by Tee O'Fallon
What have I gotten myself into? A hit man is after me and I’m auditioning for a temp job as Chef Boyardee.
Then again, she was more excited about something than she’d been in years. Her last thought before entering the kitchen was that Raven would probably be cool enough in the Trail Blazer, but she hoped the dog wouldn’t get bored and tear up the inside of the SUV. Lt. Frye would not be pleased.
“Chuck,” Rose shouted through the kitchen opening, “get— What’s your name?”
“Cassie. Cassie Younger.” The fictitious name she’d used years ago rolled off her lips so easily it was like she’d walked away from that undercover burglary gig only yesterday.
“Get Cassie an apron, show her where everything is, then stand back.”
There were no other introductions to the kitchen staff other than Chuck, who eyed her with limited hostility. Cassie guessed he expected to be promoted to head chef after Mr. Pierre’s untimely departure.
Ignoring Chuck’s tamped-down irritation, she quickly familiarized herself with what ingredients were available and where all the kitchen tools were. Within minutes, everything fell into place. Her body came alive. Just looking at the shiny stainless-steel commercial stoves and ovens was enough to get her juices flowing. It was as if she was born to work here. She briefly wondered what to make for Rose, then an idea crystallized.
She snooped around in the bread baskets and found some challah, which she sliced thickly. After whisking together a decadent custard flavored with vanilla, fresh orange juice, and grated orange peel, she added a splash of Grand Marnier. She dipped the bread slices into the custard and placed them on a baking sheet. After a light sprinkling of coarse natural sugar on top, she baked the bread slices until they were puffed and golden and the sugar grains glistened. A light tapping of confectioner’s sugar, a few thin slices of orange, and a sprig of mint. Ready for Rose’s judgment.
Within twenty minutes of setting foot in the kitchen, Cassie placed a platter on the counter before Rose. Next to it, she plunked down a metal pitcher of warm syrup. The heady scents of vanilla, orange, and freshly baked egg bread suffused the air.
“What is it?” Rose looked from the plate to Cassie.
“It’s my take on orange crème brûlée French toast, Mr. Pierre notwithstanding.” Cassie smiled at her crack on the arrogant Frenchman. “Try it with some warm maple syrup.”
Rose leaned her face closer to the plate and inhaled. “Smells good,” she murmured, then poured a hefty amount of syrup on top. She cut off a piece of toast, swirled it into the syrup, and was about to pop it into her mouth when Cassie interrupted.
“It would be better made from brioche and drizzled with cane syrup,” Cassie said, then bit her lower lip. “But I didn’t have time to bake my own bread, and I could only find maple syrup.”
Rose paused with a bite of puffy toast dripping syrup onto her plate. “Are you going to let me eat this?”
Cassie clammed up, as did everyone else in the restaurant. When Rose put the first bite into her mouth and began chewing, Cassie held her breath. Rose’s assessment of her cooking suddenly meant more to her than busting bad guys every day. All eyes in the place were on Rose, waiting for her edict as if the fate of the entire town rested on the outcome.
Moments later, Rose opened her eyes, cut off another bite, and ate it at a painstakingly slow pace. Cassie imagined Rose’s palate was dissecting her dish, deciphering every ingredient, and the wait was killing her. Again, Cassie bit her lower lip, something she rarely did. By her count, she’d done it at least twice in the last five minutes.
Rose swallowed, tilted her head, and a great big smile lit her ruby lips. “This is incredible! When can you start?”
Cassie exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Cheers and hoots filled the air as waitresses and patrons clapped. A few of them stood to pat Cassie on the back.
“Atta girl, honey.” The plump waitress with her hair in a bun winked at her. “I’m Sue and that’s Ginny.” Sue pointed to another waitress, a slim woman about twenty years old, with dark shoulder-length hair and freckles. Ginny smiled at Cassie from across the dining room where she tended to a table by the window.
“Welcome to The Raven’s Nest, or, the Nest, as we call it.” Sue extended her hand and Cassie shook it. “Rose used to be a hard-nosed Wall Street broker and she’s one tough customer to please. You’ll do great.”
The pure joy on Rose’s face filled Cassie with happiness, something her job with the NYPD hadn’t done in a long, long time. Well, if she had to be on the lam hiding out from a hit man, what better way to spend the time than doing what she loved most—cooking!
At the end of the day, Cassie was exhausted but exhilarated. She could see it on the Food Network: Cassie Yates—The Gourmet Detective.
She kicked back on a plush yellow couch and rested her achy feet on the oak coffee table. Like the rest of Hopewell Springs, the hundred-year-old, fully furnished colonial Rose had arranged for her to rent was quaint and adorable.
Cassie mused over the stark contrast between the happy, welcoming warmth of Hopewell Springs and the cold, dark ugliness she’d left behind in New York City. But it was more than that. She no longer craved the excitement of the NYPD, the all-consuming adrenaline rush of busting sleazy bad guys on a daily basis. For the first time since she’d received her badge, she was filled with a newfound sense of purpose that had nothing to do with the shiny badge in her pocket.
When she’d walked up the red brick path leading to the house’s freshly painted front porch, she’d felt like she was coming home. Dark green shutters graced the yellow exterior. Sweet-smelling rows of rose bushes delineated both adjacent property lines. The quiet road was dotted with similar houses on either side and across the street, also painted in vibrant colors.
As if giving her own approval of their new home, Raven circled three times before lying down on the large blue floral rug that covered most of the living room floor, then let out a contented sigh. As did Cassie. After a full day standing in front of a stove, her feet were killing her, but it was a good pain.
The memory of Mike’s large, strong hand gripping his cup of coffee flashed in her head. She’d bet he gave a kick-ass foot massage. Her belly fluttered as she remembered the hot way he’d looked at her. When he’d left the Nest, she assumed she would never see him again, but now…running into each other was a certainty.
But no matter how happy she was for the moment in Hopewell Springs, letting down her guard would never be an option. She was still an NYPD detective, and nailing whoever was trying to put her six feet under took priority over culinary bliss.
Cassie pulled her cell phone from the handbag lying beside her and dialed her partner’s number. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell he was pissed.
“Save me the heartburn and check in on time, will ya?” Dom stated, rather than asked.
“Okay, sorry. I tried calling you from the road, but there’s a dead zone on most of the Thruway north of Albany.” She hesitated. “Then I was busy, uh, working.”
A moment of silence. “Working?”
Cassie twisted a lock of hair around one of her fingers as she told Dom about her new job, intentionally leaving out details about exactly where she was working and staying. The last thing she wanted was for Gray and Dom to hightail it upstate and drag her back into protective custody. Eventually, she’d have to tell them, but for now she wanted to stay lost. Even to them.
Dom sounded annoyed. “Your only job should be to keep yourself alive.”
“Look, I don’t know how long I’ll have to hide out, so I might as well make the best of things, and cooking is something I love.”
She heard a loud, frustrated breath over the phone before Dom continued. “I don’t like it, but if you have to do this, keep your head low.”
“Of course I will. No one knows I’m in this part of the state, and I’m not using my real name.”
“Pretty soon, Rod Manici will find out who you are.”<
br />
“I know that.” She tucked a fluffy pillow behind her head and leaned back. “When you turn over copies of the body-wire recordings for discovery, my real name will be all over them.”
“Yeah, well…” Dom snorted. “Whatever they think your name is, there’s still a hit on you, and naturally Manici’s attorney is denying his client is behind it.”
“Does he think we’re that stupid? Nobody’s going to buy that story.”
“’Course not.” Dom paused. “But Manici won’t submit to a polygraph, and you know we can’t force him to take one.”
Cassie rubbed her forehead, trying to massage away the ache growing behind her skull. “It has to be Manici. He owns the place. Who else connected with La Femme would have a vested interest in seeing me dead?”
“That’s another thing,” Dom said. “Even if you were dead, the hearsay exception for unavailable witnesses allows any recordings and reports you made to be admitted in court as evidence. So why would Manici risk putting a hit on you?” Squeaking from Dom’s desk chair came to Cassie’s ear. “It wouldn’t change a thing and would only focus the spotlight more on him than it is already. Those tapes alone are enough to put him away. Something’s not right here.”
“I agree,” Cassie said, visualizing Dom rocking in his chair and shaking his head. “Manici may be a scumbag, but he never struck me as having enough balls to hire a hit man.”
The squeaking abruptly stopped.
“You hear that?” Dom’s voice was sharp.
“Hear what?”
“Clicking.”
Cassie closed her eyes and covered her other ear with her hand, straining to pick up on whatever Dom was hearing.
“Cass, hang up!” Dom shouted. “Do it now!”
Without asking questions, Cassie punched the button on her cell phone to disconnect the call. Her heart pounded as understanding slammed home.
The precinct phones were bugged.
And she’d given up her exact location. Or had she?
For the next hour she paced the living room floor, waiting for Dom to call back, all the while reviewing their conversation. Aside from acknowledging she was upstate and working as a cook, she hadn’t disclosed any specifics. She was sure of it.
At least, she thought so.
Her phone rang. It was Dom, calling from his cell phone. Her partner didn’t mince words.
“My desk phone’s bugged. So’s Gray’s. I just had our cell phones checked and they’re both clean. You need to go into protective custody. Now.”
Cassie took a deep breath. “No.”
“Whatdya mean, no?” Dom roared.
Cassie winced and jerked the phone from her ear. “All I said when we talked was that I was upstate. I’m positive I didn’t say where. New York is a huge state. There’s no way anyone could actually find me.”
Again, she held the phone away from her ear as her partner let loose with a litany of colorful expletives. She waited patiently for him to unload and calm down.
“I don’t like it,” Dom growled, “and neither does Gray. He’s throwing a conniption over how someone managed this in our own house. It was an old-fashioned job by an amateur, not the modern undetectable digital wiretap. Bugging precinct phones is beyond ballsy and a helluva risk. Lt. Frye wants IA in on this. We’ve got a dirty cop, and we need to clean house. Bottom line, you must have seen or heard something pretty damn important at La Femme that isn’t on the recordings. Think, Cass, what the hell is it?”
She frowned. “Everything I know, you know. This was a standard undercover job with all the hot evidence on the body wires. The only thing I can suggest is looking at those blackmail videotapes Manici made to keep his wealthy clients in line. Maybe there’s something there.”
“We’ve got someone going over them now, but there must be ten years worth of tapes. If you think of anything else, call me ASAP, day or night. I mean…shit.” Dom’s voice softened. “You’re the best-looking partner I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to have to train a new one. I like making the other guys jealous when they stare across their desks at their ugly, unshaven, belching partners.”
“I miss you, too, Dom.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. If you’ve got to do this, at least tell me where you are. For safety reasons, the lieutenant will insist on knowing.”
Cassie blew out a breath. “Fine, but promise me you and Gray won’t drag me back to the city.” Dead silence on the end of the phone. “Promise me!”
“Okay, okay,” Dom said.
Reluctantly, Cassie rattled off the address of the Nest and the house where she was staying.
“And before I forget,” Dom added, “Frye says you should consider this a paid vacation until you have to come back to testify against Manici in grand jury.”
“Tell him I said thanks. For the vacation, that is.” With a bitter laugh and a shake of her head, she ended the call. “Some vacation,” she said to Raven, who had come to sit by the sofa. “A vacation from getting killed.”
No matter how much fun she might have pretending to be a chef for a while, someone out there still wanted her dead.
Chapter Three
“Good to have you back, Mike,” Rose said from behind the cash register as he walked into the Nest. “How was Albany?”
He flashed her a quick smile. “Not bad.” It was good to be back. A week sitting on his ass in an auditorium, forced to listen to other police chiefs boast about how many felons they’d locked up, sucked. If those morons had been doing more proactive enforcement, maybe they wouldn’t have such a high crime rate in the first place.
He leaned his hip against the register desk and looked around at the tables brimming with customers eating lunch. Busier than usual for a Monday. Order bells rang and people chattered away, enjoying themselves. After all these years, this town finally felt like home.
Things in Hopewell Springs were quiet—the way he liked it. And very much unlike his last duty station in the South Bronx. At times he missed the action and excitement of his old job with the NYPD, but no way would he go back. He’d take the serenity of this town over any big city, especially New York. Too much politics there. Too much noise. Too much damn everything.
He picked up a newspaper lying on the counter and noted the headline: Governor Hosts U.S. Senatorial Candidates. He snorted in disgust. Another high-priced political tea party at the taxpayers’ expense. Nope, he much preferred the simplicity of life in Hopewell Springs. Not a day went by that he didn’t pat himself on the back for making the move up here.
Rose cocked her head toward the newspaper in his hand. “While he’s not saying so directly, all the news shows are hinting the governor’s looking to do whatever he can to oust crooked incumbents in New York’s neighboring states, especially New Jersey.” When he didn’t answer, she prodded, “Well, what do you think, Chief?”
“I’m a public official.” He gave her a cynical smile. “No comment.”
“And as a public official,” she said, pointing a finger at him, “it was about time you got a haircut.” Mike chuckled and put down the paper to run a hand through his now close-cropped hair. “But I think the women in this town will love you no matter how long or short your hair is. Better get your order in fast. Business has picked up over the last few days and we might be out of chili already.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He inhaled something meaty and spicy and his stomach rumbled. “What smells so great?”
“Probably the chili. Got a brand-new menu and a brand-new chef.” Rose glanced to the kitchen and for some odd reason winked at him. “Looks like Jimmy didn’t tell you, things weren’t all that quiet while you were gone. I fired Mon Sewer Pierre.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No kidding.” And no great loss. The man couldn’t make good chili if his life depended on it, and chili was Mike’s favorite thing for lunch. Maybe even his favorite food period.
“Sure did. Grab a seat and let me know how the new chef measures up.” The corners of Rose’s mouth lifted in
a wicked smile.
“Will do.” Mike pushed from the register desk and narrowed his eyes. Something’s fishy here.
He headed to the one empty stool at the end of the service counter, acknowledging greetings from Sue, Ginny, and several customers. He was about to sit down when the sound of metal whacking on metal stopped him. He moved around to the back of the counter to identify the source. From where he stood at the entrance to the aisle running between the kitchen and the counter, he had a clear view.
Beneath one of the ledges where various pots, pans, and plates were stacked, a shapely blue jean-clad ass wiggled into view. Mike’s lips twitched upward. It was one ass he didn’t recognize, and it was his job to know everyone in town. He cocked his head to ass-ess the situation from another angle.
Definitely don’t know her. I’d remember an ass that great.
The body attached to the spectacular backside puttered beneath the counter, clearly searching for something and not finding it. Metal smacked against metal again, making Mike grimace. The woman made more noise with stainless steel than a brass band. She rose and bumped her head on the ledge. A stream of muted curses spewed out of her mouth as she clapped her palm on top of her head and angled toward him.
The woman from last week.
The first woman who’d got his blood pumping in a very long time, and it had been far too long since he’d been with a woman who could actually do that. Particularly since he’d made himself a personal vow years ago not to get too involved. He sure as hell didn’t need to go through that again. It had just about killed him. Literally.
Mike continued to watch her fume behind the counter. This woman had something about her, and it wasn’t just her looks. He’d been with lots of beautiful women, but he’d never had to reel his tongue back into his mouth before.
A bright red, sleeveless V-neck shirt hugged her sizeable breasts. His gaze slid to the white apron tied at her slim waist. About five-six and with the thickest, shiniest red hair he’d ever seen. Today, unlike last week, she had it tied back in a ponytail. Sunlight pouring in through the café’s windows glinted off her hair like flames. She turned fully toward him and began to smile. Then she froze, the smile vanishing. Her bright green eyes widened and her jaw dropped.