Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021

by Anna J. Stewart

  He caught her around the waist before she slammed face-first into the stainless steel counter. Her scream when he lifted her right off the ground had his ears ringing. She kicked and twisted, trying to hit him with whatever reddish brown rock-solid block she carried. He turned his head to the side to avoid being knocked out. “Tatum, stop! It’s me. It’s Cruz!” He set her down before he dropped her.

  “Cruz.” She went limp in his arms. Her knees folded and he kept hold of her, kept her on her feet as she caught her breath. “Okay. It’s okay.” She inhaled deeply, still clutching her battering ram of choice in her arms. “I’m okay.”

  “What on earth is that?” Cruz asked.

  “This?” She hefted it up and nearly hit him in the chin with it. “It’s an imported ham. It’s the heaviest thing I could find in there,” she added at his look of disbelief.

  “Let’s put the pig down, shall we?” He plucked the ham out of her hands and set it on the counter. When he faced her again, his gaze fell to the trickle of blood trailing down the side of her face. “You’re hurt.” He reached out, but she flinched before he even touched her. Cruz swore, grabbed a stool and pushed her onto it. “Stay here. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

  “I’m fine.” But the fact she sank onto the stool told him otherwise.

  “It’s either me or the ER. Take your pick.” He didn’t stop moving until he’d retrieved the red plastic box from the unisex bathroom off the dish room. When he returned to her side by the refrigerator, he found her staring into its chilly depths, her eyes slightly unfocused. She was shivering. Whether from the cold or the aftereffects, he couldn’t be sure. “Maybe the ER is the right move.”

  “No.” She shook her head, flinched a bit, but when she looked at him he saw her eyes were clear again. “No emergency room.” She brushed her fingers against her scalp. “Head wounds always bleed like crazy.” She pulled the medical box over and rummaged around, set out what he himself would have. “No one else is with you, are they?”

  “No.” He uncapped the antibacterial spray and got to work dabbing and trying not to make the cut on her head hurt worse. Cruz moved her hair behind her shoulders, took an extra moment to tuck it behind her ear. He looked down at her pale face, at what he could only assume was anger and hurt spinning in those endless eyes of hers. He cupped the back of her head, tilted her head back. “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”

  “Are you sure it was a he? Never mind.” She sighed. “Of course it was a man. He just gave me a shove and then slammed the door. Momentum’s a bi—” She pinched her lips together. “Took me a second too long to catch my balance. I hit one of the metal racks face-first.” She lifted her hand, but he stopped her, caught it in his and curled his fingers around hers. “You know what really makes me mad?”

  He couldn’t resist, not when she looked so uncertain, so unsure of what to do or think next. He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of her knuckles. “Tell me.”

  He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or insulted that his attempt at comfort and affection didn’t distract her.

  “He did this to me in my home, Cruz. He made me feel scared and afraid in my home.” Her jaw tensed. “Did you see him? Do you know who it was?”

  “No.” He released her hand, refocused his attention on her head. “I was standing outside when you came down from your office. I knocked earlier but you didn’t hear. Whoever it was moved too fast for me to get a good look”

  “I heard someone down here.” She was reciting it as if dazed. “I guess I thought maybe it was Richard or one of the employees. Or you.”

  “Me?”

  Her smirk seemed almost normal. “I thought maybe it was you trying to teach me a lesson about being too trusting. You know, freak me out so I’d be more agreeable to your investigation.”

  As insulting as the prospect was, it wasn’t a bad lesson for her to have learned. “I wouldn’t have done that, Tatum.”

  “I know. But that’s what I was telling myself when I came down here.” She scrubbed a hand over the uninjured side of her face. “And before you say anything, I know it was stupid. Just like those idiotic dimwits in horror movies who go up to the attic in the middle of the night because they heard a noise.”

  “Or the basement,” Cruz attempted some levity. He grinned at her irritated glare. “They make for good entertainment.”

  “The girls or the movies?”

  He chuckled and stretched a small butterfly bandage over the cut in her hairline. “Both.”

  “Typical,” she snorted. “Yeah, well, this wasn’t scripted and I should have stayed in my...” She stopped. “What else did you see?”

  Now it was his turn to wince. “Whoever was here went up to your office.” She slid off the stool and shoved past him so fast it was as if he’d flipped a switch. “Wait, Tatum. Hold on.” Darn it! He left the medical box open on the counter and hurried after her. She was already halfway up the steps before he caught up. “Let me go in first, okay?”

  “It’s my office, Cruz.” She jerked her arm free of his grasp.

  “And someone just broke in here to find something. Just...” He moved around her, backed up the last few steps to the landing. “Let me go first.”

  “Whatever, Mr. I-Have-a-Penis-and-You-Don’t.”

  Hand braced on the door, he inclined his head. “That’s not what this is about.”

  “Sure it is.” She pointed to his back. “Gun, penis. Same diff as far as I’m concerned. There’s no one in there, Cruz. They’re gone, remember? You saw them leave yourself.”

  He pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. He stepped just inside, a bit stunned by what he saw.

  “Well?” Tatum moved in behind him.

  “Well nothing.” He planted his hands on his hips. “The place is immaculate.” Just as he remembered it. He’d expected it to be tossed. Whoever had been here had been in a rush. It shouldn’t be this neat. Unless they knew exactly what they were looking for and where to find it.

  “Well, then.” She moved around him this time and headed to her desk.

  “Do you see anything that’s been disturbed? That’s out of place?”

  She sat in her chair and did a slow rotation to check the room. “Not really, no.” She tapped on the keyboard of her laptop. “This is what I was working on when I heard the noise, and nothing new has been opened.” Her gaze hesitated on the tall wooden filing cabinet. “Hang on.” She got up and pulled the top drawer open.

  “What?”

  “This is supposed to be locked,” she said and began sifting through the files. “I keep the key in the frame of that picture.” She pointed to one of her and her sisters. “Everything seems in place, though. They’re a bit more messy than I like, but that could have been me. Huh.” She pulled out one file from the middle of the drawer. “This is in the wrong order. I’ll give you one guess whose employment file this is.”

  “Given the look on your face, I only need one.” He plucked it out of her hands and flipped open the now empty file. “It’s mine.”

  * * *

  Tatum stayed in Cruz’s SUV while he ran the towel-wrapped ladle that had nearly sealed her doom into the precinct lab. She hadn’t been up for another argument, which was why she agreed to let him drive her home. Although why he hadn’t done that first before coming here was beyond her.

  It was closing in on 1:00 a.m. and her body was screaming for relief in the form of a shower, a handful of aspirin and sleep. Not necessarily in that order.

  Resting her arm on the door, she pressed gentle fingers to the sore spot, which would no doubt transform into a lovely shade of eggplant by morning. She supposed that years from now, when she’d rediscovered her sense of humor, she’d find this entire situation borderline hysterical, but for now? For now she was definitely going to have to take things one minute at a time.

&
nbsp; She closed her eyes, felt her head loll forward, but before her eyes drifted shut, she saw a shadow heading her way. Tatum jumped, suddenly wide-awake, and instantly realized it was Cruz. She glanced at her watch. It had been almost an hour since he’d parked.

  Tatum shifted in her seat as he opened the door and dropped in behind the wheel. “Sorry. Paperwork’s always a pain. You all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Given it was the tenth time he’d asked her that question since they’d left True, she managed this one through gritted teeth. “Will you take me home now?”

  He grinned, starting the engine. “Sure.”

  She rolled her eyes, which added to the pain in her head. “Just drop me off at my front door, Valentino. I’ll walk in tomorrow.”

  “Valentino, huh?” he echoed with that side-eyed smile of his. “Charming, romantic, the epitome of male virility—”

  “In the silent movie age,” she cut him off.

  “Not to mention the fact Rudolph Valentino was Italian and I am—”

  “Not.” She smirked, ducked her chin before he saw the conversation was actually entertaining and thus distracting her. “Do you like silent movies?”

  “I do, actually. Buster Keaton is one of my favorite silent stars. Who’s your favorite?”

  “Clara Bow.” She’d always thought the women of that era had gotten the shaft when it came to the history of film. “They’re having a silent movie retrospective in Edgerton Park next week. Before tonight I was thinking about taking Thursday off and going.”

  “How does tonight change that?” He made a U-turn at the light and headed toward her condo.

  “Call me overly cautious, but I’m not feeling particularly secure in leaving my restaurant in someone else’s hands right now.” She knew once the fog lifted from her brain she was going to have to deal with the fact that someone—someone she trusted and considered family—was probably responsible for her getting shoved into the Deepfreeze.

  “When was the last time you took a day off?”

  “Monday, remember?” She could feel her eyes beginning to droop again and stifled a yawn.

  “I mean a day that wasn’t already designated. You’re the boss. You should take a day every once in a while.”

  She rolled her head against the back of the seat to look at him. “When’s the last time you took a day off?”

  “February 17,” he said without hesitation. “My brother, Frankie, was participating in a debate competition.”

  Tatum’s mouth twisted. Sometimes Cruz Medina seemed entirely too good to be true. “I think my staff would fall over in shock if I took a day off.”

  “All the more reason to do it.” Cruz shrugged. “Put them off guard. Maybe see what happens as a result.” He glanced at her. “You might be surprised.”

  “Speaking of putting them off guard,” she said slowly. “Thank you for letting it look like we were leaving separately tonight.”

  His lips twitched. “Not a problem.”

  “They watch out for me,” she explained. “They’re protective. They actually wait at O’Shannahan’s until I leave True for the night.” One of the reasons she didn’t like to leave too late. “Isn’t that sweet? What?” Tatum asked when Cruz glanced out his window.

  “They think you don’t know.” That grin of his needed a dimmer. “Don’t let on you know. I’m under strict orders not to tell you.”

  “I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine. I’m just glad they didn’t see us leaving together.” She sank back farther in the seat as she felt her body begin to loosen. The adrenaline and nerves were fading. “The last thing either of us need is for them—”

  “To think we’re involved?” He took a left and slowed down as they came up on her street. “Hate to tell you, but I think that ship hasn’t only sailed, it’s beyond the horizon.”

  “What’s that mean?” All thoughts of sleep and relaxation faded.

  “They think we’re sleeping together.”

  “What?” She shot forward in her seat only to have the seat belt snap her back. “Why would they think that?”

  “You said yourself the way you’re hiring me was a little out of the norm. Plus, you aren’t great at deception. You can’t lie worth a da—”

  “Some people would consider that an admirable quality,” she grumbled.

  “It didn’t help that you blushed to high heaven when you introduced me today.”

  “I...did not.” Her hands flew to her cheeks that were warming even now. “Did I?”

  “We could have roasted marshmallows on your face. Don’t worry. It actually works to my benefit if they think we’ve got something going on.”

  “Well, it doesn’t work to mine,” she snapped, and then, curious, shifted to face him. “Sleeping with one of my employees. How...cliché. How exactly does it work to your benefit?”

  “Us being involved is a good distraction. Not to mention it is a stellar explanation as to why I’m suddenly around. Getting the prime jobs. Having private meetings with the boss.” As his humor increased, her irritation grew. “If they’re thinking I was hired because we’re involved, they won’t even consider the real reason I’m there.”

  “But...” She shook her head. “Us sleeping together would be unprofessional.” Not to mention completely out of character for her. Doesn’t mean she hadn’t thought about it. More than she should have. “And it’s a lie.”

  “Yet not wholly untrue.” He pulled into the driveway of her underground parking lot, hit the universal emergency code into her security gate and waited for the metal gate to rise. “We did share a pretty steamy moment in your kitchen the other day. That could qualify as involved.”

  It qualified as Tatum trying to get Cruz Medina out of her system, she thought sourly. Unfortunately, it hadn’t worked, and had, instead, only increased her curiosity, not to mention her desire for the man who could literally destroy her life. “The deal was,” Tatum said with exaggerated patience, “I let you work for me so you can prove your theory about drugs being run through my restaurant.” As he pulled into her parking spot, left vacant since her car was still at True, she felt compelled to remind him, “It didn’t include deceiving my employees into thinking I’m hot for one of my chefs.”

  “Yeah, well, deals change. Speaking of changing things.” He got out and came around to open her door. The next thing she knew he went into his trunk and pulled out not only the pack he’d carried into the restaurant, but also a small duffel bag.

  “What’s that?” she demanded, but she already knew, by that sly expression on his face. “No. Absolutely not.” Her insides sprung into this odd, unfamiliar dance that had her palms sweating. “You are not moving in with me.”

  “Just for tonight.” He took her arm and steered her toward the elevator.

  “I said no.” She pulled her arm free and took a step back. “You’ve already invaded my restaurant, turned me into a nervous wreck around my employees and worried someone enough to shove me into a freezer. You are not staying here tonight.”

  “Let me break this down for you.” He took a long breath, let it out. But this time when he smiled, there was no humor behind it. No friendliness. It wasn’t Cruz Mendoza, sous-chef and employee of True, looking back at her. This was Cruz Medina, the determined, almost detached cop. “Even if you didn’t believe me about the drugs, someone broke into your restaurant tonight. They knew you were there and they came in anyway. They had a plan, Tatum. And it’s only blind luck you don’t have anything worse than a bump on the head and a case of the chills.”

  “It was your information they took, not mine,” she argued.

  “We don’t know that for sure. For all we know, taking my file may have been a cover for what they were really after.” He pressed the elevator button and stepped back when the doors slid open. “What we do know is they were confident enough in your routine that
you’d be alone.” He held open the door and waited for her to step inside. “And while the case is my top priority, I’m certainly not going to take a chance with your safety. Not tonight.” He hit the button for the second floor. “So whether you like it or not, for tonight at least, I’m your roomie.”

  * * *

  There was something immensely satisfying about Tatum Colton in a simmering temper. For years Cruz remembered hearing what a turn-on an angry woman could be, but he’d never gotten the appeal. Clearly, it all depended on the woman.

  He wandered around the semi-chaotic living room, where the sparse furniture she did have was out of place and covered in paint tarps left behind by her interior decorator mother and aunt. Cruz had already whipped the coverings off the sofa and coffee table, onto which he set the gun and badge he’d retrieved from his place, along with his phone so all would remain in reach.

  It was funny. She’d made it abundantly clear she didn’t appreciate his intrusion, and when it came to stubbornness he could think of few rivals. He’d always said he could never be with anyone who wouldn’t stand up to him and push back, at least not without irritating him. It had acted as a kind of emotional safety barrier no woman had been able to cross. Enter Tatum Colton.

  The more time he spent with her, the more he admired her. Not just admired, but liked. For once, he might be willing to put up with the complications that came with getting involved. Except this would be taking one whopping chance given everything that hung in the balance. The case, the job always would have to come first, always did. Getting distracted by one seriously hot chef was only going to blow up both their lives. And not in any way that was good.

  From his spot on the couch—a couch significantly more comfortable than his own bed—he listened to the sound of the shower running. She’d given him the tour beyond the kitchen, the only room he’d inhabited on his previous visit. The kitchen turned out to be the largest, most organized and well-stocked room. It made sense, he supposed. Her love of cooking didn’t stop at the doors of True, as evidenced by the spills of herbs lining the small garden window over the sink and the meticulously arranged appliances, utensils and collection of antique rolling pins that made up an odd kind of wall sculpture.