“Free food?”
Funny how her male employees always perked up at that. “Yes, but there are two conditions. One, you eat what’s on the menu for that night. There are no special orders.”
He nodded solemnly. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think this was a restaurant.”
What a smart-ass. “It’s a restaurant for paying customers, but even for them I have a limited menu. While I enjoy cooking and am glad we can offer lunch and dinners, The Summit is first and foremost a bar.”
Or at least, that’s what Kelsey kept reminding her.
“What’s the second condition?” he asked.
“No complaining about the food. If you don’t like my cooking, don’t eat it. Bring a bagged lunch or go hungry. I don’t care.”
“I hadn’t realized chefs were so sensitive.”
Her face heated and she turned toward the stock in front of the large mirror. “I’m not sensitive,” she muttered, rotating bottles so all the labels faced out. “But it’s embarrassing to me—not to mention bad for my business—when an employee has pizza delivered, in front of the Friday night dinner crowd, because she thinks my beer-battered fried fish stinks.”
He made a choking sound, as if trying to hold back a laugh, but when she glanced at him, his expression was neutral. “I never complain about a free meal. And speaking of meals, since The Summit’s not open on Sunday, do you have any recommendations for a good place to eat in town?”
“You don’t cook?”
“I can get by. But the motel I’m staying at doesn’t even have a minifridge, so I’m limited to takeout until I can find a place to rent. I’ll be glad for any opinions you have on the local real estate market, too.”
“There are usually a few apartments listed in the Gazette,” she said. Something kept her from mentioning the newly renovated two-bedroom apartment upstairs. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find something decent before too long.”
Kelsey had been after Allie for months to rent the space, but she didn’t want the burden of being a landlord. And since The Summit’s income was more than enough for her to live on, Kelsey didn’t push the issue.
And who knew? If Dean stuck around long enough, they could always discuss his becoming her first tenant later.
“The Pineview has a terrific Sunday brunch,” Allie continued, “but they close at three. If you’re looking for a good lunch, you can’t go wrong with Sweet Suggestions, the bakery on Main Street. Nina’s food is great and reasonably priced. Other than that, I’m afraid your choices are limited to pizza or burgers.” She didn’t miss his quick grimace. “Is that a problem?”
“No. But eating pizza twice a day for three days in a row makes a man appreciate a home-cooked meal.” He glanced at his watch. “If you’re finished, I’ll walk you to your car.”
She blinked at the unexpected offer. “Oh. That would be great. Let me put the cash away and get my things.”
She took the drawer out of the cash register and went down the hall to her office. Tucking the money in her small safe, she locked it before slipping into her coat and picking up her gloves and purse. After checking to make sure the rear door was locked, she hurried back to the bar. Not that Dean seemed in any rush. He was leaning against the wall by the front door, one ankle crossed over the other, his hands in his pockets.
She grabbed her cell phone and stuck it in her coat pocket. “All set,” she told him, zipping her coat.
He held the door open for her and they stepped outside into the cold night air. The wind blew her hair into her face as she locked the door. Shivering, she pulled on her gloves.
He flipped up the collar on his coat and hunched his shoulders. “You shouldn’t park so far from the building,” he said, nodding toward her red SUV at the other end of the snow-covered lot. “Especially since you leave work so late.”
“You sound like Jack again.” She carefully stepped off the sidewalk, not the least bit surprised when he took her arm so she wouldn’t slip. One thing she did trust about Dean Garret—his manners were the real deal. “I usually do, but when I got to work, the guy who takes care of the parking lot for me was plowing, so I had to stay out of his way.”
They kept their heads down as they slowly made their way. While her high-heeled boots were stylish, they weren’t exactly practical. But Dean, God bless him, didn’t comment or try to hurry her along. He just matched his pace to hers.
The wind blew swirls of snow, like little white tornadoes, around them. She stole a glance at Dean’s strong profile. There was no doubt about it. He was one sexy cowboy. He was also, she reminded herself, new in town. He didn’t have any friends and was staying in a half-rate motel that didn’t even have a minifridge. And really, after the way he’d helped her out by pitching in behind the bar, the least she could do was make sure he had a hot meal.
Right?
A few feet from her SUV, she pressed the unlock button on her key ring. Her headlights flashed. He reached for the door and held it open for her.
“Thanks for all your help tonight,” she said.
“No problem.”
Her teeth chattered. “I guess I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
He raised his eyebrows. Maybe because her statement had sounded more like a question. Hey, when you go through seven bartenders in eight months, you start to feel a little insecure.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
“All right, then. Good night.”
“’Night, boss.”
She climbed into her vehicle and he shut the door behind her. She started the ignition, but instead of giving him a polite smile and driving away, she rolled down the window. “You should come over to dinner.”
From the look on his face, she’d surprised him as much as she’d surprised herself. “Excuse me?”
“Tomorrow, Sunday dinner,” she said, trying to make it sound less crazy than it was. It didn’t work, but she wanted credit for trying. “At my parents’ house.”
“I wouldn’t want to bust in on your family dinner.”
“We always have room for one more.”
He studied her, his expression unreadable in the dim parking lot. “If you’re sure...”
“I am. And I’m not saying that because I’m not the one cooking. My mom’s always thrilled to have guests.”
Although Helen Martin usually preferred a bit of warning about aforementioned extra guests.
He nodded slowly. “I appreciate the invitation.”
“Good.” She gave him her parents’ address. “It’s easy to find. Take a right at the corner by the high school—do you know where the high school is?” Another nod, this one quick and jerky. “Go straight two blocks and then take a left onto Pleasant Street. Their house is the first one on the corner. Dinner’s at six sharp.”
Unable to stand the cold any longer, she rolled her window up, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. She shifted into Drive and pulled out of the lot. It wasn’t until she’d parked in her own driveway that she gave in to the urge to bounce her head off the steering wheel.
She should’ve kept her big mouth shut. Just because the man was new in town didn’t mean she had to be a one-woman welcoming committee.
Besides, even though she’d hired him, even though he seemed like someone she could count on, she didn’t trust him.
* * *
DEAN’S CELL PHONE RANG. He groaned and blindly reached along the table. His fingers brushed against his phone as it rang again. He flipped it open. “’Lo?”
“Well? Did you get it?”
He covered his eyes with his free arm, blocking out the sunlight filtering through the motel window. “What time is it?”
“Eight o’clock,” Nolan Winchester said. “No, I guess it’d be nine for you. I figured you’d be up by now. And I don’t know what the weather’s like up th
ere in the Arctic Circle, but here in Dallas it’s a gorgeous and sunny sixty degrees already.”
“When I get back,” Dean muttered to the man who’d been his best friend since they’d met in basic training over ten years ago, “I’m going to kill you. And you can bet it will be painful.”
Nolan laughed. Probably because Dean was too tired to put any real heat behind his threat. He’d been too keyed up to sleep when he got back to his motel room, having dozed off sometime after 5:00 a.m.
All because of Allison Martin.
“What do you want?” Dean asked.
“I haven’t heard from you since Friday.” The sound of kids shrieking made Dean wince and move the phone away from his ear. “Mitchell, put the butter back in the fridge before your sister eats it all.”
“You running a circus down there?” Dean asked.
“Feels like it,” Nolan said with his usual—and damned irritating—good cheer. “Cassie’s sleeping in today and the kids wanted to surprise her with breakfast in bed.” One of the three kids—the baby from the sound of it—started bawling. “What’s the matter with Daddy’s girl?” Nolan asked. The screaming grew louder, more than likely because Nolan had picked Grace up. “Cassie’s going to love this delicious breakfast we’re making, right, kids?”
Five-year-old Mitchell and three-year-old Ava gave hearty shouts of approval. Dean shook his head. His partner was one lucky guy. He and his high-school sweetheart had recently celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary.
Cassie was, in Dean’s mind, about as close as a man could get to the perfect woman. She was a great mother, had a successful career as a real estate agent and hadn’t balked when Nolan wanted to move from their hometown in northern Alabama to Dallas to start a business with Dean. Plus, when Nolan had been stationed overseas, Cassie had remained strong and supportive and capable of living on her own.
And she could still fit into her high-school cheerleading uniform. A fact Nolan had shared after a few too many beers at the Winchesters’ Labor Day picnic.
“So, did you get the job?” Nolan asked.
“Yeah, I got it.” Dean sat up and swung his bare feet over the edge of the bed, shivering.
“No kidding?”
“You sound surprised.” He pulled the heavy bedspread around his naked shoulders as he got to his feet and went to the heating unit on the wall. He squinted at the blurry numbers then flipped the tiny control as high as it would go. “You underestimating me?”
“Well, you said you’d have to use charm, and I’ve seen your charm. It’s a wonder you ever get laid.”
“Daddy,” Dean heard Mitchell ask, “what’s ‘get laid’?”
Dean snorted as he used his teeth to rip open the single-serving bag of coffee.
“Hell,” Nolan muttered, hopefully low enough that his kids didn’t hear that, as well. “I said it’s a wonder Uncle Dean even gets paid.”
“No, you didn’t,” the boy told him.
“Why don’t you get the eggs out for me?” Nolan asked.
“Can I crack some?” Dean knew from the kid’s tone he was probably bouncing with excitement.
“Me, too!” Another voice, this one Ava’s.
“Sure, sure. You can both crack some. But first I need you to watch your baby sister for a minute while I finish talking to Uncle Dean, okay?”
“Cassie’s going to kick your sorry ass when she finds out what kind of language you’ve been using around her babies.” Dean filled the coffeepot with water from the bathroom sink.
“Don’t I know it.” Nolan sounded decidedly less cheerful than when he’d first called. “No sense dwelling, though. Did you find out anything?”
He’d found out that Allison Martin was nothing like he’d expected. He’d also found out The Summit did a fair amount of business and, most surprising of all, people paid money to send their kids to this snow-ridden town to spend spring break—where spring was nowhere to be found.
“I just got the job,” Dean pointed out as he poured the water into the coffeemaker and turned it on. “I’m building trust. Playing the part of an easygoing good ole boy.”
Sure. And that’s what he’d been doing last night. Playing on Allie’s trust. Playing his part. Which was the only reason he’d kissed her.
Just doing his job.
“Building trust?” Nolan asked. “You don’t have time to build trust. Just find out what you need to know. Ask a few questions, knock a few heads together if you have to—”
“Right there is the reason I do most of the fieldwork while you stay behind and deal with the clients.”
He and fellow PI Nolan had formed Leatherneck Investigations when Dean left the service. Though they were still small, their reputation for solving cases—especially missing persons cases—had garnered them plenty of business.
“No,” Nolan said, “the reason you’re there and I’m here is because you won’t stay in Dallas more than a week at a time.”
Leave it to his partner to get to the heart of the matter.
“Bashing heads won’t help us solve this case,” Dean said, watching the coffee slowly drip into the pot. “People in small towns think differently. They protect their own. Word gets around I’m asking questions about Allison Martin and any ties she has to a missing persons case, and I’ll lose my advantage.”
“I still think some well-placed intimidation—oh, hell. Mitchell! Ava! Freeze! Both of you...no...keep your hands where I can see them. Now set the eggs down. Carefully. Mitchell, I mean it. Don’t even think about—”
The phone dropped with a loud clang.
Dean grinned. He poured coffee into a motel mug and took a sip as he crossed back to the bed. He set the cup and phone down and pulled a sweatshirt out of his duffel bag, tugging it over his head. Tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he unplugged his laptop from the charger and turned the computer on.
“Sorry about that,” Nolan said breathlessly.
“You’re starting to show your age, old man,” Dean said, even though he was two years older than his friend. “Back in the Corps you could run three miles—in full combat gear—in under twenty minutes. Now you’re huffing and puffing over corralling your own kids in your kitchen?”
“They’re faster than you think. You get that email I sent you? It had the financials you wanted me to check out.”
“I’m booting up now.” Dean leaned back and picked up the coffee. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing new. The trail ends in Cincinnati. I still think you would’ve been better off staying there.”
“No point. The lead was dead.”
The New York cops had lost Lynne and Jon Addison’s trail there, as well. And any interest in the case. According to the detective Dean had spoken with right before he’d headed up to Serenity Springs, the file on the disappearance of Lynne and Jon, the wife and young son of prominent businessman and philanthropist Miles Addison, was still open.
Still open but very much cold.
Now, almost a year later, Dean was trying to pick up the Addisons’ trail.
He had very few leads. All he knew for certain was that on a sunny July morning a year and a half ago, Lynne Addison had kissed her husband goodbye before taking their son to the park six blocks away. They hadn’t been seen since.
Dean accessed his email account and waited for his new messages to download before opening the attachment and scanning the documents Nolan had sent.
“Damn.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He’d been so sure he’d find a clue in Allison Martin’s financial records.
“I know you think Allison Martin was involved—”
“She received a call at her office at Hanley, Barcroft, Blaisdell and Littleton from Lynne’s cell phone shortly after Lynne and Jon left their residence
the day they disappeared.”
“Except the call lasted less than five seconds. Ms. Martin claimed there was no one on the other end, so she hung up. No other calls between the women turned up. I still think you’re looking in the wrong area. Go back to Cincy, pick—”
“No.” Dean closed his laptop and tossed it on the end of the bed. “There are too many coincidences here. First Allison Martin and Lynne Addison are seen having lunch together two weeks before Lynne and her son disappeared—”
“Allison had just saved Miles from a prison sentence,” Nolan pointed out. “Lynne probably took her out to thank her.”
Two years ago Miles Addison had been accused of sexually assaulting one of the young boys who attended his after-school program for underprivileged youths. Allison Martin had been lead defense counsel on the case, earning an acquittal for the businessman and a prime partnership offer for herself.
“If the meeting was a thank-you lunch, why were they overheard arguing? And according to their waiter, Lynne stormed out before the food was even served.” Dean paced the length of the small room. “Add in the phone call the day Lynne and Jon disappeared, and the fact that Allison systematically cleaned out her personal bank account over a period of six months—starting the day before the Addisons disappeared. And considering she had to get a small business loan to purchase The Summit, where did the money go?”
“You’re reaching. For all you know she may be an addict and the money was for her dealer.”
Dean grabbed a large envelope from the side table and pulled out an eight-by-ten black-and-white photo of Allison. The picture had been taken during Addison’s trial, but even dressed in a conservative suit with her hair pulled back there was no denying her sex appeal. He tossed the picture aside. Allison wouldn’t be the first bright, driven, successful person to become an addict, but he couldn’t picture her using. She had too much confidence and self-awareness to allow something like drugs to control her.
He’d check into it just the same.
“Wherever the money went,” he said, “it doesn’t explain why, six months after the Addisons disappeared, Allison quit her job and returned to Serenity Springs. I’m telling you, there’s something here. I can feel it.”
Bewitching: His Secret Agenda Page 22