Blood Ties in Chef Voleur

by Mallory Kane

  Jack tried to wipe the grin off his face. She could tell he was trying. But she could still see the shadow of amusement in his eyes.

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he said. “But how many times have you told me how they tease you and make fun of you and check up on your dates? How they act like you can’t do anything without their help. What do you think they’re going to do when they find out that you were duped by the grandson of Armand Broussard?”

  “You wish my brothers would make fun of me,” she said. “They’re going to be all over you. They’re going to feel so sorry for me, because of what...you...did....” her words trailed off as she listened to what she was saying. Damn it. He was right. She’d almost rather die than have to tell them that Jack married her to get revenge on the Delancey family. In fact, she’d almost rather die than tell them who Jack really was.

  They would be all over him. They might hurt him. But even worse than what they would do to Jack, was what they would do to her. It would all be for her own good and because they loved her and because they wanted to protect her of course. She could hear it all now. But the unbearable truth was that they would feel sorry for her, and that meant they would treat her with even more delicacy than they already did—because of course poor little Cara Lynn would have a broken heart. And at the same time, they’d make fun of her until she’d be tempted to torture and kill each one of them—as slowly and painfully as possible.

  They’d do everything they possibly could to make everything right again. Of course they would never succeed, not this time. But by God they’d kill themselves and smother her trying.

  Damn him. Jack was absolutely right. There was no way she could bring any of her family into this. Not unless she became desperate. And she meant really desperate.

  But what about Jack? He had already declared that he wouldn’t leave her alone and vulnerable. But could she believe him? She had no idea. Still, her only choice was to stay right by Jack’s side and make sure he couldn’t prove that Armand Broussard was innocent. Because if Broussard was innocent, that meant that her grandfather was killed by someone in her own family. And that couldn’t be true. Could it?

  * * *

  JACK SLEPT ON the couch that night. Or, more truthfully, he lay on the couch, wide awake, and listened to Cara Lynn’s quiet crying in the bedroom. A loud click told him she’d latched the bedroom door. That stopped his notion that he might try to comfort her.

  Comfort her? Him? Who was he trying to kid? If he went in there, she’d probably throw a lamp at him. He was the reason she was crying. She wouldn’t take comfort from him if he were the last man on earth. Her muffled sobs echoed around him, making him feel lower than whale droppings.

  His grandfather had admonished him to be the better man. Well, he wasn’t. He never would be. He’d done this. Deliberately. He’d set out to seduce her for the sole purpose of proving his grandfather’s innocence. He’d known that she would be a casualty of his war with the Delanceys.

  But as he’d made his plans to woo her and use her to find the proof he needed, he’d forgotten one very important thing. He’d forgotten that she was a real human being with real feelings and a heart that could be broken. Then, as he’d gotten to know her and discovered just how big and how open and pure her heart was, it had become harder and harder to convince himself that he was doing the right thing.

  So here he was, and all he had to show for two months’ effort was a nagging ache under his breastbone that felt as though it had been hurting forever. And right now, the pain was getting worse. He rubbed his chest, but it didn’t help.

  He threw back the afghan and stepped out onto the balcony. It was raining and the heavy overcast blocked any sign of dawn or sunrise. The bridge and ship lights were pale and twinkling and haloed by the water droplets, just like Cara Lynn had described them. It did look like a wonderland.

  Jack crossed his arms and rested against the facing of the French doors. He let his head fall back as he tried to figure out his next step. What now? Now that he’d screwed everything up?

  Not only had he hurt Cara Lynn, he’d accidentally revealed himself and his true purpose, and thereby ruined his only chance to get a look at the letter she had. Convincing her to show him the letter had been his best chance—maybe his only chance to find out the truth about that day. Now he’d blown that chance by his own carelessness.

  He still had the option of petitioning the court to retry the case based on DNA evidence, but his petition would probably be denied. Even if it was granted, the Delanceys would be notified, and they’d band together and use their influence to argue against reopening the case.

  The hard truth was that without Lilibelle Guillame’s last journal or the letter, all Jack had were his grandfather’s letters, and he knew they didn’t prove anything. At best they were a written statement as told by a witness and suspect. At worst, they were the lies of a convicted killer.

  He couldn’t petition the court until he had conclusive evidence that the wrong man had been convicted. There was no way he’d risk being turned down for lack of probable cause.

  He straightened and looked out at the lights on the river again. He should have been more careful. He’d been arrogant and that arrogance had made him careless. In time, he could have convinced Cara Lynn to let him see the journal. She’d have let her husband, Jack Bush, see it. But she would never allow Armand Broussard’s grandson to get his hands on it.

  Now, if Jack wanted it, he’d have to steal it.

  Chapter Six

  When Jack left the balcony and went inside, it was a few minutes after six. He didn’t know if Cara Lynn had to be up early or not, but she almost always rose by six-thirty or seven. If he was going to retrieve the letter and read it, he needed to do it now. The realization made him feel even worse. He was still deceiving her, still betraying her.

  He was tempted to tiptoe down the hall and make sure she was still in bed and not in the shower or getting dressed. But she’d locked her door last night. He remembered the sound of the lock snicking deliberately and loudly into place.

  If he paid attention, he should be able to hear her unlock the door. He could hide the letter until he had time to read it, then put it back before she ever realized he’d touched it. He’d just peel the cellophane tape the best he could and if she asked him about whether he’d opened it he’d deny any knowledge. After all, as much as he’d already deceived her, how much more could it hurt to deceive her a little more?

  So, with merely a glance toward the bedroom doorway, he went into the pantry, knelt, moved the baseboard out of the way and reached inside for the letter.

  It wasn’t there.

  He paused, stunned. It had been there yesterday and he’d put it back just exactly as he’d found it. So what had happened? Had Cara Lynn sneaked into the pantry and taken it during the few hours he’d slept, or while he’d been out on the balcony?

  His pulse jumped at the idea that she’d taken the letter out of the envelope and read it. That meant he could read it with impunity, because it was now unsealed.

  He reached a little farther inside, just in case the envelope had somehow gotten moved, but all he encountered was the roll of bills, the passport and the velvet necklace box that held the necklace. “Damn it,” he whispered and reached for the piece of baseboard to put it back in place.

  At that instant, he heard Cara Lynn coming into the kitchen. Cursing silently, he shoved the baseboard back into place, picked up a couple of bottles of sparkling water and rose.

  Just as he came out of the pantry and back into the kitchen, acutely aware of the irony of being caught with water bottles in his hands, Cara Lynn opened the refrigerator door. When she heard him she turned, still holding onto the handle.


  “What are you doing?” she asked, her gaze grazing his and moving on down to his hands.

  “I was—”

  “Really, Jack? Water? You’re going to try my own trick on me? Believe it or not, I’m smart enough to figure out what you were doing in there.”

  “What?” he said, knowing he was in big trouble. He could feel his face getting hot, then hotter and he was sure it was probably red as a firecracker. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t insult my intelligence. I got the letter out last night while you were asleep. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the flap on the back was facing forward, when I clearly remembered putting it in there front side out.” She took a breath. “What I can’t figure out is how you knew about the letter in the first place.”

  Jack shook his head, trying to keep his expression neutral, but his face was burning now. He was so busted. “Listen, you need to give me a chance to explain—”

  Cara Lynn was so angry her ears had turned red. Jack thought, better from anger than from excruciating embarrassment, like his.

  “You keep saying that, Jack. I mean, Jacques. You keep telling me to let you explain. But what do you have to explain? It seems pretty straightforward to me. It’s the same old story. Boy woos girl, boy marries girl, boy wants revenge instead of love, girl finds out, girl divorces boy. What do you think, because I’m seeing a major motion picture.”

  “Cara Lynn, stop talking for a minute, please.”

  But she couldn’t. If she couldn’t maintain the anger and the sarcastic banter she’d start crying. She couldn’t explain to him that she’d known something was wrong ever since the first time she’d met him. Granted, they’d hardly been able to keep their hands off each other. Granted, she’d been fascinated with him from the first moment she’d seen him. Then, when he’d asked her to leave with him, she’d abandoned her own gallery showing for him.

  She’d fallen in love with him at first sight. Then, after their first night together, she’d known she could spend the rest of her life with him. She’d never met anyone so interesting and sweet and, she’d thought, so genuinely interested in her.

  Then, poor deluded girl that she was, she’d married him.

  “Don’t tell me to stop talking,” she snapped. “This is my apartment and you were trying to steal my letter.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, holding out his hands, palms turned down in a let’s calm down gesture. “I didn’t steal anything, so—”

  “Only because I got to it first,” she said.

  “Listen, let’s stop arguing for a minute, okay?”

  “That wasn’t arguing. I was stating a fact.”

  Jack shook his head and closed his eyes for a second. “Then, let’s stop talking.”

  Cara Lynn glared at him. “And what, stand here and glare at each other?”

  “No,” Jack said, spreading his hands again. “We’ll talk. But we’ll be talking about a solution, not just yelling at each other.”

  She opened her mouth to make a sarcastic retort, but he was looking at her somberly. She closed her mouth, then took a deep breath to calm herself. “Okay. Go ahead. What’s your solution?” She heard her voice take on a sarcastic twang and she winced. She had really tried to talk normally.

  Jack had heard it, too, because his lips thinned and that tic started up in his jaw. He cleared his throat. “We both want the same thing—wait!” he put in hurriedly when Cara Lynn opened her mouth. “The truth. We both want the truth—right?”

  Cara Lynn almost jumped in to say that she knew the truth, but she controlled herself. She literally bit her tongue as she nodded.

  “What we’re hoping is the truth is different for each of us, but we know that once the truth is proven, we’ll both have to accept it. We’ll have no choice.”

  She nodded again. Was he really going to propose some kind of rational compromise? And if so, why? So far, everything he’d done had been to further his own goal. Why would he change now?

  Of course she knew the answer to that question, or at least she thought she did. He needed the information he thought might be in the letter, and he was willing to pretend to be cooperative in order to get it. She shook her head.

  “What? You know I’m right. When we have proof of what really happened, one of us—hell, maybe both of us, are going to be crushed. But proof is proof.”

  “No,” she said, still thinking about what he was trying to do. “No. All you’re doing is trying to get a look at the letter, and I’m not about to let you get your hands on it. It’s mine, and I can’t think of a single reason why I’d let you see it.”

  “Whoa,” he said, pushing the fingers of one hand through his hair, leaving it slightly spiky. “I thought we were in agreement, and you’re already refusing to share your information?”

  Cara Lynn put her hands on her hips. “I’ll share mine if you’ll share yours.”

  Jack’s gaze sharpened and his eyelids narrowed. “Mine? What do I have that you want?”

  “I’m talking about what’s in that briefcase that you can’t seem to let out of your hands, much less out of your sight.”

  Jack didn’t speak, but she could see the surprise in his eyes through his narrowed lids.

  “Okay,” she said. “Then we’re right back where we were. We’re stuck in a standoff. Neither one of us trusts the other, with good reason.” She added the last three words under her breath, but Jack heard them. She saw his shoulders stiffen.

  “I don’t think we have any choice but to trust each other on this. Otherwise we’ll be fighting all alone.”

  “All alone?”

  “That’s right,” Jack said. “Look at us. We’ve been so close these past two months. And as long as we’re searching for the truth, we’re going to stay close—physically at least.”

  “Close.” Cara Lynn laughed. “I disagree. I don’t think we’ve been close at all. I think I’ve been deluding myself, ignoring the doubts I’ve had ever since I first met you. And I think you’ve spent every second of these two months deceiving me. Why would I even stay around you at all?”

  He shrugged. “Because better the enemy you know than the one you don’t know.”

  Better the enemy you know. Did she know him? Cara Lynn looked at the man she knew as Jack Bush. She barely knew him at all, and yet she knew him better than she did anyone else in the world. She knew every inch of that lean, hard body. She knew that his hair always smelled like soap and oranges. She knew that his skin was warm and kind of smooth and rough at the same time.

  “Why would you say that?” she asked dully.

  “Say what?”

  “The enemy you know. I don’t know you.” She shrugged, throwing a hand up in a helpless, hopeless gesture. “I didn’t even know your real name.”

  For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He glanced down looking inward, she thought. Then he met her gaze again, and if she were able to trust her instincts, she’d think his eyes held sadness and regret.

  “Oh, you know me,” he muttered.

  From somewhere deep within her came an almost overwhelming urge to smooth out the frown lines between his brows, but when she took a half step forward, it seemed to spur him into action.

  He stepped backward, cleared his throat and nodded. “Okay, Cara, I’ll show you some of my grandfather’s letters from prison, starting with one of the first ones. But when I give you that letter, you give me your letter from your grandmother.”

  She was sta
rtled. “You don’t know it’s from my grandmother,” she said.

  “Come on,” he sighed. “Who else would it be from? And you can stop the defensive posturing. We both know we’re going to exchange letters. It’s the only way we can be sure that we’re both working toward the same goal.”

  He saw the resignation on her face that told him she’d acquiesced.

  Five minutes later, he was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to decipher Lilibelle’s beautiful handwriting. He had a pad and pen and was transcribing it as he read it.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “Can you tell what this says?”

  When she didn’t respond, he looked up to find her engrossed in his grandfather’s letter. He’d chosen one that didn’t mention Paul Guillame. From what he’d been able to gather, apparently no one knew that Paul had been at the fishing camp that day. He wanted to see if Cara Lynn noticed and asked about him.

  He went back to her grandmother’s letter, doing his best to make out the words, figuring he’d get her help with the indecipherable ones after she finished reading.

  Once he’d gone through the entire two pages, he sat back and looked at what he had so far.

  Dear Cara Lynn,

  I am an old woman now. When I was your age, I never thought I’d grow old. Many’s the ______ I wish I didn’t. But I am here, veiny hands, __________ face. I _____ _____choose someone to have my treasures. My sons want them, as do ________________. If Robert Jr. had ______ ______ , ____ ______.

  So having _______two _______gifts to give, I choose you, the youngest. I shall _______ until you marry to give _____the last journal. Not until you have a love of your own, can you know the joy and heartbreak ___ ___ _____and then perhaps, ____ ____understand why I did ____ __ _____ . My __________is that you hide or __________the journal, but I will be gone so ______________. Do ______will with it. Nothing can __________me any longer, and I do not ______anything.