by Tami Lund
“Connor Rikeland,” Emily Kate repeated. Her head was swimming with so much information, yet not nearly enough. Nothing made sense, although she believed one thing with absolute certainty, because she believed what little Connor had told her.
“He didn’t do it,” she said.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “How do you know?”
“Do you know what the scam is?” she asked, instead of answering him.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Come on, Jack. Just tell me.”
He refused.
“What if I told you I might know Connor Rikeland?”
His eyes narrowed until they were slits, and she wondered how he could still see. His face reddened, and he clenched his fists as well as his jaw. “How, precisely, do you know Connor Rikeland?”
She could tell he was already drawing likely accurate conclusions. Her brother was no dummy.
“What’s he accused of?” she countered.
He stood there, steadily breathing, obviously trying to weigh which of the two of them was most stubborn. Finally, he ground out, “Fixing the cards at the tables. It happens on occasion. Usually, it’s stupid, petty bullshit. One guy, one casino. He gets caught, gets arrested, gets banned from the casino, and life goes on. In this case, it appears it’s a bigger deal. Vik claims he’s lost millions at this point. Whoever’s doing it is not an amateur. Not by a long shot.”
“Wha-what if he’s innocent?” Did she sound as desperate as she thought she did?
Jack snorted. “If he’s innocent, then why hasn’t he come forward yet? If you were wrongly accused, wouldn’t you want to clear your name?”
“Not everyone reacts the same way, Jack.”
He studied the grainy photograph of Connor. “Not if they’re guilty.”
“He isn’t guilty.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know him. He’s the new chef at my restaurant.”
***
Connor was on a cooking spree. He’d received a fresh batch of oysters with today’s shipment, so he whipped up the ingredients for Oysters Bienville to run on special for tonight’s dinner crowd. Then he tried his hand at deep-fried oysters, and Pedro quickly declared him an expert. While the rest of the kitchen staff enjoyed the fruits of his labor, he made crab-stuffed mushrooms, Cajun popcorn, shrimp salsa, and Cajun barbequed shrimp. When he still couldn’t figure out what the hell to do with himself, he began making soups, even though it was too damn hot for soup.
He made oyster stew, shrimp and leek bisque, crab-corn chowder, and a giant pot of gumbo. Finally, he dropped into the chair he’d pulled out of the too-small office, wiped his forehead with a towel, and blew out a sigh.
“You good yet?” Pedro asked. “Because there’s no way in hell we can sell all this food on a Monday night, and Emily Kate’s going to be pissed off if we use any more ingredients today.”
“I don’t know what to do, Pedro.”
“Maybe you should leave,” he suggested. “Then you’ll finally realize what a dumbass you would be for doing so.”
“Huh?”
Pedro waved at the swinging doors leading to the dining room. “She’s perfect, bro. And she’s crazy about you. Don’t deny that the two of you are doing the horizontal tango when you leave here every single night. You both look too damn happy when you come in in the morning.”
“My problems are bigger than Emily Kate,” Connor said. “And there’s still the issue of my stupid dream.”
Pedro gave him a look that resembled sucking on a lemon. “Your dream is stupid, if you think you need to go somewhere else to realize it.”
“This isn’t a cosmopolitan city,” Connor protested. “This is a small restaurant tucked into the backwoods of northeast Texas. It isn’t the same.”
“You’re right,” Pedro said, and suddenly he appeared angry. “You don’t deserve to stay here.” He stormed away, and Connor winced when he heard a loud crash, because he knew it was Pedro taking out his anger on the pots and pans in the kitchen when he should be yelling at him.
Pedro was wrong. Connor deserved to reach his goal...didn’t he?
Sarah, one of the waitresses, popped her head into the kitchen. “Hey, Connor. There are some guys out here asking for you.”
He shot from his seat. No one except for the restaurant staff knew him or knew that he was here. “Who are they?”
Sarah shrugged. “Don’t know. One looks Italian, the other’s black. Want me to go ask their names?”
“No,” Connor said. “But close the door. I’ll...I’ll be out in a minute.”
“’Kay.” She pulled her head away and let the door swing shut. Connor edged closer and peeked through the small circular window.
“Whatcha doin’?”
He gave a small yelp when Pedro snuck up behind him and asked the question. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
Pedro shrugged.
“You sure got over your anger fast.”
“Some of us know how to learn lessons. So why you so jumpy, bro? What’s going on? You ain’t messing with drugs, are you?”
“No,” Connor said as he peeked through the window in the swinging door. “I’m not messing with anything. Not even Emily Kate, anymore. I’m just trying to figure out how to get my life back on track.” He pulled his head away from the door. He didn’t recognize the black guy, but he knew the Italian one. It was the same guy who had been watching him in the bus terminal. The same guy who’d been at the launch when Connor returned the boat he’d stolen.
“And those guys are going to help you?”
“No,” Connor said grimly. “Those guys are going to derail it further. How the hell did they figure out I was here?”
“Maybe their girlfriends told them. You’re the talk of the town these days. Haven’t you noticed the crowd leans heavily toward the fairer sex? Even my girlfriend came in and said you were hot. She thinks Emily Kate should do a calendar, alternating you and me each month.” He grinned.
“That’s a lousy idea,” Connor said. “Look, I gotta get out of here. I need to go warn Emily Kate. If they know I’m here, they’ll be able to connect the restaurant to her, and I don’t want her in danger.”
Pedro suddenly turned serious. “You think these thugs are going to hurt her?”
Connor grimaced. “After what I witnessed last week, I think they’d hurt her grandmother and not lose sleep over it.”
“Bastards,” Pedro seethed. Then he gave Connor a shove toward the back door. “You go warn Emily Kate. Leave these assholes to me.” And then he shored himself up, all stocky five foot six, and he stalked out of the kitchen to face the two men. Connor hoped to hell his friend didn’t get hurt as he bolted for the back door.
***
“The lunch crowd will start arriving soon, Jack. I really need to get going.”
“It’s Monday. The restaurant’s never busy for lunch on Mondays. They can live without you for a little while longer. Now, explain it to me again, how you managed to hire Connor freaking Rikeland to be the executive chef at Louisiana Kitchen?”
Jack paced the floor in Emily Kate’s living room while she sat on the crimson couch and tried not to think about what she and Connor had done in that very spot, just a few days prior. What would Jack think if he knew?
Probably throw Connor in prison on principle, knowing her brother.
“It just sort of happened.” She flapped her hands as she recited the same words she’d already repeated three times. “He walked in, said he could make pecan-encrusted trout, and the Henrys were hooked.” As was I. But that was beside the point. Jack was still too focused on the fact that she’d hired a guy to run the kitchen at her restaurant without even remotely checking his credentials to realize she was sleeping with the guy, too. She knew it was only a matter of time, though.
“Son of a bitch,” he said, his voice almost a snarl. “You’re sleeping with that bastard.”
&nbs
p; “W-what?” Okay, that happened quicker than she expected.
He stabbed his finger at her. “It all makes sense now. Wendy’s comments. Your red face. Holy Christ, have you been sleeping with him since you hired him? What the hell, Emily Kate?”
“He’s a great guy, Jack. He’s an excellent chef. And he treats me wonderfully. And—and he’s the one who fixed the stairs. They were getting so bad, I could have gotten sued, if, say, the UPS guy tried to deliver a package and went through one of those rotting boards.”
Jack was not in the mood to see reason, at least not her version of it. “He could be dangerous,” he shouted. “He could have killed you!”
“I thought you didn’t believe he was really the criminal.”
“What I said was my gut tells me there’s something fishy about this case. Un-fucking-believable.” He grabbed his phone and called his partner and told him to get the hell over to Emily Kate’s house. He just had to hear this one.
After which he flung his arms into the air and began pacing with renewed vigor. “Fucking bastard. I bet he has a crooked smile, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he?”
Emily Kate wisely chose not to respond.
“I knew it. He does. He charmed his way into your restaurant and into your bed. He’s using you, Emily Kate. He’s a two-bit loser who’s just looking for a piece of ass, and you’re giving it to him. What if you end up pregnant?”
“I suppose this isn’t a good time to point out you and Kennedy did the same thing?”
“Her cousin was marrying my best friend. I think it was safe to assume she wasn’t a complete stranger. And besides that, we’re married now. You gonna marry this Connor Rikeland guy?”
Emily Kate balked. Marry Connor?
Yeah, right. That was as likely as it was that he would stay in east Texas instead of run back to Detroit when this was all over.
Just then, the back door burst open and Connor came running through it. “Emily Kate! Emily Kate, are you okay? There’s a car in the driveway that—”
“Connor,” Emily Kate called out. Before she could react further, her brother lunged, and she knew damn well what he meant to do. “Connor—run!”
***
Connor’s face made contact with an iron fist. He collapsed in a heap on the floor while Emily Kate started shouting at the guy who had shown up at the bus station, the one Connor assumed was her brother.
“What was that for?”
“That’s Connor Rikeland,” her brother said, stabbing his finger at the prone figure.
“And that gives you carte blanche to punch him?”
“Yeah. He’s screwing my sister.”
Yep, definitely her brother.
Emily Kate growled, actually growled. “I swear to God, I’m going to start sleeping with every man with whom I come into contact. Just to see if you can keep up with abusing them all.”
“I sure as hell will—and you’d better not!”
Connor raised his hand. “Can I weigh in here?”
“No!” she and her brother said in unison, and then they continued to argue.
It was so heated, Connor expected them to come to blows at any moment. Emily Kate railed at her brother for ruining every date she’d ever been on in her entire life, and he informed her that it was for her own good because she was obviously lousy at picking men.
That stung, not to mention Emily Kate hadn’t exactly picked him. He’d picked her. None of this was her fault, and it wasn’t fair that her brother yelled at her when all of it was Connor’s fault. Including the guys who had been at the restaurant a short time ago.
“Emily Kate!”
Finally, the arguing paused, as both of them turned to give him twin questioning looks.
“They’re coming. They were at the restaurant when I left. I don’t know how they figured out where I was, but—”
“Shit!” her brother yelled and flung Emily Kate behind him just as the door flew open again and two men muscled their way in, guns drawn.
He should’ve waited to fix the damn steps.
It was the two guys from the restaurant. As Connor watched, they both pulled guns out of holders under their blazers. He reacted instinctively, diving at Emily Kate’s brother, catching him around the waist and knocking him off balance, just as two bullets shattered the glass in the window behind where his head had been a moment ago.
The FBI agent didn’t pause but immediately grabbed the table leg and flipped it onto its side so it became something of a shield. And then he shifted it to block the entrance to the hallway. “Go,” he commanded, looking at Connor and pointing at the hall. He had a handgun in his other hand and prepared to return fire.
Connor understood. He grabbed Emily Kate as she fought him.
“Jack!” she screamed. “No—stop! Jack!”
Connor wrapped his arm around her waist, picked her up, and ran.
“Jack!”
He shoved her into the master bedroom. “He’s fine, Emily Kate. He does this for a living, remember?”
“Not shootouts!” She looked positively terrified for her brother.
The sound of gunfire caused them both to flatten themselves on the ground. Connor grabbed her and tucked her body underneath his own, as if he could shield her that way. It was almost laughable the way his body reacted despite the dire circumstances.
Feet pounded down the hall, and Connor had a fleeting moment of utter clarity in which he realized that he had about a million things to say to her, and if that was one of the bad guys rushing down the hall, he would not have the opportunity to do so. Ever.
“Emily Kate, I—”
“Y’all okay?” It was Jack, standing in the hallway, breathing heavily but otherwise unharmed.
“Are they—?” she asked the partial question.
Jack shook his head. “Cullen’s here, and he has them subdued in the kitchen. The locals are on the way to take them to the station.” He stabbed his finger at Connor. “You,” he barked, “come with me.”
Connor glanced at Emily Kate one last time and then climbed to his feet and obeyed.
Chapter 11
“They aren’t talking.”
The small group was gathered in the restaurant. It was Monday evening, and Emily Kate had closed it to the public after the last of the lunch patrons had left. Connor had served up a smorgasbord of the various dishes he’d whipped up that morning when he’d been stressed out. Jack and Cullen and Emily Kate were seated in a booth in a corner, and the two men at least were feasting as if it were their last meal.
“This is great, Emily Kate,” Cullen said between bites. “You’ve come a long way since your papaw’s jambalaya.”
She waved her hand at Connor, who stood awkwardly next to the booth, clearly unsure whether he should join them. “It wasn’t me. This is all Connor’s doing.”
Jack gave him a sour look, but Cullen patted the empty seat next to him. “Sit down, man. Have something to eat.”
Connor slid into the booth. She noticed he did not make eye contact with her, but his gaze did keep darting toward her brother. What happened between them while they’d all been at the local police station, trying to sort out this mess? So far, both men were tight-lipped about their interaction.
“All we have is your boyfriend’s word about what happened at the casino a couple days ago,” Cullen explained. “Because those thugs aren’t talking. Not a fucking word. We need to hear about Vik’s plan—from somebody on the inside.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she blurted at the same time as Connor, who said, “We aren’t dating.”
Cullen looked amused by the twin outbursts, but Jack looked irritated.
“I’ll do whatever necessary to put them away,” Connor said.
“Including go to jail for that boat you stole?” Jack asked.
Connor blanched.
“Don’t forget the car you stole from the bus terminal,” Cullen added.
More color leached from Connor’s face.
“You�
��re practically a career criminal,” Jack said with a sneer.
“And there’s the shit going down at the casino,” Cullen added.
“I told you I didn’t—”
“It’s your word against Vik’s right now,” Jack said. “And Vik’s got a hell of a lot more clout than you do.”
Emily Kate felt a stab of sympathy for Connor—the clout comment hit below the belt, even if Jack didn’t realize what he’d said meant something entirely different to Connor.
Cullen lifted an oyster, added hot sauce, then tipped the shell to his lips and polished it off. “Damn, I wish my wife were here,” he muttered as he eyed the half dozen other empty shells perched next to his plate.
“Your word won’t be enough,” he said after he took a swig of beer. “These guys will lawyer up so fast, if we are even able to bring them in in the first place. The word of some cook from Detroit versus the top guys at a casino that practically carries the local economy?”
“I’m not just some cook,” Connor replied hotly.
Cullen lifted both hands in surrender. “Whatever, man. My point is, these guys give a bunch of money to the community, and they employ a fair percentage of the local population. No one’s going to want to believe you, whether you’re right or not.”
“I told you everything I know. And because no one will believe me, they get to go free?”
“What?” Emily Kate asked, trying desperately to follow the conversation. She hadn’t had a chance to speak with Connor since the shootout at her house earlier in the day. She had no idea what he was thinking, how he felt—if he still planned to go home to Detroit when this mess was sorted out. Which was, in truth, her single most important concern. Despite everything, she wanted him to stay. With her.
“Nooo,” Jack said, drawing out the word. “We first need to gather enough real, plausible evidence. Then we take the necessary actions.”
Connor slapped his hand on the table. “I’m in. What do we need to do?”
Jack’s expression was cool as he looked straight into Connor’s eyes and said, “We are going to do nothing. Cullen and I are going to do our jobs, and you are going to go back to Detroit, where you belong.”