Cooking Up Love

by Gemma Brocato

  “Shut up. Just. Shut. Up.”

  Jem reviewed what she remembered about the place from her visit with Jack. The house was massive and very isolated, on the outskirts of town. She hadn’t paid much attention to anything except the kitchen as he showed her through the house. Of course, it hadn’t helped when he’d made a game of trying to take her clothes off while showing her the master suite. She had escaped and had run laughing through the door to the back yard.

  Jack had chased her down the steps and across the lawn to the root cellar, where he tackled her, then kissed her breathless under the sunny spring sky. She was still weak in the knees as he offered to show her the cellar that dated back to the 1830s. Set in a hill at the rear of the yard, the fieldstone facade was charming, but Jem declined the opportunity to explore the underground structure. The slow burn of panic had risen in her throat when she stared down the sloped ramp into the eerie darkness. There was no way she’d go there, even when Jack waggled his eyebrows and offered to distract her.

  And Grant led her there now.

  Jem dug her heels into the grass, ignoring the sharp stab in her shoulder, fear of the cellar overriding the pain. “Grant, wait. Stop, please.” She wasn’t above begging.

  “Too late. There she is,” he gestured toward a solitary figure standing near the entrance, staring at the surrounding woods.

  At the sound of their approach, the woman turned and smiled.

  “Surprise!”

  “Irene?”

  Jem’s employee stood by the open door of the root cellar.

  “Yep. Bet you weren’t expecting me. What? Did you think it’d be Tessa waiting here for you? She made it easy to cast suspicion her way. Pathetic creature, trying so desperately to hang on to Jack. Her ridiculous behavior in the café the other morning gave me the idea. We’d make it look like she was the enemy while we swooped in to get what we needed from you.”

  Jem’s mouth hung open. Irene was the she Grant referred to. “But, you were Caro’s friend.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I pretended to be but I hated her. She stole something that belonged to SPACES and used it against us to keep herself safe.” Irene trembled with anger. “No, I was never her friend.”

  “But your secret has been safe all these years. Why are you doing this now?” Jem asked, sure she already knew the answer.

  “Because now you know,” Irene replied, her tone bitter. “When Caro died, this entire debacle should have died with her. This wouldn’t be happening now. You should have sold the business, and put her things in the self-storage Grant recommended on the east side of town, conveniently giving him the key. We could be very thorough in our searches. We’d eventually find it. This whole mess could be over.” She took a menacing step toward Jem, who shrank back, only to run into Grant. “Where is it? Where is the ledger?”

  “The FBI has it.” Jem lied, praying they’d believe her and let her go.

  Grant grabbed Jem’s shoulder in a punishing grip as Irene got right in her face and squawked, “What have you done?”

  “I could tell it was important. Sam has a friend in the bureau, and I turned everything over to them last week.”

  “She’s lying. There’s no way she could tell what it was. We were too careful.” Grant shook her for emphasis, his fingers digging into her shoulder.

  Jem gasped in pain. “You let Caro steal a copy of the books. You weren’t as careful as you think.” Jem was aghast at her own daring as soon as the words left her mouth. Clever, Jem, why not taunt them into a rage. They have guns, for Christ’s sake. Just shut up.

  Irene stepped away and peered at the dark hole of the root cellar. “I’m going to have to think about what to do now. I’m not sure I believe you turned the ledger over to the government, but we can’t have you running around free. If you haven’t done it already, you certainly would now.” She gestured to the doorway in front of Jem and nodded at Grant. “I believe our guest will be comfortable in there until we have a chance to find the book and figure out her fate.”

  Grant pushed Jem toward the opening. Fear crept up her spine like a nasty, hairy spider. “No, wait. You can’t put me in there. Don’t!” She turned toward Grant and pleaded. “Please don’t.”

  He smiled wickedly at her again. “What’s the matter, dear? Don’t think you’ll like your temporary home?” He laughed as he forced her inexorably toward the yawning void of the root cellar. “Oh, you didn’t think we knew about your claustrophobia? It’s why we picked this place.”

  Jem resisted as best she could, but with her hands cuffed in front of her, and Grant shoving from behind, it was useless. She grasped the doorjamb but Grant twisted her around, so her back was to the cellar and broke her hold. He gave her one final, hard push and sent her stumbling down the ramp, before he swung the door shut.

  Complete darkness swallowed her scream as she pitched down the ramp, landing on her back on the earthen floor. Air whooshed out of her lungs, ending in a whimper as pain battled breathlessness. The padlock snapped shut with a harsh click. Stunned, she scrambled to her feet, hands restrained in front of her, the total blackness of the root cellar frightening and disorienting. Panicked shudders raced through her. There was nothing worse than being trapped in a small space.

  Unless it was being trapped in a very dark, small space.

  In handcuffs.

  The pathetic mewling from the back of her throat escalated to a full-on shriek, releasing her terror in the most primal way. She wasn’t sure how long she’d screamed, but if the fire in her throat was a clue, it had been a while. Oh, God, oh God. Dammit Jem, stop now. Oh, sweet Jesus, God! Screaming isn’t helping. Get a grip!

  Stretching her arms out in front of her, she tried to gauge the size of the room, regretting her decision to not explore the space with Jack when she had the chance. She turned in a circle hoping her hands would connect with a wall, or shelf, or anything. The problem was she wasn’t sure when she completed the circuit. And she wasn’t sure where in the room she stood. Adrift in the inky darkness, with her hands shackled together, just staying upright was difficult.

  I choose to believe this is a large room. No need to get hysterical. Come on, Jem. Pretend you’re outside on a moonless, cloudy night. That’s a great big sky overhead. No reason to feel compressed. The thought almost worked, except Jem had lived in the city for too long. There was always some sort of light.

  Her breath hitched, the too rapid, too shallow breathing making her head swim dizzily. The handcuffs clanked obscenely when she cupped her hands over her mouth and wrestled for control, to stop panting. You can do this. Just stop gasping. Focus on a deep breath in, and out. That’s right. You got this. Start running recipes in your head. Focus on how to make a great baked potato soup. First, chop the onions. What’s next?

  It was working. Her breathing slowed, nearing the control she struggled for, beating the claustrophobic nightmare trapping her. Still trembling painfully, she forced negative thoughts away by improvising on her favorite recipe, substituting new ingredients in her head, and throwing them in a shiny, imaginary soup pot.

  Jem recited the recipe aloud, her voice echoing in the black void. Not even the smallest crack of light leaked through. Her eyes weren’t adjusting to the thick darkness, but she left them open. Her thoughts wandered away from her recipe to Jack. How he’d distract her if he stood in front of her. He’d use his voice to soothe, his arms to comfort, and rock-steady heartbeat to help her overcome the incipient horror teasing her spine. In her mind, she pictured his electric-blue eyes staring into hers in the pantry as he helped her overcome her fear of that small space. She relived the moments they’d spent there in bliss.

  Until the horrifying thought crept in that no one—not one single soul in the world—knew where she was. It would take a miracle to find her.

  That was all it took. One small, random thought. The tears she battled snuck out, dropping on the hands cupped uselessly around her mouth. It took a moment to identify that the high, keening an
imal sound was her terror, squeezing out through tense lips.

  Her heart raced, skipping beats, a typical reaction to the adrenaline surge her panic created. The shivers coursing through her tense body physically hurt. She tried to force herself to release the tension across her shoulders by rolling them, but the pain from the injury she’d gotten while handcuffed in the car flared harsh and insistent. She drew her shoulders nearer to her ears, hunching forward, curling in on herself to eliminate the pain.

  The stale, loamy smell from the dirt floor teased its way through her senses, the wormlike odor cloying against the back of her throat until nausea hit. She clasped her hands against the heaving, flexing muscles of her midsection and bent at the waist, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the damp floor. She retched until she was sure there was nothing left, and then convulsed again.

  Sobbing uncontrollably, she shuffled two cautious steps to the side and sank to her knees. She laid her forehead on the cool floor and prayed for the catatonic state she knew would come soon.

  Chapter 28

  Sam pounded his fist in frustration on the butcher-block island in the middle of the apartment kitchen. Where the fuck is Jem? He’d searched the entire café before going upstairs to see if there were any clues as to where she could be. He came up with nothing. Zip. Zilch. It was as if she’d disappeared into thin air.

  He couldn’t imagine what Jack must be feeling. If the woman he loved disappeared like this, he’d be beside himself with worry.

  Sam pounded down the stairs and burst through the street door, nearly mowing down the woman peering through the café door.

  Tessa.

  He grabbed her arm. “Where the fuck is Jem?” he demanded.

  “Nice mouth, Sam.” Sarcasm dripped off her words. “Is this how today’s academics are teaching kids to talk?”

  “Jem’s been kidnapped. I think you did it. Where have you taken her?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Sam let his anger rule for a moment, shaking the woman’s arm almost violently. Coming back to his senses at her fearful cry, he released her, but walked her back against the glass door. “You trashed the café Saturday night. Now Jem’s gone missing. What have you done, Tessa?”

  “Nothing! I did not trash her place. My mom and I were at a spa on Martha’s Vineyard this weekend. We left Friday morning and got back late last night. I was in a mud bath Saturday night.” She pushed against Sam’s chest. “I didn’t do anything to Jem.”

  “Oh, I see you can finally get her name right,” Sam chided. “Can you prove it? That you weren’t in town this weekend?”

  “Why the hell should I have to prove it to you? Who died and made you the police?”

  Tessa’s belligerent tone matched the look on her face. The woman had balls.

  “You haven’t made a secret of the fact that you want Jack back. This is exactly like something you’d do.”

  “Well, you’re barking up the wrong tree, you bastard.” Tessa twisted sideways and slipped out from between Sam and the door he’d backed her up against. “I might want Jack again, but not enough to break the law, you asshole.”

  “Shit! Sorry, but I’m desperate. Our only lead is Dunk, and he’s still unconscious. Whoever grabbed Jem walloped him with a cast-iron skillet. Probably when he tried to stop—”

  “Whoa! Is Dunk okay? Where is he?” Tessa interrupted, seizing Sam’s arm.

  Huh. She almost looked sincere. “Do you honestly care?”

  “I do care. Mama likes him. A lot.”

  “He’s in the hospital.” Tessa turned to leave, but Sam put out a hand to stop her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’m going to find Mama and get her to the hospital.” As Sam shook his head, she continued. “I didn’t trash the café, I didn’t injure Dunk and I sure as hell didn’t take Jem. Maybe someone wanted you to think it was me.” She looked at his hand, still on her arm. “Let me go. Now.”

  “Why would someone want to cast blame on you?”

  “How the hell should I know? Could be I’m just a convenient scapegoat. But I told you before. It. Wasn’t. Me.” Tessa shook off his hand and strode across the street to her car.

  Her words echoed through Sam’s brain as watched her pull open the door. She glared at him a final time as she slipped behind the wheel and pulled away from the parking space in front of Grant DuBois’s building. The office was curiously dark for the middle of the afternoon. As the wheels continued to turn in Sam’s head, he reached in his pocket for his phone.

  He spoke as soon as Jack answered. “What if it’s SPACES?”

  “What?” Jack asked.

  “I just ran into Tessa. She said…”

  Jack cut him off. “Are you still at the café? Don’t let her out of your sight. I’m on my way.”

  “Jack, wait. She’s gone. Before you get all bent out of shape, I don’t think she did it. Any of it.” He could hear the steam coming out of Jack’s ears. He continued over his brother’s angry exclamation. “Just shut the fuck up and listen to me. Tessa and Nancy went to a spa in the Vineyard for the weekend. So if it’s not her, who else could it be?”

  “I don’t know.” Jack’s tension radiated through the phone line. “But I have a sick feeling that time is running out.”

  “I’m right there with ya, BC. I’m looking at Grant’s office. It looks like no one is home.” Sam started across the street. “I’m going to go check it out.”

  “Sam,” Jack said, “Dunk hasn’t regained consciousness yet. You be careful.”

  “Right,” Sam replied, as he disconnected the phone and stepped into the shadow created by the awning at the front of Grant’s building.

  * * * *

  Jack sat with his head in hands, elbows propped on his knees, as if in prayer. Pippa nudged his arm as the door of the examination room opened. Both Jack and Dunk’s son bolted out of their chairs as the doctor made his way over to them.

  “He’s regained consciousness and is asking for you,” the doc stated. Jack started for the room, but the physician restrained him with a firm hand on his arm. “He has a head injury and I’m concerned that he took nearly two hours to wake. We’re waiting for the results of the CT scan. Do not cause him any stress. The only reason you’re getting in right now is because a woman is missing.”

  “Got it.” Jack shook off the doctor’s hand and strode toward the room where Dunk lay. Pippa, Sonny and Officer Tompkins followed closely behind.

  The ROMEO’s ashen gray pallor stood out against the stark white hospital linens. Hooked to several beeping machines, a nurse adjusted the flow of his IV. The trio entered in time to hear him balk at something the nurse said. “I’m telling you I’m fine. It’s just a little bump. My head is harder than you think.”

  “Dunk, you were unconscious for too long. The doc is concerned,” the nurse replied easily, apparently used to argumentative patients.

  “I don’t need any more tests. I need an aspirin and an ice bag. I’m perfectly okay,” he protested, struggling to sit up as he caught sight of Jack. “Thank God you’re here. Jack, it was Grant. He came to the back door and Jem let him in.” He slapped away the nurse’s hands as she tried to keep him from sitting up. “Is your last name Ratched, woman? Let me talk.”

  “You can talk all you want, Dunk, just do it from a prone position.” She glared at Jack. “If you let him sit up, or get worked up, I’ll clear the room.”

  Dunk winced as he let her push him down.

  Jack impatiently shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for the nurse to finish tucking Dunk back in. He leaned over the bed so the older man could see him without lifting his head off the pillow. “Do you know where he took her?”

  Dunk nodded, looking grim as he answered. “I heard him say something about you being injured, so I walked in to the kitchen. He said there was an accident at a job site and he was there to take Jem to you. Nice to see you’re okay.”

  Jack waved the old
er man’s concern away. “Which site? He’s had her for a long time. I need to find her.”

  “I’m not sure, but I heard him say it was for a job you were starting next week.”

  “The Palmer house?” Jack asked, hope blooming in his chest.

  “Could be,” Dunk replied. “But why would he take her there?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s a place to start.” Jack reached out and squeezed the older man’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

  As Jack ran out of the room, he pulled out his phone to call Sam.

  Sam answered on the first ring. “God, Jack, please have good news.”

  “Dunk’s awake. He said Grant has her. I think he may have taken her to the Palmer house.”

  “No shit? I’m at Grant’s office. He’s got papers strewn across the desk and empty boxes scattered next to it. The bookshelves are half-empty and he’s taken pictures off the wall.”

  Jack made it to the parking lot and raced toward his illegally parked truck. “Any sight of the bastard?”

  “Nope. It looks like he’s closing shop. Or running away.” Sam tone was grim. “Well, I’ll be damned. Grant just pulled up in front of the café. No sign of Jem though.”

  “Call Officer Tompkins and tell him Grant is there. Then meet me at the Palmer place. Get there as fast as you can.”

  “Dammit. There’s a root cellar at the end of the property. If that’s where they took her… Shit, Jack, I hate to even think about her locked in there. She has to be going crazy.”

  Jack’s blood iced in his veins. “Oh my God. I didn’t think about the cellar.”

  “Get there as fast as you can, Jack. I’m going to take care of one thing, then head over there. When I’m done with my pocket knife and Grant’s tires, he won’t be going anywhere.”

  “Thanks, Sam.” Jack jumped in the truck and revved the engine. Tires squealed as he pulled away from the loading zone, startling the lot attendant who had been standing next to the truck, writing a ticket. Saying a frantic prayer, he raced out of the lot toward the edge of town.