Guns and Roses

by Brennan, Allison; Armstrong, Lori G. ; Tabke, Karin; Causey, Toni McGee; St. Claire, Roxanne; Brown, Josie; Littlefield, Sophie; Griffin, Laura; James, Lorelei; Day, Sylvia

  He pivoted, blocking Callie and stealing a glance at the kitchen door in time to see a white-coated woman march out, her face familiar as she scoped the crowd.

  “Chef Stone?” He practically choked the name. “That’s not the hotel chef, she’s McManus’s personal chef who travels everywhere with…” His voice trailed off as everything suddenly made sense.

  Monica Stone was most definitely in Roy McManus’s inner circle. Not his political one, certainly, but his personal circle, his only chef. He never even thought of her when Callie described the woman, but he should have. Chef Stone would easily have access and know his schedule and—

  “Did you see the centerpieces?” Callie demanded, still clinging to him. “My Black Cherries are everywhere!”

  He glanced around, carefully keeping Callie out of Chef Stone’s visibility, taking in the magnitude of the security breach. “There’s poison on every single table in this room.”

  “What do we do?” she asked.

  His gut said to order an end to the entire luncheon, but neither his gut nor his security firm was calling the shots here. He glanced at the kitchen again, catching the agitated expression on Monica Stone’s face as she searched the room before pivoting to smack the swinging doors on her way back into the kitchen.

  “She’s pissed,” he said.

  “She’s busted,” Callie replied. “Now what do we do?”

  He knew exactly what to do, the only thing he could do to save the governor and win back his job. “We’re going to catch her red-handed.” He did a quick assessment of the room, imagining the flow of traffic when food was served. “Our best shot is to find a place where she won’t see you, but we can see every tray coming out of the kitchen.”

  “The invitation you gave me said table fifteen,” she said. “Shouldn’t we sit there?”

  He shook his head. “That’s too far away. I have a better idea.” He guided her to a large column that would provide some cover from the kitchen. “Stay here, I’m going to do some last-minute table number management.”

  He accomplished his goal in a few quick moves, so used to slipping around an event like this that no one noticed him sneak the number from table twenty-two and switch it with fifteen. When he finished, he brought Callie to the new table fifteen, directly outside the kitchen doors.

  “Really?” she asked, angling her head toward the doors. “So close?”

  “Keep your back to the doors until trays of food come out and then we have to examine the food, especially the governor’s plate.”

  When Callie sat, he stood behind her, his trained eye moving around the room to take in the position of every security person, the route between the kitchen and the governor’s dais, and the table hosted by the Angela McManus, the first lady of Florida.

  “Ben, look at this.” Callie pointed to the printed menu. “Shaved black truffle salad with beet root jelly.”

  “The pectin catalyst.”

  “And a thinly shaved black truffle could look an awful lot like a black rose petal.”

  Two couples approached the table, frowning at the numbering sequence and clearly unhappy with the lousy location. Ben greeted them with a quick nod and sat next to Callie, putting his arm around her and pulling her close before the others started a conversation.

  “You’re into me,” he whispered.

  She didn’t respond, unless he counted the sudden blossom of goose bumps on her bare arms. He lightly held her chin, keeping her ear close to his mouth.

  “We don’t want to engage with anyone, just each other. So, be into me. Got it?” He turned her face toward his and their gazes met.

  “Got it.” She inched closer so that their lips nearly touched, one hand on his leg. “But…” She let their cheeks brush as she whispered in his ear. “We have to watch the kitchen.”

  Her breath was warm, her fingers tense, the soft scent of roses teasing his nose and tempting him to inhale deeper and get even closer. The two couples chatted with each other, ignoring Callie and Ben, but the other four chairs stayed empty; no surprise, proximity to the kitchen made this table the worst seat in the house.

  And perfect for thwarting an assassination attempt.

  Behind them, the kitchen door opened, and Ben kept his arm around Callie, angling her like he was still talking in her ear, but managing to cover her face and give her a clear shot of the tray just before a waiter hoisted it.

  “Your job is to see if the truffles are roses.”

  “Okay.” She repositioned herself a little, her breasts pressed into his arm, her thigh against his. “I think I can…”

  He kissed her ear, and not just because it helped her cover. Because… he wanted to. “Of course you can, Callie. So you can take your great-grandmother to Paris.”

  Next to his cheek, he felt her smile, but her fingers tightened on his leg as the next server staged and set another tray. One after another, platters spun by Callie, giving her scant seconds to secretly examine each. But she did.

  “Truffles,” she whispered over and over. “Truffles. Truf… I think.” She inched back and gave him a look. “I’m not sure about that last one.”

  “I’ll watch where it goes.” Ben’s gaze followed the tray, which was held aloft by a bustling waiter, taken to the middle of the room, far from the governor.

  “Truffles, all truffles on the next set.”

  For a few minutes, they worked like a seasoned team. Ben watched the principal—the former principal—while Callie watched the plates. McManus worked his way through the room, flanked by two men Ben recognized as event handlers, and followed at a reasonable distance by a burly bodyguard. The governor shook hands, patted shoulders, bussed cheeks, and encouraged his guests to start their salads as he worked his way to the head of the room.

  “Every one of them are truffles,” she said.

  “You’re positive?” He didn’t dare take his eyes off McManus to double check her, but if she was wrong and someone in this room was being poisoned—and he hadn’t stopped it from happening—then he didn’t deserve to be a Bullet Catcher.

  “I can see the ridges on the sides of the truffles easily,” she assured him in a breathy whisper. “All truffles. The chef must have just been dying for black roses as centerpiece and unwilling to pay three grand. Is that normal?”

  “Not in the least. The chef isn’t typically that involved with decor and they spend three thousand on paper clips. No one would steal flowers.” Unless they wanted to use them to kill the governor and not leave a trail that could be easily followed. And conveniently spread the “murder weapon” throughout the room which would only complicate any investigation.

  McManus stopped at his wife’s table, gave her a peck on the cheek and shared a loving exchange before rounding the stage. There, he stepped up to the platform where two rectangular tables and a speaker’s podium faced the audience.

  As he did, applause exploded he gave the crowd a wave, slowly making his way to the seat of honor.

  “Governor’s table!” someone in the kitchen called.

  Ben shared a look with Callie and covered her hand, threading their fingers. “Watch for the plate trimmed in gold,” he whispered. “That’s his.”

  Her gaze shifted as the next tray appeared. He finally took his gaze off McManus to watch Callie, unable to see the trays as she could. He studied the slope of her lovely nose, the angle of her cheekbone, the fullness of her mouth. A powerful wave of affection and attraction rolled through him, surprising him with its lousy timing and unexpected strength.

  And then her eyes widened and her soft, sweet cheeks paled with the sudden loss of blood.

  “Roses,” she whispered. “On the gold trimmed plate.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Ben.” She clutched tighter. “What are you going to do?”

  “What I always do—save his ass.” With a quick kiss on her cheek, he shot his chair back and got up to follow the tray.

  Chapter Four

  Callie’s hea
rt hammered louder than the clatter in the kitchen, making her almost forget the other trays, as her attention stayed riveted to the sight of Ben dodging tables and waiters on his mission to save the governor. Then the kitchen doors burst open again, so she peeked over her shoulder, certain Ben would want her to continue monitoring the plates.

  But a tall silhouette blocked the light in the kitchen doorway.

  At the sight of the chef, Callie whipped forward, clenching her jaw and praying that the woman hadn’t noticed her just a few feet away.

  “What the hell is he doing?”

  Callie recognized the low, confident voice and fought the urge to turn and glare at the woman who had stolen her roses and was using them to poison the governor. Rage rocked her, but she closed her fingers over her seat, forcing herself to remain off the chef’s deadly radar.

  The server with the roses climbed the stage at the same moment that Governor McManus spotted Ben striding across the room. A frown pulled on the older man’s face as he leaned to the person next to him, whispering and pointing to Ben.

  “Excuse me!” A man in a suit hustled toward Ben, but he dodged and rounded the next table.

  “Security!” Ben hollered as he darted closer to the dais.

  A rumble of reaction rolled through the room, a slow thunder that started at one end and picked up steam as the crowd sensed that something was wrong.

  The server reached Governor McManus, standing behind him, ready to place his plate in front of him. The governor barely noticed, his furious glower directed at Ben, who barreled forward.

  “God damn him!” The voice behind Callie echoed the very expression of the governor, as though they were of one mind.

  “Hold it!” Two more security guards lunged at Ben, but he easily avoided one who tried to grab him and pushed the other aside, earning a few shouts of concern from around the room.

  “Don’t eat that!” Ben yelled at the governor.

  The entire room fell silent in shock and then chaos erupted as people stood and four burly guards seized Ben, too much for him to shake off.

  “Calm down, everyone!” The governor shouted, standing, waving his hands as though he had the power to still the room. The bodyguards instantly maneuvered Ben to the opposite end of the banquet room.

  “There’s poison on every table!” Ben shouted just as the guards whipped him through a door, silencing him.

  “Everything is fine,” the governor called out again, taking the mic from the podium to quiet the crowd. “That’s just a disgruntled former employee, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  But the rumble grew louder, a few people cried out, someone tossed their whole plate on the ground.

  “I’ll prove it to you!” The governor moved to his plate to take a bite and horror closed Callie’s throat, cutting off her air. Should she stand up and call out—and end up being carried off like Ben? Should she—

  The doors behind her swung open again. “That’s for Mrs. McManus,” the chef said.

  Callie risked turning in her seat to see another gold-rimmed plate, instantly spotting the black rose petals in place of the shaved truffle.

  For the governor’s wife?

  At that moment, Callie felt the eyes drilling a hole through her. Without thinking, she looked up and froze as she met the chef’s steely gaze, hissing in a breath at the realization that she was caught.

  The waiter moved forward, slowly hoisting the tray while the rumble and conversation of the crowd almost drowned out the punching beat of Callie’s pulse.

  That plate was headed to the governor’s wife. She had to stop it. She had to. What if Mrs. McManus wanted to keep order and set an example by eating?

  Just as the waiter stepped forward, Callie pushed her chair back and threw out her leg, tripping the waiter and sending everything on the tray in a clatter to the floor.

  Another scream rose from the already jittery crowd as the waiter swore mightily.

  “So sorry,” Callie murmured, trying to help the man up, only to have a hand land on her own shoulder. Even in all the noise and confusion, the smash of bodies, china, and chairs, Callie knew who it was.

  “Nice to see you again.” The voice was right in her ear, so close she could feel the chef’s breath… and the hard, unforgiving jab of a gun in her back. “Get up and come with me, or I pull the trigger.”

  Callie managed to breathe and think. “You wouldn’t kill me in cold blood in front of five hundred people.”

  “I wouldn’t? I’ll be a hero, killing the flower farmer who purposely sold us the poison roses.” She stabbed the gun harder into Callie’s rib. “Or you can come with me.”

  Die here… or die somewhere else. Callie stood slowly, if only to delay the inevitable.

  The chef shouldered Callie through the crowd and chaos, the whole room on the edge of panic. No one even noticed the two women who disappeared down a hallway that ran parallel to the kitchens.

  “Move it!” The chef poked the gun and wrenched Callie’s arm, cracking it back as she pushed them both through another door to a dimly lit stairway. “Down!”

  She shoved so hard that Callie stumbled, her knees buckling under her, but the chef yanked her upright, the move popping her shoulder and sending white lights of pain flashing behind Callie’s eyes.

  “Oww!”

  “Shut up.” She pushed Callie harder, practically tossing her down the stairs, then whipping her around to shove her down another flight.

  Callie tried to wrest her arm from the other woman’s grip, but just got the butt of the gun slammed on the soft part of her back.

  “Here.” The chef threw Callie against a door, then into a dank, dark dry storage room that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. “In there!” the woman demanded, thrusting Callie across the room toward a large stainless steel door. “Get in!”

  Oh, Lord. The freezer. The freezer!

  ~*~

  Looking around the “security command center,” Ben would have laughed if he wasn’t so damn pissed off. The room was little more than an empty conference area with two computers and a sofa in the bowels of the hotel, the perfect reflection of McManus’s second-rate security team.

  That team milled about, clearly over their heads, until the door flew open and McManus himself stood before Ben.

  “I hope you’re happy, Youngblood.” The purple vein that ran deep into his distinguished white hair throbbed as it did every time he lost his temper. “Rumors of poison spread through that room faster than fire, and now the luncheon’s cancelled. Do you live to screw up my campaign?”

  One of the security team, a bespectacled, balding man who might have been in charge—if anyone in this Mickey Mouse operation was actually in charge—stepped forward. “We can’t ignore the accusation, Governor, regardless of the source.”

  “Shut up, Brickman.” McManus dismissed the man with a flick of his wrist, spearing Ben with a look. “What is it with you?” he demanded. “Are you working for the other side? You’re ruining my campaign and you’re not even on my security team.”

  “Get your plate,” Ben said.

  McManus waved a hand. “Enough of that crap, now—”

  “We have the plate set aside,” Brickman said. “For the lab.”

  “Fine,” McManus said, stepping closer to Ben. “I really think you’re out to ruin me.”

  “Not as much as the person who put poisoned rose petals on your lunch plate.”

  “No one put…” He hesitated for a minute, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, which must have vibrated quietly.

  Ben recognized the phone as the one that even Bullet Catchers had never had their hands on—McManus’s most private of private lines.

  For a moment, McManus said nothing, not even a greeting, but listened to the person on the other end. Ben thought he might have heard a female voice, but couldn’t be sure.

  “I understand,” McManus finally said. “That’s quite interesting. I’ll handle it.” After a mo
ment, he hung up and then nodded slowly to Ben. “You’re free to go, Youngblood.”

  Ben blinked in surprise. “I don’t want to go, Governor. I want to tell you exactly who—”

  “In fact, let’s walk out together.” McManus put a friendly, phony arm on Ben’s back. “Gentlemen,” he said to the others. “I’m going to walk out with Mr. Youngblood. No need to follow, he’s an excellent bodyguard and I’m in good hands.”

  Something was up. Something was definitely up. Still, Ben stayed with McManus, strolling down a carpeted hallway and all the way back into the banquet room where a lot of people still milled about, despite efforts to get everyone out.

  Neither Callie nor Chef Stone was in sight. “Governor, I know—”

  “It’s okay, Ben” he said, his tone rich with forgiveness. “I realize you were just doing your job. Or what used to be your job. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your, uh, enthusiasm.”

  Screw enthusiasm and screw this asshole. “I know who’s been sending you the assassination threats.”

  He nodded and leaned closer. “Chef Stone.”

  Ben froze mid-step. “You know that?”

  The governor took a long, slow inhale, hissing through his teeth as he slowly guided Ben across the room, ignoring everyone’s looks. “Let’s just say I’ve had my suspicions.”

  “And you keep her on staff?”

  “I had to work with a special team to have her watched, Ben, and that’s why I let you go. You were getting too close to the investigation and I didn’t want you to blow it before we could really catch her.”

  What? “You’re running a security investigation and keeping it secret from your security team?”

  McManus led him past the table where Ben and Callie had been sitting, but she was long gone. Her absence kicked him in the gut, surprisingly strong.

  Hopefully, she was just out in the lobby. But maybe she’d had enough of this intrigue and figured out a way to get back to her farm. If so, he’d find her. And pay her. And…