by Cherry Adair
“You’re marrying me,” she told Jack sternly. “I want the whole nine yards. Flowers, preacher, music, bunny hop, everything. Besides, I have about sixty-five years of flack to give you for this blind date from hell. So don’t take the easy way—” He sagged against her. “Oh, thank God,” Mia breathed a sigh of relief as Jack’s driver stepped up and grabbed him from the other side. “I think he fainted.”
“Passed out, darling. Passed out. Men don’t faint, for God’s sake. And I haven’t,” Jack muttered as Mia and his driver folded him into the back seat of the car. “You’re going to remind me about tonight every year on our anniversary, aren’t you?” Jack asked as the car flew down Massachusetts Avenue and away from Embassy Row.
“And twice on Sundays,” Mia told him sweetly, cradling his head on her lap and brushing back his hair.
Jack sighed. “Good.” Eyes closed, he stroked her leg. “I have candles at my place. And champagne on ice. I wanted to do the whole proposal thing right—”
So he’d known he was going to propose before their evening had even started. “Are you kidding?” she asked. “A proposal in the snow, with bullets flying and bad guys chasing us across rooftops? What could be more romantic than that?”
He smiled against her thigh as Robert stepped on the gas and headed for the hospital at illegal speeds. “I always knew you were my woman, Mia.”
He rose up awkwardly to kiss her. Mia bent her head to meet him halfway. “And don’t you forget it.” Their lips met with aching tenderness.
“Gonna pass out now,” Jack warned as his head dropped back to her lap and his eyes drifted shut. “Don’ go, ’K? Love you…all my life.”
“I love you, too, you impossible man. Rest now. I’ll be right there when you wake up.”
And she was. As Jack had known she would be.
HAL AND DAMNATION
Muriel Jensen
CHAPTER ONE
“HE’S INSUBORDINATE and subversive,” Katarina Como told her father then cast a condemning look at the man beside her. In her usually quiet, even voice there was a slight quaver, left over from their recent argument. “His attitude is detrimental to the reputation of this establishment.”
Hal Stratton laughed. “This is a restaurant,” he countered with a sort of guy-to-guy charm her father seemed to buy, “not a military installation. Insubordinate and subversive?” He turned to her with amusement in his lazy dark blue eyes. “You’re not Eva Peron, Kat. You’re just the manager of Umberto’s Tuscan Grille.”
And that was it right there. She hated that he zeroed in on her weakness. She also hated that in a life filled with work, personal projects and little time for relationships, the only man who’d ever appealed to her physically was wrapped up in this tall, broad-shouldered megalomaniac. But her father seemed to like him and let him get away with one infraction after another despite her complaints.
Kat took a step toward her father’s desk in the restaurant’s cluttered office and pointed a finger at Hal. “See? Did you hear that? That’s all I get from him day after day. He does nothing I ask…”
“Pardon me,” Hal interrupted with calm courtesy, “but I always do what you ask.”
“When you’re good and ready,” she retorted.
“Sometimes I have priorities you’re unaware of.”
“I’ve managed this restaurant for five years, and you’ve been a waiter here for two weeks. I think I’m more likely to know what should be done first.”
“Now, Kat.” Her father folded his hands on the desk and leaned toward her with a glance at Hal that asked for forgiveness. She knew she’d lost. “You two have got to learn to get along. You’re a very good manager, and he’s the best waiter we’ve ever had.”
That, unfortunately, was true. Good waiters were a dime a dozen, but great waiters who provided the kind of hospitable service that brought patrons back again and again were few and far between. Hal Stratton had a gift. Trouble was, he also had a disdain for authority, particularly if it was female.
Kat folded her arms. “He is a good waiter,” she admitted, determined to make her point, “but he’s not a team player. Tonight, he deliberately, physically…” She demonstrated by taking hold of Stratton’s arm as he’d done to her earlier. “…stopped me from greeting Joey Percanto’s table so that he could do it himself. He actually pulled me away, so that he could get ahead of me.”
When her father seemed unimpressed with that major breach of etiquette, she dropped her hand from Hal’s arm and went on in a carefully controlled voice. “Everyone who comes into this restaurant is greeted by family, and special customers are taken care of by us.”
Her father nodded. It was a policy he’d established.
“But Joey likes Hal,” he said, looking reluctantly into her eyes. “Hal served on him on your day off and Joey called to tell me that he wants to be served by him exclusively from now on.”
Kat threw her hands up in despair, unable to stop the wellspring of her frustrations from bubbling up. “Then, why am I here? You offer the business to Giulio, who runs off to build boats in Maine, and I stay to work by your side year after year, but you don’t offer it to me because I’m your daughter and not your son. And not only that—you won’t even defend me from waiters who think they know more than I do!”
Then realizing they were getting into old family grievances, she turned to Hal with cool hauteur. “Would you excuse us, please?” she asked.
He bowed with grace and sarcasm. “Of course, Your Highness. Excuse me, Mr. Como.”
Hal went back into the restaurant, and Kat faced her father with complete exasperation.
“The Monticello has offered me a generous salary,” she said with the last shred of her patience, “to run the place nights and weekends.” The Monticello was a fine-dining restaurant with a wide menu and a staff of thirty-three.
“Kat…”
“You’re making me give it serious thought, Dad. You know I love this place, but if you’re going to stand by and do nothing while some smart-mouthed upstart ignores what I say—”
“Kat!” Umberto Como stood and said with sudden asperity, “Maybe you just say too much.”
She stared at him, cut to the quick. Fairness required that she acknowledge—to herself, at least—that he might be right. But it was his unwillingness to recognize her as a savvy, reliable partner in the business that made her feel undervalued and unappreciated.
She’d washed dishes in the restaurant since she was eight, had done prep and cleanup with her mother at ten years old and started waiting tables at fourteen.
Giulio, her younger brother, bussed tables when he was in high school, but participated in all the sports and, therefore, got afternoons and weekends off. He’d worked for spending money, but never had the love of the business that Kat developed early.
Still, when her father had begun to consider retirement, he’d offered Giulio the business. When Giulio had turned him down, Kat had suggested that she take over instead. She’d never forgotten her father’s stunned expression. He’d stammered and evaded the question, but she’d gotten her answer when he put off retirement.
She’d decided then to make a last-ditch effort to prove her competence. Then, if he still refused to let her take over the restaurant, it would be time to move on.
So, perhaps she overcompensated for her father’s inability to see her at the helm of Umberto’s Tuscan Grille by obsessing over the staff’s performance and appearance, but surely no one could blame her.
Except the new waiter, who considered her dictatorial.
She swallowed a painful lump in her throat. “I am trying to do the best job I can for you, Dad. We have a wonderful staff, but they have personal problems, too, and sometimes they have to be reminded of what…”
“Katarina.” Her father came around the desk and wrapped her in his arms. “You’re the light of my life—you know that. Since Mama died and Giulio moved away, I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
Not
because she could run the restaurant, but because the others weren’t here. He loved her, she knew he did, but he was from an old-world family and mired in old-world prejudices about women.
“Please,” he said heavily, “don’t talk about leaving.”
“Dad…”
“Kat, I have a lot on my mind right now.” He held her at arm’s length and smiled at her. “You know we have Valentine’s Day coming up and it’s going to be big. I can’t think about anything else right now. But, when it’s over, we can talk about…maybe…possibly…turning things over to you and…you know…see how it goes.”
She almost fainted dead away. She couldn’t have heard him correctly. He’d refused to talk about her taking over since Giulio left.
“What?” she breathed.
“We’ll see about it.” He went back around the desk, probably already regretting that concession. She wanted a tape recorder, a notary, a witness!
“Dad, are you…?” she began, desperate to pin him down.
“We’ll see about it,” he said, a swipe of his hand in the air dismissing it for now. “Meanwhile, I need you to do something for me.”
Still in shock, it took her a moment to process the words and respond. “Do something for you. Yes. What?”
“The new table linens and uniforms I ordered for the Ferreiras’ anniversary party are lost somewhere between here and San Francisco.”
“Oh, no.” She knew he’d pulled out all the stops to put a fresh face on Umberto’s for the Ferreiras. They’d invited many of their business and society friends, and he knew making a good impression on them could mean future business. And they could use it. Business had been steady, but brisk would be better.
“They’ve refilled the order,” he said, “but I’d like you to pick it up.”
She was having trouble with her ears. “What?” she asked. You mean…in San Francisco?”
He nodded.
“But, can’t they overnight it?”
“They sent it Urgent Air last time and it’s lost.”
“But…Portland to San Francisco? Five hundred miles will take a whole day’s driving. At least.”
He nodded and smiled. “But much less time by plane.”
She blinked at him. “You’re sending me on a commercial flight to pick up…?”
She stopped when he shook his head. “Hal has a little Cessna.”
She uttered a heartfelt groan.
CHAPTER TWO
HAL STRATTON sat on the corner of Umberto’s desk after closing. He’d changed his apron for a leather jacket. Everyone else had left, but Umberto sat at his desk and in a chair near the desk sat Hal’s captain, David Roth of the Portland Police Department.
“How did she take it?” Hal asked Umberto.
Umberto bounced a glance off him, then frowned and focused on the calendar on his desk. He flipped pages back and forth. “Well…not too badly.”
“You told her why I’m here?”
“No.”
Hal glanced at his captain, who was busy inspecting the crown molding in the old office.
“So you just told her to take a few days off then but didn’t tell her why?”
Umberto gave him a pitying look. “Yeah. Right. You tell her to take a few days off and see where it gets you.”
Umberto and Kat’s relationship was difficult for Hal to understand. While the old man seemed to love his daughter a great deal, and relied on her managerial skills, he didn’t appear to have much appreciation for her knowledge and experience, which were considerable. He also didn’t have much to say about her bossy style, which was formidable—and annoying to an undercover cop accustomed to running operations his way.
Of course, she didn’t know he was a cop, but he doubted her attitude would have been any different if she had. She was sure she knew everything.
“Berto, it’s for her own safety.” Hal pointed out the obvious. “If she knows one of your customers is planning to use the restaurant to get into the savings and loan next door, she’ll want to help stop it. This is going down tomorrow night and she always stays late to prepare the deposit. What if he makes his move while she’s still around?”
Umberto nodded emphatically. “I know all that. That’s why I told her I’m sending her to San Francisco to pick up linens.”
Hal thought about that a minute. “Okay. That’s good. She didn’t ask any questions?”
He didn’t like the way the old man was avoiding his eyes. The way he looked at Roth, who also didn’t look at Hal.
“She did complain about the drive taking eleven hours,” Umberto said.
Roth finally cleared his throat and sat up in his chair, looking suddenly official. “That’s why he told her that you’re flying her down to San Francisco.”
A long string of profanity sat on the tip of Hal’s tongue. Only extensive training and long conditioning to remain calm under the most adverse circumstances held it back.
“What?” he asked flatly.
“You’re going to take her away so that we can do our job,” Roth said.
“Our job,” Hal repeated with emphasis. “You came to me when Umberto told you he overheard Percanto planning to rob the savings and loan next door. I’m the one who set this up. I’m the one who’s been shlepping plates for two weeks, brownnosing Percanto and planting bugs in the flowers so that we can collar him.” As he piled up the details of his own case, his ability to view this sudden change of plans with calmness evaporated. “I know Berto is your friend, but I’ll be damned if you’re going to send me off as a baby-sitter to…”
“The plans are made,” Roth said. Talk about dictatorial. Kat could take lessons from him. “I promised. Just pretend this is one of the private security jobs you do on your time off. You’re off the precinct clock and Berto will pay you personally.”
“She hates me,” Hal added, desperate. “I doubt she’ll even want to go with me.”
“She’ll go,” Umberto assured him. “She’ll do whatever’s best for the restaurant.”
“Captain,” Hal pleaded. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He’d handled this flawlessly and just when it was all about to come to fruition, they were sending him off with Evita?
Roth wasn’t moved, but he did add with sincerity, “You’re the best man for the job, Hal. And the most important element in this to Berto is Kat’s safety. He let us set this up here on the promise that we’d keep her out of the way and protected. Your job in doing that is every bit as important as collaring Percanto.”
Hal swallowed more profanity.
“There’re Mariners tickets in it for you,” Roth bargained.
Hal rolled his eyes. “It’s February. There’s no baseball in February.”
“You can use my box every weekend this summer.”
Well. Maybe that would help a little. The only thing he loved more than his work was baseball.
“I told her you’d call her tonight to make plans to pick her up.” Umberto handed him a slip of paper with a telephone number on it.
Hal took it. “You two owe me big,” he said.
“Yeah,” Berto agreed.
When Hal got back to his apartment, he called Kat. “I understand I’m flying you to San Francisco,” he said.
“You do have a pilot’s license?” she asked.
Of course she would doubt him. “I do,” he assured her.
“And you’re actually a good pilot?”
“The government thought so. They trusted me with a sinfully expensive F-14.”
She was quiet for a moment, then she sighed. “I haven’t flown very much.”
Did he detect a note of fear? Was she actually vulnerable to something? “Nothing to worry about,” he said. “I have a very reliable little two-seater that I keep in excellent condition and I just had the engine overhauled. It’s a short flight. I’ll pick you up at eight. Where do you live?”
She gave him a northwest Portland address, then she asked with genuine interest, “How did you get an airplan
e? I mean…are tips really that good? Aren’t they expensive to buy and maintain?”
Despite the deceit inherent in this trip, he could answer that honestly. “It was my dad’s. He had a restaurant in Juneau. He flew for supplies all the time and I got my license when I was in college. I flew for the navy for a while, then when my parents moved to Florida, Dad gave me the plane.”
“Oh.” She sounded surprised. “Funny how there are certain people you don’t think about having parents.”
He didn’t know whether to be amused or insulted. “Did you think I was conceived in a petri dish?”
It sounded as though she smothered a laugh. “No, but I’ve come to think of you as some hybrid Robo Cop-waiter machine.”
He experienced an uncomfortable moment. Did she know? “Robo Cop?”
“You do act all authoritative and armor-plated.”
“Hmm,” he replied. “I thought that was you.”
“Maybe we’ve been looking in a mirror. My place is above a coffee shop. I’ll pick up coffee and scones, and be waiting in front at 8:00 a.m.”
“All right. See you then.”
IN HAL’S EXPERIENCE with his mother and his two sisters, women were seldom on time, but Kat was standing in front of the address she’d given him, two large paper cups in her hands, a brown paper bag balanced on top of them.
This was the first time he’d seen her in anything but the black and white that was the uniform of Umberto’s Tuscan Grille. She wore jeans, a white roll-neck sweater, and a short black wool jacket. Her glossy dark hair was down and full rather than pulled back as she always wore it at work.
She was petite—something he seldom noticed on the job because of her personality. And she was very, very pretty. He felt suddenly a little off balance—as though the world had somehow changed overnight.
He got out of the car and came around to open her door. “Good morning,” he said.
“Hi,” she replied, looking at him as though he wasn’t who she’d expected either. “Thank you.” After she stepped in, he ran back around the car and climbed in behind the wheel. The interior, which usually smelled of fast food and a pine deodorizer, now had the fragrance of lilacs. Kat’s fragrance.