Undercover Cook

by Jeannie Watt

  Nick wondered where else he might have an in. He was driving one hell of a car and spent almost half his working life at a place with known drug ties.

  “It should only be for another week or two.” She adjusted her kimono, closing the V a little more. “I see you’ve recovered from your security installation,” she said, her gaze zeroing in on his fingers.

  Nick glanced down at his hands. This was the first day he hadn’t worn a bandage.

  She was smiling at him over the top of her beer bottle. Laughing at him, really. And, in a way, challenging him.

  “Let me see your hands.”

  “Why?” she asked, startled.

  Nick reached out, took the bottle from her and set it on the coffee table, then gently grasped her hands. “So we can compare scars.”

  He held her right hand up, inspecting her fingers. There were numerous small scars. Some barely visible, because they’d been clean slices like his. Several small nicks. The crisscrossed X on her index finger she’d shown him earlier. There was another nasty one in the crease between her thumb and forefinger.

  “How’d you get that?” he asked softly.

  “Serrated knife. Long time ago.”

  “Cooking school?”

  “No. Home. I was cutting a box for a school project and slipped with the knife.” She slid her fingers between his, linking their hands, locking them together. It felt…good. Good enough that he wasn’t going to spend time analyzing where they were heading with this. The sofa, the beer. The wind buffeting the windows. They all made the small house even more intimate.

  “Why weren’t you using a box cutter?”

  She shrugged. “We didn’t have a lot of tools around. Not much supervision, either. Reggie had to hunt my dad down in another state to get a verbal to treat me at the emergency room. We tried to close it up ourselves with butterflies, but we just couldn’t get the job done.”

  “Why was your dad in another state?”

  “He was a long-haul trucker. Couldn’t get enough of the open road.” There was definite bitterness in her voice.

  “Didn’t spend much time at home?”

  “He popped in for the occasional holiday.” Eden’s expression grew somber, a touch more vulnerable, and Nick realized her “perkiness” might be a bit of a shield.

  She looked down at their still-linked hands, then leaned over and very softly kissed his mouth, her lips lingering just long enough to give him a hint of what she could offer.

  It was the first time he’d been kissed by a woman since losing Miri. Two years—time that had dragged on in some respects and raced forward in others.

  Eden eased back, letting her head rest on the cushions again, her eyes half-closed, and that was when he realized he was hanging on to her hand for dear life.

  When he loosened his grip she slid her fingers free and gave him a gentle smile.

  “One beer and no false alarm. I think you fixed the system.”

  EDEN HAD NEVER in her life hoped she might have a false alarm of any kind, but she wouldn’t mind curling up on a sofa again with Nick. Or kissing him.

  Once he’d driven away, she turned off the lights and started for her bedroom. A little response would have been nice, but she’d taken him by surprise—though why, she had no idea, because she thought she’d been giving him some decent signals. And he’d wanted to respond; she could feel it when she’d kissed him. But he’d held back.

  Too much, too soon?

  Maybe.

  But she sensed that they honestly had a good connection between them. Different from anything she’d experienced before. And there was something else about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. A feeling of weariness or sadness. As if he’d been knocked around a bit by life.

  Well, he’d been a cop and cops saw a lot. Maybe Nick had seen a little too much. Maybe that was why he was no longer active.

  NICK KEPT THINKING about Eden kissing him. He shouldn’t have been sitting on her sofa, holding her hand like a teenager, but it had felt…right. And when she’d kissed him, he could have so easily pulled her onto his lap and spent a very long time slowly exploring her mouth, caressing her body. Not doing that, walking away, had to have been one the hardest things he’d done recently—aside from not killing Marcus.

  Nick was rinsing his cereal bowl early Wednesday morning when Daphne called. Since it wasn’t time for her to be at work, and she never went in early unless it was an emergency, he had a bad feeling

  “They found Cully,” she said.

  Nick rubbed a hand over his forehead, knowing the answer to his question before he asked. “Dead?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who found him? And where?”

  “Search and rescue, during a training last night. He, or what was left of him, was at the bottom of an abandoned mine shaft near Portner Summit.”

  “Accident?” he asked. People did sometimes explore old mines and fall into shafts—although Cully had not come off as that kind of guy.

  “Bullet in the skull. A .38 caliber.”

  Nick let out a breath. He’d truly had a soft spot for the kid.

  “I’m going to talk to the lieutenant,” Daphne said. “Cully disappeared just before the meeting about the Summit drug-money laundering. I want to see if I can convince him there’s a tie-in.”

  Of course there was. “Careful you don’t get suspended,” Nick said. She snorted, but it was halfhearted.

  He hung up the phone and then tossed it onto the counter. Shit. He’d known Cully was dead; could see no other possibility. But now that his death was confirmed, it truly made Nick furious. He wanted to hang the guy who’d done this up by his nuts.

  Right now, the only person Nick had access to was Justin Tremont, and he was damn well going to see what the guy knew. If he was pushing money through the catering business, Nick was going to find out. If he wasn’t, then Nick would question him about what he did know. He couldn’t be working in that kitchen and not be aware that many of the employees had extracurricular careers.

  Nick was just sorry that Eden and Justin were related.

  NICK ARRIVED AT the kitchen early that night instead of following the van from the Candlewood Center. He had to get his hands on a key, just for a minute or two, and with the old guys keeping Eden busy, he should be able to do it. If he could get into the office. That was the tricky part.

  The front door was open and the reception area dim, as it always was when the kitchen was closed. The computer was off and there was no music coming through the wall from the room where Justin worked on whatever he did. Nick walked over to the desk and quickly checked all the drawers, in case there was a spare set of keys. A wild shot, but sometimes it paid off.

  Nothing. He headed for the kitchen, pausing at the entrance.

  Eden’s back was to him as she read over some notecards scattered across the top of one of the stainless-steel counters, and the first thing he noticed was that her skirt was shorter than usual. Nothing indecent, but it showed more of her legs. Damned fine legs, to go with the very fine cleavage he’d gotten flashes of the other night.

  He raised his hand to knock on the door frame, to let her know he was there, but at the last second lowered it back to his side. The more time he spent hanging around this place, and Eden, the more certain he was that there was nothing illegal going on—Tremont was solely a catering business.

  Or was that just the way he wanted things to be?

  Finally, he cleared his throat and she turned. “I didn’t know anyone was here,” she said, her blue eyes wide.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said, coming into the kitchen. “Sorry about that.”

  “My fault. I turned the buzzer off on the front door and didn’t turn it on again.” She pushed her hair back over her shoulders. For once it was down instead of up in a knot, and he liked how it fell partway down her back. Soft. Silky. Touchable. He closed his hands into fists.

  “How’s the system behaving?”

  She smiled and
some of her natural sparkle came back into her face. “No false alarms. And I saw the cats go by last night, but they don’t set off the motion sensors.”

  “Any bears?”

  Eden laughed. “No bears. Much to my brother’s disappointment.”

  There was a loud bang on the front door as someone knocked, which Nick should have done instead of startling her.

  Lois came in first, followed by Lenny and Paul. Marcus traipsed behind, which surprised Nick. He figured that once Marcus’s mission was done, once he’d gotten Nick “in,” he would back off. But no. He seemed to like the lessons. Seemed to enjoy being top of the class.

  Maybe he was like Nick and didn’t know a hell of a lot about cooking. Whatever, Nick was feeling a bit more kindly toward him after their last discussion. He and Daphne were not the only ones wondering why their case had been dumped.

  “Instead of French toast, we’re making meat loaf tonight, since there was extra ground sirloin from last week’s chili lesson,” Eden explained. “And since we don’t have an hour and a half to wait for the meat loaf to bake, we’re going to make it into meatballs.”

  “I love meatballs,” Lenny said in his gravelly voice. He looked over at Marcus. “How about you, kid?”

  “Yes,” Marcus said in a monotone. “I love a meatball.”

  “I have recipe cards for all of you. This is a very simple procedure. You can use the precut onion like last time, or cut your own.”

  “I’m not cutting jack,” Gabe said. “My joints are bugging me.”

  “I’ll do it,” Nick offered. He frowned slightly. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” he said. “Just a little heartburn.”

  Nick didn’t like the sound of that. “Heartburn.”

  “What’d I just say?” Gabe demanded. “And it makes me irritable, so watch out.”

  “No, shit,” Nick said. “But you’re sure it’s heartburn?”

  Gabe shot him a fiery look just as Eden passed by.

  “Here’s the recipe. I’m going to have you guys follow along with me.” She smiled warmly at Gabe, arched her eyebrows at Nick and then turned to address the crowd.

  “First, if you’re dicing onions, make them pretty fine. You’ll also need to peel one carrot and grate it.”

  “Are you sure that meatballs are supposed to have carrots in them?” James asked, holding the recipe up to his face in spite of his overly thick glasses.

  “Adds sweetness and moisture,” Lois said.

  Nick peeled the onion and started slicing while Gabe scraped the carrot. “No,” Nick said. “Put the point down on the counter and then peel.”

  “What the—?” Gabe shook his head, but jammed the end of the carrot down onto the counter as Eden approached. Sure enough, the peeler glided smoothly down the carrot, which was no longer bobbing up and down with each stroke.

  “Where’d you learn to peel carrots?” Gabe asked.

  “Eden taught me—oh, shit!” Nick’s knife clattered to the counter.

  CHAPTER NINE

  EDEN DID HATE to hear that sound. “How bad?” she asked mildly, wondering if Nick remembered what she’d said about blood flowing freely in a kitchen.

  “It’s…a pretty good one,” he said, holding his index finger in his other hand.

  She gestured with her head to the rear of the kitchen, where they had one basin dedicated to nonfood items and injuries.

  “Let’s see,” she said once they were there. She took hold of his wrist and pulled his hands over the sink. As soon as he took the pressure off his finger, blood immediately started dripping into the sink, mixing with the thin stream of water she’d turned on. “Take hold of it again and press hard. We need to stop the flow long enough to get a gauze pad on it.... Are you left-handed?”

  He looked at her with a perplexed expression. “No. Why?”

  “Statistics show that left-handed people have more accidents. First the chisel, now this.”

  “You want to let me take a look at your hands again?” Nick growled. “I seem to remember a scar or two.”

  Ignoring him, even though the growl did things to her insides, she took the first-aid kit out of the cupboard over the basin and found the gauze. Then she slipped on a pair of latex gloves like a surgeon about to tackle an operation.

  “Wait…aren’t you left-handed?” he asked.

  She shot him a quick look before taking hold of his hand. “Very observant. Okay, let go.”

  As soon as he released pressure, Eden started wrapping his finger. At first blood seeped through the white gauze, but by the time she’d mummified the finger, there was no red stain, probably because she’d just about cut off his circulation. She secured the gauze with a strip of white tape, then stepped away from the warm masculine scent that was driving her nuts.

  “It’s going to bleed through pretty soon,” she said. “Let me know if it gets too bad and we’ll change it out.”

  “Will do,” he said, although she doubted it. He had stoic written all over him.

  “Last thing,” she said, holding up a latex finger sheath. He drew back slightly and then held out his hand, watching her warily as she rolled the sheath down over his injury, and tried not to think what it reminded her of.

  “Good to go,” she said, trying to look unaffected by the direction her thoughts had taken.

  “Thank you,” he said gravely.

  “You’re welcome,” Eden said with equal gravity. She washed her hands, and when she turned back to her class she found at least six sets of eyes focused on her and Nick. They quickly went back to their cooking, and Eden let out a breath.

  Lovely. Just lovely.

  “DID YOU DO that on purpose?” Gabe asked when Nick returned to their station.

  He stopped in his tracks. “What?”

  “You know…just to get some attention?”

  He shook his head in disgust. “I’m not six, and if I want Eden’s attention, I’ll come up with a way that doesn’t involve blood. You know, like, say, hiding my wallet.”

  Gabe snorted. “Just checking.” He gave the beef mixture a final stir. “I guess I have to make the meatballs, since you’re on the injured list.”

  “Guess so,” Nick replied mildly. Eden was helping Marcus form the correct size meatballs, since his could be used to play tennis.

  “We want them to cook through,” Nick heard her say.

  “How’s this look for size?” Gabe asked, holding up a misshapen ball.

  “Not bad.” His grandfather grunted and continued to form the mixture with his arthritic hands. “I can help,” Nick said.

  “I want to do it,” Gabe replied. “I might make these at home.”

  Blood was showing through the gauze on Nick’s finger by the time the meatballs were in the oven and Eden was explaining how to put them in a pan and cover them with tomato sauce to warm on the stove once they got home.

  He held on to his finger and silently crossed the kitchen to the sink, taking the first-aid kit off the shelf. A second later he carried it into the tiny office and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the computers. Great. He opened the kit and placed it on the other chair, then nudged the door with his toe so it half closed.

  As soon as the door blocked him from view, he started opening drawers. He was beginning to think he was going to have to dig through her purse when he saw a set of keys next to the computer monitor, half covered by a folder.

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and laid the keys out, photographing the two that weren’t obvious car keys. Then he pushed them back under the folder and pocketed the phone before reaching for the gauze.

  Mission accomplished.

  LOIS AND THE guys helped tidy up the kitchen, then said their farewells. Gabe walked with his grandfather as far as the van.

  “That finger doesn’t need stitches, does it?”

  “Hardly,” Nick said. Or so he hoped. He’d sliced deeper than he’d intended, and it hurt like hell.

  “Then why is that
balloon on your finger full of blood?”

  Nick raised his finger and grimaced.

  “All you gotta do,” Lenny said, leaning forward to look out the sliding van door, “is dip your finger in a little gasoline. That stops a bleed every time.”

  “I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” Nick said. The van door closed a few seconds later and he waited until it pulled away before he turned back to his SUV. Eden was standing in the open doorway, watching him.

  “You’re still here,” she said, one corner of her mouth curved up slightly, reminding him of the way she’d smiled after she’d kissed him. A Mona Lisa–type smile.

  “Yeah. I often go to the center and spend some time with the guys, and Wednesday is a good night to do it. Two birds with one stone. We talk about the cooking lesson and play poker.”

  “But not tonight.”

  “Not tonight,” he agreed. Tonight he wanted to go home and be alone for a while. Try to ignore the you’re-an-asshole feeling eating at him.

  “How’s the finger?”

  He pushed his hand slightly behind him so she couldn’t see that the sheath was full of blood. “I’ll live. I learned an important lesson.”

  “Which is?”

  “Keep you fingers curled back.”

  “Where have I heard that?” she asked, reaching out to open the door. “I have to close up.”

  “Your brother isn’t coming in tonight?”

  She shook her head.

  Nick took a couple slow steps toward her, his footsteps echoing on the asphalt. “Why don’t I wait until you’re done?”

  “A safety issue?”

  “That’s part of it,” he said. Another part…could he possibly unlock the back door without her knowing it, slip in later tonight and thus avoid having the key made? Due to the open layout of the kitchen, probably not, but he’d give it a shot.

  But that wasn’t the only reason he was hanging around. He didn’t like leaving Eden alone in the kitchen afterhours—or to have her walk to her car in the empty lot.

  She smiled again in that intriguing way she had when she was tired, then gestured with her head. “Come on in. I just have to make sure everything is turned off and locked up.”