But it had been too late for Glory. She’d lost too much blood and had died within the hour. Because there’d been some misunderstanding at the hospital, the attending physician and emergency room nurse had both thought that he was the newborn’s father. Something had stopped him from setting the record straight. Alone, with no family of his own, he’d impulsively gone along with the error.
“You wrapped your perfect little hand around my finger and I was just a goner,” he told her time and again. That part of the story never changed.
For three days, he’d come back to see the baby. On the fourth day, she’d been discharged into his care. He’d paid the medical bills out of his own pocket, making arrangements with the cashier to make monthly payments. And then he’d taken his new daughter home with him.
Papa Joe had also paid for her mother’s funeral. For three months after that, he’d tried to locate Glory’s family. Even hired a private investigator to look into the matter, all to no avail. After three months, he’d stopped holding his breath and finally given up. The baby he’d saved from suffering the same fate as her mother was his.
He’d called her Maren after his mother and given her the last name of “Minnesota” because that was the state they’d been living in when he’d found her. He’d given her her own last name so that she could always feel independent, even though he’d promised to always be there for her if she needed him.
She’d grown up adoring him.
For a second Maren leaned back in her chair, not realizing until this moment just how tired she actually was. But there was no time to kick back. The unexpected run to the E.R. had put her at least three hours behind in her work. There were phone calls to return and orders to place if the restaurant was to keep on running.
She addressed the question Papa Joe had first posed. “The new guy’s cool under fire.”
Saving the figures he’d just input, he studied his adopted daughter’s face as he asked, “Speaking of which, I hear he put out a grease fire yesterday. What was that all about?”
She’d looked into the fire mishap as thoroughly as she could and had drawn a conclusion she didn’t intend to repeat to either restaurant owner, Shepherd or Rineholdt. Although it was the former who was most likely to show up. To her knowledge, Rineholdt had never put in an appearance, either here or at the other branch of the restaurant. He was the epitome of a silent partner, which was fine with her. Over the years she’d come to think of the restaurant as hers to run. Hers to make thrive. She thought of it as a living entity.
“That was just Max being careless.” He had been the one who’d left the oil standing next to Rachel’s elbow.
Joe frowned. Maren had too soft a heart despite the tough-as-nails image she attempted to project. “You’re going to have to have a talk with that man.”
“Already done,” she responded crisply. The man had been warned and had promised to be more careful in the future.
Going into the desktop, she pulled up the software program she needed.
Both she and Joe knew that the head chef hated being taken to task about anything. But the man knew better than to throw a fit or to threaten to leave Rainbow’s End. He was too afraid that he might be called on his threat and subsequently replaced. Maren had made it known that although she was easygoing, she suffered no prima donnas at the restaurant. That was how Max had gotten promoted in the first place. The head chef before him had decided not to show up in protest over a raise he’d felt hadn’t adequately reflected his talents. A severance package had been her answer to his attempt at blackmail.
“Okay.” Joe nodded. “That explains yesterday, what happened this morning?”
“April got carried away with the chopping knife. Severed her index finger.” Maren closed her eyes for a second without realizing it. Just talking about it sent a shiver down her spine.
“Ouch.” Joe pretended to shake in response. “She okay?”
Maren nodded. It was accompanied by a half-muffled sigh. “According to the doctor who treated her, we got her to the hospital just in time. He says that she should be good as new. Thanks to ‘the new guy.’” She smiled as she used the term. “He took over. Wrapped up April’s wound, barked at me to put the finger in a bag packed with ice and we took off.”
“Where was Max all this time?”
“Over in a corner, turning white as a sheet and looking as if he was going to throw up his breakfast.”
Joe’s expression indicated that he would have expected nothing more from the head chef. “Good thing you hired this guy. Looks like he’s going to come in handy for more reasons than one.”
Papa Joe made it sound as if they were in for a spate of trouble, she thought. “I think we’ve used up our share of bad luck for a while.” She scrolled down the page, looking at last month’s inventory. “The worst thing I want to face right now is a head of romaine lettuce that wilted before its time.”
Referring to his notebook, Joe input several more numbers, then asked casually, “So what’s the new guy’s name?”
She looked up. Their desks were butted up against one another, allowing her to look directly into Joe’s face. “Jared. Jared Stevens. Why?”
The wide, powerful shoulders rose and fell in a quick shrug. “Just curious. You had a funny look on your face when you talked about him.”
She wasn’t aware that she had any sort of expression at all when she answered Joe’s questions. Maren felt something defensive in her spring forward. “Funny? What do you mean, funny?”
“Softer?” he suggested, not entirely certain himself what was behind Maren’s look.
She dismissed the observation. “That’s just nerves, winding down, Papa. I really don’t care for the sight of blood, especially when it gushes. April passed out and Jared had to carry her to the car.”
He closed his notebook and studied her for a second. “Why didn’t you just call 9-1-1?”
“Didn’t feel like being put on hold and waiting.” She frowned slightly. “Why all the questions?”
The smile she saw on his lips was genial. “I just like staying on top of things, honey. With me splitting my time between the two restaurants, I feel like the man on the outside most of the time.”
“You? Shepherd and Rineholdt don’t make a move without you. You’re the most ‘inside man’ the place has, Papa.”
“I can always count on you to flatter me.” He laughed, rising. He stepped outside the office, going in the direction of the kitchen. Before Maren could catch her breath, Joe returned. “You didn’t tell me he was good-looking,” he said.
Maren kept her eyes on the monitor as she scrolled to another page. “Is he? I hadn’t noticed.”
Joe bent down slightly, as if to peer at her face. “Maren, your nose is growing.”
It was an old game they used to play when she was little and had tried to fib her way out of situations. Maren raised her eyes to look up into hazel-green ones that had never been anything but kind in her estimation. “Must be the lighting.”
But for once, he didn’t smile in response. He looked serious. And worried. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”
Papa Joe must have noted the resemblance between Kirk and Jared, just as she first had. “The lighting? No, I’ll just turn it up.”
He came to stand by her desk and took her hands in his. His were so much larger, they all but dwarfed hers. “You know what I mean.”
Yes, she knew what he meant. Kirk. And the baby who was no longer there. She raised her chin, dismissing the subject before it was even framed. “That was five years ago, Papa. I’m over it.”
The look in his eyes told her he knew better. In a way, she supposed he always did. “You never get over losing a child, Maren, you know that. You just learn to cope with it better as time goes on.”
She didn’t want to talk about it any longer. She wasn’t some fragile little doll. Scar tissue had formed, protecting her. She was safe.
“Jared Stevens had good references.” She�
�d already checked on the first and gotten nothing but praise in response. The man she’d spoken to had told her to encourage Jared to come back if he found that California wasn’t to his liking. “And even as I was beginning to turn him down—don’t give me that look, Papa, I was just going with instincts—he jumped into action to kill the grease fire while Max just stood there, frozen. My instincts had a change of heart. I couldn’t very well tell Stevens that I wouldn’t take him on on a trial basis. There was no reason not to. And I wasn’t about to tell him that he reminded me of someone rotten in my past.”
Joe nodded his agreement. “Not every good-looking man is going to turn out to be a bastard.”
“I know.” And then she flashed him a smile. “Look at you.”
“Right,” he laughed, “look at me.” And then he waved her off. “I’ve got work to do, stop distracting me.”
“Yes, Papa,” she murmured dutifully, playing along. She went back to her own work.
Nothing. He’d come up with nothing.
Jared sighed to himself as he quietly made his way to the door at the rear of the kitchen. His footsteps echoed in his head, heightened by the silence around him. Everyone else had gone home, even the cleaning crew. He’d waited around, keeping out of sight, until the silence of emptiness had embraced him.
It had been a full week. A week of suffering through Max’s tutelage and ingratiating himself to the food servers, busboys and cooking staff, delicately working everyone for information.
All he’d come up with so far was that it looked as if the salad girl had a crush on him. She’d come back to work two days after the incident and looked at him like an adoring puppy every time their paths crossed. Aside from that, Lynda, one of the waitresses, was a major babe and seemed ready to party with him at a moment’s notice. If he weren’t on the job, he might easily consider it.
But he was on the job and would be until he either came up with some evidence of money laundering or cleared the establishment of unfounded allegations. One week on the job and he knew everyone by name, knew a little bit about their lives, or a lot, in April’s case. Getting people to open up to him was not a problem.
Unless, of course, he was thinking of Maren. She’d reverted back to closemouthed the moment they’d returned to the restaurant from the hospital. He still couldn’t figure out why.
Restaurant owner Warren Shepherd had come by on a couple of occasions. He was the visible partner of Shepherd and Rineholdt, and liked to come in around dinnertime to greet guests and take in what was going on. The man, with his dapper, expensive suits and east coast way of talking, reminded him of an aging Mafia chieftain from some old, stereotypical movie. He had a feeling that Shepherd liked playing the part and that perhaps Shepherd’s role-playing had set off the man who’d come to them with unsubstantiated stories.
If this was a wild-goose chase, Jared thought, at least it gave him an opportunity to practice his cooking.
“Hey, who put Beef Wellington on the menu?” Shepherd asked on his last visit into the kitchen the other night. He’d stood there, a tiny piece of the freshly baked serving caught between his thumb and forefinger as he’d sampled the dish.
“I did,” Maren had informed him, crossing over to the man.
Jared remembered thinking that the man looked as if he’d much rather be sampling Maren instead of the new dish.
“Since when?” Shepherd had asked.
Maren had nodded toward him as he’d stood off to the side, watching the exchange. “Since Jared made some the other day,” she’d replied.
“Jared?”
She’d beckoned for him to come over, then made the necessary introductions.
“This is Jared Stevens, our new assistant chef.” She’d come up to him the day before while he’d been experimenting with the dish in the kitchen, not knowing that he was doing it expressly for her benefit. He’d done it to draw her out since all attempts at conversation had failed since that first day.
She’d been so impressed with the serving, she’d asked him to make more and placed it on the menu.
“It’s good,” Shepherd had subsequently pronounced, one arm wrapped around Maren and hugging her to him. Shepherd’s dark eyes had met his. “Keep up the good work, kid.” And then the man had looked at Maren again. “Should have known better than to question anything you did.” He’d reluctantly released his hold as she’d taken a step back. Shepherd had left shortly thereafter.
The incident had left Jared wondering. Just what was Maren’s story? Were she and Shepherd involved? Was she sleeping with him? It didn’t seem unlikely.
He found he didn’t like that idea very much, although it shouldn’t have mattered to him one way or another, except that it might complicate things. Shepherd was the one the department was looking at closely. If the allegations had any truth to them, then the most likely candidate to be responsible for money laundering was one if not both of the two partners.
And anyone they needed to carry it off.
Which might mean the restaurant manager and/or the accountant.
Opening the door that led down to the basement, Jared slipped inside, then carefully closed the door behind him. He found himself not wanting to believe that Joe Collins was involved in the laundering, if that was actually going on. The instant he’d met the man, he’d liked him. Joe Collins was outgoing and friendly. There was something about the man that immediately made every man or woman he encountered feel like a friend.
But then it all could have been an act, Jared thought as his eyes grew accustomed to the dim lighting inside the closed stairwell.
His gut told him no.
He didn’t know what his gut told him about Maren Minnesota herself. He was having a hell of a lot of trouble getting a handle on her. The woman who’d been with him at the hospital had displayed both concern and sympathy. She’d even lowered her barriers enough to give him a glimpse into her life.
But once they were back at work, that was all there was between them: work. She was usually there by the time he arrived at the restaurant each morning and she hardly nodded in his direction when he saw her. As for speaking to him, that only happened when he initiated the exchange and then she usually responded in as few words as possible. Icicles filled in the spaces, yet he heard her talking and laughing with the others.
Just what was her story?
Gorgeous or not, Jared couldn’t help wondering if he would have been nearly this intrigued by Maren if she’d reacted to him the way most other women did: willing and ready, flirtatious smiles on their lips and open invitations in their eyes. As far back as he could remember, he’d never met a woman who didn’t like him and he supposed it bothered him a little that Maren seemed to look right through him. Any opening that had been visible at the hospital had snapped shut.
That was just his pride acting up, he told himself as he made his way down the dimly lit stairs into the basement. He would have to block that out. He had a case to work on, not a woman’s behavior to unravel.
Under different circumstances, he would have been more than willing to unravel the clothing the woman wore, he mused.
He came to the landing. This was where the lockers for the staff were located, as well as the storeroom where the nonperishable supplies were kept. He had no idea what he might find down here, but he figured it was worth a look. He had to start somewhere.
Jared paused. Cocking his head, he listened intently. He thought he was alone in the restaurant. Was there another entrance to the place and had someone come in that way?
He could have sworn he heard voices, or rather, a voice.
Her voice.
Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t actually seen her leave. Her office door had been locked and the lights turned off, so he’d just assumed that she had gone home with the rest.
Jared stood listening for a moment, but no other voice was audible.
Walking softly, as if on eggshells that might break at any moment, he made his way to the storeroom a
rea. Max had brought him down here the second day, saying that if he needed something, this was where he’d find it. Maren liked to keep it fully stocked with all the ingredients they used. Shipments came in daily. The excess was stored down here. This was also the area where the auxiliary freezer was kept.
He definitely heard Maren’s voice. Jared all but crept the rest of the way until he was within range of the wire-encased area.
Maren was inside the large room, checking off a list she was holding in her hand. Oblivious to his presence, she was chanting something under her breath as she scanned the long printout she held.
“Okay, canned peaches, canned peaches, canned peaches,” she repeated as she ran her finger down the list. “Ah, here, canned peaches.” Pausing, she leaned a section of the list against a box and wrote in what she said out loud, “Twenty cans.”
“Need help?”
Maren caught herself before she gasped. As it was, the sound of his voice, seemingly coming out of nowhere when she thought she was alone, had almost made her jump out of her skin. She whirled around toward the source.
He moved closer, hooking his fingers into the wire mesh that separated her from him. Guilt nibbled at him, although he liked the wide-eyed look on her face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her back was immediately up. “You didn’t.” Flustered, she tried to compose herself. “I mean—” And then her eyes narrowed. Why was she on the defensive? He was the intruder. “What are you doing snooping around down here?”
His grin was swift, taking no prisoners as it swept through her, searing all the way down to her bones. “I wasn’t snooping. I forgot something in my locker.” He jerked a thumb in the opposite direction.
She couldn’t get herself to relax. He’d really frightened her. “And what? You lost your way?”
“No, I heard you talking.” He didn’t bother trying to hide his amusement, but it wasn’t at her expense. “Do you always talk to yourself?”
She raised her chin again. She didn’t like being caught unaware this way.
Dangerous Disguise Page 5