Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021

by Anna J. Stewart

  Tatum laughed and finished her toast. There were definitely worse things to have happen.

  * * *

  “Thanks for doing this, Ty.”

  Cruz stepped through the doors to an eerily silent True. The older man had met him across the street at O’Shannahan’s, where they’d waited for the last of the cleaning crew to leave the restaurant. Now, at nearly noon, Cruz was finally able to put some of his frustration to work. The fact his frustration stemmed from not being where he really wanted to be—with Tatum—was something he was trying not to think about.

  “What is it you’re hoping to find?” Ty followed him up to Tatum’s office where Cruz took a seat, and after a few keystrokes and work-arounds, found himself in the business’s system.

  “Remind me to educate Tatum on the importance of passwords and a firewall. After I’m done,” he added at Ty’s chuckle.

  “What do you think is on here that—”

  “It’s not just Tatum’s computer on this network. Don’t worry.” He flashed Ty a grin. “It’s all covered by a warrant.”

  “It’s not legalities I’m worried about,” Ty said. “It’s Tatum. When she finds out what you’re—”

  “If it saves her business she won’t care how I did it. That’s at the top of my list.”

  “What else is on that list?”

  “Taking a better look at the storage area and loading bay. The intruder the other night went in and out like he knew the place. That tells me they’re familiar not only with True but also with that section of the building. The way it’s set up, you have to know where you’re going, to get to the kitchen.”

  “But why use True in the first place?” Ty’s annoyance mirrored Cruz’s. “What possible good could a restaurant be for moving drugs? Especially one that’s been in the spotlight like True?”

  Cruz had his suspicions, but nothing concrete enough to share. Yet. “Pretty much everything I’ve learned about how this place works is that privacy is pretty much impossible. There’s always someone around.” One of the reasons he’d had a difficult time getting away to search various spaces of True. “It’s been more of an elimination of ideas rather than proving myself right.” Anger popped like tiny bubbles of fire in his blood. He may have been convinced he was wrong if Tatum hadn’t been nearly killed. “Why go after her now?”

  “She must have set them off. Did something, said something.”

  “Inadvertently, yeah.” He scanned through files and folders, clicking open anything that didn’t look like it fit or made sense. “She’s made someone nervous, if not before, then by hiring me.”

  “What put you onto True in the first place?” Ty asked and took a seat across the desk from him.

  “GPS. We’ve been looking at GPS and phone locations for drug arrests in the past year. There’s a lot of overlapping area they cover, but there are two sections in the city they have in common. The warehouse district a mile and a half south and the four-block radius around True. You and Sam have worked here the longest, right?” Click and copy. His flash drive hummed.

  “Yeah.” Ty’s brow furrowed. “Quallis came on board a few months later. She’s had wait and bar staff come and go, and there’s high turnover for the dish room, no surprise. But no one who stands out as a criminal mastermind.”

  “And you can’t think of anything that happened in say the last year that seems strange in hindsight?”

  “Other than Daria quitting out of the blue, no.”

  “Daria.” Cruz stopped, mentally flipping through the employment records Tatum had given him. “She was the manager before Richard, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah. Daria Naughton. She helped Tatum open this place. Of course, back then Tatum was still a control freak. She didn’t really let Daria do much more than manage the front of the house and consult on staff. Some of us wondered if that’s why she quit. Tatum wouldn’t let her do a lot of what she could or should be doing. She resigned and that weekend she and her husband were killed in a car accident.”

  Definitely horrible. And another coincidence Cruz didn’t buy into. “When did this all happen?”

  “Seven, eight months ago?”

  Around the same time the drug distribution kicked into high gear.

  “Tatum didn’t give us any details,” Ty went on. “She just said Daria resigned unexpectedly and that she was going to be hiring a new manager. A couple days later we heard about the accident. Tatum was devastated. I think she thought Daria was upset with her about something and they could never clear the air. Probably why she’s let Richard take over so much of what she used to do. She didn’t want to make the same mistake.”

  “Do me a favor.” Cruz gestured to the filing cabinet. “Go through those and see if Daria’s file is still in there?” He remembered coming across the name, but because her employment period hadn’t seemed connected, he’d moved on.

  “It’s locked.”

  Cruz reached to the narrow table behind him and flipped the photo of Tatum and her sisters around. The key was wedged into the back. “Here.”

  Ty’s brow went up. “I guess Tatum really does trust you.”

  While Ty rummaged for the file, Cruz quickly accessed the network settings, clicked on remote-connected computers and...yeah. He clicked to upload files from the other laptop on the system. The light on the flash drive started blinking like crazy as it downloaded.

  “Here it is.” Ty handed over Daria Naughton’s file, flipped it open as Cruz took it. “She was a sweetheart. Enthusiastic. Excited about being in on a restaurant from the ground up. Smartest woman I’ve ever known. Tatum included.”

  Cruz glanced down at the photo. The woman was older than he expected. Forty-four at the time she’d started at True. Degrees in business and hospitality services. Married. No kids. Chicago... “Daria Naughton.” There was something familiar about her. Something he couldn’t quite... He checked the file again for her husband’s name. “I remember this.” He plucked out the resignation letter dated seven months earlier, then pulled out his phone and called Sean. “Hey, can you look up a name in our database? Daria and Nathan Naughton?”

  “Sure thing. When you’re ready, can you give me a lift to Tatum’s? January took her home in my car and I’m stuck at the station.”

  “She’s out of the hospital?” Why wasn’t he surprised?

  “You’ve met Tatum, right?” Sean asked slyly over the sound of clicking keys. “The CT scan came back clean. Doctors cleared her to be released. January took her to the ranch house. Figured she’d take it easier there. Also Tatum didn’t want to take the chance of running into her mother. Also I should have the info on the SUV by the time you get here.”

  “Okay.” Cruz shook his head. “I’ll pick you up as soon as I’m done here. You find anything?”

  “Yeah. Daria and Nathan Naughton. Killed in a one-car collision seven months ago. It was ruled accidental death, mechanical issues with the car. I remember this one. They hit a power junction. Knocked power out to a couple thousand homes and businesses for half a day.”

  “What’s the date of the accident?”

  “September 17. Why? You find something?”

  “Yeah. I think I did.” He handed the letter to a curious Ty. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “What?” Ty asked when Cruz hung up. “I don’t see it.”

  “The date.” Cruz pulled out the flash drive and pocketed it, then turned off and disconnected Tatum’s laptop to bring with him. “How many people do you know quit their job after they’re dead?”

  * * *

  “Why am I not surprised to find you in the kitchen?”

  Cruz spoke in what Tatum now called his “I surrender” voice.

  “Because I’m going stir-crazy in my own house and this is the only thing that helps. Here.” She waited for him to set the grocery bags on the counter and held up a sauce-cov
ered spoon. “What do you think?”

  “And by what do you think, she means tell me you love it,” January instructed as she started unloading.

  “No lie, it’s delicious.” Cruz grabbed hold of the spoon and brought it back to take another taste. “Spicy.”

  Tatum grinned. “That’s the sriracha powder. You hungry?”

  “Starved.” Sean clapped his hands together. “When do we eat?”

  “When we get home.” January abandoned her task and quickly retrieved her purse and jacket. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Tate. Sean, we’re leaving.”

  “But I just got here.” Tatum laughed at Sean’s little-boy whine. “And I’m sorry, babe, but your sister is a much better cook than you are.”

  “You aren’t in enough trouble?” January asked and dragged him by the arm. “Save us some leftovers!” The door slammed behind them.

  “How are you feeling?” Cruz set a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed. The sensations rocketing through her, the emotions swirling as if they couldn’t grab hold, nearly overwhelmed her.

  “Better than I should.” She got a new spoon and stirred the sauce. The pasta dough was resting in the fridge and the breadsticks were doing a final proof before baking. Imperishable staples had saved her sanity this afternoon as she waited for word—any word—from Cruz. Reducing the heat, she took over her sister’s unloading. “I see you got my list.”

  “Might have been easier to tell me what not to get.” They reached for the fresh basil at the same time, his hand covering hers.

  She glanced up, heart pounding, as he tugged her close and slipped his arms around her. “I’m glad you’re all right.” He brushed his lips over her forehead, across her mouth. “All I wanted was to be with you today.”

  “That’s all I wanted, too.” Emotion clogged her throat. “I’m feeling a bit unsteady, Cruz. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “I know.” He smoothed her hair away from her face, his palm caressing her cheek. “I’m working on it and I think I’m making progress. But before we get into that, there’s something you should know.”

  “Okay.” She swallowed hard, braced herself.

  He kissed her. Slow, deep, a kiss filled with such promise she cried out when he lifted his head. “Until this is all over I’m moving in.” He inclined his head toward the oversize duffel by the front door.

  “Oh.” She blinked, tried but for the life of her couldn’t come up with an argument. “All right. Just one problem.” She lifted a hand, tapped a finger against his lips. “I never got around to furnishing the guest room, so you’ll have to share my bed.” Her smile was slow, deliberate, and filled with as much promise as she’d felt in his kiss. “That work okay for you?”

  “That works just fine.”

  “Good. Now here’s a beer.” She stepped out of his arms, pulled a bottle out of one of the bags and handed it to him. “Go sit down and relax while I finish dinner.”

  It was, Tatum thought as he wandered off with his beer into her living room, a routine she could most definitely get used to.

  * * *

  There was little that made Tatum happier than a full fridge, a warm sauce simmering on the stove and a pile of fresh pasta awaiting its baptism by boiling water. The aroma of fresh-baked garlic breadsticks wafted through the air, along with the sounds of classic Hollywood soundtracks drifting from her television. Cruz was stretched out on her sofa, arms crossed over his chest, beer by his side, sound asleep.

  Suddenly the full fridge, et cetera, didn’t hold the appeal it had moments before. She lowered herself to the sofa, careful not to touch him for fear of waking him. Given what had happened last night, she couldn’t fathom when he would have slept, and while she had certain plans for the evening, she couldn’t bring herself to wake him.

  Dinner would wait. Her plans would wait. Wanting nothing more than to wash the day away, she headed into her bedroom suite to shower and change.

  By the time she emerged, damp hair clipped to the top of her head, towel wrapped around her wet body and knotted between her breasts, the sun had dropped low enough to cast the garden outside her window into the prettiest of shadows. She’d seen the bruises forming along her side, on her hip and torso, felt the aches fade beneath the pulsating hot water. She was lucky, she told herself. Things could have been, could be, so much worse.

  “And here I was thinking you should have woken me up.”

  Tatum smiled, keeping her back to him. “You needed to sleep.”

  “I’m not complaining.” He stepped into her room, moved in behind her, rested his hands on her bare, damp shoulders. “I’m glad I didn’t miss this.” His lips brushed away the droplets of water on her skin and made her shiver. “I missed you today.”

  She lifted a hand to cover one of his. “I missed you, too.” She turned, tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

  “More than I have been in a long time.” His thumbs caressed her shoulders before his fingers trailed down her arms. With one hand he pulled the clip in her hair free. The damp tangles dropped over the backs of his fingers.

  “I meant for dinner.”

  “Did you?” He dipped his head, placed a whisper of a kiss on her mouth. “I’ve never been less interested in food. How about you?”

  “I—”

  His smile told her he was teasing. “Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll—”

  “How about I don’t?” She reached down and released the knot and let the towel drop to the floor. She was already reaching for the hem of his T-shirt when he stepped back to admire his view. “You’re severely overdressed for what I have in mind, Detective Medina.”

  “Tatum, I—” The words seemed to catch in his throat. He caught her hands as they slipped beneath the fabric of his shirt. “You were nearly run over by a car just hours ago.”

  “Nearly.” She’d expected the protest, the concern. But as much as it touched her, she wasn’t in any mood to add another frustration to her life. She could deal with the bruises and aches. She couldn’t deal with waiting any longer to be with him.

  She tightened her hold on his hands, made certain he was looking at her when she spoke. “The gift almost being killed gives you is you realize how much you want to live.” She slid one hand up his chest, her fingers tingling at the feel of his taut form. She curved it around his neck, drew his face down and to her. “I know what I want, Cruz. I want you.”

  When she kissed him, it was with all the passion and attraction she’d felt since he’d first stepped into her restaurant. She’d thought of, dreamed of this moment to the point of distraction. There had never been another man who had stoked desire to the levels he did simply by walking into the room. His beard scratched gently at her skin, heightening her senses as her mind fought to keep up with her body.

  If he had any reservations, they seemed to evaporate the moment his lips captured hers. She couldn’t get enough of him. While her lips pressed and pushed, her tongue seeking and tempting, her hands shifted and moved down his back and under the edge of the fabric so she could flatten her palms against his back. Her bare breasts tightened against the roughness, and when he lifted his mouth for the mere moment it took to pull his shirt over his head, she cried out.

  A fraction of a second was too long to wait. For him, too, and he locked his hands around her waist, turning her toward the bed as he lifted her against him. The moment her breasts met his bare skin she gasped, tore her mouth free and dropped her head back to expose her throat.

  “This isn’t going to be slow.” She heard more determination than seduction in his voice. Even if she’d had the compulsion to slow things down she couldn’t have. Her mind could no longer function beneath the intensity of sensation sparking through her. Everywhere their skin touched, every step he took closer to her bed left rational thoughts spinning into oblivion.

  She felt
the mattress brush against the back of her legs before he lowered her to the bed. They stood there, in the barely-there light, the only sound in the room their ragged breathing. “You’re still overdressed.” She brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek, drew her fingers down the tight brown skin of his throat, his shoulders, around to his chest.

  He was hers. She saw it in the dazed passion of his dark gaze, felt it in the restless, exploring touch of his hands. Felt it beat against her palms as she pressed her hands flat against where his heart resided.

  She slid her hands down, lower, to the waistband of his jeans, made quick, determined work of the zipper and button that kept them separated. His breath hot against her face, she lifted her chin, found his mouth waiting and dived in. Tatum felt the hard length of him straining, throbbing behind the jeans she couldn’t help him discard fast enough. “Cruz.” She murmured his name and the answering moan she received as she wrapped her hand around him had whatever reason she had left shattering.

  His hips moved, pushing him more firmly into her hold. His breathing came in short, determined gasps as she adjusted her hold, moved up and down his hot arousal.

  “Enough,” he growled and reached down to catch her hand. “You keep touching me like that and I won’t be able to wait.”

  “Maybe I don’t want you to wait.” She pressed her lips against his throat, gently nipped with her teeth. “Maybe I want to see exactly what I do to you.”

  “Tatum.” He released her hand, caught her face between his palms and, after kissing her so deeply she lost her breath, pressed his forehead to hers. “I left the condoms in my bag.”

  She smiled, slid her hands down his sides and pushed his jeans down over his muscular thighs. He kicked them free and sucked in a breath that echoed through the room as she grasped him once more and brought him to her mouth.

  It only took one open-mouthed kiss on the most sensitive part of him to have him reaching down and hauling her to her feet. “When I come, I want it to be inside you. Not before.” His mouth took hers again, his tongue doing now what she had only dreamed of. “Let me go get—”