Bride by Chocolate (Death by Chocolate)

by Alexis Lusonne Montgomery

  “Is that the last of it?” Sam asked, positioning the carrier to slide under the stack of boxes she and Angie had packed, just before Angie went to get a last-call drink.

  “That’s it,” Bebe replied. “I’ll drive the van back to the factory, unload this stuff, and drop Angie at her car.”

  “Does she have a key to the building?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then my men can drive the van back, unload what needs to be secured, and escort her to her car. I’ll drive you home. You’ll both be safe, and I’ll feel better knowing the factory and your apartment have been checked out.” He loaded the boxes onto the dolly and headed back toward the exit.

  Bebe’s teeth clenched and her jaw hardened.

  If she was ever going to get the upper hand in this partnership, she’d better start now. “Sam—”

  “What, sweetheart?” He looked back at her, evidently realizing from her tone that she wasn’t happy with his suggestion. “Is that a problem? Do you think Angie will mind accompanying George and Paul? They’re bonded.”

  Perfectly timed, Angie strolled back from the bar, a flute of champagne in one hand, the other snug around Paul’s left biceps, smiling like the cat who’d eaten canary canapés.

  Roll with it, she thought. “No. I don’t think she’ll mind at all.”

  …

  A short time later, they were cruising out Powell Avenue toward Russian Hill. The streets were fairly quiet, and the big sedan prowled the pavement with a low purr. Sam glanced over at her.

  “Tired?”

  “It’s been a long day.” She might resent his take-charge methods, but she couldn’t deny his presence had made the last three days run more smoothly, at least on a business level. “Thanks for all your help.”

  “My pleasure. I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised at the amount of money you raked in for the charity tonight. All the heavy hitters were there, and my mother could wring Christmas cash out of the Grinch. Too bad your parents couldn’t have been here.”

  “Maman will be happy it went so well. I would’ve hated to tell her we couldn’t participate. What a nightmare that would have been.”

  “Don’t think about it any more this evening. You’re tired and there’s nothing else we can do tonight. You need a good night’s sleep. We’ll tackle it again in the morning. Felix ought to have something soon, and we can get a fix on who’s doing the hacking.”

  “I hope so. Valentine’s Day is almost here.”

  Sam reached across and took her hand in his. His was so much bigger than hers, but somehow she’d never found his size intimidating. His hand, wrapped around hers, was infinitely comforting at the moment. His thumb massaging circles on her palm had an almost hypnotic effect, and the tension eased all the way down to her toes. The heated leather seat warmed her back. The warm air flowing from the under-dash vents lulled her. Bebe could barely keep her eyes open. But she knew there was something else she wanted to ask him. What was it? Oh, yes—

  “Sam?”

  “Hmm?” He didn’t take his eyes off the street, just gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  He did glance over at her then. “No. What did you want to know?”

  “Have you ever dated a woman who wasn’t a blonde?”

  He released her hand and concentrated on making the turn onto Filbert. She didn’t think the maneuver required all that much concentration, but she figured he needed a moment to sort through all the ramifications of any answer he gave her.

  “Yes.”

  Did he really think that qualified as an answer?

  “When was that?”

  Once again he glanced at her, and in the dim glow from fog-shrouded streetlights, she watched a frown that came and went across his brow.

  “Last night.”

  “Last night? You mean dinner with me? Was that a date? I thought it was business.”

  “Nope. It was a date.”

  “Oh. Okay. Next question. Have you actually dated all those women—the blondes who came by to say hello this evening?”

  “Of course not. Some of them are friends of Glenna’s, business acquaintances, people I’ve met at functions like this. You know how that is. Usually my memory is a lot better when it comes to matching names with faces, but tonight they all seemed to look alike. I hope I didn’t insult anyone—”

  “So the women you send candy to aren’t always women you date?”

  “Here we are, sweetheart. Very Berry home.”

  The relief in his voice almost made her laugh. She should be ashamed, putting him on the spot like that, but she wanted to hear what he’d say.

  They said a man often looked for his mother in the woman he married, so perhaps that’s what Sam was doing, consciously or not. She couldn’t really blame him—his mother was an intelligent, charming woman, besides being incredibly beautiful, and it was obvious she adored her son.

  Too bad she’s also six feet tall and a natural blonde.

  Sam was looking for Ginger Rogers and Bebe looked more like Little Orphan Annie. Instead of Astaire and Rogers, they must have looked like Mutt and Jeff out on the dance floor. Even if she wanted a future with him, and she definitely shouldn’t, she couldn’t begin to compete.

  Sam pulled parallel to the cars parked in front of the berry-colored Painted Lady.

  “I’d invite you in for coffee,” she said, “but there doesn’t seem to be any place to park.”

  “I saw a space around the corner when we passed the intersection. I’ll let you out, but wait for me in the foyer, okay?”

  Not waiting for a reply, he got out and came around the car, opened her door, and helped her onto the sidewalk. “Wait for me?”

  She looked up into his eyes and her stomach did a triple backflip to the floor and back. Hopefully that’s all he’d ask her to do, because there was no way she could say no when he looked at her like he was looking at her now—a chocoholic contemplating the last truffle in the box.

  “I’ll wait for you,” she promised. “But there’s no reason to think the hacker has anything other than the misrouted shipments planned, is there? Don’t you think whoever it is will give up after Valentine’s Day?”

  “A lot could happen between now and then. And the scheduling interference is escalating. We don’t know how far this bastard is willing to go.”

  “But Sam, you can’t follow me around. You have a life. A business—”

  “You let me worry about that.” His hand came up to cup her cheek. “Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Go inside—be careful in those shoes—I’ll be right back.”

  As she reached the front door, she turned to watch him whip around the corner to circle the block.

  Now he was going to worry about her footwear?

  The light through the front door’s stained-glass inset seemed brighter than usual for this time of night. Gracie normally left one sconce light burning in the foyer, but when Bebe turned the ornate pewter doorknob and gave the heavy oak door a push, the hall lights were all ablaze.

  Hearing Tweety emit a loud garble of sound she’d never heard before, she looked up. Her apartment door stood wide open. She headed for the stairs.

  Oh my God. Please don’t let Tweety be hurt.

  As her foot hit the bottom stair, Gracie rushed headlong out of Bebe’s apartment, shouting, “I’m calling the police! You better get out—get out now!”

  “Gracie!” Bebe called out.

  “Run. There’s a man—”

  “Be careful!”

  Gracie grabbed the banister’s end post and swung around to charge down the stairs. “Run—”

  Seemingly in slow motion, she saw Gracie miss the first step, lose her footing, and pitch forward into the stair’s railing. She went down on both knees. She skidded, then tumbled down several steps before Bebe could reach her to stop her fall. She grabbed Gracie and pushed hard until they were both hun
ched halfway down the flight of steps, clutching each other and the railing for support.

  From above, Bebe heard the thud of running shoes on the hardwood floor. She glanced up. A man dressed head-to-toe in black, complete with a skier’s face hood, came barreling down the stairs. She threw herself over the older woman to shield her, just before the man stumbled over them. Still hugging Gracie, she heard the man’s feet hit the foyer carpet with a thump, and she looked to make sure he kept going.

  The man in black ran toward the front door. He reached for the knob just as the door started to swing open. Changing direction midstep, he darted down the hallway toward the back of the building. Doors there led to the basement and a rear exit.

  “Sam, watch out,” she yelled.

  The front door landed with a crack against the wall. “What the hell is going on?” He demanded, even as he charged after the person running down the hall.

  “No, wait!” But her voice only echoed over the sound of running feet.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sam charged after the man, down the length of the hall, out the rear exit, down the steps, and into the thickest wall of fog he’d ever seen.

  The bastard could have been standing three feet in front of him—in this fog it was as good as a mile. Dammit to hell.

  He took several soft steps forward, listening. Only the scraping of his leather soles on the cement walkway and the distant sound of a foghorn in the bay could be heard. The sudden slam of a car door, the sputter of an engine, and the gritty sound of tires speeding down the alley had him rushing forward.

  Bebe’s voice calling his name made him turn back.

  Thank God. If she could yell like that, she couldn’t be badly hurt. She could be hurt? Oh my God.

  Running, he reached for his cell phone, punched in 911, and was talking to the operator when he leaped the four steep steps back into the building.

  “There’s been a break-in, probable burglary. Send the police and the paramedics. Two possible victims.” He gave the address, his name, and his cell phone number.

  Bebe and Gracie still huddled on the stairs above him. The landlady’s fuchsia muumuu hung like a drooping flag through the banister rungs.

  She moaned softly while Bebe patted her shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, Gracie,” she said. “Sam will take care of everything.”

  He heard her soft words, just before she raised her head and bellowed his name loud enough to be heard at the Embarcadero.

  “I’m here. Are you both all right?”

  “She’s hurt.” Bebe’s eyes filled with tears, and she patted harder. “She can’t get a deep breath. She says her foot feels numb.”

  As Sam hurried down the foyer hall, he heard the sound of fast-approaching sirens, then the screech of brakes. “Don’t move. The paramedics will be here in a minute. Don’t strain. Take slow, easy breaths.”

  “Make her quit hitting me and I will.”

  “Bebe, stop patting her.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “S’okay. My shoulder’s sore from hitting the banister, that’s all.”

  Two patrol officers hit the front door, guns drawn. “Freeze! Police!”

  The two women flung their hands in the air. Sam turned at the foot of the stairs to face them, hands raised. “He’s gone, officers. No one here but the victims.”

  …

  The paramedics determined Gracie had broken her right ankle and possibly cracked a rib in her tumble down the stairs. Her injuries could have been a great deal worse if his intrepid pixie hadn’t stopped her fall midflight.

  Bebe hovered over the landlady, smoothing back her flyaway silver mane, and Sam heard her replies to Gracie’s hoarsely whispered questions as the paramedics readied her for evacuation to the hospital’s emergency room.

  “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll put food out for Chester—no, I won’t stay here alone—yes, I’ll call CoCo—Sam and I will meet you in the ER as soon as we talk to the officers.”

  Finally, the paramedics hauled Gracie out on the rolling stretcher, leaving Bebe watching in the doorway. The sudden slump of her shoulders propelled Sam forward.

  Shedding his jacket, he draped it around her. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to be able to sweep her up in his arms and assure her everything would be fine, but he didn’t dare. She had an issue with being picked up. Now wasn’t the time to confront it. Instead he urged her into Gracie’s apartment.

  She wilted onto the sofa, hugging his jacket around her like a toddler with a security blanket.

  Sam clenched his jaw hard to stop the shudder coursing through him. Tonight could have been an even worse nightmare if the landlady hadn’t heard Tweety’s screeches and gone to investigate. What if Bebe had gone into that apartment—alone—and run into that bastard? He reached the sofa armrest and had to sit down; his knees were about to buckle under him.

  In the aftermath, the fear hit him.

  He could have lost her.

  He’d finally found her. And he could have lost her.

  That was not a thought he wanted to replay.

  Ever.

  He mentally took back each rotten thing he’d thought about the obnoxious little bird. He’d personally see to it that Tweety had gourmet budgie treats, if there was such a thing, for the rest of his life.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” He couldn’t resist reaching out to stroke an unruly curl from her forehead. Anything to be able to touch her, to make sure she was real, to know she was safe.

  She gazed up at him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.

  “No, I’m okay. There’s coffee if you want to make a pot. I don’t know what kind, but I know Gracie has coffee.” She leaned her cheek into his hand and let out a deep sigh. “Or you could get it from my kitchen?”

  “The officers are searching your place. They said they’d let us in when they’re done. They want you to check to see if anything is missing.”

  Bebe glanced over at the covered travel cage sitting on Gracie’s dining table where a calmed yellow budgie still muttered epithets to himself. “Did you check Tweety’s cage when you brought him down?”

  “Yes. The little black book is still there.”

  “Thank you.” She stretched a hand toward him, and he grasped it like a lifeline.

  The younger of the two patrol officers appeared in the doorway. “You folks want to come on up and see if anything’s missing?”

  “He didn’t seem to be carrying anything when he lunged past us on the stairs,” Bebe said.

  “Well, miss, for somebody who didn’t take anything, he sure made an awful mess. Got any idea what he was looking for?”

  Bebe hesitated. Sam knew she was considering the reaction of the police if she mentioned the recipe book, and the possibility of involving her parents.

  She glanced up at him. It was her choice to explain the situation, or not. Sam said nothing. She held his hand tighter and looked back at the officer. “No. No idea at all.”

  …

  Sam insisted Bebe wait in Gracie’s apartment while he went to check out the damage. He wanted to make sure nothing obscene had been done to her things when the vandal searched. The hacker was probably behind the break-in, but the bastard could also be a pervert who liked to riffle through ladies’ underwear.

  Sam checked every room. Books were tossed off the shelves, pillows unzipped and the stuffing pulled out, chairs upended, the couch tipped on its side and the underlining ripped open. The kitchen cabinets had been emptied onto the floor and countertops; every cabinet door stood open. The bedroom lay in heaps of color. Closets and drawers emptied. Empty shoeboxes littered the floor, their contents strewn like confetti across the room.

  This person had been hunting, not stealing—Sam was sure of it now.

  What had he been thinking to let her go into the apartment house alone?

  How could he have been so cavalier with her safety?

  Remorse burned in his gut, leaving the taste of shame in his mo
uth.

  He’d used the whole computer fiasco to his own advantage to get closer to Bebe, and he’d gone through the motions of protecting her, but he hadn’t really believed she was in physical danger. Not really. Not until now. Idiot!

  And now, he knew she wanted to believe this break-in could be a coincidence—just random vandalism—but he wasn’t buying that.

  Someone wanted to ruin Waterston’s.

  And that same someone wanted the little black book of recipes. It was the only scenario that made any sense.

  Sam didn’t intend to let them get anything other than a lengthy jail term—after he’d exacted a little retribution for injuries rendered.

  “Where are you?” Bebe’s voice sounded flat, defeated, not the lilting Gallic tones he loved. It made him feel get-even mean, and he meant to do just that when they found the person who’d caused her distress.

  “In here, baby. It’s okay. Just messy. Doesn’t look like any serious damage.” He walked out of her bedroom where he’d been smoothing her pastel peach sheets back across the bed, and wishing the evening had gone as he’d hoped…

  Bebe stood in the middle of the living room, slowly turning to survey the chaos. Her whiskey-brown eyes were wide with shock.

  Every book lay open, as though someone had shaken and tossed each one. All the drawers in the sideboard were pulled out and upended. Pictures had been taken off the walls, their backs ripped apart. The couch cushions were scattered across the floor, zippered covers undone.

  “He was searching for something. He didn’t take anything that I can see, and he didn’t seem to do any serious damage.”

  “What?” she whispered. “What could be so important that he’d break into my apartment? I don’t have anything expensive; nothing worth risking jail time.”

  “Yes, you do.” Sam stepped in close behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders, pulling her against him. “You have the recipes to all of your father’s prizewinning creations.”

  “But Sam, they’re only recipes. With samples, any good chemist could break them down.”

  “Someone thinks your versions are worth stealing. We’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen.” With the gentlest of touches, so as not to startle her, he turned her around and tilted her chin up. “What would happen to your business if someone did steal that book?”