by Jeannie Watt
Nick waited next to the office while she checked the stoves, made certain the refrigerators were closed, the back door locked.
“How’d Justin ever get into this pastry-baking game?” he asked. “Did he always like to bake?”
“Hardly,” Eden said, taking off her apron and hanging it on a hook next to a bank of lockers. She smoothed her hands down over her red dress. “He spent most of his teen years tinkering with cars when he wasn’t at school.”
“So how’d he…?”
“We all took turns cooking when my dad was gone, which was pretty much all the time, and he discovered that girls liked guys who could cook. Then he got a job with the same catering company that gave me my start. He found out he liked cooking and food as much as Reggie and I do, so he went to cooking school, too.”
“Did he abandon the cars?”
She looked up at him as if surprised he’d even mention such a possibility, “Oh, no. Surely you’ve noticed his pride and joy parked in a place of honor in the front lot.”
“The Firebird?”
“That’s the one,” Eden said. “When he’s not driving it, he’s tinkering with it or polishing it.”
“How’d he get it? Those cars are hard to find.”
“Nepotism and scheming,” she said with a laugh.
“Yeah?”
“I cook weekly meals for the guy in charge of entertainment at the Summit Hotel in Tahoe and the Cassandra in Reno.”
“Private chef?”
“In a way. I make four days of meals that are easy to reheat to help them get through the week. Friday through Sunday, they’re on their own.”
“I might need to hire you,” Nick said.
“You’re taking cooking lessons,” she reminded him.
“Anyway, about the car…” He gave her a half smile.
“Yes, the car.” Eden pushed a partially open locker door shut. “Sometimes Justin delivers the meals for me, and one time he spotted the Firebird in Michael’s garage. It was love at first sight. It took two years of hints, offers and shameless begging before Michael sold it to him.”
“Persistence pays, I guess.”
“It did this time. And I owe Michael because until Justin bought it, he had this awful old junker parked at my house. He sold it to help pay for the Firebird.”
She crossed to the door next to the office. “I just need to check the thermostat. We keep this room cooler for the pastry work.”
Nick followed her. “Is he working on a cake now?’
“Want to see?” Eden said. Without waiting for an answer, she opened the door with a flourish. For a moment Nick simply stared.
The cake sitting on a stainless-steel table in the middle of the cold room was four layers high and at least three feet across. The pale yellow layers had an elaborate design of different playing cards—kings, queens, jacks and aces in various suits—that appeared to be drawn directly onto the icing with red, black and gold frosting.
How could a guy who liked to work on cars make a cake like that?
“One of the casino execs is getting married, and this is what they wanted for their cake.” Eden wrinkled her nose slightly and Nick had to agree with her. The cake was magnificent, but not exactly traditional wedding material.
He slowly circled the structure, taking in the detail. Justin Tremont was a true artist. “It’s…big.”
“Yes. Justin has to travel with the cake to set it up, and we have to make certain someone is there who knows how to dismantle it for serving. There’s a lot of supports inside the cake, holding it up.”
“How long does it take to make something like this?”
“Days. And sometimes more days on top of that, if there’s some kind of disaster.”
Nick turned back to her. “Does he do a lot of these?”
“Yes, he does. He’s developed a decent reputation. He’s artistic and delivers on time, although we’ve had a lot of nail-biters.”
“A cake like this must be damned expensive.”
“More than I’d pay. In the thousands.”
“Thousands? I was thinking hundreds.”
“Not for the amount of work Justin puts in. There’s a formula he uses that involves number of tiers and diameter, etc. Anyway, in my mind he earns every penny.”
Nick leaned his hip against the counter. “Do you ever lend a hand?”
Eden snorted. “As if. For one thing, Justin is really territorial. For another, I don’t have time. And I’m bad at piping and flowers. He’ll let me roll fondant and make butter cream, but that’s the extent of my contribution.”
She motioned with her head toward the door. “Speaking of which, Justin can sense when someone has been in his lair.”
Nick laughed, but he also wondered if Eden had the same ability.
“I need to get home,” she said, walking to the office, where she made a search for her keys before locating them under the folder, right where Nick had found them. She gathered up her purse and a pale blue sweater, turned off the office lights and glanced up at him.
The atmosphere between them practically crackled. Nick swallowed and started resolutely toward the entrance. No crackling tonight.
He held open the front door and she walked under his arm, fitting the key into the lock once the door had swung shut. And now that he knew which key went to the front—the stubby one—he also had a very good idea which key went to the back.
Eden walked to her car, a small red Honda that almost matched her dress, with slow steps, as if she didn’t want to get there too fast. The night was warm, with a touch of humidity. Unusual for Reno in late March, when the nights were usually cold. At her car she stopped, keys in hand, and looked up at him.
“I appreciate you waiting,” she said.
“Safety is my business,” he replied with a touch of irony that he hoped would put some emotional distance between them, because he wanted to kiss her.
But he didn’t, even though the moment was so obviously right.
She reached up to lightly touch his face with one hand. He didn’t move.
“Nick?”
“I, uh, better go,” he said.
She stared up at him for a few brief seconds, probably wondering what the hell his problem was. Why he didn’t respond.
Finally, she pressed her lips together hard and pushed the unlock button on the keypad. The car beeped and the locks popped up. She opened the door without looking at him, tossed her stuff inside.
If there was trouble in the financial records, he would probably never be able to see her again. He really hated that. Hated being cut off at the knees.
“Eden?”
She hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder. He reached out to gently turn her, take her face between his palms and kiss her lips. More deeply than she’d kissed him. He’d intended it to be a goodbye kind of kiss, but instead it sent heat coursing through his body.
“I like that,” Eden said when he raised his head and slowly let his hands fall away from her face. It’d been the kind of kiss two people might share after a casual date, but it hadn’t felt casual.
It felt like a promise.
A promise he didn’t think he could keep.
“Eden. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Kiss me? Why not?”
“I’m not in a good situation right now.”
She tilted her head. “How so?”
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. There was no explanation he could give.
“You’re not married?” she asked with a sudden frown.
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Then…is it just me?”
He shook his head. “No, Eden. It’s me. All me.”
“Well, in that case,” she said, cocking her hand on her hip, “there’s something you need to know.”
“What’s that?” he asked cautiously.
She gave a tiny smirk. “I hate mixed signals. If you can’t run the bases, then maybe
you shouldn’t be up at bat.”
WHEN EDEN GOT HOME, she poured herself a glass of wine and heartily wished she could call her sister. Unfortunately, it was 4:00 a.m. in Lyon, and Reggie would not appreciate an early morning this-guy-is-driving-me-to-distraction call, so she’d have to make do with wine alone.
But this guy was driving her to distraction. She was receiving definite—albeit cautious—I’m-attracted-to-you signals. And then when she responded, he backed off.
Was her guy radar rusty? Was she no longer able to identify the signs of attraction?
Of course she could. But for whatever reason, Nick was stopping the action as soon as it started, and she’d gotten the message loud and clear tonight.
Which meant Eden was done.
SOMETIMES IT PAID to know the shady at heart. One of Nick’s favorite pawnshop contacts had software that could analyze photographs of keys and make duplicates. Before, the guy had had to measure all the points and cut the key by hand. It was an involved process. Nick had never used it, but he knew of Benny’s talents. Fortunately, Benny never asked questions, because he didn’t want anyone asking questions of him. A true practitioner of the golden rule.
At twilight, Nick parked on the street almost a block away from Tremont Catering so he could watch the parking lot. Patty left at seven. Almost an hour later, Eden left. The building stayed dark after that, and even though he knew that Justin came in as late as ten o’clock, Nick took a chance and left his car, walking down the sidewalk until he could ease into the shadows and then duck down the dead-end alley behind the building.
Benny had done well. The key fit and Nick slipped inside. He made his way to the office through the darkness and closed the door before turning on the computer monitors. He sat still, his ears straining for any sound while the computers started up and he bypassed the password on the first one. In a matter of moments he was downloading data, numbly watching the screen, waiting for the process to stop.
After downloading the data from both computers, he removed the memory stick and dropped it in his pocket. Hopefully this was it.
GABE’S COMPUTER WAS ACTING strangely, flashing boxes onto the screen that told him to run a security check and then, when he clicked those boxes, the screen would go blue and the machine froze up. After the third time it’d happened, he knew that either Nick or Lois was going to have to figure out the problem, and until then, he was going to risk using the community computer in the common area. It was after ten and most of the residents, as Lois so politely called them, were sound asleep.
The computer was on, so all he had to do was shake the mouse and then type, with his two gnarly index fingers. Bonita Tarrington Wells. Wells being the name of the guy she’d married after giving up on him.
Why was he doing this?
And if he did find her, what in the hell could he say? I was wrong to choose my job over you?
They both knew that. She’d known it back then. He’d taken another ten years to figure it out—ten years that had slipped by just like that.
She should have given him an earful when he’d contacted her right after his mandatory retirement at the age of fifty-five. But she hadn’t. She’d told him she was married, to a man who valued human companionship, and then hung up.
So why wasn’t he able to let it go?
Maybe because helping Nick was reminding him of all he’d lost through his own stubbornness.
There were plenty of Bonita Wellses—and none of them seemed right—but there was no Bonita Tarrington Wells. Just as there hadn’t been every other time he tried. He kept hoping that something might spring up.
The light behind him snapped on, scaring the bejeezus out of him. He twisted so quickly in his char that he almost hurt his back and looked into the face of his Candlewood nemesis. “Lenny. What the hell? Trying to give me another heart attack?”
Lenny sauntered into the room, followed by Paul, who moved slower because he used a cane. “Couldn’t sleep.” He cocked his head. “What the hell are you doing here at this hour?”
“I’m using the computer.” Gabe hit the button that closed the screen.
He felt stupidly self-conscious and must have looked it because Paul said, “All the porn sites are blocked.”
Gabe cursed under his breath. “I’m not looking up porn. My laptop is acting funny and I wanted to do some research.”
“Well, research away. We’re going to watch the TV.”
As if he’d be able to research with those two in here. Gabe shut off the computer in disgust.
“Lois wants us to leave it on,” Paul said.
“Then Lois can turn it back on.”
“Hey,” Lenny said with a big smile before he slowly sat in one of the leather chairs parked in front of the giant television. “Your grandson seems to be doing all right with Eden.”
Yeah, he did, much to Gabe’s satisfaction. When the van had pulled away after lessons, she’d been standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Nick. Waiting for him.
Paul agreed, finally making it to his own chair and freefalling backwards onto the leather cushions with a satisfied grunt. “Lots of long looks. Makes me wish I was young again.”
“We’re thinking of starting a pool—” Lenny began, but Gabe raised a hand, cutting him off.
“Don’t you dare. This is my grandson.”
“But…” Lenny’s voice trailed away as Gabe gave him a hard look. Gabe turned to go back to his rooms, pausing briefly in the doorway when he heard Lenny mutter to Paul, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
Gabe took the high road and continued down the hall.
“NOTHING,” MARCUS SAID. “On these computers, anyway. Bank statements all look reasonable. If they’re moving any bad money through the business, it’s a negligible amount. So why would they bother?”
“But a five-thousand-dollar cake?” Daphne asked with a grimace. “How do you know he didn’t charge the clients one price and double it on the books?”
Nick raised his hand. “I called two of the brides. Well, actually one bride, one mother of the bride. Told them I was thinking of hiring Tremont to make my wedding cake. Were they happy? Was it worth the big price he charged? I managed to get both of them to tell me how much they paid, and it jibes with the records Marcus showed me. I did the same with a couple of the big catering events. They were random, but all four were on the money, so to speak.”
“Well, I’m ticked.” Daphne wadded up her napkin.
“It was a long shot,” Nick said. He couldn’t say he was ticked because he was relieved Tremont wasn’t involved in a crime, but he was frustrated.
“Hey, we still don’t know that Tremont isn’t involved,” Marcus said, as if looking on the bright side.
“I don’t think he is.”
“You don’t want him to be involved because of his sister,” the accountant said pompously.
“I’m a professional,” Nick growled. “I like Eden, but I’m not letting that interfere with my work. And who the hell maneuvered things so that we spent time together?”
“I—”
“Threw a rock through a window. Put a note on her windshield. Generally tried to creep her out so she’d seek out a security specialist. Hey, I’m that security guy! How does she know I’m a security guy? Because you told her.”
“You did all that?” Daphne asked with a lift of her eyebrows.
“I, uh…” Color started creeping up Marcus’s neck. “Maybe.”
“I knew it!” Nick said.
“Hey!” Marcus leaned across the table. “We agreed that the end justified the means. My way worked.”
“When did we agree on that?” Nick demanded.
Marcus set both palms down on the table in front of him. “It may not have been verbal, but it was damned well understood. I understood it, anyway. All that stuff about unofficial investigations and manning up…”
“If we’d gone through the proper channels, it would never have flown,” Daphne agreed. “And
now we know. The big question is, do we question Tremont?”
“I don’t see what it would get us,” Nick mused.
“Or you don’t want to see what it gets us?” Daphne asked.
“Just…hold off a bit,” he said. “Let me clear up some loose ends.”
“Somebody killed Cully,” his partner reminded him stiffly.
“It wasn’t Justin Tremont,” Nick snapped back. “And I really doubt if he knows who did.”
“But he might have heard something.”
“Agreed.” Nick picked up the memory sticks Marcus had left in the middle of the table.
“You don’t have to talk to him,” Daphne said, seeming to understand his hesitation. “You don’t even need to be involved.”
Nick nodded. “Just give me a day or two. Let me tie up those loose ends and then we’ll decide how to proceed. Okay?”
An impatient look flashed across Daphne’s face, but after a quick glance over at an unusually silent Marcus, she said, “Fine.
CHAPTER TEN
NICK WAS DAMNED glad he was able to put Daphne off immediately questioning Justin, because he wanted time to set things right with Eden. He just wished he knew how in the hell to do that.
The obvious way was to tell the truth. He was a cop. They were looking into drug trafficking. Her brother worked in the kitchen and…Nick was investigating them. Unofficially, yes, but if he found anything, he would see that the matter was dealt with in an official capacity.
He’d broken into their files.
Couldn’t do it.
He’d tell her he was a cop. The rest would stay buried. Only he, Daphne and Marcus knew.
The Firebird was the only car in the Tremont lot when Nick drove by, so he turned around and headed to Eden’s house. The little red Honda was parked on the street under the elm tree. Eden was home for once.
What now?
He got out of the car without a clear plan in mind. If nothing else, he would apologize for the other night, but he hoped she’d give him a chance to…well, he didn’t know. He’d been out of the relationship game for so long he wasn’t certain what his next step should be.
