The nearby water station table shook, sending half a dozen glasses shattering on the floor.
“What the—” Cruz managed to land a solid self-defense punch into Sam’s jaw and break loose, but Sam recovered quickly, grabbing for his throat.
“You put hands on her.”
“What?” Cruz couldn’t for the life of him make sense of the accusation. Not until he saw Tatum running into the room. He saw the bruise on her forehead, looked back to Sam and the rage in his eyes. Obviously the lie they’d come up with to explain her injury hadn’t gone over well. “No, Sam, I didn’t. I swear—” He raised his foot and brought it down hard on the side of Sam’s knee, sending the younger man collapsing down and back.
“That’s enough!” Tatum yelled. She hurried over not to help him, but to check on Sam. “Sam, are you all right?” She grabbed the younger man’s arm, helped him to stand.
“Is he all right?” Cruz heard the cop in his own tone and pulled himself back. He swore, took a few steps away, then placed his hands on his hips and watched Tatum guide Sam back to the bench. “I barely touched him, Tatum.”
“I won’t tolerate violence here. Not in any way.” She stepped back and glared at both of them. “Not for any reason. Do you hear me?”
“Hard not to,” Cruz tried to joke. Sam lifted his chin and glared at him. “Sam.” He took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down and not think like a cop. “I didn’t hurt her.”
“You didn’t...what?” Tatum’s eyes went wide as she absorbed the information. “Oh, no. Oh, Sam, no.” She touched fingers to her face. “This wasn’t Cruz.” In an instant she transformed from boss to friend. Tatum crouched in front of him, caught his face in her hands. “You lovely, stupid man. While I appreciate the sentiment, I promise you, Cruz didn’t hurt me.”
“How do I know you aren’t saying that because he’s standing right there?” Sam demanded.
“Oh, for cripes’ sake.” Tatum pushed to her feet. “You know me, Sam. Do you honestly believe that if Cruz had lifted a hand against me I’d have let him walk back into True the next day?”
Sam blinked. “I guess maybe not.”
“You guess?”
Cruz could feel her temper snap from across the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Colby, Ty and Chester standing in the doorway. “Is that what all of you thought?” Tatum demanded. “That Cruz hit me?”
“You said it happened last night after we all left,” Sam defended himself. “And we all knew he was coming back here.”
“Yeah, for his—” Colby air-quoted “—phone.”
“Next thing you show up with a bruise on your face,” Sam finished. “It didn’t take much to put it all together.”
“Well, your math is wrong,” Tatum snapped. “One more time, and for the record, I was stupid last night and tripped and locked myself in the refrigerator. It was Cruz who found me and fixed me up, so forgive me for not telling you the entire humiliating truth.”
Realization drifted across Sam’s face. “I guess maybe I may have misconstrued the situation.” His black eyes shone with regret. “I’m sorry, man. I just saw that bruise and...”
“You were protecting one of your own,” Cruz said, admiring Sam’s ability to admit he was wrong. “I get it. It hurt, but I get it.”
Sam let out a light chuckle and just like that, they were back on even ground.
“Men,” Tatum muttered and gave Sam a gentle shove on the shoulder. “I can take care of myself, Sam Price. But I thank you for the assist. Something tells me your knee’s going to be killing you later, so take some aspirin now. As for the rest of you—” she snapped her fingers when they began to back out of the room “—one of you clean up this glass, then let’s get back to work. We’ve got a book full of reservations and food to cook.”
Cruz headed toward the changing room, only to come up short when Tatum stepped in front of him and put a hand on his chest. She kept her voice low, so only he could hear. The intensity in her voice, the ferocity in her eyes had nothing to do with any attraction between them but everything to do with her anger. “Whatever you have to do to close your investigation and get out of my restaurant, you do it, you hear me, Cruz?” The flour-coated woman he’d kissed this morning was nowhere to be found. “You do it and get out.”
* * *
By the time True closed, it was a miracle Tatum hadn’t downed the entire bottle of tequila in her office. As tempting as it was, Tatum opted instead for two painkillers and an ice water chaser, following it immediately by locking her office door and retreating to her desk. She abandoned her nightly ritual of watching her crew file out and across the street to the bar, wanting, needing the absolute solitude the space provided.
It had, she admitted sadly as she lowered herself into her chair and leaned back to close her eyes, been one of the worst days she’d ever had in the kitchen.
Her normally streamlined, fluid employees had spent the entire night being overly cautious and solicitous or frantic and uncertain. Sam and Cruz were both out of sync, and their negative energy trickled down to the rest of her people. She’d eventually sent Cruz to work with Ty in food prep, but that just shifted things. It didn’t help she was just as off her game, worrying about her business and her friends and her future. All of it—all of it—came out in the food. The result had been multiple returned dishes, displeased customers and a very, very irritated Tatum.
It was her fault. She couldn’t put the blame on anyone else. Leadership began at the top. She’d always led by example, always stayed focused on what was important: giving their patrons the best experience possible. Instead, tonight she’d let her annoyance with Cruz and his “investigation” get the better of her. She needed to come in with a more positive attitude tomorrow, give them all a pep talk, or sit them all down and let them vent whatever they needed in order to get themselves back on track.
The knock on her door didn’t surprise her. She’d expected it, especially after last night’s break-in. But she remained where she was, staring at the door as if she could laser-beam the man on the other side out of her existence.
“Tatum.” Cruz knocked again. “I know you’re in there. Open the door, please.”
She pressed her lips together until they went numb. Childish, she knew, to leave him out there like that, especially when she had agreed to be at least partially cooperative.
“I’m not leaving.” The silence stretched. Just as she was about to get up and let him in, he added, “I still need that list of employees and vendors I asked you for.”
Tatum’s self-pity party ended in an instant. She grabbed the file folder containing her list of vendors along with copies of her employee files, stalked to the door, flung it open and shoved it into his chest. “Here. Take it and go.”
“Tatum.” He caught the door with his hand before she could slam it in his face. “I’m sorry about what happened today. I had no idea Sam was going to think I’d hurt you.”
He should have, she seethed. If he’d truly done his homework on Sam Price he should have known exactly what the young man’s reaction would be to seeing her with a bruised face. He’d grown up in a violent home, one he and his mother had finally escaped from. But it wasn’t only Cruz who should have anticipated such a reaction. She should have, as well.
It seemed she should have known a lot of things.
She released her hold on the door, headed back to her desk to collect her things. “I just want to go home, go to sleep and forget today ever happened.”
“Right there with you.”
It was the way he said it that had Tatum freezing. She stood there, her back to him, half steaming, half curious. When she turned she found him at her window, looking down at the heart of True. His shoulders were slumped, his posture giving every indication of him being dejected, lost even.
“You’ve learned something, haven’t you?
About the case,” she added when he glanced over and his brow furrowed. “Something you’ve been wrong about?”
He shook his head, turned and leaned against the sill. “More like I’m reevaluating my approach. I should have handled things with Sam differently. You were right. The way this place operates, my presence is disrupting everything.”
“Maybe not everything.” Tatum hesitated. It was such a small thing, but that voice in her head, the one that sounded an awful lot like Cruz, wouldn’t shut up. “I found your missing employment information when I was getting everyone else’s together.”
“Oh?”
“It was back in the folder this afternoon and filed under C rather than M.” A feeling she could only define as reluctant grief washed over her. “Someone took your file then put it back, probably assuming I wouldn’t notice it was gone. I don’t misfile things, Cruz.”
“No. I wouldn’t think so.” His statement was slow, thoughtful, and did little to ease her anxiety. “I don’t suppose you lock your office?”
“I never have.” There’d been no reason to. The idea she’d have to start doing so triggered that dormant anger she’d pushed aside. “But that doesn’t mean it’s someone who works for me. I mean, someone could have come in as a patron and snuck up here.”
“You really think a customer could come up here without being noticed by someone? Your wait staff? The people in the bar?” Cruz shook his head, dismissing the idea as quickly as she had. “Someone’s trying to cover their tracks.”
“It also means they’re suspicious of you.” She knew it was his job, but if these people were as dangerous as he claimed, she wasn’t the only one in danger.
“Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.” He made an attempt at that cheeky, borderline-defiant smile of his but failed miserably. “I am sorry about earlier with Sam. And for messing up in the kitchen tonight. I’ve been distracted.”
“So I noticed.”
“This morning threw me off. After I dropped you off today.” He lifted the file containing her employee records in a helpless gesture. “It’s just been one crap day.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, along with her frustration. Darn it. How was she supposed to stay mad at him when he was admitting fault? But it wasn’t just that, she thought as shadows crossed over his handsome, bearded face. There was something more going on.
Let it go, she told herself. Let him be and deal with whatever difficulties he was having on his own. But that wasn’t who she was. Even with her own future at stake, as easy as it would be to walk away and let his investigation go wherever it needed to, it was clear that in this moment, the man standing in front of her was in pain.
“What happened?”
He shook his head. “It’s not important.”
Tatum gnashed her back teeth to the point her jaw ached. What was it with men and not talking about what was bothering them? Her cousins were the exact same way, especially Heath. It took a crowbar to get the man, the successful president of Colton Connections, to open up even to those he cared about the most. It seemed as if far more men were cut from that stubborn piece of cloth than she realized.
She dropped her bag and jacket on the table by the door and walked over to him. She sat beside him, close enough to feel the tension rolling off him in thick, heavy waves. “What happened?”
He stared straight ahead while she looked at him. His Adam’s apple moved as if he were pushing down whatever he was feeling. The anger that had been her companion for the past few hours faded in the silence. Tatum reached out, slid her fingers through his and took hold of his hand, squeezing in what she hoped was comfort. She rested her head on his shoulder, settling in for him to finish fighting whatever battle raged within.
His hand tightened around hers, pulsed in what she suspected was the same rhythm as his heartbeat.
“My friend is dying.” The quiet statement cracked her heart. “That’s where I went this morning. To meet with his doctors. Whatever brain activity there was...” He shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “He’s dying and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
She closed her eyes, let the grief he felt wash over her. It had been easy to forget Cruz was more than a cop who had her business in his sights. Easy to forget that there was anything beyond her own situation and circumstance. There was more, so much more to the man with the dark-eyed gaze, gentle, firm touch, and generous, pulse-kicking smile. He had a life, one that was just as fraught and complicated as her own. She didn’t have a monopoly on pain. How arrogant of her to think otherwise. “I’m sorry.” The most useless words, she knew, but still she uttered them. They were all she had at the moment.
“Yeah, me, too.” He pinched his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes shut and released a sigh of complete defeat. “He had so much going on before this happened. He was looking at houses, was going to propose to his girlfriend. I even helped him pick out a ring.” His suppressed laugh had her lips twitching. “Like I know anything about engagement rings.” She reached up, locked her hand around his arm and squeezed. “He never had a chance to give it to her.”
“Life turns in the blink of an eye.” She’d learned that herself only last month when her father and uncle had been murdered. “And it’s not particularly kind to those left in its wake.”
“No, it’s not, is it?” He looked at her and in that moment, the case, the threat he posed to her future, melted away. “I screwed up, Tatum. I should have had a plan to explain this.” Cruz tilted her chin up, his gaze skimming over the still sore bruise on her forehead. “Especially knowing how bad a liar you are. I saw how hurt you were today, after my fight with Sam.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, stroked his thumb over her skin. “The last thing I want is to hurt you.”
She wanted, more than anything, to believe him, but no matter how many times he said it, she couldn’t escape the truth. Cruz’s very presence did just that. His investigation threatened her career, her reputation, her livelihood, and now it was threatening her employees’ future. And yet. She lifted a hand to his face, stroked the backs of her fingers down the beard. The sensations exploding against her skin had her silently gasping. Maybe for tonight they could set everything else aside and just be...friends. “How about we end tonight on a good note.” Her smile widened at the sudden spark of interest in his eyes. “Not that good a note, Valentino,” she teased, happy to see him grin. She pulled free of his hold and got to her feet. “I’ve got a cure-all guaranteed to help you feel better. You game?”
“I’ve got these files to go through and reports to fill out, but...” He let out a soft laugh, amusement and maybe a bit of gratitude shining in his eyes. “Sure. Why not?”
“Great. I’ll drive. And when we get there you can tell me all about...” She hesitated. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Johnny,” Cruz said. “Detective Johnny Benton.”
Her heart twisted at the professional add-on. “Okay, then.” She held out her hand. “Let’s go. And you can tell me all about Johnny.”
* * *
The time would come, Cruz thought a little later, when Tatum Colton would stop surprising him. He wasn’t in any rush for that day. There was something to be said for the unpredictability and mood-lifting endorphins that came with the unexpected. But he had to admit, midnight hot dogs near the lake was something he wouldn’t have expected at any time from a four-star, award-winning chef.
The air was warmer than a typical March night in Chicago, as if Mother Nature couldn’t quite make up her mind which season they were in. He could still see their breath puffing into the night sky, along with the fragrant steam billowing out of the food truck cranking out after-movie snacks and late-night dinners. He inhaled the aroma of grilled onions, spicy peppers and oil-coated fries as he kicked one leg over the bench of the worn picnic table near the edge of the lak
e. He set the bottles of water down, along with a collection of napkins and utensils.
He’d barely glanced at the menu before Tatum was chatting with the cooks. Obviously they were old friends and he was unnecessary to the conversation. Leaving them to their discussion, he’d stepped back and instead embraced the silence of the night.
“You really don’t strike me as the hot dog type of girl,” he teased when Tatum joined him a few minutes later and lowered two stacked cardboard trays onto the table.
“Ricky’s is one of the not-so-well-kept secrets in the neighborhood. Oh, shoot.” She snapped her fingers. “Forgot the fries. Back in a sec.” She hurried off, leaving Cruz on his own to enjoy the view. Not the lake. Not the surrounding area. But her. He wondered if she had any idea how stunning she was. How breathtaking. Not in how she looked, necessarily, but in how she presented herself, how she moved and acted. How she cared about people.
No wonder Sam had come to her defense. She inspired loyalty in people, even in people who had every reason not to trust. But they trusted her. Even tonight, when it had been clear she was angry with him, she’d pivoted and ended up giving Cruz comfort, despite his intention to bring her some peace of mind.
She was also, as evidenced by the loaded and unusual-looking hot dogs she’d ordered, a bottomless pit when it came to food.
“You can’t have these dogs without their double-fried garlic taters with lemon aioli.” The third box was just as large as the other two. “So.” She sat down and cracked open her bottle of water. “We’ve got my favorite, the Asian-inspired teriyaki, mango and sriracha dog. This is the homemade lobster sausage, and then the beef and blue cheese. But this one...” She lifted an old-fashioned, did-his-heart-good, Chicago-style replete with the requisite neon green relish and chunky tomatoes. “This one was my Dad’s go-to.”
“Your dad ate here?” Yeah, Cruz ordered himself as she cut each hot dog in half, he really needed to stop being surprised by her.
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