“Mmm-hmm.” She lifted half of the teriyaki and bit in, held up her hand until she swallowed. “First time he brought me here was my first trip home after starting culinary school. I’d been so excited about going. I was nineteen, on my own for the first time, and so sure I knew everything.” She lifted a fry, seemed to admire it a moment before she popped it into her mouth. “I nearly burned down the school kitchen on my first day. And it got worse from there.”
Following her lead, Cruz chose the teriyaki and bit in. He nearly swooned at that ear-pleasing snap of the casing and the explosions of flavors on his tongue. “Worse how?” She had to be exaggerating. He’d seen her in the kitchen. She moved like a fish in water, as if it was where she belonged. Nothing frustrated or frazzled her, not even tonight, when things were off from the start.
“Let’s just say I set off enough fire alarms to make my teachers cringe when I walked in the door. For that semester anyway. I felt defeated when I came home for that first break. Like I couldn’t do anything right. I was ready to quit. Cooking was all I’d thought about for years. There was nothing else I wanted except to own my own restaurant, and I felt it slipping away. I don’t think I got out of bed that whole first day. My mother told me to stop wallowing, but my dad...” She slowed down, wiped her hands and looked out over the moonlight-kissed lake. “He knocked on my door that second night I was home, said he had somewhere he wanted to go and for me to get dressed and come with him. I was not happy at the prospect. I am a first-class sulker,” she added.
“Noted.” Cruz toasted her with his dog.
“He brought me here.” Cruz could see the tears in her eyes, but they didn’t fall. And her voice didn’t break. It was as if she’d found a memory she could share without breaking her own heart. “Ricky Sr. owned it then. He and my dad were friends back in the day. We ordered four dogs, just like I did tonight, along with fries and sodas my mother never would have approved of,” she added with a laugh. “We sat right here. At this table. And he told me to eat. I was still in my food snob phase, turning my nose up at what I of course saw as utter pedestrian fare. I had plans to be a Michelin-rated chef. Hot dogs? As if I’d deign to eat these.” She took another bite. “But these were, are anything but pedestrian. They were flavor explosions, made with love and affection and attention to detail. Because the people who work in that truck over there, they’re doing it because they want to. Because they have to. Feeding people fulfills them. That’s what my dad wanted me to understand. That cooking was about more than degrees and plans and techniques and star ratings. It’s about people, and feeding not only them, but their souls. Food creates memories and memories create lives. Full lives. From that night on, things smoothed out. I found my way.” She plucked up another fry. “And whenever I came home, Dad and I would make it a point to come here and have midnight hot dogs together.” One of the tears slipped out of her control and slid down her cheek. “I haven’t been here since he died. But tonight it felt right. He’d approve, I think,” she added and gently wiped the tear away. “So.” She took another bite of hot dog. “You and Johnny were partners? For how long?”
“Three years,” Cruz answered automatically, as if talking about Johnny didn’t feel like a knife to the gut. “I’d just finished a case that showed me I wasn’t cut out for undercover. Well,” he added at her raised brow. “Not deep undercover. The kind that kept me cut off from my family for months at a time. Being your sous-chef is a little bit different than building up a reputation as a drug dealer’s best friend. True is a much more hospitable environment than drug dens and flophouses.”
“Good to know.” Her mouth twisted as she pondered her choices, eating more fries as she debated her next hot dog. “What happened with Johnny?”
“One of those fluke things.” Despite his stomach twisting in knots, he continued to eat. Partially to honor her tradition with her father. In part because it gave him something to do. “He made arrangements to meet with a CI, confidential informant. I was supposed to meet up with him later that night, compare notes. When I got there, he was already down, barely breathing.” He winced. “The bullet caught him in the neck. I remember kneeling there, hearing that death rattle breath we’re all taught about but never want to hear, knowing the man who had shot him was getting away. I couldn’t stop the blood.” Some nights he woke up expecting to find his hands covered in it.
“Cruz.” Tatum reached across the table, took his hand. “I’m sure you did everything you could. Like you said, it was just one of those fluke things.”
He set his food down, reached for his water. “Flukes like that shouldn’t happen. If I’d just gotten there sooner, or if I’d just gone with him.” How many times had he replayed that night in his head? IA had cleared him without much fanfare, despite the fact their original suspect had gotten away. “Jade, that’s his girlfriend, and I both had hope he’d recover, but the doctors made it clear this morning it’s time. We have to decide when we’ll let him go.” It was not a decision he ever thought he’d have to make. He didn’t want to make it, but Jade couldn’t do it alone. He owed her, he owed Johnny, at least that much.
“I can’t imagine what it must be like, worrying about someone you love, being in a job like you have.” Tatum’s observation sounded almost wistful. “My sister January is dating a cop. Sean Stafford.”
“I know Sean.” Cruz found his appetite returning. Or maybe the hot dogs were just that good. “He works Homicide. My partner before Johnny was Harry Cartwright, who’s worked with Sean recently.”
“The Chicago Police Department is one big happy family, then?”
“Well, we’re a family, I guess,” Cruz agreed. “Not sure happy applies. Dating a cop isn’t easy.” It felt odd, making that statement sitting across from a woman he would definitely like to shift from the professional side of his life to personal. “I’m sure she worries about him a lot. Like Jade worried about Johnny.”
“That must have been the call she was dreading,” Tatum said.
“It’s the call all family members of cops dread,” Cruz said. “Just ask my mother,” he added at her nod. “When I was done with deep cover work she made me promise never to do something like that again. She said it felt like she was dying a little each day, just waiting to hear I’d been hurt or worse. I guess now I understand a fraction of what she felt.”
“Because your mother loves you.” Tatum squeezed his wrist. “Just like you love Johnny. You’ll do right by him, Cruz. From what I can see, you already have.”
He nodded, finished off one of his dogs, but barely tasted it. “The kid who got away, whoever shot Johnny, they’re connected to the investigation I’m running now.” He watched as her eyes glazed over and she pulled away. “I can’t walk away from the case that cost Johnny his life. I can’t. I’m sorry, Tatum, but that’s the truth. And I need to work it the way it needs to be worked.”
She nodded but didn’t make a sound.
“I need you to understand why this is so important to me. I don’t want to destroy your business, Tatum. I don’t want to hurt you or Sam or anyone working for you who’s innocent, but shutting this down, exposing them once and for all gets me that much closer to finding whoever shot my partner. I can’t let that go.” No matter how much he might want to.
Watching the disappointment and hurt flash across her face had him wishing he could do just that. If it was anyone else, would he feel the same? Would he feel so torn and conflicted about doing his job? He didn’t want to know the answer.
The answer couldn’t matter.
“Just promise me you’ll do your best to minimize the damage.” Her tone sounded almost teasing, but she wasn’t laughing. “And that you’ll keep me informed. Promise me you’ll let me protect True in every way I can.”
“I promise to try.” It was the best he could offer, and it seemed his best was enough. At least for tonight. “Now, tell me—” he cleared his throat and
pointed to one of the uneaten hot dogs “—which was that one again?”
* * *
“You didn’t have to walk me upstairs,” Tatum told Cruz at two in the morning, as they climbed the last of the stairs. “I’m fine once I’m in the door.”
“I needed the stairs to walk off those dogs. Honestly, woman, where do you put it?”
“Onto my treadmill,” she laughed. “It’s currently under a painting tarp, but it’ll definitely get a workout in the morning.” Nerves sparked through her blood. It had been a nice night, under the cold spring stars, sharing gourmet hot dogs by the lake. Heart-wrenching at times, for both of them, but lovely nonetheless. When they reached her door, she stuck her key in the lock and faced him. “I guess this is where I say see you at work tomorrow.”
He nodded. “As much as I’d love to suggest otherwise, I don’t think tonight’s meant for anything else. Besides, I think polishing off those garlic fries canceled out any amorous activity for tonight.”
She smiled. “Actually.” She moved closer to him. “Since we both ate them, the garlic cancels out. They teach you that in culinary school.”
“Do they?” His hands snaked around her waist, his fingers brushing up and under the edge of her shirt. Temptation to slide his hands, his palms, over her smooth, warm skin had him pulling her closer and dipping his head. “I think that’s a theory I’d like to test.”
When his lips claimed hers, she was ready, oh, so ready for this and more. She heard her own moan in the back of her throat as she slipped her arms around his neck, her fingers diving into the soft, silky length of his hair. The more she kissed him, the more she found his beard achingly arousing as his lips and tongue invaded and challenged her to rise up and meet him.
There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t overheating like a blast furnace. Reason drained out of her head while desperate thoughts of dragging him inside and into her bedroom threatened to override sense.
How was it that the absolute wrong man at the wrong time could feel so right?
“I should go.” His protest whispered against her mouth. Was it a question? she wondered. “We’re on the precipice of breeching protocol. For both of us.” His gaze bored so deeply into hers she felt as if he’d dragged her into a trance. His fingers stroked the side of her face now, as if memorizing what she looked like. “Tell me to go, Tatum.” He kissed her again, a mere pressing of lips. “Tell me.”
“Go.” The word emerged on a whimper, a desperate, regretful whimper she wanted to pull back, but instead she moved out of his hold and reached for the handle of her door. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“All right. Lock up when you’re inside.” He reached out, touched her face again. “Tatum?”
“Yes?”
“When this is all over? When the case is closed? We’re going to finish what we’ve started.” She’d never believed anyone more in her life.
Every cell in her body gave a joyous cry of release. “In that case.” She cleared her throat and attempted to sound stern. “Might I suggest you work a bit faster, Detective?”
Before he said anything more, she walked inside and closed the door.
CHAPTER 10
“What’s going on with Tatum Colton?”
Cruz choked on his coffee as his lieutenant’s question shot at him over the cubicle wall. He sputtered and got to his feet, reaching for a pile of old fast-food napkins shoved into the corner of his desk cubicle. “Going on?” he managed and gave himself points for not cowering beneath Lucille Graves’s steely stare. “Ah...” Coherent words were nowhere to be found, even as he scanned his fellow detectives’ empty desks. “Fine. Things are going fine, I guess.”
“Uh-huh.” Lieutenant Graves motioned for him to follow, which he did, and found himself in what he would now laughingly call the break room. As well-supplied, organized and decorated as True’s break/locker room was, the precinct offerings left much to be desired. They might very well be cause to call in the biohazard disposal unit. Three other detectives sat around the room at mismatched tables and scarred, padded chairs, drinking their coffees and mulling over their phones or open files. The windowless room maintained the scent of scorched coffee, day-old pastry and stress. “Haven’t heard much from you since you started working at True. Any progress?”
“Some,” Cruz said and declined a refill on his coffee. He’d kept one eye watching his back as the job at True drove him into nightly exhaustion. He still needed to get to the restaurant by one, but he’d forgone his morning workout in favor of sleeping in before coming into the station to catch up on stuff. Even with the extra hours, he was dragging. How did Tatum do this night after night, week after week? But he was quickly falling into the routine of a powerhouse restaurant that met every expectation of perfection.
“I’m making my way through the employees.” So far he’d kept the break-in and the theft of his employee file to himself. His lieutenant was already on shaky ground with the time this case was sucking up. He didn’t want to give her any reason to shut him down. Besides, nothing beyond that had happened, so whatever they’d read in his file must have passed muster. Not surprising given Tatum’s attention to detail. So far as he knew, his cover was still in place. “I have someone in my sights I hope to make progress with tonight.” Ty Collins had yet again passed on the afterwork nightcaps with his fellow workers. While Cruz hadn’t seen the ex-con hanging around True after-hours, near as Cruz could tell, he had no alibi for the night Tatum had been hurt.
The only difficulty he was having was finding time alone to get a deeper look at the restaurant itself. So far his plans were to continue observing the staff, tail a different employee home each night and look into their financial records. Of course he couldn’t do the latter until his warrant was approved, and red tape being what it was, he was still waiting. That said, he’d pretty much cleared Colby, Chester and Bobby Quallis. Nothing they did raised any suspicions, and their loyalty to True and Tatum seemed genuine. She garnered loyalty, which meant either someone on the inside was an excellent liar, or he was off base with his suspicions.
“Hmm.” Lucille Graves opened an overhead cabinet and, after digging into the back, came out with a tin of butter cookies. “Don’t tell Sheryl about this,” she said in much the same way she told her detectives to be careful on the streets. “My wife is trying to kick sugar before the baby gets here, so I’ve been relegated to work-hour binges only.”
Cruz held up a hand and refused a cookie. Since having partaken in Tatum’s homemade and back-of-house cooking, he found himself avoiding packaged and processed food. This morning he’d actually fixed himself an omelet instead of emptying out a box of cereal. All the while he could swear he heard Tatum laughing and urging him on.
“Is your gut still telling you True is at the heart of the distribution?”
“Yes.” He was stubborn enough to cling to his belief, even though he didn’t want to cost anyone at True anything, especially Tatum. But what choice did he have? He needed to see this through. He had a job to do. End of story. “Tatum’s not a part of it.”
“Because you’ve examined her financials?”
“I’ve gone through them right up to last year.” He planned to finish tomorrow, on his day off from True. “The fact she’s turned everything over and given me access is legit.”
“Well.” Lieutenant Graves polished off a cookie and slapped her crumb-coated hands together. “Let’s keep things moving along, shall we? You’ve got three days to make some progress, otherwise I’m shutting you down.”
“You can’t be serious.” His disbelief sent the break room into an uneasy silence. “Ma’am,” he added at his lieutenant’s arched silver brow.
“You and Benton had six months, Cruz. That means we’re going on eight with you solo. There’s only so much circling you can do before you have to pounce. Unless there’s a reason you’re dragging your feet?�
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“I’m not—” His temper caught, but before he tanked his career, he pulled back. “I’m not dragging my feet. And even if I was, like you said, I’m single-handed now, aren’t I?”
“That’s by choice.” His LT looked far from entertained. “It’s also something I can fix easily if that’s the problem. You want another partner, I can make that happen by the end of the day.”
He didn’t want another partner. He didn’t want another one ever again, but he was also a realist. He was on borrowed time as a solo detective. And he had to make use of every minute. That said, he also wasn’t going to admit, out loud anyway, to being overly cautious in order to prevent Tatum from paying a life-altering price. “Give me a week, LT. Three days won’t do it.”
She picked up her coffee and walked out of the break room, leaving Cruz no choice but to follow. “All right. One week from today. You want to close down this drug ring, you want to find whoever it was who put Benton into that coma, I suggest you focus, Cruz. We’ve got dozens of other cases that could use your attention. While I appreciate your determination to finish what you and Johnny started, you don’t have an open calendar. Bring me something substantial by then or I’m pulling the plug.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He resisted the impulse to salute, mainly because he didn’t want to lose the week he’d been given. Instead he glanced at his watch, cringed, then cursed. Cruz hurried back to his desk and grabbed his jacket. He was going to be late.
Again.
* * *
It was a line Tatum resented walking: lying to her staff for the greater good while having to suspect one—or maybe more of them—were involved with drug distribution. She found herself distracted and at the same time hyperattentive to everyone around her as she watched for hiccups, inconsistencies, little things that would somehow prove Cruz right or wrong.
Midshift during one of True’s busiest nights of the week was not the time to have this epiphany, but nonetheless, there it was, staring her right in the face. Why was she trusting Cruz, a man she’d never laid eyes on before last week, more than the people who had helped make her business the success it was?
Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021 Page 13
