Bride by Chocolate (Death by Chocolate)

by Alexis Lusonne Montgomery

  “We’d have to start over. Papa would remember some recipes and the rest he’d re-create—it would take a while, but it could be done. The most important aspect of anything we make is the quality of the ingredients we use. Quality depends on our source for each one. That’s why misdirecting our shipments has been so disastrous. If we don’t use the same high-quality ingredients, nothing will taste as it should. That will put us out of business.”

  “I’m afraid our hacker is trying to cover all bets. He wants to ruin your shipments and rip off the recipes. We’re not going to let him do either. Tomorrow we’ll make a copy of the book, and put it in my office safe until you can get a safe-deposit box. Okay?” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him.

  “Okay.” Still cocooned in his jacket, she rested her head against his chest, then seemed to relax into him. He stood holding her until the police officer returned to ask more questions.

  …

  “Absolutely not. No.” Sam punctuated his statement with a negative shake of his head.

  He gave new meaning to the word “stubborn.” He stood in front of her bedroom dresser where all the drawers were open to varying degrees, gripping a small suitcase in one hand and a fistful full of her underwear in the other. From the glare he was directing toward her, if she’d been an employee of Sugarman Financial, she’d be looking for the pink slip in her pay envelope.

  “Be reasonable. The officers said the vandal is not likely to come back here tonight.”

  “And you’re not going to be here if he does. You’re the one who needs to be reasonable.” He set the suitcase on the bed, flipped open the lid, and dropped the colorful lingerie into it. “What else are you going to need for a couple days’ stay?”

  “I’ll need to be here to help Gracie when she comes home.”

  “Fine. When we go to the hospital, they’ll let us know when that will be. Until then you’ll be safer staying with me.”

  “Maybe I should stay with Angie. She’s got plenty of room.” And I wouldn’t be tempted to crawl into her bed…

  “Then you’d both be in danger. Do you think this person doesn’t know who Angie is, and where she lives? Isn’t that the most logical place to look, considering your parents are out of the country?” Sam stood up from picking clothes off the floor and stepped toward her. “Are you afraid to stay with me?”

  “No. Of course not.” Liar. “But I have to take care of Gracie’s cat and Tweety, too. I can’t abandon them.”

  “We’ll leave food for the cat tonight and take the bird with us. Tomorrow I’ll have my cleaning service deal with this mess; you won’t be able to tell there was a problem. And the locks will be changed. Everything else can be worked out later. I can have one of my security people here tomorrow to keep an eye on things until you and Gracie are able to move back in at the same time. Deal?”

  “You really think this is necessary?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “All right. I’m too tired to argue anymore—tonight.”

  She’d better pitch in and pack her own suitcase. So far, all Sam had put in it were her Victoria’s Secret silk undies.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Saturday night, which had segued into Sunday morning, in San Francisco General Hospital’s emergency room sounded like the audio track to a third-rate horror film and smelled like the alley Dumpster before the Clorox bath.

  Bright lights shuddered over people in nurse uniforms, speed-walking as though they’d like to break into a run, while other people in various stages of pain and undress waited on hard molded-plastic chairs for those same uniformed people to come to their rescue.

  Bebe wanted to turn around and escape, dragging Sam to safety with her. The smell of Lysol and antiseptic did a nasty dance in her stomach. Her last nerve frayed to its very last synapse. The only thing that kept her standing was the grip she had on Sam’s big, strong hand.

  She needed to make sure Gracie would be okay.

  A tall blond nurse came from across the room to stand at the counter. “May I help you?” she asked Sam, dismissing Bebe with hardly a nod. The nurse glanced down at their clasped hands. She stepped closer to Sam. Mon Dieu. Another blonde. He needed round-the-clock protection from the Bleached Horde.

  “We’re here to check on Gracie Halloran,” Sam replied. “The ambulance brought her in a short while ago.”

  She smiled at Sam as though he’d just told her she’d won the lottery. Granted, Sam’s wonderfully masculine voice would set any woman’s feminine heartstrings to vibrate, but Bebe thought a nurse ought to have more self-control. This was a hospital, after all…

  “Are you family?” Her eyelashes fluttered.

  “As good as. We’re family friends,” Sam said. “We’ll be responsible for her care.”

  “I’m terribly sorry. No one but immediate family is allowed to see the patients while they’re being treated. Perhaps you’d like to wait until she’s admitted, and taken to her room?”

  “But—” Bebe wanted to explain that Gracie had no other family. She and CoCo, who occupied the other upstairs flat, were her surrogate family. The gentle squeeze of Sam’s fingers on hers had her glancing up at him.

  He smiled at the nurse, who adjusted the collar on her uniform and swiped stray hairs off her forehead.

  “Perhaps you’d be so good as to call Dr. Morton. I’m sure he’ll be able to figure out a way around that particular policy. We really do need to see Ms. Halloran as soon as possible.”

  “Dr. Morton?”

  “Yes.”

  “Chief of staff—that Dr. Morton?”

  “I believe he still held that title at the last board of trustees meeting I attended. Could you get him on the phone for me…Miss Johnson?” Sam said, looking closely at her name tag as though memorizing a hit-and-run driver’s license plate number.

  The nurse glanced from one end of the counter to the other, then grabbed for a stack of charts. Shuffling through until she found the one she wanted, she said, “This way.” Nurse Johnson came from behind the counter and quick-walked down the hall. “She’s in cubicle B. Dr. Wang is seeing her now.”

  Bebe bit her lip to keep from smiling. By now she was used to Sam’s take-no-prisoners approach to getting his way; to the uninitiated it could be like being run over by a Sherman tank—a polite tank, but a tank nonetheless. She almost felt sorry for the poor nurse when she scurried off after showing them to the curtain-draped cubicle—until she remembered how the woman had scoped out ring fingers, hers and Sam’s, and decided Bebe was no competition.

  Between the drapes she could see Gracie had young Dr. Wang’s wrist gripped in one hand while she pointed to the lines in his palm with the other. “You’re going to live a very long life, Doctor. And you’re going to have at least six children. See—it says so right here.”

  The doctor stared at his palm. “My mother will be so glad to know that. She’s been hounding me for grandchildren. Can you tell how long she’ll have to wait?”

  Bebe stifled a giggle. She heard Sam cough to smother a chuckle.

  The doctor and Gracie startled, turning at the sound. Like guilty children, both grinned. Dr. Wang tugged his hand out of Gracie’s grasp.

  “Hi, kiddos.” Gracie wiggled her toes sticking out the end of her foot’s plaster cast. “I’m all done.”

  “You’re all done here,” Dr. Wang interrupted. “But we’re keeping you for observation. At least forty-eight hours, more if necessary. You have a mild concussion, and we need to determine whether the cracked rib will inhibit your breathing.”

  Gracie grimaced, then groaned, looking like she was about to mount a serious protest.

  Dr. Wang pointed his pen at her. “That was our agreement. You got to look at my palm—I get to keep my eye on you for the next few days.”

  “He’s right,” Bebe said, moving next to the examining table and taking the elderly flower child’s chilled hand in her own. “You’ve got to stay here so they can make sure you’re okay.
Chester is all set. The house is locked up tight, and Sam is sending a security guard to watch the place until we get back.”

  Gracie patted Bebe’s hand, which still gripped hers. “Okay, honey.” Then she looked at Sam, who stood behind the doctor. “You’re going to take care of my girl here until I get home?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I don’t intend to let her out of my sight.”

  “See that you don’t.” She narrowed her eyes in warning. “The cards were very specific about the danger. I did them three times to make sure. So you two have got to be careful.”

  “We will,” Bebe assured her. “I promise.” She kissed Gracie’s cheek, then walked back to stop next to Sam. “Do you want us to wait until you get settled in your room?”

  “No. No, no. You both look worse than I feel. Dr. Wang’s taking excellent care of me. You go on. I’ll be fine.”

  The doctor looked up from the chart he’d been notating. “She’ll be in her room, asleep, before you can find your car in the parking lot.”

  …

  “Are we there yet?” she asked, trying to imagine which high-rise would appeal to the scion of a prominent financial and social empire.

  Sam chuckled and nodded toward the multistory concrete-and-steel mountain crowding the opposite corner. “We’re here.”

  “Oh.” Bebe leaned forward to get a view of the entire edifice. Miles of reflective glass gave the appearance of chrome-plated shields. “It’s impressive.” It looked like a futuristic fort—if you lived on Mars—or a state-of-the-art security high-rise condo. The Very Berry would shudder.

  The street level had a single pedestrian door in a windowless concrete wall; an ATM-like computer recessed into the wall next to it flashed welcome in neon yellow.

  Sam pushed the button on a remote-control device attached to the visor, and the adjacent chrome gates slid open to admit the Jag. A uniformed guard, clipboard in hand, stepped out of his cubicle into the car’s path. He jotted down the license plate number and waved them on.

  The underground parking spaces were numbered, not named. Another security measure, Sam said. They wound down into the gray-slab underground lot and pulled into a slot marked “1700A2.”

  Sam was right. No one would find her here. No one would even imagine Bebe Waterston and Sam Sugarman a couple, much less them spending the night together—sort of. She was not the Sam Sugarman stereotype—stellar, statuesque, and seriously blond. In the Sugarman world she was a changeling.

  “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  He came around to help her out.

  The car door’s shutting must have startled Tweety, who let out a squawk and muttered bird curses in a number of different dialects. His travel cage, a two-foot-by-three-foot affair and covered securely, sat in the backseat, wedged between her two suitcases and her laptop computer bag. The cover muffled the sound, but it was clear her budgie was not enjoying his late-night move. She didn’t blame him one bit. The only thing making this whole situation bearable for her was being with Sam. The thought of losing Sam when this nightmare was over twisted through her, leaving a nasty sting.

  But that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Out of harm’s way? Back to normal?

  “Shush, Tweety,” Bebe whispered to soothe the budgie.

  “You don’t have to tell him to shush,” Sam said. “He’s a hero. He can yell as loud as he wants.”

  Her heart lurched. He made resistance a joke. How could you defend your heart against someone who took your guard budgie seriously?

  Sam opened the rear car door, pulled out the suitcases, and set them on the pavement. Then he eased Tweety’s cage out. “You take Big Bird and I’ll get the rest. Tomorrow, I’ll have his regular birdcage brought over so he’ll feel right at home.”

  “He’ll be fine in this for as long as I’m staying with you,” she said, taking the cage handle and reaching for her computer bag. “You don’t have to go to all that trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. He deserves a medal. Maybe we can see that he’s awarded one of those animal rescuer awards the city hands out to courageous pets making heroic efforts to save their masters. I’ve seen that on the news.”

  Sam looked sincere. She laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. It must be me. My life is turning into a sitcom. I have the Hacker from Hell trying to ruin me, the Bungling Burglar who just wants to maul my belongings, not actually steal anything, and the miniature version of Big Bird to hold off the attack. Could it get any more bizarre?”

  She couldn’t stop laughing. She knew the humor held back the tears; she also knew they weren’t going to stay on hold forever. She was losing it. She tried to stifle both, until Sam’s fingers brushed along her cheek. His fingers came away with tears sparkling on the tips of each one.

  “Don’t forget me. You have me, too.”

  Her heart heaved. A sudden calmness flooded her whole being. She looked up into his clear gray-blue eyes, and she felt her own smile from the inside out. “Yes, I do have you. For now. And I won’t forget, ever.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  On the seventeenth floor, Sam fingered the built-in keypad next to the door with the brass A over the peephole. The door opened and he gave it a push, ushering Bebe inside.

  As she walked down the short hall, he looked over her head into the expansive living room. The place was short on ambience, but it had a hell of a view.

  He’d never really considered what this place said about him, like what he’d understood about Bebe when he’d studied her apartment to get a grasp of the inner woman. But then he really didn’t live here. He slept here, changed clothes here, enjoyed an occasional game on the big-screen TV. But he didn’t really spend any meaningful part of his life in this apartment.

  What conclusion could be drawn from that?

  Now he had to wonder what a warm, vibrant woman thought about him. Would she consider this place a reflection of him? Would she look at his home and find him wanting? What did an entire apartment done top to bottom in gray tones say about a person? Thank God Glenna had brought over those little red pillows—they had to add something, didn’t they? Comic relief?

  Sam followed as she walked straight to the wall of glass that gave him a panoramic view of both the San Pablo and the San Francisco bays. The fog, which had lessened somewhat, now lent an eerie cast to the lights outlining the Golden Gate Bridge, making the metal scaffolding fade to nothing in the opaque gray distance. Alcatraz glittered through the wisps of vapor still clinging to the water’s surface.

  “I can see why you like living here.” She put a hand to the window. “This must be amazing when there’s a clear day.”

  “I try not to hold my breath waiting for that to happen, but yes, the view is why I bought the place.”

  He set the birdcage on an ottoman facing the window. “Maybe Big Bird will like the view, too.”

  Tweety still muttered, evidently resigned to his bumpy fate.

  “He’ll be fine in the morning,” she said. “I brought his honey sticks—that should cheer him up.”

  Sam collected the two suitcases they’d left sitting at the door. Hopefully, his housekeeper had made the bed in the guest room, and if not, where the hell did she keep the sheets? Maybe if he spent more time here, other than to sleep, he’d know these things.

  Yeah? And when was the last time you changed a sheet in this place? When was the last time you had a real houseguest? Aw, hell.

  When he returned, Bebe continued to look out into the mist-shrouded night.

  “Would you like to see your room—the guest room—now?”

  “Okay.”

  As he led the way down the hall, Sam wished he’d taken his mother up on her offer to redecorate. She had great taste and a design sensibility that allowed her to combine disparate colors and furnishings in perfect balance just like Bebe. If she’d fixed the place up, his pixie would feel right at home now, instead of like she’d just been dropped into a fi
fties film noir set.

  He led her past his bedroom to the door that dead-ended the hall.

  Opening the door came as a pleasant surprise. This wasn’t so bad. He’d forgotten this room was done in beige, or cream, or whatever you called it. At least it isn’t gray.

  “It’s lovely,” Bebe said, stepping past him to place her laptop and handbag on the dresser.

  It looked anemic to him. Compared to her colorful apartment with the golds and rusts and creamy yellows, this room looked like it needed to get a life. But now it had Pixie Power, so things were looking up.

  He walked across the large room and set the suitcases near the door to the walk-in closet.

  “The bathroom is through there, and this,” he said, giving the door a push, “is the closet. Would you like me to help you unpack?”

  “No, I think I can manage. Thanks.”

  “I’m going to make coffee. If you feel like having a cup, come on out to the kitchen when you’re ready. It’s the door to the right off the living room.” Sam walked over to the queen-size bed and pulled back the cream velvet coverlet. Sheets. Pillowcases. He patted the pillow. “There, you’re all set. Sorry, no mints, but the sheets are clean.” Thank God for efficient housekeepers.

  “I’ll be fine. Coffee sounds good. I think I’m still too wired to sleep. I’d like to freshen up first, though.”

  “Right.” He patted the pillow again. “Of course. I’ll make the coffee.” He looked at his hand on the pillow where she’d soon be resting her head, at the bed where she’d soon be resting her whole body…

  He walked away from the bed and out the door. While he still could.

  …

  Bebe looked around the huge bedroom. This could sleep a family of six. Elegant. A study in noncolor. Even the painting above the headboard, an abstract of square shapes, was done in varying shades of beige.