had made in the name of professional achievement.

And fear.


CHAPTER TWO

EDEN TOOK A moment to survey her class: seven men of varying shapes and sizes, their ages ranging from sixty to eighty, and two younger guys. One of the latter was tall and thin, with a pale complexion, dark hair and a know-it-all expression. The other, standing next to an elderly man with an almost identical jaw and nose, was taller, broader, and also dark haired. Every now and then he would cut his eye toward the first young guy and frown slightly.

Tall, sturdy Lois, who had first contacted Eden about renting the kitchen, hovered at the periphery, keeping a close eye on her charges. During their initial conversation she had admitted that her own cooking skills were closer to survival level than teaching level, so Eden had offered to help with the class. Two hours a week for six weeks in the slower part of their catering year—March and early April—seemed like a decent way to give back to the community.

Lois had done all the groundwork, polling the men to find out what they wanted to learn, figuring out balanced menus with the help of a nutritionist, strong-arming a few of the guys into coming for their own health and well-being. All Eden had to do was instruct. Making food was empowering, and she enjoyed helping people move from intimidation to enthusiasm in the kitchen. She sensed that with this group, however, she might have her work cut out for her.

Several of the men appeared less than happy to be here, and Lois had told her that some had never fended for themselves before losing their wives. They ate whatever was handy, usually unhealthy fare. As for the younger two…Eden had no idea why they were there. Chaperones, perhaps?

“Shall we get started?” she asked as she walked over to the station where her demonstration was laid out.

Her remark was met by total silence. Finally a short, gnarled guy in a red plaid shirt growled, “What the hell. Why don’t we?”

Hearing Lois inhale deeply behind her, Eden smiled to herself. This guy she liked.



“WE’RE GOING TO begin with eggs,” Eden Tremont said. She was small and blond with cheerleader good looks. All the guys, even Gabe, seemed to be standing a little taller now that she’d started the class. “For some of you,” she said, “this may be new, for others it’s not, but practice never hurt anyone.”

Nick glanced to his left and then gritted his teeth. Again.

What in the hell was Marcus doing here?

Studiously avoiding his eyes, that’s what, which made Nick nervous. Marcus had somehow adopted Lenny, one of Gabe’s closer friends and an ex-cop, and was working at the counter right next to Nick and Gabe.

Eden quickly demonstrated what she wanted the guys to do, then set them loose and started circulating, calling out instructions. Gabe stood staring at his bowl. Nick shifted his weight impatiently, but kept his mouth shut, having learned a long time ago how to handle his grandfather.

“She said whip the eggs until they have some air in them, kid,” Lenny said to Marcus, whose hand was a blur as he beat his eggs with a fork, “not turn them into a foamy mess.”

Gabe exhaled heavily and morosely broke an egg, reaching into the bowl with one of his thick fingers to try and get out a piece of eggshell. He cursed under his breath.

“Gimme another egg,” he said after wiping his hand on a paper towel. Nick handed him another from the carton they were sharing with Lenny and Marcus. As soon as he could get Marcus alone…

“Don’t you want to join in?” Eden Tremont asked from behind him.

He turned. “I, uh, am just here with my granddad.”

“You can still cook.”

“I haven’t paid for the food or anything.”

“I’ll bill you,” Eden said. “I’m billing him.” She jerked her head toward Marcus, who was now ahead of everyone else and pouring his eggs into a pan. They practically exploded on contact.

“Too hot,” Eden said, stepping over to lower the heat under the pan. “Everyone, please make sure your burner is set on low heat.”

“I thought you said you were here to learn to cook, so you wouldn’t have a heart attack like I did,” Gabe said.

“I can learn by watching.”

Eden came back and set a clean skillet on the counter in front of Nick. “Use this pan. Cook some eggs. Make your grandfather happy.”

Gabe gave a soft snort as he started stirring his eggs in the bowl. A few minutes later, he said, “You know, she’s cute.”

“Yeah.”

His grandfather tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. “Aren’t you ever going to start looking again?”

Nick sucked in a breath. It’d been over two years since he’d lost his wife in a car wreck. And no, he hadn’t started looking again. “This isn’t the time to discuss this, Granddad.”

“When is?”

Nick shook his head and reached for an egg. He cracked it on the side of the counter and the whole thing blew up in his hand, splattering yolk on his shirt and pants.

“Good one,” Marcus said.

Nick gave him a shut-up-or-you’ll-be-wearing-an-egg look. The accountant took the hint and went back to his stirring.

“Thin-shelled egg,” Eden Tremont said from behind Nick. “They need to feed the chickens more calcium.”

“Good to know,” he said, glancing down at the yolk spots on his pants. Eden smiled at him and he smiled back, wondering what it would take to get her to trust him.

“The cleanup towels are over there by the sink. Just throw them into that container when you’re done.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

“This is lame,” Gabe said as he poured his eggs into the pan, but Nick noticed he was smiling a little. His grandfather had never been much of a cook.

“Maybe,” Nick said, “but I learned some things about eggs.” Such as milk wasn’t good to use for scrambled eggs. Water was better.

Once they finished cooking, Eden talked about various kinds of bacon—beef, turkey, pork and a soy product she called bacon-oid. The guys got a kick out of that one, but when she offered them a taste they seemed to think it was a reasonable alternative for those who couldn’t eat regular bacon due to the high-fat and sodium content.

Lois had nodded with happy satisfaction during the mini lecture. Indeed, the old guys seemed more prone to listening to a pretty and petite blonde than to a woman who looked as if she could wrestle them into submission if they didn’t eat right.

While Eden was talking, Nick pretended to pay attention as he debated which of those closed door across the room might hold a computer and how he could get at it. There was a computer in the front reception area, but he doubted it was linked to financial accounts. He would check it out, though. When he got the chance. It probably wouldn’t be during cooking lessons, due to the open layout of the place.

Every now and again he caught Marcus shooting small glances his way. Another problem.

Oh, yeah. He and Marcus were going to have a discussion, and soon, because Nick was damned afraid of what the accountant might be up to. Especially after assuring Daphne he was not a dweeb.

As soon as class ended and Lois started the guys toward the bus, Nick said goodbye to his grandfather and sprinted a few feet to intercept Marcus on the way to his car.

“Why are you here?”

His colleague adjusted his glasses and squared his shoulders. “I have my reasons.”

“Why don’t you share them with me?” Nick’s worst nightmare was that Marcus was here on some kind of an I’ll-show-you mission.

“I want to learn to cook.”

“I’m going to count to three....” Nick said.

Marcus’s eyes got wider behind the lenses of his glasses. “All right. I came here thinking that maybe I could ask Eden Tremont out to coffee or something. Get to know her.”

This was his way of manning up? Proving he wasn’t a dweeb? Nick could live with that—he just didn’t know if Eden could.

“I thought I might be able to come up with a way to get at her computers personally, review the information, and save you the trouble of trying to hack in and download,” the accountant added.

Nick’s eyebrows rose. How had Marcus planned to do that? Maybe while Eden was in bed asleep, after an invigorating romp?

His mouth went flat. “I can see, though, that I’m not her type.”

“Yeah?” Nick asked. “How can you see that?”

“Because she was ogling you.”

Nick snorted. Ogling? Somehow he had missed that, and he didn’t miss much. But it had been a while since his woman radar had been up. Two years this past January.

“Therefore,” Marcus said smugly, “the obvious solution is for you to get to know her better. And I can help.”

“Please don’t help,” Nick said instantly.

“Too late.” He gave one of his superior smiles. “I’ve already laid the groundwork.”

“What groundwork?” Nick growled.

Marcus simply smirked and then started for his car without giving an answer, leaving Nick staring after him.

Groundwork… He hadn’t had time to lay any, whatever the hell he had in mind. Nick had been within a few feet of Marcus the entire night, and other than a couple quick conversations with Eden… The guy was delusional.

And a pain. “Hey!” Nick shouted. Marcus turned back. “How’d you hook up with Lenny?”

His colleague shrugged. “I stopped by Candlewood and asked the woman if I could put in some community service hours. Told her I worked for Reno PD, and showed her my credentials.”

“Well…it worked.”

“I know,” Marcus said smugly, before turning back toward his car.



GABE STOOD NEXT to the van, between the vehicle and the sidewalk, not exactly eager to settle himself in one of the uncomfortable seats, and heartily wishing that Lois would hurry up already. But he could see her through the kitchen window, still talking to Eden Tremont, the cute teacher who’d been watching Nick all night. Just as Nick had been watching her.

Gabe felt a stirring of hope. As far as he knew, Nick hadn’t shown any kind of interest in a woman since Miri, and he’d definitely been focused on the teacher tonight.

Gabe smiled a little as he recalled Nick telling him he wasn’t taking the class because of the teacher. Ha. So much for that. This was a good beginning and Gabe was going to see to it that Nick and the teacher got some alone time.

But right now he was tired and wanted to go home.

He resisted the urge to knock on the window to hurry Lois along and instead started up the steps into the van. Once he got into the van and took his seat beside Lenny, he could see that Nick hadn’t left yet. He was on the far side of the parking lot talking to that dark haired guy who’d attached himself to Lenny.

“So who was your little helper?” Gabe asked.

“Damned if I know,” Lenny said, half turning in his seat. He reached up to stroke the edge of his mustache, as if he was a detective solving a case in an old movie. Drove Gabe crazy when he did that. “Marcus somebody. He just showed up and told Lois he wanted to help out.”

“And adopted you.”

“Guess he knew talent when he saw it.”

Gabe snorted.

“You know what I think?” Lenny asked in his gravelly voice.

“No way of knowing,” Gabe replied sharply.

One last stroke of the mustache. “I think he’s hot on the teacher. Couldn’t take his eyes offa her. Probably doing this to get to know her better.” Lenny smiled. “Clever.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Gabe muttered. “That’s not clever. It’s so obvious that…well…it’s just obvious.”

“Nick was watching her, too.”

Gabe sucked a short breath in between his teeth. He didn’t want his grandson to be as obvious as that Marcus kid.

“You’d have to be blind not to watch her,” Gabe said. “In case you didn’t notice, she’s an eyeful.” And exactly what his Nick needed to ease back into life—a spunky, beautiful girl, who knew how to cook.

Even though he thought Nick had a much better shot at catching her eye than Marcus did, he was now feeling a whole lot better about setting things up so that the two of them had a chance to talk again—without eight other guys and hawkeyed Lois there to watch them.



“YOU WERE WONDERFUL with them,” Lois said after the last guy had taken off his apron and headed out to the Candlewood van. As near as Eden could tell after two meetings, Lois didn’t smile much, but she was smiling now. “I think this program could really take off.”

Eden’s eyes must have gone wide because Lois quickly added, “No, we won’t take advantage of you. But this could be just what we need to talk the shareholders into building a decent-size cafeteria on the premises.” She reached out and patted Eden on the shoulder. “I’ll be in contact about next week’s meal.”

Eden went with her to the door, pausing at the window to watch Nick walking back toward his black SUV, while Marcus got into his sports car. Odd pair. Marcus had chatted her up while he’d cooked his second pan of eggs, explaining that he was an accounts analyst and that his friend Nick was in home security. Both of them worked long hours and this was a great opportunity to spend time with their elderly relatives.

It had been a lot of information crammed into a very short conversation.

And now Marcus didn’t seem to be getting along too well with his friend. Obviously they’d had a discussion, and not a happy one from the look on Nick’s face. He glanced up as he approached his vehicle, and his eyes met hers through the glass. There was a frozen moment of connection before he looked away and opened the car door, his expression taut. Businesslike.

Feeling oddly unsettled, she turned as he got in his SUV, and went to finish closing down the kitchen.



“IT’S GOING TO be a surprise!” Tina Ballard said, leaning on the counter in the Tremont kitchen reception area, her gold bracelets rattling on the granite surface. Her younger son, Jed, stood behind her, jangling his car keys and generally looking bored as only a teenage kid could.

Eden jotted down the word surprise and drew a circle around it. Tina beamed. She was trim and tanned from playing tennis, her dark hair perfectly cut. “His birthday is on the fifteenth. It’s a Tuesday, so that should really make it a surprise. Who has a party on a Tuesday?”

In addition to cooking for the Ballards every week, Eden had catered many of their parties, but never on a Tuesday. “Not many people do that,” she agreed.

Jed rolled his eyes. The Ballard boys were just a touch spoiled. Their father worked as entertainment director of several hotels in the Cassandra chain, including the Tahoe Summit. He pulled in one heck of a salary, but he’d always been down-to-earth and personable. As was Tina.

“I’ll work up some menus and be in contact,” Eden said.

“Good.” Her client patted the counter. “Oh, I heard that Justin finally got the Firebird going.”

“Yes, he did,” Eden said. And she hated it, because he drove too fast.

“Michael will be pleased. He only sold it to Justin because of you, you know.”

Eden smiled. “I thought it was because of all that begging.”

“That, too.”

Jed gave a small cough and Tina straightened up from the counter. “We’d best be going. I know you’ll do a spectacular job with this.”

“I will,” Eden agreed, as her best customer waved and disappeared out the door.

Good money, good times, but surprise parties were a pain.

She went back into the kitchen, where Patty was running a basin of warm water to wash the counters down after a full day of making chicken potpies.

“I thought Justin would be in by now,” Patty said.

“Double shift at the Tahoe Summit,” Eden told her. Again.

“He does too much,” Patty said. Eden didn’t answer, since the prep cook said that at least four or five times a day, but she did glance at the clock. It was later than she’d thought.

“Oh, man, I’ve got to hurry. I told Reggie I’d be at their place at seven.” It was her babysitting night, an evening she looked forward to, since she couldn’t quite get enough of her new niece, Rosemary Eden Gerard. Tom, Reggie’s husband, put in long hours renovating the house he was going to use as the site of his new restaurant, and he insisted that they get one night out a week.

“You know I don’t mind finishing up here,” Patty said briskly. “I like cleaning at the end of the day.”

“Thanks.” Eden didn’t hesitate in accepting her offer. Patty did like cleaning up, finishing up, locking up. Being indispensable. And in a way, Eden felt sorry for her. Other than at Tremont, she didn’t seem to be indispensable to anyone.

Eden hung up her apron, thanked Patty again, who waved her off, then rushed out the front door to the lot. And stopped dead when she saw the envelope stuck under her car’s windshield wiper.

Drawing in a breath, she yanked out the heavy envelope. Cream colored and expensive—no doubt who had left it there.

Eden dropped the envelope on the ground and got into her car. She’d pick it up and throw it away some other time. But right now, even though she couldn’t see his car parked anywhere, she had a strong suspicion that Ian was watching, waiting to see her reaction to whatever he’d written.

He wouldn’t be getting a reaction from her because she wasn’t going to allow him to engage her. She jammed the key into the ignition and started the engine, letting it run for a few seconds before she put it into gear and backed out of the parking spot.

She noted with a touch of satisfaction that she’d run straight over the envelope, leaving a nice dirty tire mark on the pristine cream paper.



“IT’S OPEN,” TOM GERARD called when Eden knocked on the back door of her sister’s house. Brioche, her brother-in-law’s part-Yorkie dog, raced across the kitchen to greet Eden, nearly sliding out the door as she skidded to a stop on the tile floor.

“Hey, Bree,” Eden said, leaning down to ruffle the hair of the little terrier’s head. The dog grinned at her and danced on its hind feet. Mims, Reggie’s fat cat, watched disdainfully from the kitchen door, but Eden knew that before the evening was over, cat and dog would be snuggled together in one bed.

“Thanks for coming,” Tom said, handing Eden the baby and then gently prying tiny fingers off his slate-blue silk tie. Rosemary’s lower lip jutted out as she lost possession of her new find, so Tom made a silly blowing noise at her stomach. The baby gave a huge gummy grin and waved both hands. Tom laughed.

“New trick,” he said to Eden with a crooked smile. “There’s a bottle in the fridge ready to go. Just heat and serve in about an hour, and she should go down.”

Not if Eden had anything to do with it. The baby might go to sleep, but she’d be in Aunt Eden’s arms in the rocker while they overdosed on classic movies.

“I need to hurry my wife along so that we can eat and be back before Reggie falls asleep.”

“I swear she’s pregnant again,” Eden said.

“Not likely.” But he didn’t look displeased by the idea. “And she’s not throwing up.”

“It’s probably a boy. Different chemistry involved.”

Reggie came out then, her dark hair swept up. She was wearing an emerald-green dress that made her look cool and elegant, exactly the opposite of how Eden felt nine-tenths of the time. Somehow blond and short did not translate into cool and elegant. She might have felt on the edge of sophisticated at Reggie’s wedding, and maybe at one or two of her proms—not the one where she fell in the fountain, thanks to her brother—but in general she had to settle for being the perky Tremont.

Perky.

She hated that word.

“You look great,” Eden said, transferring the baby to her shoulder, in case Reggie had any ideas about relieving her of her burden.

“Thanks.” Reggie came around behind her to kiss the top of her daughter’s head. “We won’t be long. I got the payroll done. Don’t let me forget to give you the checks.”

“They’re on the dining-room table,” Tom said, helping his wife into her coat.

“How’re things at the kitchen?” Reggie asked as Tom firmly shepherded her to the door.

“All caught up.” Barely. Eden patted the baby’s back. “You know we’ll call you guys if we get into the juice, and in the meantime you can stop worrying, stay home and enjoy motherhood.”

Which was exactly what Reggie was doing. She’d promised to take six months off, coming back in May when the wedding season started gearing up, and to everyone’s surprise she’d kept her word.

The baby hiccupped and Eden wondered what the back of her sweatshirt looked like. Cute as they were, babies seemed to make a full-time career out of emitting fluids.

“You’re fine,” Reggie said, reading her mind. “See you—” Her words turned into a laugh as Tom propelled her out the door.

“Later,” he finished before firmly closing it.

“Just you and me and the menagerie, kid,” Eden said as she crossed the room to the rocker recliner, with the dog and cat trailing close behind. Brioche curled up with her chin on Eden’s shoes and Mims jumped onto the nearby sofa to keep an eye on things.

For a few minutes Eden simply sat and rocked the baby. It had been a long day. All her days were long, so that wasn’t anything new, but ending it with an unread and unwanted note from Ian was.

Crap.

She should have read it. Maybe she’d stop by on her way home and pick it up from the parking lot, see what he had to say.

Or maybe she should just leave matters alone. She was better off not knowing what he’d written. Then it wouldn’t weigh on her mind. She wouldn’t have to think of how to handle matters.

But she wouldn’t be prepared, either. And perhaps it was simply a goodbye. If so, she wanted to know that she could stop worrying about him pestering her to give him a second chance.

Okay…she’d stop and get the note. Even though it was going to ruin her night.

Eden rubbed Rosemary’s back, drawing in the wonderful fresh baby scent as she cuddled her niece close. Hard to think about anything bad in the world when holding a soft, warm baby. Since it was probably going to be a number of years before she had one of her own, Eden shoved all the rotten Ian-related thoughts out of her mind and focused on what was in the here and now.



ROSEMARY WAS ASLEEP in Eden’s arms when Reggie and Tom returned home at nine o’clock, and Reggie did indeed look as if she was ready to conk out. Eden gave Tom an I-told-you-so look before she passed the baby to him. He winked at her and in turn handed the baby to Reggie, who barely managed to say, “Thanks so much for sitting,” before she yawned.

“Same time next week?” Eden asked as Reggie came back out from the baby’s room. Her sister glanced at Tom, who nodded.

“We may not be going out for a while.”

Because you’re pregnant and nauseous?

“Lowell has asked me to help with his restaurant for a month. It’ll pay off a big chunk of the renovation bill for my place.”

Ah, yes. Lowell, Tom’s best friend in the culinary world. Eden had never quite known what to make of the brash Scot, but he had a solid reputation as a chef and restaurateur. “So…you’re going to France?”

“For four weeks…while Lowell deals with some personal issues.”

“Is his wife divorcing him again?” Eden asked.

Tom simply shook his head and Eden decided not to ask for details.

“As soon as we get back, I’m coming to work at Tremont,” Reggie said. “Part time. But this seems a good way to finish up my time off.”

“When do you leave?” Eden would miss her sister. And the baby. But this was a spectacular opportunity. Especially for Tom, who was still trying to reestablish himself in the cooking world after a few missteps the previous year.

“A week and a half.”

“Short notice,” Eden commented.

“Lowell is kind of that way,” her brother-in-law stated.

Eden had met his giant friend, a mercurial bear of a man, and had to agree. Lowell was impulsive.

Tom put his arm around Reggie’s shoulders. “Once I open my restaurant, it’ll be damned hard to get away.”

“You don’t have to explain to me,” Eden said. “I agree that it’s a great opportunity.” Her mouth quirked up at one corner. “But could you maybe leave Rosemary here with me?”

The couple looked at one another and then back at her.

Reggie simply shook her head. “Uh…no.”

Eden left the house smiling, happy for her sister and brother-in-law. The dog and cat would stay with Tom’s former neighbors, Frank and Bernie, who would be able to give them tons more attention than Eden or Justin.

Life was going well for Reggie, and was the usual blur for Justin. As for her…well, she had an ex who was showing signs of getting out of control, and she was going to do something about it.



THE ENVELOPE WAS gone. Eden had fully expected to find it right where she’d run over it. What were the chances that some passerby had seen it and picked it up, perhaps hoping there was money inside?

Or had Ian come back and retrieved it, tire mark and all? That hypothesis was rather satisfying.

Of course now Eden wanted to read it more than anything. After searching the bushes, in case a gust of wind had blown it out of the lot, she got into her car and headed for her house, two miles away.

Eden pulled into her driveway and parked. Her house was so small that the garage was the only storage space she had, so that was where Christmas was stored, as well as her seasonal clothing and all the hobbies she’d started and meant to take up again, but hadn’t because she didn’t have the time. Plus, she had all Justin’s sports gear in there. Definitely no room for a car.

She pulled the keys out of the ignition and was about to get out when the motion-sensor light at the side of the house came on, startling her. Two neighborhood cats, the sensor culprits, came strolling out to the front, their eyes reflecting greenish-yellow as they stopped to stare at her. Her house seemed to be located on some neighborhood migration path. The light came on at least once or twice every evening, and within two weeks of moving into the place, Eden had stopped looking out the window to see what had triggered it, because it was always the same—cats.

Although, she thought on her way to her front door, this was a classic horror-story setup. Complacent heroine, evil marauding terror. Zombies, perhaps. She fitted the key into the door and turned it. Maybe she should just take a quick peek out the window every now and then to see who or what was passing by.

Or maybe she should stop letting the envelope get to her.

But what if Ian hadn’t put it there?


CHAPTER THREE

“THERE ARE three computers,” Nick said. “Two in the back office and the other in the entry area before you go into the kitchen. There’s a file cabinet in the office—”

“Oh, shit.” Daphne let her head fall forward, her forehead hitting the bar with an audible thunk that made the whiskey in Nick’s glass bounce. “He’s here,” she said without moving. “I should never have told him to man up. Now he’s hell-bent on proving to me that he is.”

No doubt whom she meant.

Nick understood why Marcus had a thing for Daphne. A lot of the guys did. She had a killer body, long black, wavy hair and a damn fine face. Plus, she could outshoot most guys in the department. But she wasn’t going to hook up with Marcus, and it would be a hell of a lot easier on everyone in the immediate vicinity if he’d accept this.

“Hey.” Marcus pulled up a stool on the other side of Daphne. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked, as she raised her head and pushed the hair back from her face impatiently.

“I was.”

“Why are you here?” Nick inquired, before Daphne could skewer the guy.

“I saw your truck outside.” Marcus raised his hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Corona, please. With a lime.”

“Are you sure you don’t want one of those sixty-four-calorie light beers?” Daphne asked politely.

“What does that mean?” Marcus looked down at his flat stomach, as if wondering if she was suggesting he was fat. Not fat. Just a wiener, but Nick hoped she didn’t tell him that. Not when they needed his assistance—although he did seem totally impervious to insult.

“We were kind of having a private conversation,” Nick said.

“Oh. Well I didn’t mean to butt in.” Marcus’s voice was clipped. “I just thought we were kind of a team.”

“We are a team,” Nick said wearily. They needed him, as annoying as he was. “So why don’t you tell me about this groundwork you’ve laid.”

Daphne took a drink of her beer and a few drops fell onto the front of her blouse. As she brushed them away, Marcus’s eyes followed the movement like a tracking beam.

“What groundwork?” he asked, glancing away from her chest.

“You said at the cooking lesson that you’d laid groundwork,” Nick reminded him.

“I hope to lay some groundwork,” Marcus corrected.

That wasn’t what he’d said, but Nick wasn’t going to argue fine points. He laid a palm on the bar and leaned closer to the accountant. “I do not need help with the getting into Tremont Catering part. I need help with the files after I get them. That is your job.”

Marcus smirked. “You aren’t the only one who can indulge in covert operations.”

Covert operations? Daphne frowned at Nick, who rolled his eyes skyward. It beat choking their teammate.

“Look,” she said, turning her attention back to Marcus, “we all have our jobs. Yours is behind a desk, and that’s fine. When I told you to man up, apparently you got the wrong idea.”

“No, sister,” Marcus said, pointing a finger at her. “You’ve got the wrong idea. About me.” “You’re an accountant,” Daphne said patiently. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Do not patronize me,” Marcus snapped. He sucked in a long breath that made him look as if he were going to explode. But instead of launching into another verbal assault, he exhaled sharply and headed toward the door.

“Hey,” the bartender called. “Want your beer?”

Marcus stopped and fumbled for his wallet.

“I’ll get it,” Nick said.

“You can just go to hell.” Marcus flipped a five onto the bar and then jammed his wallet back into his rear pocket before walking out.

“He’s off his rocker,” Daphne said when the door shut behind him and the other patrons turned their attention back to their drinks.

“But he’s part of the team,” Nick said darkly, picking up his beer again. “And he’d better not screw up my investigation by going rogue.”



GABE WAS COOKING eggs when Nick stopped by to see him on Sunday afternoon as usual.

“Want some?” he asked, holding up the pan. He had a towel tucked into the front of his baggy slacks as a makeshift apron, making him look very much as if he knew what he was doing.

“No,” Nick said, noticing that there wasn’t enough to share. “I just ate. You go ahead.”

Gabe slipped the eggs onto a plate and sat at his small table, the towel still in place. Nick sat opposite him.

“So you got something out of the lessons,” Nick said with a touch of I-told-you-so in his voice.

“Yeah and so did you.”

“Meaning?”

Gabe snorted. “You can continue to deny it, but you were watching the teacher.”

Nick’s mouth tightened. He hadn’t been looking at Eden for the reasons his grandfather seemed to think he was.

Besides, his granddad wasn’t around him enough to know whether or not he was looking at women. He’d looked. A few times. But he hadn’t felt ready to act.

“You don’t need to feel shifty about it,” Gabe said. “It’s been two years since Miri passed away.” During which time Nick had buried himself in his work.

“I don’t feel shifty about it.” Well, maybe he did, but not for the reasons Gabe thought.

His grandfather shoveled eggs into his mouth, then reached for the salt. Nick put his hand on the shaker first. “Remember what Lois says.”

“Screw Lois.” But Gabe abandoned his attempt to raise his blood pressure. “Hey, they’re planning the casino night. It’s on the fifteenth.”

“I’ll mark it on my calendar.” Nick had been to every one of the semiannual casino nights since Gabe had taken up residence in Candlewood. Family came and participated, and Nick was the only family Gabe had in town, since his son and wife, Nick’s parents, now lived in Las Vegas.

Gabe smiled in a predatory way. He loved to gamble. “I’m going to clean up, you know. Buy a new recliner.”

“You have enough money to buy a recliner now.”

“But it’s more fun to win the money gambling.” He cut his eyes sideways. “Which brings me to another issue.”

Nick raised his eyebrows. “An issue?”

“Yeah. My wallet disappeared. At the cooking lesson, I think.”

Nick stared at the old man for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. “This isn’t a ploy to get me talking to Eden Tremont, is it?”

“Hell, no. If you don’t have the balls to talk to her without an excuse—”

Nick raised his hand, interrupting. “Sorry. It’s just that…” I don’t believe you, you old coot. “I’ll see what I can do about your wallet. Did you have any cash in it?”

“A few bucks.”

“Credit cards?”

“Keep ’em in the strongbox.”

“ID?” His grandfather was no longer allowed to drive, and hated having an official ID card instead of a license.

“Strongbox.”

“Then all you lost was a couple bucks.”

“And the wallet, which I wouldn’t mind getting back. You see, my grandson gave it to me as a present.”



JUSTIN WAS ALREADY busy in the pastry room when Eden got to work the next morning. Patty would be late due to an appointment, so Eden started prepping for a brunch the following afternoon instead of making phone calls to purveyors and clients as usual. She got a good hour of work in before she finally abandoned her veggies and went back into the pastry area, where Justin was applying a base icing. “Hey, uh…”

He looked up. “What?”

“I found an envelope on my windshield last night when I left around six o’clock.”

“Just an envelope?” her brother asked patiently. “Or was there something in it?”

“I don’t know what was in it. I figured it was from Ian, and I dropped it on the ground, because I was really hoping he was watching me. Then curiosity got the better of me and I came back after babysitting Rosemary, and it was gone.”

Justin shifted his weight, holding the spatula in his hand in a way that made Eden think he could defend himself with it. “Has Ian been bothering you?”

“Haven’t seen him in over a week.”

“If he does…”

Yeah. Right. She was going to have Justin deal with Ian for her. Mmm-hmm. “I’ll let you know,” she said. It wasn’t as if her ex-boyfriend was dangerous. He was just hardheaded and hated to lose. He was determined to convince Eden the guest-bedroom grope had been a one-time thing, a fluke. Eden wasn’t buying it and didn’t like being lied to.

“I’m serious,” Justin called after her as she left the pastry cave.

“I know. And thank you,” she called back. But she did feel better knowing she had someone who’d watch out for her.

She went back to work prepping the veggies when the buzzer on the front door rang. Wiping her hands on a towel, she walked into the reception area, stopping in the doorway when she saw who was there. One tall, broad-shouldered, dark haired cooking student.

“Nick?”

“Hi.” He looked almost embarrassed as he said, “I was wondering…my granddad lost his wallet. I’m checking all the places he’s been. Which aren’t too many.”

“Black elk skin?” Eden asked as she reached beneath the counter and pulled out the wallet Patty had found tucked in a drawer that morning.

He nodded. “That’s the one.”

“Your grandfather lost his wallet in a drawer.”

Nick let out a long breath. “No doubt.” He fixed her with sea-green eyes and said, “Just to give you a heads-up…I think my grandfather did this on purpose so that I would come down here and talk to you.”

Eden laughed. “Enterprising.”

His smile was slow and charming, although she didn’t think he meant it to be.

“Are we the victims of geriatric matchmaking?” she asked, realizing that in spite of the Ian debacle, she didn’t mind. In fact, Nick Duncan was kind of a nice distraction.

He cleared his throat. “I think so.”

“What shall we do about that?” she asked innocently.

“Anything we can not to encourage him.”

Eden took a moment to process his answer, and decided that he wasn’t being insulting. No, he had nothing against her—he was trying to keep his grandfather in line. “Not in the dating market?”

“It’s not that, it’s just…”

“Hey,” she said. “None of my business.” Nick was interesting and she’d play this by ear. But there was something he could help her with. She tilted her head slightly and asked, “Would you mind giving me some security advice?”




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jeannie-watt/undercover-cook/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.