“The facts as you see them,” Tatum challenged as she downed the last shot. “The facts as I know them tell me you’re wrong.”
“Then let me prove it one way or the other.” He inclined his head. “If I’m wrong, I’ll back off and you’ll never see me again. But if I’m right...” He shrugged.
“If you’re right, your investigation could destroy everything I’ve worked for in my life.” She eyed the bottle of tequila, seemed to shake off the idea, as if she realized that wasn’t going to solve anything. “I need to think about this.”
“I thought you might.” Feeling as if some progress was being made, he stood, reached for his wallet and pulled out one of his cards, set it on her desk. “When you’ve decided, give me a call. Day or night. My cell is always on.”
She let out a short laugh. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Tonight I’m saying it to you.” He found himself smiling. He liked her. He hadn’t expected that. He liked her a lot. “I don’t always mean it, though.”
“Yeah, well, I bet not all your ladies can help you investigate drug running in Chicago.” Instead of putting his card away, she pocketed it. “I’ll let you know.”
“I do have one other question before I leave.” He faced her at the door. He was close, not too close, but close enough to catch the faint hint of olive oil and smoke wafting off her skin. “This one’s a bit more personal.”
“Can I plead the Fifth if I choose not to answer?”
She really did have a way of making him smile. “Why tequila?” he asked.
“Because it gives me the most bang for my buck and never disappoints.” When her face relaxed and she leaned against the doorframe, he found himself suddenly reluctant to leave. And not just because when she crossed her arms over her chest he caught a significant glimpse of cleavage beneath her tank top. She caught his eye when he lifted his gaze back to her face, and her grin widened. “But I also chose it because I figured you could match me shot for shot. It was nice to meet you, Detective Medina.” She held out her hand. “One way or the other, I’ll be in touch.”
“I look forward to hearing from you.” He shook her hand, gave it an extra squeeze just to test the waters. When she squeezed back, he felt that bolt of attraction hit him dead square in the chest.
As he left her office and headed downstairs to the kitchen and then the front door, he found himself wondering when he’d last been on anything resembling a date. He couldn’t remember. When he reached his car, he tried to recall the name of any woman who had captured his interest over the past... It didn’t matter how far back he went, the list didn’t exist.
But he had one now.
And it began with Tatum Colton.
* * *
After letting the rest of her staff know she’d be sticking around to close, Tatum locked herself back in her office and stashed the bottle of tequila in the bottom drawer of her desk for what she assumed would be a need later on. She pulled open her laptop and began skimming through the last six months of her business accounts.
Assessing the numbers had, until recently, been a nightly ritual. These days, she left most of the office work and number crunching to her manager, Richard. He’d been a godsend from the start, popping up right after the unexpected resignation of her last manager, who had sadly been killed in a car accident a few days later. And then since her father’s death, he’d stepped up and in, eagerly accepting the challenge of expanding True’s catering options even as he took over food and supplies ordering, employee schedules, and payroll. All of which freed Tatum to do what she did best: cook.
Looking at the network-shared spreadsheets, accounts and banking statements, she didn’t see anything amiss. It was a cursory check, but she knew her business well enough to spot red flags. Revenue was up considerably, but they’d had a full list of reservations for nearly two months now. An uptick in cash made sense. She clicked open the catering spreadsheet, noticed that currently the expenses were definitely outweighing profit, but that wasn’t wholly unexpected. As of now they only had a few bookings and only two recurring clients. Time to start pushing for more. She jotted down a note to discuss the catering with Richard ASAP.
Not for the first time tonight, she picked up her cell, her fingers itching to reach out to the one man who had always been her shoulder to cry on, her confidant. Her protector. She tapped open the number pad before she remembered her father wouldn’t answer. He was gone.
She bit her lip, pressed the phone against her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars.
Alfie Colton had been so proud of what she’d made here, the changes she’d helped to bring to this community. Both her parents had always instilled the importance of giving back, of making a difference, and of building something lasting in her life. Not only for Tatum, but for her sisters, as well. January and Simone had taken different tracks to get there—January as a social worker and Simone as a psychologist—but they’d accomplished the one thing all the Colton sisters had as a goal in common: making their parents proud while living completely independent lives.
The air in her lungs seemed to vanish. For the first time since her father’s murder, as much as she missed him, as much as she could have used Alfie Colton’s advice, she was grateful he wouldn’t witness whatever fallout there was from what had started tonight.
Anger and bitterness cut through her like a honed porcelain knife. How could she think such a thing? Shoving her laptop away, she sank back in her chair, drew her knees up and stared at the too-bright screen.
Tears trailed down her cheeks as she wondered for what felt like the millionth time what, if any, progress the police were making in finding whoever was responsible for her father’s and uncle’s deaths. It had felt as if their family had been swarmed with detectives and officers early on, but in the last few weeks since the funerals? She’d been questioned not once but twice, and she resented the notion of having to give them her irrefutable alibi. She’d been here, at True, when her father had been killed, just as she was every night. That she—or any of her sisters or close-as-sibling cousins—was considered a suspect had bile rising in the back of her throat.
It seemed to have taken forever to convince those detectives that they were a family that loved each other without reservation or hesitation. Not that there weren’t issues. Of course there were. But for those issues to lead to murder?
It had been the most preposterous accusation she’d ever heard. Until tonight.
Now the detectives were going longer and longer between phone calls and new information. Her mother and aunt, both beyond heartbroken at having lost their husbands in the same violent way, were standing strong. They were, after all, Coltons, even if only by marriage. A Colton was a Colton, and if there was one thing her family was, it was strong. They might bend, but they never, ever broke.
Tatum as well as her sisters and her three cousins were all adrift with grief and anger, but also more cognizant than ever of how important family truly was.
She was not, Tatum decided as she swept her fingers under her eyes and stopped the flow of tears by sheer will, going to let one hint of scandal hit True or the Colton family. She couldn’t. Not only because the restaurant was her livelihood and her life, but because she would not taint the Colton name.
“Let him investigate on his own,” she said to the empty room. “He won’t find anything.”
CHAPTER 3
Cruz stopped at his parents’ house on his way home. Because he saw the kitchen light on, he told himself. Not because he was feeling slightly uneasy about having lied to Tatum Colton about taking the damage potentially done to her restaurant into consideration. He couldn’t afford concerns.
“Stop worrying about that,” he muttered as he pulled into the driveway and climbed out. “You’re doing your job.” He couldn’t take collateral damage into consideration. Not if he was going to make
a dent in the drugs streaming into his city. Streaming? Ha. In recent months the trickle had turned into a flood and people were dying. Long-time addicts and the newly curious. And kids. So many, too many kids.
The crisp March air had him shivering despite his lifelong acclimation to the Windy City. Growing up in a working-class neighborhood had been a paradise of bike riding, baseball games and trick-or-treating for him and his younger siblings. Lawn mowers rumbled on the weekends and cars moved in and out of garages and driveways with consistency. Being raised in an area where his neighbors were friends, where he had been exposed to multiple cultures and family types had been the best preparation for becoming a cop. He liked people. He understood people. And he loved his neighborhood.
He would do whatever he had to in order to protect it.
When he ran up onto the porch, he found himself wishing he’d worn his jacket, but that thought vanished the instant he stepped inside. The two-story brick structure had been his parents’ home for the past thirty-two years, and he found himself encased in the instant, familiar warmth.
He didn’t, as he had all those years growing up, call out to them. Instead he closed the door, wiped his feet and ducked into the kitchen, where he found his mother precisely where he expected to find her on a Sunday night—sitting with his father at the polished round table, going over the family budget.
“Cruz.” Patricia Medina’s all-seeing, all-knowing brown eyes narrowed in suspicion as she pulled off her reading glasses. “It’s after midnight. What are you doing here?”
“Just thought I’d stop on my way home.”
“You working a case?” Saul Medina picked up his coffee mug and headed to the ancient, sputtering pot as Cruz pulled open the fridge. “Or just raiding our fridge?”
“Yes and yes.” Cruz grinned at his parents. “Unless Frankie and Inez polished off tonight’s leftovers already?” The twins, his college-age brother and sister, ten years his junior, were notorious for their all-night study sessions that usually left the refrigerator and cupboards bare and the kitchen sink overflowing.
“Midterms are over. Our food supply is safe for a while.” His mother moved in behind him, waving him away even as she brushed a gentle hand over his hair. “I’ll fix you a plate.”
“Let the man-child feed himself,” Saul told his wife as he reclaimed his seat. “He’s capable.”
“Feeding him lets me pretend he still lives here.”
“He hasn’t lived here in over a decade, Patty.” Saul rolled his eyes as Cruz took a seat beside his father. “Sometimes I think she’s living in a time warp.”
“School going okay?” Cruz asked his college professor dad.
“I admit the older I get, the more I look forward to the summers,” Saul said. “But I have a good group of students this semester. Most of whom even seem to want to be there.”
“Always a good sign,” Cruz agreed. “Ma?”
“Your mother and I were just discussing her job, actually,” Saul said and barely grimaced when Patty shushed him. “What? He’s going to find out eventually. Your mother’s school is implementing cutbacks. They’ve offered her early retirement, but if she goes, so does the library.”
“What?” Cruz almost choked on his coffee. “But they can’t do that. How can you have a high school without a library?”
“Spoken like my favorite child,” Patty said with what to Cruz looked like a soul-sad smile. “Funds are stretched thin in this district. They are in every district.”
“But you’ve been there twenty-seven years.”
“They see numbers, Cruz,” his father said. “Not people. There’s talk of a fundraiser, both to save the library and your mother’s job.”
“Along with the assistants,” Patty said, setting a reheated plate of her unique albeit delicious, spicy spin on shepherd’s pie, along with a fork, in front of Cruz. “I’m not staying without them.”
“And so the conversation continues,” Saul said. “We’ll be fine,” he told Cruz, who was already trying to figure out how much his parents owed on their mortgage. “Are you still working that narcotics case you can’t talk about? The one you and Johnny were on?”
“I am.” Guilt swam through his stomach, trying to stifle his appetite, at the mention of his partner. Cruz spooned in the comforting tastes and textures of his childhood and felt instantly better. “Have a new lead I’m following and it’ll probably mean I won’t be coming around very much for a few weeks.”
“You’re not going undercover, are you?” Patty’s voice took on that edge of fear Cruz hated to hear.
“Not really. Not dangerous undercover,” he added at his mother’s narrowed gaze. “I promised you and Dad I wouldn’t do that again.” Especially after what had happened to Johnny. During his two years in deep cover, Cruz had earned enough scars, not all of them visible, to last him a lifetime. He wasn’t looking to add to them. “I’ll be working at a restaurant, actually. Which no doubt means free food.” If Tatum Colton agreed to his request. As of now, he was guessing that was a big if.
“Well, that’ll save us money on groceries at least,” Saul teased, then sobered. “I saw Jackie and Carlo Ruiz this afternoon. They’re still having a hard time adjusting.”
“Do any parents ever adjust to losing a child?” Patty asked and added a slice of homemade cheesecake to the table.
Cruz winced and kept eating. Benji Ruiz had been only the latest in a list of overdose victims they knew from the neighborhood. This one had struck closer and harder than most, as Cruz’s sister, Inez, had babysat Benji for most of his elementary school years. Kids like Benji—the ones they’d lost and the ones he could still save—were what kept him going. He worked every single day to ensure his parents, his siblings and friends would never have to attend another drug-induced, before-their-time funeral.
“So this new avenue of investigation,” Patty said as she slid back into her chair. “Will it leave you much time for a social life?”
“Dad, I thought you were going to get her to back off.” Cruz sent his father a warning look, but Saul just shrugged. “No, Mom, I don’t think it will.” Even as he said it, he could hear Tatum Colton’s rich, sultry voice ringing through his head. He wondered what her laugh sounded like.
“Once, just once I’d like to meet someone you care about, Cruz.” Patty shook her head in that disapproving way she had that made Cruz feel like a misbehaving teenager again. “Such a shame. You should be going home for a hot meal and not stopping off here. You need someone in your home, Cruz. You need someone in your bed.”
“Jeez, Mom!” Inez Medina came skidding to a halt in the kitchen doorway, her anime-inspired pajama pants and matching pink tank glowing like a beacon. “Lalalalala.” She covered her ears and ducked around them to grab a bottle of water. “Can we please not discuss Cruz’s sex life? Ick.”
“Ick is right,” Cruz agreed and gave his sister a grateful wink. “Find a way to conquer our ever-expanding environmental issues yet, kid?”
Inez, who took after their mother with her short stature and thick, dark hair, came over to stand between her parents. “I’m working on it. Speaking of which, we’re organizing a protest march for next week. A new pharmaceutical company is opening up offices downtown. They’ve been fined multiple times for illegal disposal of their waste and inhuman animal testing. I’m in charge of the permits for the protest.”
Food had never held so much interest for him before. He didn’t need to look up to know both his parents had pinned their eyes on him. “Contact Sheryl Cunningham at the city offices. Tell her who you are and what’s been planned and where. She’ll get you set up.”
“Oooh, I get to name-drop? Cool! Thanks, Cruz.” She kissed both her parents on the cheek and hurried back upstairs.
“Cruz.” His mother’s warning was loud and clear, but this was one instance where Cruz felt secure.
“
She’s asking about permits, Ma. She’s thinking ahead because she’s smart and she’s planning for every contingency.” Of course she was. She was prelaw and already clerking at a local ACLU office. “It’s not like you and Dad didn’t do the same at her age. Isn’t that about when I was conceived? At a pro-immigration rights rally?” He heard his father guffaw and took it as a win.
“It was after the rally,” his mother said without missing a beat. “And if Inez protesting endangers her scholarship? What will we do then?”
“Knowing Inez, she’d vlog about it on YouTube and end up with a GoFundMe campaign that would get her through graduate school.” This from Saul before Cruz could put the words together. “We’ve raised activists, dear. Nothing we can do about it now.”
“At least Frankie keeps his nose in his books and off social media,” Patty said. “I bet he’ll be the first one to give me grandchildren.”
Cruz snorted but quickly covered by finishing off his late-night dinner. Science-minded Frankie hadn’t taken his nose out of a book long enough to even recognize that girls flocked after him like he was a one-man K-pop band. He would, eventually, though. Then they’d all be in trouble.
“Only you have the power to make her stop talking about grandbabies,” Saul told Cruz in the same tone he remembered when he’d been warned about preventing forest fires. “Maybe give that some thought, would you?”
Cruz rolled his eyes. He wasn’t about to admit that seeing his parents this way, coming home the way he had—the way he did most weeks—was something he longed to create for himself. But this kind of life—quiet nights worrying over household budgets, raising children and eating leftover shepherd’s pie and cheesecake, that wasn’t possible for him. And it wasn’t fair to expect someone to be able to live it with him.
It was an argument he’d had with himself and his parents so many times he’d lost track. But as he trudged back to his car, filled with the warmth and love only his parents could provide, instead of lamenting the impossibility of a family of his own, he found himself thinking of a honey-blonde, spitfire chef with bright blue eyes and a taste for tequila.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021 Page 3
