“We have one shot at this, Cruz.”
“Then grab him at the airport!” Anywhere but here.
“There’s a workers’ strike, remember? The logistics would be a nightmare and we risk the chance of losing him. We have a clear shot at him right where he is. I warned you this could happen. You want to close your case or protect your girlfriend?”
Cruz’s mind raced. Girlfriend seemed such an inadequate descriptor for what he considered Tatum to be. She was...well, she was just it for him, wasn’t she? It hadn’t taken long for him to understand he didn’t see—didn’t want—a future that didn’t include her in it and yet...
And yet Johnny was lying there hooked up to machines thanks to someone lurking in the shadows of this case. Tatum could be everything to him but Johnny would never have that chance. And Cruz couldn’t let the people responsible get away.
“Ticktock, Medina.” Luce’s voice snapped him back. “What’s it going to be?”
“Do it.” As he said the words he could all but feel the connection between him and Tatum snap. “But I’ll take lead. Have the team meet me around the corner.”
“It doesn’t have to be you, Cruz.”
Yes, it does. “It’s my case.” He wasn’t going to shirk the responsibility just because of his feelings for Tatum. Once he started down that slope, it wouldn’t stop. “We go in fifteen.”
When Cruz hung up and turned around, he found Ty standing in the doorway. Arms crossed over his chest, eyes cool as a freshly honed blade. “What are you doing, Cruz?”
“What I have to.” He tried to move past, but Ty stopped him with a solid hand on his chest. “Let me by. I need to talk to Tatum.”
“It’s too late. She’s out on the floor.”
Cruz steeled his jaw, clenched his fists. “Richard’s skipping town. There’s nothing I can do about this, Ty.”
“Sure there is.” Ty’s voice turned cold. “You just don’t want to. No.” He pushed Cruz back, took a step toward him. “If you’re going to walk out on her you go out the back.” He pointed out the loading bay door. Unwilling to take on another fight for the evening, Cruz acquiesced and walked away. “You disappoint me, Cruz.” Cruz froze at Ty’s statement. “I thought you understood what was really important. I guess I was wrong.”
Nausea rolled thick and slippery through him. He did understand. He understood more than Ty could imagine. But he’d made a promise, and Cruz was nothing without his word. Tatum of all people would understand. Cruz reached up and unbuttoned his chef’s jacket as he walked. He turned down the alley, tugged it off, wadded it up, and as he passed, tossed it into the dumpster. “Someday she’ll understand.”
* * *
Tatum made it a point to greet a number of other guests before making her way to Constance Swan’s table. Everyone in True was always given the same service, the same quality food and the same attention. As anxious as she was to connect, she slowed down, took her time. Make it count.
“Ms. Swan, it’s lovely to meet you.” Tatum shook the offered hand of the woman who could put True on the culinary map. Petite and far more slender than any food critic had a right to be, Constance Swan introduced her fellow dining companions. “Welcome, all of you.” Tatum looked to each of them, Constance’s publicist, her web designer, and her daughter Margaret, who looked to be about Tatum’s age but had far more polish and presence than Tatum could ever hope to have. “I hope you’re enjoying your evening at True so far.”
“It’s been sublime, and it’s Constance, please.”
Tatum gave Susan a glance that had her hostess moving away. “We were thrilled to hear you were interested in dining with us,” Tatum continued. “I admit to taking advantage of the privilege and using the opportunity to stretch my cooking wings a bit.” She motioned to the paella.
“It was a nice surprise,” Constance told her. “I went to Spain on my honeymoon and had the best paella. I’ve talked about that trip and that meal often over the years.”
“Spain was my father’s favorite vacation spot,” Margaret clarified.
“What you’ve given us here is as close to that experience as I could ever hope to recreate,” Constance said. “Especially now that he’s passed.”
“My condolences,” Tatum offered. “But I’m glad I could bring back some good memories. That’s what food should be about, isn’t it? Connecting with our emotions, our pasts. Our experiences. That’s what I strive for every day I’m in the kitchen. Connections.”
“Well, from where we are sitting you’re accomplishing that perfectly.”
Not wanting their food to get cold while they chatted, Tatum stepped back. “I’ll leave you to your meal, then. Please, if you have any concerns or questions, I hope you won’t hesitate to let Susan know. We’ll do our best to accommodate you.”
“I wonder.” Constance caught her hand when she began to walk away. “If a tour of your kitchen would be possible? I would love to meet the staff who helped prepare such a wonderful meal.”
“Absolutely. Only—” Tatum hesitated, glancing around the filled dining room “—would you be willing to wait until closer to the end of service? I’d be happy to send over another bottle of wine, on the house of course. Once we’ve caught up with orders I’d be pleased to give you a tour.”
“That would be fine.” Constance nodded. Tatum stole a look at the others seated at the table. Given their approving expressions, Tatum wondered if she’d just passed some kind of test.
“I’ll have Susan bring you back as soon as...” Tatum trailed off at the unexpected flash of movement at the entrance by the bar. Uniformed officers flanked the glass doors outside. And three men with polished badges hanging around their necks stepped in.
Two of the men were utterly unfamiliar, but the third? That glossy hair, the neatly trimmed, thin mustache and beard. The determined spark in dark eyes that didn’t miss a single thing. “Cruz.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until she noticed Margaret turn her chin up.
No, this wasn’t possible. She tried to swallow but couldn’t. He wouldn’t... He was supposed to be in the kitchen, working prep with Chester. It wasn’t possible he’d...and yet it clearly was.
Tatum’s breath caught in her chest. She reached out and grabbed the back of Constance’s chair to stop her legs from folding. Cruz spoke to Susan, who, from behind her podium, turned her head and locked wide, disbelieving eyes on Tatum. Her gaze instantly shifted behind Tatum, to where Tatum had seen Richard moments before.
Richard.
A million questions flew through her mind in an instant, spinning around each other, too fast for her to even attempt to find an answer.
Of course. It was the only answer that made sense, wasn’t it? Richard, who had access to her books, who had the run of the place whether she was here or not. Richard, who had been so solicitous and caring when her father had been killed. It had all been a ruse so he could get his claws deeper into the restaurant that may as well be her beating heart.
Cruz had told her this morning, warned her that he’d found the connection, but she hadn’t wanted to listen. She hadn’t wanted anything marring her perfect day, but she never, not in a thousand years, would have believed Cruz would use it against her. Not tonight.
“He wouldn’t.” Recalling that first night he’d come here, with that self-assured I’m-not-wrong attitude that had somehow slipped through whatever sense she might have had, she thought he would. When someone first shows you who they are, believe it. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind.
But as he walked toward her, she looked at his face and knew. He pointed to the kitchen doors, and the two men with him took up position there, turning and holding up their hands when Ty, Quallis and Sam pushed their way out. Pike and Colby emerged as well, but were held back by Ty. Pike quickly ducked inside, and seconds later Chester and Bernadette joined their fellow employees; al
l shared the same dumbstruck, confused expression Tatum could only dream of wearing.
Her world moved into slow motion. Nothing made sense. And she could hear the ever so faint sound of her future beginning to crumble. She was peripherally aware of people grabbing their cell phones, recording every torturous moment, cementing True’s reputation in online scandal even before she could remember how to breathe.
Cruz made his way through the tables as effortlessly as he’d slid into her heart. Conversation stilled as he came closer, as if muting customers as he passed.
“What’s going on?” Richard’s tight-throated question had Tatum’s hand clenching around the back of Constance’s chair. “Tatum, what’s your sous-chef doing?”
Tatum couldn’t stop herself. She stepped between them, planted a hand on Cruz’s chest, her fingers brushing against the badge he wore, and lifted pleading eyes to his. “Don’t do this now, Cruz. Please. Not tonight. Not here.” Didn’t he see? Couldn’t he feel anything other than blind obligation and duty?
“I’m sorry, Tatum. I don’t have a choice.” While he kept his voice low, in the graveyard silence of True, everyone would hear. “There’s nowhere for you to go, Richard. We have your wife in custody along with your passport. You need to come with me.”
“You’re a cop?” Richard’s relief might have been comical if the entire situation wasn’t so...Shakespearean. “You’re a damned cop? Tatum, what the...you let an undercover cop into your kitchen?”
“Please,” Cruz tried again. “Don’t make this worse for Tatum.”
Tatum went cold inside. There wasn’t an ounce of warmth, not in her blood. Not in her body. Not in her heart. This was the man from the bar, the man she’d refused to believe. Not the man she’d fallen into bed with. And certainly not the man she’d fallen in love with.
“Worse than you’re making it?” Richard scoffed. “Like that’s possible.”
“Are we really going to do this this way?” Cruz challenged Richard.
“Richard, please, just go with him,” Tatum urged. “If it’s a mistake—”
“Of course this is a mistake! What are the charges? I demand to know what I’m being charged with.” Richard turned gleaming, if not defiant, eyes on Tatum. “Tell me why you’re arresting me. I want witnesses.” In that moment she knew exactly what he was doing. And she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. “I want everyone to know.”
“He’s arresting you because you’re a drug dealer,” Tatum said before Cruz could find the words. He reached out for her, but she stepped away. The last thing, the very last thing she could deal with right now was Detective Cruz Medina touching her. “You’ve been using my business to distribute drugs in the city, Richard. You’ve been using me. Using all of us. Was it you who tried to run me down the other night? Did you try to kill me?”
“No.” Richard blinked as if coming out of a trance. “No, Tatum, I swear, that wasn’t me. That was—”
“Doesn’t sound like a denial on the rest of it.” Cruz spun Richard around and slapped handcuffs on him. That clicking sound as they tightened would haunt her for the rest of her life. “Since you wanted witnesses, how about they hear me read you your rights. Richard Kirkman, I’m arresting you on charges of...”
Tatum didn’t hear the rest. Would that she could have melted into the floor and disappeared, but that wouldn’t happen. She walked behind them, more than aware of every single eye on her. She stopped at the podium when Cruz stopped at the door.
“Tatum,” Susan whispered and then stopped, as a middle-aged woman stepped forward, her cool, controlled cop expression aimed at Tatum.
“Ms. Colton. Lieutenant Luce Graves. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I need to ask you to close your restaurant immediately.”
“Why?” Susan demanded, but Tatum shook her head and looked to Cruz.
There it was. The final nail in the coffin.
“Because it’s a crime scene,” Tatum said softly. When she continued, she did so with her gaze firmly on Cruz. And she waited until he met her eyes. “I’ll take care of it, Lieutenant. On one condition. You make certain I never see him again.”
Cruz winced.
“Ms. Colton—”
“That’s the condition.” She didn’t want the sympathy she heard in his boss’s voice; she didn’t want platitudes or explanations. He’d lied to her. Over and over. From the moment he’d sat down at the bar all the way up to when he’d said he loved her. He didn’t. It wasn’t possible he did, when he’d just blown up her entire world. “Do we have a deal?”
“Yes.” Lieutenant Graves nodded and motioned for her cops, including Cruz, to leave. “I’ll be sending in a team—”
“Can this wait a few minutes?” Tatum cut her off. She’d never felt so in control and yet so detached in her life. “Susan, show the lieutenant to the bar and help her with anything she needs.” She didn’t wait for agreement or understanding before she faced her customers. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for...” She cleared her throat. “It’s with my deepest regret that I ask you all to leave. There will be no charge for your meals. I can’t offer any explanation at this time. I hope to in the near future. Please.” She stepped up onto the bar stair, stood with her hands clasped behind her back and willed them all away. Slowly, silently, people gathered their belongings and did as she asked.
She stood there, chin up, eyes dry, heart pounding a staccato in her chest, as they filed by, one by one. The tears would come later, much later, when she was alone and could scream them free. She nearly lost control when Constance Swan stopped and reached out her hand. Tatum clasped it and found only warmth.
“I’ll take a rain check on that kitchen tour,” the older woman said.
It was no doubt an offer made out of pity, but Tatum managed a small smile and nod. When the last customer stepped out and the door closed behind them, Tatum walked slowly through her empty restaurant. She heard Ty’s and Sam’s outraged voices echoing against the glass, but she couldn’t talk to them. Not now. Not yet.
She made her way around the scattered tables and chairs, casting tear-filled eyes upon the partially eaten meals and half-filled wine glasses. Tatum climbed the stairs, one by one, slowly, deliberately, until she reached her office.
And closed the door behind her.
CHAPTER 15
“It’s all over the internet.” The declaration shot at Cruz from across the squad room like a bullet, hitting him square in the heart. A heart he couldn’t afford to listen to at the moment if he was going to do his job.
And he would do it. Not following through would mean he’d betrayed the woman he loved for nothing. He would never, for the rest of his life, be able to erase the image of Tatum standing there, in the middle of her beautiful restaurant, looking utterly and completely defeated. And yet...
And yet she’d stood. She’d done what she had to do, because she was Tatum Colton and anything less would be utterly unacceptable.
As much as she loathed him now, he’d never loved her more.
To top it all off, he was an internet star, which meant his days as an undercover anything were officially over.
“Medina, you ready? They’ve got him in interview three.”
He didn’t answer. Instead he pushed to his feet and went to the break room to distract himself with some coffee.
“Cruz.” Luce leaned in the doorway and crossed her arms. “You did what you had to do. You did the job. I know it wasn’t easy—”
“No,” he said, not wanting to discuss it with anyone, but especially his boss. “It wasn’t. But it’s over and done.” He dumped a crap ton of sugar into his coffee, prayed the combination of sugar and caffeine would get him through the next few hours. “I’m letting him stew. A couple of hours should do it.”
“Hours? You sure?”
He looked at her. “Has he asked for a lawyer? Even once? Asked t
o see his wife? Asked for anything?”
“No.” Luce inclined her head.
“It won’t take much of a push to get him to talk. He’s already scared, and the longer he’s in here, the more worried his partners will be. I want him shaking when I go in there.” He took a sip of coffee, winced, and accepted it as appropriate punishment. “Maybe then I won’t choke the life out of him.”
“Cruz, it’ll blow over. You’ll talk to her. You’ll work it out.”
“Is that what you’d do if you destroyed Sheryl’s career? Any hope she has of advancement? How do you think she’d react if you made her a social media sensation for employing a drug dealer?”
Luce didn’t answer. She didn’t have to, because they both already knew the truth.
“Sometimes what we have to do seriously sucks, Cruz. I’m going to head back, see how the team’s coming along with their search. Anything you want me to tell her?”
Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her he wished there was another way. Tell her if he could, he’d turn back the clock and tell her everything that morning when she’d waved him off. “No.” There were no words that would fix or change what had happened. The only thing he could do now was close the case and lock Richard Kirkman and his partners up for the rest of their lives. “Just watch out for her for me, will you?”
Beyond that, there was nothing else he could do.
* * *
Who knew a police search could take so long? She should have asked Ty or Quallis or Sam about that, but she waited it all out, opening her door only once when Lieutenant Graves came up to give her an update.
“The restaurant will have to remain closed for at least the next few weeks.”
“You can’t be more specific than that?” Tatum asked, wondering if this situation could possibly get any worse.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Don’t plan things out very far, do you?” She had yet to remove her chef’s jacket; it felt like the ultimate surrender, but the fabric was beginning to feel more like a straitjacket than her uniform of choice.
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