As she perused the narrow aisles, her mind on how she could make that hideous pink outfit work for her in less than six hours, she didn’t see Ethan Cody amble up behind her.
“Good morning, Hayden-no-middle-initial-Ryan.” She might be trouble with a capital T, Ethan thought, but she could fill out a pair of jeans with enough of a wiggle in her butt to make any male sit up and take notice. To make matters worse, he decided he found her hair sexy, the way it moved back and forth when she looked up at him. Those little gold specks in her incredible jade green eyes told him he’d surprised her.
Hayden laughed at his joke despite his pain-in-the-ass demeanor. “Low and behold if it isn’t Deputy Dawg, on the job this early in the morning. I feel safer already,” she joked as she tried to ignore the way his shoulders filled out his tan uniform. She refused to let her eyes wander down to his narrow hips and waist or to the taut look at the front of his pants.
“At your service.”
“That’s convenient since I might need someone to tote my groceries back to the car.”
“I could do that once I pick me up some dog food. I’m out, or rather Grisham’s out.”
“Grisham?”
“My dog, a lab retriever mix that I swear eats me out of house and home.”
“You live in Pelican Pointe?”
“Over by the pier. My grandmother’s house. After she died my parents used to rent it out, but when I got assigned here for real a couple of years back, I moved into it.” He shrugged. “It seemed the logical thing to do since work was here. Besides, I was ready to try some place other than Santa Cruz. How are things working out at The Cove?”
“Oh fine. It’s beautiful there.” She wasn’t ready to tell him she’d rented the Harris’s studio apartment. Or, that she’d landed a job at the Diner. Word would spread at some point and he’d find out anyway, but he wasn’t going to hear it from her. “It’s tough to be around Nick and Jordan though.”
When she saw his face change with a certain level of disapproval she added, “Newlyweds.”
“Ah. That does get a little old.”
“It’s incredibly sweet.”
He shook his head. “Such a typical female thing to say. Women. What’s with the groceries, you shopping for Jordan?”
Well, damn, she thought. Did the man ever stop being a cop? This guy had to be a step above Carnac the Magnificent or one damn fine, observant police officer. Not wanting to risk lying to him, she said without flair, “I’m picking up a few things for myself. I rented Jordan’s studio apartment.”
Ethan held his surprise in check. “What happened to Santa Cruz?”
“Nick and Jordan happened. They are the nicest, sweetest couple on the planet. Good people.”
“Yeah, they are.” And he sure hoped Hayden Ryan wasn’t playing them or taking advantage.
As if she read his mind, she jutted out her chin and said with some heat, “Don’t worry Deputy Dawg. I’m not planning to rob them and go on the lam. I’m not a grifter waiting for the first opportunity to take advantage of good people.” And with that, she wheeled on her heels, left him standing in the frozen food section with enough of a chill to freeze ice cream, and headed for the checkout.
Neither Jordan nor Hayden could come up with any miracle to make the hideous pink uniform look any better. And besides, no amount of stain remover got rid of those oily splotches, or whatever they were, which in Hayden’s book were a deal breaker.
She didn’t mind wearing Pepto-Bismol pink, but she drew the line at wearing something that had belonged to someone else and looked filthy. And those stains wouldn’t budge even with the half bottle of stain remover she’d used.
But by noon, from some buried trunk in that black-hole garage, miracle-worker Jordan dug out a pink outfit guaranteed to make Margie dance. Surely Margie wouldn’t object to a Bobby-soxer-type, poodle skirt and sweater top Jordan had once worn to a Halloween party and looked like something Sandy Olson might have worn in the film, Grease.
“Make sure you point out that Grease took place in the ’50s. Good thing we’re about the same size,” Jordan muttered, as she carefully ripped another section of black lace from around the bottom of the pink skirt.
“As ridiculous as I feel wearing this to a job, I honestly think it’s better than wearing an oversized, fugly, stained dress. Please tell me I don’t look as ridiculous as I feel.”
“That uniform is downright disgusting. You can’t wear that thing. And this won’t look half bad when we’re done with it. At least it will fit and fit well, if you know what I mean. You’ll be showing a little cleavage what with the little sweater top that goes with the skirt, but if you add a scarf around your neck, it won’t seem so―revealing. And it does look very ’50s, plus it’s pink. Margie won’t be able to bitch about that.”
“You are amazing, Jordan. I owe you so much for…everything. You and Nick have been wonderful to me. I didn’t realize these past months how much I’ve missed talking to my sister, having friends around. Thanks.”
Jordan knew firsthand how having family and friends could make such a positive impact. “You’re welcome. I missed my family too when I first got here.”
She tilted her head at an angle and gave Hayden the once-over. “I would have had you covered if Margie had wanted you to wear something black and white. In fact, I have tons of that left over from mom’s catering days, even a pair of tuxedo-like shorts in black. But pink?” She shook her head. “That isn’t exactly a common color they use in the food service industry.”
“The saddle shoes are a nice touch,” Hayden said as she stood in front of the full-length mirror. “Maybe if we took the skirt in so it doesn’t flare so much it would look less like a―costume. You realize taking off the lace will bring the hem up to mid-thigh. I wonder if Margie is against showing skin, God knows she isn’t against her waitress staff wearing dirty uniforms.”
Jordan giggled at that. “We could take in the skirt but I think it’ll be fine like this. Try to think of it as a role you’re playing.”
Oh Jordan, thought Hayden, if you only knew.
“Besides, with showing so much cleavage and plenty of leg, your tips should set a record.”
Hayden arrived ten minutes early at the Hilltop to a shocked Margie who thought the costume was a terrific idea, better than the uniform.
“Now, why didn’t I think of that? You look like you stepped right out of the ’50s in that getup more real than the regular uniform,” Margie gushed, after looking Hayden up and down and then nodding with approval.
“With that black hair, you and Betty Rizzo could be sisters. You look like you stepped right out of that movie Grease.”
Hayden laughed. Except that Betty was this petite tiny thing while she was a good five inches taller.
“That’s my fave movie. You know, I wonder if I could get one of those getups for Eileen and Abby?”
Great, thought Hayden. She wondered briefly if Eileen Faraday and Abby Pointer would ever speak to her after being saddled with wearing a costume right out of Grease.
But hey, the thing was better than the hot pink uniform and it seemed to make Margie happy.
And if the customers didn’t laugh themselves silly without choking to death on their burgers and fries, maybe Hayden could manage to talk Margie into changing the uniform to something a little more dignified at some point. She could always hope.
For the next several hours, Hayden pretended she was at a costume party, slingin’ hash. The toughest thing to get the hang of was the menu and the shorthand used to write down the orders.
And fortunately for her there was no complicated computer system or point of sale application to learn. Not with Margie. She and Max practiced their own system and it had nothing to do with technology. You either learned the lingo or you didn’t let the door hit you in the butt on your way out.
Another thing she didn’t have to worry about was running the cash register. As the owner and the hostess, that was Margie’s te
rritory, which was fine by Hayden.
Between waiting tables and waiting on those customers who chose to sit at the counter, she brewed coffee and tea, refilled ketchup and hot sauce bottles and salt and pepper shakers, wrapped silverware in white paper napkins and bussed tables.
The Hilltop Diner was different from the restaurant she’d worked at during college. That chain dining establishment had been much larger with a huge wait staff. At the Diner there was only one waitress for the entire place. And that was her.
The Hilltop Diner might have been old and ultra-casual, hence the paper napkins, but it seemed to Hayden everyone in town ate dinner there, which with one waitress, kept her hopping.
About seven-forty-five she looked up and saw Ethan Cody stroll through the front door, out of uniform, wearing tight-assed, stonewashed jeans and a tan T-shirt with the words “Save the Whales” on the front.
With a certain amount of resignation, she sighed. There seemed to be no way she could avoid bumping into the man every time she turned around.
She watched as Margie led him to a booth, handed him a menu, told him about the special of the day, which was meat loaf and mashed potatoes, and took his drink order, which was iced tea.
The drink order was then relayed to Hayden, who fixed the drinks. That’s the way it worked. Margie played hostess and did the initial contact with customers while Hayden came behind her, took their meal orders, handed the order off to Max, and then she would pick up the food, serve the meal, making sure all the while they had everything they needed to make their Diner experience enjoyable and left tips like happy little clams.
She intended to do that with Ethan Cody, whether he liked her or not.
Hayden needed this job and she’d be damned if she’d let him ruin her first day here because he distrusted her. So much for the man’s psychic ability, Hayden thought, as she took his iced tea over, set it down, and asked sweetly, “What can I get you tonight, Deputy?”
Ethan did a double take. He hadn’t known she’d found employment. He looked her slowly up and down in her Grease poodle skirt and tight pink sweater and wanted to know, “Wait, isn’t it a little early for Halloween?”
“Damn you.” She took a deep calming breath, blew it out. “I had to wear something pink. Margie insisted. And this is all I had, or rather all Jordan had.”
Amusement twinkled in his dark eyes. “I’m not complaining. It looks better than that ugly, pink waitress uniform especially the sweater and―” He cocked his head to get a better look. “That short skirt is a definite improvement.” He put some extra time and effort into admiring the woman’s long, tanned legs.
She lowered her voice. “Oh shut up. Do you want something to eat or not?”
He busted out laughing at the double entendre, biting back the urge to lick his lips. “Eat. Definitely…eat. Oh, you mean food?” He had the audacity to grin. “That too. I’ll have a burger. Medium. No onions. Extra ketchup. And fries.”
“Thanks.” When she headed behind the counter to give the order to Max, she felt his eyes burn holes on her ass the entire way. Afterwards, she dropped off another customer’s bill, refilled coffee cups, iced tea and water glasses, trying to avoid Ethan Cody’s table.
When finally Max yelled out, “Order up,” she grabbed the burger and fries and a bottle of ketchup, made her way over to Ethan, and asked pleasantly, “Anything else I can get you?”
“I owe you an apology. I’m sorry, Hayden. I had no right…”
“Don’t worry about it.” She had no intentions of giving this man the time of day. “Is your burger okay?”
“It’s fine.”
Great. Good. Then her job with Ethan Cody was about done. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.” And with that, she took off for another table.
Ethan had to admit she took orders with an organized efficiency, engaged other customers with humor and wit, and filled out that damn pink sweater like a warrior goddess.
Her cold shoulder was nothing he didn’t deserve, he supposed, as he sat there realizing Hayden Ryan must have really needed this job in order to go to work at the Hilltop. She didn’t seem the waitress type and by that, he meant no disrespect to all waitresses on the planet.
But the woman had admitted to all of them the other night that she’d worked as an accountant. The question first and foremost in his mind was why would an accountant be desperate enough to take a job in a Podunk town like Pelican Pointe as a waitress?
He was afraid he already knew the answer.
The idea of her being in danger had him rethinking the last two days, which just showed how his ability could sometimes be way off the mark even downright wrong.
He’d thought that maybe she was hiding something, like a criminal past. But now, a blind man could see how wrong he’d been.
She was on the run from someone she obviously feared would find her.
He ate his burger and fries as if they were crow. When she wandered over to refill his iced tea glass, he tried a different approach. “Don’t get so busy you forget to enjoy the cove while you’re there, Hayden. It’s a great little beach with nice surf. Have you spent any time there yet?”
“Not yet. Will there be anything else?”
“I could use a piece of blueberry pie.”
“Ala mode?”
“You bet.”
She stormed off as if on a difficult mission to get the dessert. When she came back, she set the plate down, ripped the bill from her pad, and left it on the table without saying a single word.
Fifteen minutes later when he paid the bill, she still hadn’t come back out from wherever she’d found to avoid him. Without meaning to, he’d spent more than an hour eating dinner inside the Diner, something he usually managed to do in half that time. Margie rang him up and seemed to notice it too. “Was everything all right tonight, Ethan?”
“Great. You’ve got a terrific waitress there, Margie.”
“Yeah. She’s not bad to look at either, is she, Ethan?” She asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“No ma’am. Not bad at all.” By Ethan’s calculations it was almost closing time. He guessed he could hang around and try to approach her on her walk to the car. But when nine fifteen came and went, when he saw her still inside scrubbing tables until almost nine-thirty, he realized she had to be bone-tired after spending nearly six hours on her feet. The last thing she needed now was him trying to make amends.
At nine-forty, after making sure she got to her car okay, which he knew for certain because he was sitting in Murphy’s parking lot watching, Ethan decided to head home without confronting her again. After all, he’d just have to find a way to let her know he no longer considered her trouble with a capital T.
It was ten o’clock by the time Hayden pulled up to her studio apartment. Even though Jordan’s borrowed saddle shoes fit, her feet were killing her. She couldn’t wait to sit down, get her feet up and open up that mini bottle of wine chilling in the fridge.
She’d taken two steps out of the car when she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. In the moonlight, she could see a man, wearing khaki shorts, and a blue open button down shirt, sleeves rolled up with a T-shirt on underneath, strolling casually through the middle of the courtyard like he was enjoying the walk in the night air. Hayden’s first thought was that it was a little chilly to be wearing shorts, but then guys always seem to be ten degrees warmer than females, or so it seemed to her.
Her second thought was he didn’t look cold but he did have his hands stuffed leisurely in his pockets like he didn’t have a care in the world. The guy had to be a guest out for an evening walk enjoying the night air. Wondering when he checked in, Hayden began to make her way around the corner to the stairs at the side of the garage.
She must have made a noise because he stopped long enough to turn back around. When he spotted her, he sent her a wide smile and a friendly wave. Just as she raised her hand to wave back, the man vanished into thin air. Hayden’s hand flew to her mouth.
Without waiting another second, she raced up the stairs, fumbled with her keys in the lock, and fell inside the apartment.
She made certain the lock on the door was firmly turned behind her.
With a nine-hour time difference it was a little after seven in the morning in the French countryside, when Jeremy Dochenko sat down to breakfast on the sun-drenched terrace of his chateau, savoring his eggs Benedict.
Over the years the fifty-five-year-old Russian stockbroker and financier had gone to a great many lengths to hide his countless assets from the American IRS. After all, one would be foolish to declare every single dollar when it was so easy to do business with any number of offshore banks that specialized in that very thing.
But the twenty-two-room estate he was now living in, located in north central France, some one-hundred and forty kilometers southwest of Paris, might be his most treasured possession. He’d bought the villa because in order to make it to his front door a person had to negotiate not one, but two, hairpin turns on a dimly lit secluded road where he’d installed security cameras to keep track of meddlesome visitors. It was the perfect place to hide in plain sight since his nearest neighbor was three miles away.
Sipping a strong cup of espresso made from the coffee beans he had specially flown in from the Indonesian Archipelago at €125.00 a pound, he knew only one thing, or rather one person, stood in his way. Complete peace of mind from prosecution by the American authorities would elude him if his man didn’t find Emile Reed.
Her lack of experience had been the deciding factor when he’d hired her as his CFO right out of college. Sure she’d been eager. But then he had played that to his advantage. After all, any decent conman worth his salt could fool a novice more easily than he could a seasoned, veteran bean counter. They tended to ask a shitload of questions.
In those early days of her employment, he’d simply overwhelmed the annoying go-getter with every task imaginable that kept her from prying into files she had no business seeing. She’d been easy enough to deceive; most people were, especially when it came to the master manipulator versus the average, trusting person.
Pelican Pointe Boxed Set Books 1 - 3 (A Pelican Pointe Novel) Page 37