Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021

by Anna J. Stewart

  “Always happy to speak with one of my customers.” She motioned for him to take his seat, then slid in between him and the empty stool beside him. Resting her arm on the edge of the bar, she gave him her full attention. “I see you chose the calamari. Did you enjoy it?”

  “I haven’t had better since I was in San Francisco,” he said, his eyes twinkling with something akin to mischief. No doubt he was well aware of the effect he had on women. Or, Tatum thought, her specifically. “I appreciate the service and the experience.”

  “That’s what we are here for.” Pride had her steeling her shoulders. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Medina?”

  “There is.” He wiped his mouth, pushed his empty plate away and reached into his back pocket. When he flipped open his wallet, Tatum found herself looking down at a shiny gold badge. Her heart did an odd ka-thump in her chest as the breath left her lungs. “It’s Detective Medina, actually. I’m here to ask you about the drugs being run through your restaurant.”

  CHAPTER 2

  It would forever remain a mystery, Tatum would later think as she closed herself in her kitchen office after closing, how she’d made it through the rest of her shift. Her anger threatened to bubble over, and the ringing in her ears even now grew louder as she paced the upstairs space she used as a refuge.

  She tried to lose herself in the faint, cacophonous, almost frenetic noise of the nightly cleanup echoing up the staircase. The dishes being washed, pots and pans being run through the industrial fast-working washer. Tables being pre-set for their next open night’s service. The down-to-business but still good-natured ribbing that ricocheted through the kitchen. She looked down through the wall of windows that gave her an eagle-eye view of her pride and joy and, for a moment, felt as if she was about to lose everything.

  While she might not sleep at True, it was her home. Her center. The people who worked here were her family. She loved them. More important, she trusted them.

  The idea anyone would come into her home slinging accusations, accusing people she cared about of...drug trafficking?

  “It’s absolutely ridiculous.” She grabbed the rubber stress ball her sister Simone had given her and smacked it off the desk, sending it soaring across the room. There was a short rap on the door before Susan poked her head in.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, fine,” Tatum lied before she centered herself. She couldn’t let one completely unfounded allegation throw her. Yet. Her future demeanor would depend on the conversation she planned to have with the good detective now that the doors were closed. “Just needed a couple of minutes of relative quiet.”

  “Hmm.” Susan’s eyebrow arched in that lie detector way she had. “I’m thinking something else drove you in here. Is he about six feet, has devastating eyes and looks like he should be sipping tequila on the Riviera?”

  Tatum turned her back and removed her chef’s jacket, tossed it onto her chair with her purse, then unclipped her hair. “He’s definitely made an impression,” she managed, barely keeping her temper in check. “You ready to take off?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got the day’s printouts and cash bundled up. You want to take them or should I leave them for Richard for tomorrow?” She held out the bank bag she’d filled from the two in-house registers. Normally she’d let Richard Kirkman, her manager, deal with it. He took Sundays off and did all the “office” work on Mondays, when they were closed to customers.

  “I’ll take them with me.” Something told her she wasn’t going to be sleeping much tonight. And not because of anything Susan might be thinking.

  “Okay, then, I’ll be heading out.” Susan gave her a quick if not confused smile.

  “Hey, Susan?”

  “Yeah?”

  Choosing her words carefully, Tatum walked around and leaned back on the edge of her desk, her arms crossed. “I’m a pretty good judge of people, right?”

  “Well, you plucked me right out of business school graduation, so I’d say yes.” Susan’s gentle laugh almost made Tatum smile. Almost. “Sorry. I would say yes. You’re an excellent judge. The people you’ve hired, we all fit. And believe me, that’s not an easy thing to do in any business, let alone a restaurant.”

  Susan’s answer should have been a relief. “So there’s no one you’d say doesn’t work right or seems...out of place.”

  Susan frowned, stepped back inside and closed the door. “No one I can think of. Why? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” Tatum rubbed a hand across the back of her neck. “Maybe nothing. Just...do me a favor and let me know if anything looks, sounds or feels...” She waved her hand in the air, struggling for the right word.

  “Hinky?” Susan supplied.

  “Yeah, hinky.”

  “All right. Well, to be honest, my boss is currently sounding like something’s bothering her, and it sounds like she both does and doesn’t want to talk about it.” Susan inclined her head. “That’s a bit hinky.”

  Tatum couldn’t help it. She laughed, and the pressure that released in her chest allowed her to breathe for the first time in hours. “That might just be exactly what I needed to hear.”

  Another knock on the door had Tatum standing up straight once more. “Yes?”

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Detective Medina leaned in, looked between the two of them, his dark-eyed gaze completely unreadable. “You said to come up once you closed.”

  “Come on in.” She waved him in, moved around him and shooed Susan toward the door.

  “You know you’re going to have to tell me everything, right?” Susan mock-whispered.

  “Go home, Susan.” It was all Tatum could do not to roll her eyes. “Enjoy the day off.”

  “Right.” Susan leaned back, craned her neck and grinned over Tatum toward Detective Medina. “It was nice to kind of meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Susan.”

  Tatum glared at him as he took her spot, propped himself against the edge of her desk and stretched out his legs. He looked, she thought, like a cat who had finished off the last bowl of cream.

  “He knows my name,” Susan whispered with a grin before Tatum shoved her the rest of the way out the door and closed it.

  When she was certain privacy was in place, she swung on Detective Medina, hands planted on her hips, the anger burning a hole in her chest. “What the hell do you mean coming into my restaurant and accusing me of being a drug dealer?”

  He barely moved. The only indication he gave he’d even heard her was a twitch of those lips that not so long ago she’d had serious fantasies about. When he spoke, she could tell it was with deliberate care, which only scraped on her frayed nerves. “I didn’t accuse you of any such thing,” he said finally. “I do, however, think True is being used as part of a drug distribution chain in the city.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she snapped. “What on earth led you to that conclusion?”

  “Six months of investigation.” He sounded so casual, as if they weren’t talking about something that could destroy her life. “I’ve got players in this from all over the city, including the restaurant business, and funnily enough, a lot of the paths I’ve followed lead right through your doors.”

  “Who are these players? I want names. If I’ve got criminals working for me—”

  “You have two ex-cons on the payroll, actually.” He inclined his head as if imparting information she didn’t already know. “Sam Price and Ty Collins.”

  “Three,” she added with a smirk. “You missed Bobby Quallis. All three were nonviolent offenders, and all three have served their time and fulfilled their probation obligations. They also attended culinary training at community colleges and haven’t been in trouble since.” She’d wanted to be able to give back to the community in some way, to offer her employees chances other businesses might not. “I’
d stand up for any one of them.”

  “Noted.” He shrugged. “You’re the trusting sort. Good to know.”

  “I know people,” Tatum said. “More important, I like them. Well, most of them. You certainly aren’t on the top of my list right now. What actual evidence do you have that True is involved in whatever case you’re investigating?”

  For the first time since she’d seen him in the bar, she saw him tense. Not a lot. Just enough to let her know she’d hit some kind of target.

  “Actually, it’s evidence I’m hoping to find. Right now all I have is a hunch.”

  Relief surged through her and had her shoulders sagging. “A hunch.” The word tasted like cheap vinegar on her tongue. “I’ve been breathing fire for the past three hours because you have a hunch?”

  He held up his hands as if she were going to attack. “Hunch is maybe the wrong word. I have very good intuition about these things and my gut is telling me there’s something here. Not necessarily with you.”

  “You mean I’m not a drug dealer?” She pressed a hand against her heart and sighed dramatically. “Oh, that’s such a relief.” She stalked around the desk and dropped into her chair. He stood, but slowly, so that she got a very up-close-and-personal look at his very fine butt. Irritation sizzled through her veins. She pursed her lips and shoved her mind back on track. “You can take your hunch and your intuition and everything else you brought with you and get lost.”

  He sat in the one empty chair across from her, the entertained expression fading from his face. “I can’t do that, Ms. Colton.”

  “Why not?” She should have poured herself a glass of wine before she’d come in here. Hell, she should have grabbed a whole bottle.

  “Because.” He waited until she looked him full in the eyes again. “My hunches are never wrong. True is being used in the distribution of narcotics in and around Chicago. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe that. I also wouldn’t be talking to you about it if I thought you were personally involved. We’d be discussing it down at the station with you under caution.”

  “Down at the station.” Tatum rested her elbows on the desk and lowered her head into her hands. “Suddenly I’m in an episode of Law and Order.” He didn’t laugh. He didn’t respond. And when she met his gaze again, she felt her stomach pitch at the sympathy she found on his handsome face. “What do you want from me? Access to my books? Employee files? Phone records?” She could hear their family attorney screaming in protest. “You can question my employees, but I won’t hold it against them if they request a lawyer.”

  “Since you’re offering, I’ll say yes to all of that. But that isn’t why I’m here.” He leaned forward, clasped his hands between his knees and offered a smile that had her heart skidding to a halt. “I want you to give me a job.”

  * * *

  Cruz had to give Tatum Colton credit. He’d thrown a lot at her in a short amount of time and she’d taken each hit like she was wearing a bulletproof vest. Every bit of information struck home and had no doubt stung and even bruised her, but she’d barely flinched.

  And that, Cruz thought as he watched her process his request, told him more about her than the dozens of media and news features he’d read about her. He knew the stats—her birthday, her very single marital status, and where she lived. He also knew after his first glimpse that she was a knockout—from that rich honey-blond hair to those stunning, sparkling blue eyes of hers, down her very fit figure to the tips of her cushioned, black-sneakered feet. The definition in her arms, along with the sweat-kissed tendrils of hair surrounding her face, told him she wasn’t just the pretty public face of the restaurant: she was the constantly humming engine behind it. But from the way she absorbed the information he shot at her, the play of tense emotions that first dulled then sharpened that pinpoint gaze of hers, he knew his gut instinct was right.

  Tatum Colton wasn’t a drug trafficker. She wasn’t a criminal.

  What she could be was useful.

  His request for a job wasn’t completely impulsive. It was an option he and his lieutenant had discussed as a possibility. Not the first option of course, but that would have only happened if Tatum had somehow collapsed immediately and confessed.

  Cruz watched Tatum blink her way through his words as if spitting out Morse code. He’d been a cop long enough he could have a second career as a lie detector. He’d bet his future pension she had no involvement in the drug activity he was convinced was being conducted through True. No one, not even Academy Award winners, could act so convincingly. He didn’t pick up on nerves or guilt. But he definitely felt a surge of anger shimmering through the air.

  He also felt a spark of attraction. One big enough to set this whole building on fire. But that wouldn’t get him anywhere but in a whole lot of trouble.

  “Would you excuse me for a moment? I’ll be right back.” Tatum pushed out of her chair and headed for the door. He winced as she gave the knob a particularly nasty twist before stepping out. He heard every single foot-pounding step she took downstairs, then a few minutes later, every single stomp back up. She stormed back in and, as her hands were now full with a bottle and two of those pristine cut-crystal glasses, kicked the door shut behind her.

  She sat again, all but ripped the cap off the bottle and poured two healthy portions before pushing one toward him. She tossed back a shot and slammed her empty glass on her desk, arching a perfect brow at him. “Are you joining me?”

  He felt his lips twitch as he reached for the glass, followed suit and downed what he now realized was one of the smoothest aged tequilas he’d ever ingested. Cruz grabbed the bottle, nearly balking at the label that would have set him back a good couple of weeks’ pay. “Well, hell.” He sat back, enjoying the burn as the alcohol made its way down. She reached for the bottle. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She poured again, a bit more generously this time, but he covered his glass with his hand, shook his head.

  “I have to admit,” Cruz said with more amusement than the situation called for. “This wasn’t exactly the reaction I expected.”

  “I’m a constant surprise to people.” She toasted him, then tossed the second drink back, poured a third. This time when she looked back at him, her eyes were swimming with tears, but she blinked them away and let the anger shine through. “Tell me something.” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “Is this theory of yours about drugs being run through my restaurant common knowledge among your fellow cops or is this something you’re sharing with me first as a courtesy?”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s common knowledge,” Cruz said. “My lieutenant is aware, as are a few other detectives in my squad. Why?”

  “Why?” She blinked again. “Because the second word gets out you’re investigating True, everything I’ve worked for will disappear. Even just the hint of illegalities will shut the doors to this place faster than I can toss a pizza. I might never get them open again.”

  Cruz knew he should have felt like squirming under that heated, penetrating gaze of hers, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He had a job to do. An important one. Stopping the flow of drugs into the city had been his sole focus from the time he joined the department seven years ago. He wasn’t going to back off now because his investigation might inconvenience a few business owners here and there. He’d promised his partner. His brother-in-arms. A brother whose life would never be the same again. And Cruz never, ever gave up on a promise. “Hurting your business is not my intention.”

  “Intention or not...” She capped the bottle and sat back in her chair, filled glass clasped between her hands, and looking, Cruz had to admit, a bit more relaxed and even sexier than before. “That’s what’s going to happen.”

  “Look.” Cruz, not known for his diplomacy, found himself choosing his words carefully. “Contrary to how this looks, I’ve approached you quietly. Off the radar. Because my g
ut is telling me this is where I’m supposed to be. I’m good at my job, Ms. Colton. Very good at it. Part of the reason I am is that I don’t let anything stand in my way. We could have done this officially, called you into the station house for questioning, asked to see your books, your records, your employee files...” He held up his hands when she opened her mouth to speak. “All of which you just offered me free and clear. But I didn’t do all that. I’d like to do this clean, where it would cause you and your business the least amount of damage and publicity.” It wasn’t a lie.

  But it also wasn’t the truth.

  She considered him with a narrowed gaze. “What if I say no?”

  “No to what?”

  “No to giving you a job.” She rested her cheek in her palm and looked at him, not with the resentment and anger he’d seen before, but with a barely shrouded gaze of desperation. “No to cooperating with you. What if I tell you to conduct your investigation as you have been? From outside. And before you answer, remember you haven’t shown me anything to prove anyone here is involved with the drug trade. All you’ve done is tell me who you are and that my business is a front for drugs. Why should I believe you?”

  “I don’t think it’s a front,” Cruz said. “I have no doubt your business is exactly what you mean for it to be. A successful, neighborhood-rejuvenating restaurant that serves some pretty incredible food.” Once again, he found himself pulling back from his normal bulldozing ways. He needed an in. He needed more evidence to convince his lieutenant he was on the right track. He didn’t have nearly enough for warrants, court orders or even surveillance. Which meant he needed to find another tactic.

  And from what he could tell, the best way in was through Tatum Colton.

  “Someone is using your business, Ms. Colton. Someone is using what you built to bolster their own criminal enterprise. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but those are the facts.”