Cook's Choice: A Bad Boy Protector Romance (Lost Boys Book 4)

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Cook's Choice: A Bad Boy Protector Romance (Lost Boys Book 4) Page 2

by Janice M. Whiteaker


  And it’s only lunchtime.

  “Yes, you do.” I lean in closer. “I know you do.”

  I’m not ready to explain how I know all I do. I think it will serve me better to keep my hand close with this man. While there are parts of him that are strikingly similar to the ones I deal with day in and day out, I’m sure he’s different in just as many ways.

  And I need to tread carefully.

  “I gotta go.” He shoves up from his seat abruptly.

  “What? No.” I jump up after him. I didn’t make it this far to be shut down now. “I want to talk to you.”

  He stops short, spinning to face me. He gives me what I assume most people would think is an aggressive expression. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  So maybe he’s more like the men I’m used to dealing with than I thought. “You’re really going to act like this?”

  “I’m not acting, Pinky. And unless you want to see how bad my behavior can really be, I suggest taking your sweet ass back to wherever it came from.”

  “You’re trying to intimidate me and it won’t work.” I stand my ground. I’m willing to put all my money down that this man is all bark.

  And even if he does bite, it won’t be the first time.

  “Fine.” Cook comes closer. Close enough to make my heart skip a beat.

  But it’s not from fear.

  He’s not the tallest of men. But even though he’s only got a few inches on me, Cook still seems huge.

  Imposing.

  Threatening.

  He’s probably scared the heck out of more than a few men in his lifetime. Probably always did it on purpose.

  Like he’s trying to do to me.

  He looms in front of me, his broad body crowding mine more with each passing second.

  But I’m not backing down. Not now.

  I’m too close.

  “Then let me give you some advice, Pinky.” His voice is quiet but not soft. It’s rough and deep and meant to make me think he’s something I’m not convinced he is. “Never say that fucking name again. Go back to your happy little life, in your happy little house, at your happy little job, and forget Herbert Wallace exists.”

  It’s so easy for him to assume everything about my life is happy. To judge me for the rainbows and sunshine he clearly believes color my world.

  But my world hasn’t had color in longer than I can remember. It’s always been black and white.

  Good or bad.

  I need to find a way to fix that.

  And Herbert Wallace is the key.

  Cook glares at me a second longer before storming away, shoving through the crowd. He yanks open the side door to one of his trucks and ducks inside.

  To hide from me.

  That’s fine.

  I turn back to where his lunch still sits. No reason to let good food go to waste. I stack it all up and take it with me.

  It’s the least he can do after acting like a jerk.

  I head to the lot where I parked, setting the food inside my car before pulling out the note card I filled out in case today went the way it did. I tuck it under one wiper on the bright green truck parked next to me.

  I’ll give him a week to call me.

  If not, I guess I’ll have to hunt Cook down again.

  ****

  “I DON’T KNOW why that silly boy didn’t call you.” Violet’s drawn-on brows come together. “It’s not like you’re hard on the eyes.”

  “Pretty sure he was unimpressed by me.” I heave out a sigh.

  I was really hoping he’d call me and tell me what I want to know. That would make it so much easier on both of us.

  But it looks like Cook prefers to do things the hard way.

  Violet grabs the remote for her lift chair and holds down the button, slowly easing the seat upright. Her hip’s healed from a fall she took last year, but my favorite resident hasn’t quite fully recovered, and it breaks my heart.

  And irritates the heck out of her.

  “I hate this damn thing.” She squeezes the control harder.

  “That’s the speed it goes at, Violet. If it went as fast as you want they would have a million lawsuits from all the people it ejected.” I grab the walker she uses for balance and scoot it her way. “How’s your hip today?”

  “Stiff.” She’s good on her feet, but tends to weave, and the walker helps keep Violet from looking like a drunken sailor coming down the hall. “Only thing stiff I got in my life.”

  “There’s plenty of men here, Violet.” I straighten the blanket draped over the back of her chair as she scoots to the closet in the corner.

  “Old men.” Violet slides open the door and starts perusing the garments hanging there. “No one wants an old man. They wear their pants too high and their balls are saggy.”

  I don’t even know what to say to Violet half the time.

  It’s part of why I adore her. She says what she means without apology or regret. She doesn’t worry if people think she’s nice or respectable.

  I’ve tried to be more like her lately.

  “If I come across any men on the hunt for an older woman I will send them your way.” I go to where she’s struggling with a box. “Here. I’ll get it.”

  “It’s for you anyway.” Violet scoots back, letting me wiggle the aged cardboard free. “You need it more than I do now.”

  I pull it out and set it on the bed in the center of her room in the assisted living portion of the facility I’m the activities director at.

  The box is barely on the floral cover before she’s egging me on. “Well don’t just stand there. Open it.”

  I pull back the flaps and stare at what’s inside. I look back her way. “What is this?”

  “It’s my cheater box.” Violet moves in and whips out the black stocking cap inside. “When one of our husbands wasn’t acting right, me and my friends took matters into our own hands.”

  “Is that a—” I pull out the crowbar and hold it between us.

  Violet shrugs. “Sometimes the best way to adjust a man’s attitude is through his windshield.” She frowns at me. “Now don’t look at me like that, Carly. I’m sure you’ve met a man or two who deserved a crowbar to the windshield.” Her thin lips twist into a smirk. “Or the teeth.”

  “What do you think I need any of this for?” I start to set the crowbar down, then decide maybe it’s better Violet doesn’t have access to it.

  Just in case she thinks anyone here needs an attitude adjustment.

  “Well you need to go find that boy. Find out what you want to know.” She digs around the contents and comes out with a pair of glasses that look like something Jackie O. would have worn. “And he’ll see you coming a mile away in that purple sweater of yours.”

  I glance down at the lavender button-up. “I like this sweater.”

  “So do I, which is probably not a good sign.” Violet pulls out a black men’s shirt, shaking it out.

  “That used to fit you?” The thing is huge. It would probably hang down to her knees at this point.

  “You gotta cover your shape so they don’t know you’re a woman.” Her eyes drop down to my chest. “Well. You might be fine.” She grins at me. “They won’t sag though, will they?” Violet doesn’t wait, just shoves the shirt against my chest. “Take it all with you.”

  I was planning to hunt Cook down again. He’s easy enough to find in that truck of his. It’s how I knew he had some connection to the man I’m looking for. I saw his truck in the driveway of a house listed as Herbert Wallace’s residence on the internet.

  I spent days staking the place out, hoping I might catch sight of him, but I never saw an older man come from the house. Only young, tattooed and pierced men about my age. Some on bikes. A few with women tucked close into their sides.

  “I think I’ll just do what I did last time and try to talk to him. Explain—”

  Violet is already shaking her head at me. “You make that man tell you what you want to know. Whatever it takes.” She
points at the crowbar.

  “I’m not taking a crowbar to his windshield.” I pack the box back up, double checking that the crowbar is safely inside before tucking the flaps together.

  Violet shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  I pick up the box. “Thank you.”

  “Someone might as well use it.” She works her way back into the chair where she spends most of her time.

  Her voice stops me as I start to leave. “Carly.”

  I turn in the doorway.

  Violet points one bony finger my way. “Don’t let that boy keep you from what you need to know.

  I smile at her. “I won’t.”

  I might not be the loudest. Or the strongest.

  Or the most stubborn.

  But I am something that I think might be just as useful.

  Persistent.

  ****

  I SCRATCH AT the hat covering my head, trying to work the nail of one finger through the weave of the knit.

  The stupid thing itches. Probably because it’s forty years old.

  But according to Violet, I have to be inconspicuous, and considering how ineffective my last attempt at getting information out of Cook was, I figured it was worth a shot.

  Not that I’m planning to actually talk to him tonight.

  This is just about regrouping. Coming up with another plan.

  Cook’s truck is parked at the back of a building I’m pretty sure he uses for storage and prep work. A handful of cars are parked there, along with all the food trucks. It’s late enough they’ve all left their posts for the day after offering up some of the city’s tastiest mobile meals.

  That might be the best thing to come out of all of this. At this point I’ve had food from each of Cook’s five trucks, and I have to say it is hands down some of the best I’ve had.

  Not that I’m a food truck connoisseur, but I like to eat as much as the next girl. Especially when I don’t have to cook it.

  My stomach growls as an older man comes out and checks the doors on the trucks, making sure each is locked. I should have had dinner, but I got out of work late and was worried I might miss Cook leaving.

  I should have known better.

  Two hours later he’s still inside the building, and I’m wishing I could abandon ship. I feel ridiculous in the giant shirt and hat and glasses.

  Especially since the sun has long set.

  But I’m not going away, and I’m not backing down, and the sooner Cook figures that out, the better off he’ll be.

  When the back door opens I scoot down in my seat, peering across the alley separating me from the fenced lot.

  Finally.

  I hold my breath as he rechecks all the doors on the trucks before getting into his own and pulling to the sliding gate.

  I didn’t think he would stop to latch it, and I’m close enough he could look over and see me sitting here in all black with sunglasses as big as my head.

  But Cook doesn’t even glance my way as he climbs out, rolls the gate into position, and locks the chains holding it closed.

  I sink lower as he pulls away, his headlights illuminating the interior of my base-model sedan for a split second before it all goes dark again. I count to ten before I pop up, barely peeking over the dashboard to the spot where his taillights are rapidly fading.

  I hurry and start the engine, pulling out to follow him home.

  I recognize what I’m doing isn’t healthy. Or sane.

  Or possibly legal.

  But I’m too far in this to turn back now. Cook already knows who I am, and he’s my best shot at gaining at least some information.

  And that’s all I want.

  Cook drives across town, coasting at just under the speed limit, the bass from his system audible even from the distance I’m keeping between us. I’m sort of expecting him to go home, so it’s a surprise when he heads into a rundown part of town.

  His truck is nice and his business seems to be thriving. I thought he might live in a slick condo or maybe one of those apartments in the city, set on the top floor of an old three-story warehouse.

  The building he slowly pulls to a stop in front of is not close to either of those things.

  I stay back as he parks and gets out, not looking back my way as he jogs past the three-foot stone wall bordering the property and up the sidewalk. I crane my neck trying to see more, but the buildings between us block my view.

  Crap.

  I tap my fingers against the wheel, making myself wait at least a little bit before edging closer, hoping to get a better look at the place he calls home. I slowly roll along the curb, peering up at the red-brick building.

  It almost looks like an old fire station. Someone is clearly restoring it. The bricks have been repaired in a few spots. The shingled roof is crisp and clean. The tall windows across the front are new.

  And vacant. Not a sign of anyone peeking out.

  I ease off the brake, edging closer. Once I’m in front of the building next door I gently put the car in park.

  I shouldn’t get out.

  There’s no reason for it.

  I just came to see where he lives so I could...

  I drop my head to the steering wheel.

  What in the heck am I doing?

  I’m stalking a man. That’s what I’m doing.

  My mother would be ashamed of me. Rightfully so.

  She made me promise I wouldn’t do this.

  And I’d lied to her. Knew it was a lie when I said it.

  But I can’t live like she did.

  The sound of my door yanking open sends me shooting up in my seat a second before rough hands grab the front of Violet’s shirt and yank me from my car, slamming my body against the side. A wide frame pins me in place.

  Unfortunately I can’t see the face attached to it because the darn hat Violet sent home with me slipped down, the aged knit rolling over my eyes and nose, knocking the ridiculous glasses down to my chin.

  “You think you can fuck with me and I won’t do shit about it, dick?”

  Uh oh. I know that voice.

  Which means the body pressed tight to mine is also one I might have noticed a time or two.

  The hat yanks free, taking a few strands of my hair with it. “Ow!”

  “What the—” Cook stares at me. “Pinky?”

  What does a person say when they’ve been caught in a situation like this?

  “You probably should have called me.”

  Cook’s brows lift. “Are you saying it’s my fault you’re stalking me?”

  “Kind of.” This could have all been done and over if he’d just told me what I wanted to know.

  Then I wouldn’t be here in itchy clothes from the seventies with his hard body pressed against mine, facing down a very angry food truck owner.

  It should make me question why I didn’t just pick one of the other men I’d seen at Herbert’s house and chased them down when Cook refused to talk to me.

  I know the answer. It doesn’t matter though.

  This is only about the truth.

  This is only about my life.

  And Cook holds the key. I know he does.

  “Just tell me what I want to know and I’ll leave you alone. I promise.” I spill it out as fast as I can. Partly because I don’t want him to shut me down before I can plead my case.

  And partly because I’m trying to keep my mind occupied with something besides the way he smells.

  I would expect a man who’s been cooking all day to carry the stink of grease and sweat.

  But Cook doesn’t smell anything like that. He smells clean and crisp. Like blue water and green trees.

  “I’m not telling you shit, Pinky.” He starts to step away from me.

  Cook’s head slowly turns to face down the road as headlights beam across us.

  “Fuck.”

  3

  “DAMN IT, PINKY.” I grab the rough fabric of the shirt she’s wearing and haul her close, dragging Carly as fast as I can toward safety.


  The sound of an engine coming closer pushes me faster, but Pinky’s legs get tangled with mine, forcing me to heft her up against my chest and run with her. We barely clear the stone wall surrounding the clubhouse when the rev of the engine slows and I take her to the ground, wrapping both my arms around her head as the first bullets leave the chamber.

  Pinky doesn’t move. Doesn’t kick. Doesn’t scream.

  She lays perfectly still, her head tucked tight to mine, hands fisting the front of my shirt.

  The gunman isn’t aiming for us, thank God. That’s not what this is about.

  This is about sending a message.

  The tires on the car suddenly squeal, tearing at the asphalt for purchase.

  Another car is flying down the road. I can hear it even over the ringing in my ears.

  God I hope it’s not Felicity. That woman will get herself killed to prove no one shoots up the place where she lives without answering for it.

  But the engine is too loud to be hers. A second later I hear the return fire pinging against the back of the car racing away.

  “Fuck.”

  I lift up to peek over the three-foot wall at Moon.

  He’s glaring down the road, gun still in one hand. My movement must have caught his attention because his head snaps my way. “Shit, man. Are you okay?” He strides toward the spot where I’m sprawled on the ground, stopping short as he clears the wall, brows lifting as his gaze lands on Pinky. “Well, hello there.”

  “Hi.” She’s still lying very still and her skin is pale.

  “Damn it.” I push onto my feet, being careful not to crush any part of her in the process. “Come on. Get up.” I hold my hands out to her.

  Carly doesn’t make a move. “You don’t have to be so grumpy to me.”

  “Yeah, Cook.” Moon holsters his gun, tucking it under the suit coat he’s still wearing from work. “You don’t have to be such an asshole.”

  Pinky’s eyes lock onto Moon. “I didn’t say he was an asshole.”

  “Then that’s your mistake.” I’m done waiting for her. I reach down and hook my hands under Carly’s arms, scooping her up. “It’s time for you to go the fuck home.”

  “You’re just gonna send her home after that?” Moon tilts his head, eyeing the woman making my life harder than she knows. “You okay to drive home, Sugar?”

 

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