He shrugged and took another drink of the water before setting it aside. “No, I’m curious now. Tell me, please?”
Looking him in the eye, such nice blue eyes, like the color of older jeans, she nodded. “All right, but I did warn you,” Mallory said.
“I’ve been duly warned. Proceed.” Taking another bite of the chicken, he let out a hum of pleasure that went straight to her soul and her belly.
“Well, you have to think first of the farmers and growers. They spend their times nurturing our foods until it’s time to harvest. Same with the ranchers, who tend and care for the animals that will, one day, reach our tables. After that, we, the chef’s, go to the markets and find the best of everything to bring back to our kitchens. Not to the restaurants, though not right away. That’s usually weeks, if not months down the line after we have puttered around in our own kitchens. Adding a little bit of this or that, removing this to replace it with that, changing quantities, balances and testing over and over and over.”
“So, kind of like a scientist working on a new drug to get everything in proportion,” he said.
Stunned, Mallory blinked and nodded.
“My father’s a biochemist,” Trent said with lazy roll of his shoulders. “He was a bit horrified that I didn’t follow him along the scientific pathway. But he understood that I wasn’t built that way, and while he still tries to chat me up about whatever he’s working on, he always supported my choice to join the Marines.”
“So you do understand,” she said with a smile.
“Well, to a degree. Let’s not go crazy here.” He laughed deeply. “I understand the basics and the principals, but don’t start throwing out fancy terms, because I’ll just end up with a glazed look on my face and likely fall asleep on the spot.”
Ducking her head, she snickered. “Right, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good. Anyway, you were saying?” He put a piece of potato in his mouth and groaned. “Oh God, these are so good.”
Flushing with pleasure at his words, she had to really work at getting her head back onto topic. “Right. So, like a scientist, we putter in our laboratory until we are satisfied with the outcome. Then comes, like the scientist again, the testing phase. If we get the thumbs up from our bosses, we introduce the item to the menu and start to get feedback from our customers. If the feedback is positive, it goes on the menu as a limited item. If the reviews are excellent, it becomes a permanent item. The last is relatively rare because the critics are pretty harsh.”
“I can imagine,” he commented.
He’d emptied his plate and, when she looked down, she realized she’d eaten everything off of hers. She hadn’t tasted a thing, very unusual for her and frankly, it shocked her a bit.
“Please, if you want seconds, go right ahead,” Mallory told him.
“I think I will,” he grinned. “It was really good, and as my momma often claims, I’m still a growing boy.”
Mallory couldn’t come up with something to say to that, so she just sipped her water while he dug into a second helping. He clearly enjoyed it as much the second time around as he had the first. Which made her happy. She loved to cook and loved to see people enjoying what she’d created even more.
Once he sat back with a satisfied expression, she lifted an eyebrow. “More?” She asked with a smile.
“No, any more and I’ll be in a food coma.”
Chuckling at that, she got up and began to put everything away. When he handed her a dish, she waved him off. “You don’t need to help,” she said.
“My momma raised me to know that the cook never did the cleaning. And, since this is your place, I’m amending it slightly. I can at least help a little in the clean up until I know where everything goes.”
She slowly nodded and relented. “All right. But you wash. Since I do know where everything goes, I’ll dry and put away.”
“Deal,” he grinned. Collecting their plates and utensils, he took them over the sink.
It was strange having someone else in her kitchen. Her home kitchen at any rate. Especially someone with as large of a presence as Trent had. He definitely made the room seem a hell of a lot smaller.
Chapter Four
After they’d finished cleaning up, Mallory made a pot of coffee. With a cup in hand, Trent collected his bag and dug out his laptop as well as a couple of folders.
She’d shown him to the guest room, which was small but comfortable, and thankfully, not overly feminine. Clean white and dark green colors, with real wood furniture and heavy drapery on the windows. He’d slept in much worse places, but except for his own bedroom, not many had looked or felt better than her spare room.
“Towels and other linens are in the closet in the bathroom. There’s a double vanity so feel free to leave whatever you want on the end. It’s an apartment so you don’t need to worry about running out of hot water. Though, I do recommend letting the shower run a couple minutes before climbing in. There’s always a spike of ice-cold water around the minute or so mark that, if you’re under it, will send you flying,” she’d told him during her little tour.
Now that they were both back in the living room, he sat on the sofa and shifted around to look at her.
“What?” she asked, brushing a piece of her hair back behind her ear. A nervous gesture.
“I know you’ve likely gone over this with everyone and their uncle a few hundred times. But I need you to tell me about the attack,” he said.
Leaning forward, she set her cup down on the coffee table sharply.
He was pretty sure she’d jump to her feet and leave the room, but she surprised him. She stayed put, clasping her hands together and nodded.
“I’ve only had to tell it a couple dozen actually,” she said softly.
“It doesn’t get any easier for a while,” Trent said. “In time, though, the sharpness of the details and the harshness of the moment will fade a bit. It still won’t be easy to talk about, but it also won’t hurt nearly as much.”
“So I’ve heard,” Mallory whispered.
Trent just sat there and waited. She was scraping a nail lightly back and forth over the knuckle of her opposite thumb. Leaning forward he frowned at the scars he saw and reached out to lift her hand. “Where’d you get these?” he asked.
She blinked at him and then looked to her hand. Chuckling, she shrugged. “Cooking can be hazardous when you’re still learning. My mom taught me a lot in my early years, but then came culinary school. That’s when you start picking up a few dings and nicks along the way. The pressure is high in the courses, they only let the very best out into the real world and only the best of the best get to go on for more training.”
She turned her hand over in his and tugged the sleeve of her sweater up. Pointing to a white mark, about four inches long she glanced to him. “First time I burned myself in an oven. Caught the rack with my arm. For the first few seconds you don’t even realize what you’ve done and then the pain receptors kick in.”
He looked at the mark and the few others he could see. “I can honestly say, I never knew that being a chef was such a dangerous profession.”
Shrugging, she tugged her sleeve back down. “Only in the beginning, or if you’re distracted. I’ve learned that having a clear mind while working with sharp and hot objects is the only way to work.”
“Understandable,” he said. He should let her hand go, but he didn’t want to and she didn’t seem to mind. At least she wasn’t pulling back.
“So, anyway,” she said. Clearing her throat a couple of times, she began to recount the attack to him. He let her talk her way through it, squeezing her hand when she became agitated and then just holding on as she finished talking.
He had a lot of questions, but he waited until she’d calmed down a little. Waited as she drank some coffee and, finally, relaxed her shoulders.
“I know this is hard and I’m sorry,” he said. Rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, he watched her face. “Close your eyes.”
At her sharp look, he smiled. “Trust me, I’m just going to ask a few questions and we’ll see if we can’t get a little more information from your subconscious.”
“How?” she asked, her fingers tightening around his.
“I’m going to ask you a few random questions and then some pointed ones. I’ll go back and forth in the direction to get your mind to relax. Just say whatever comes to you, no matter what, all right?”
Mallory gave a little nod, her eyes on his until she let her eyelids fall.
“Good,” Trent told her. “You’re walking along the sidewalk. It’s dark out, the street lamps are on, the park’s just to your right and the street’s to your left. Tell me what you see to your left.”
“Cars, parked by the curb. There’s a guy on the opposite side on a skateboard.”
“Good, very good. You can hear the skateboards wheels on the sidewalk. The slight change in sound as he hits a seam. Was it warm?”
“Not really, it was pretty chilly out. I remember zipping my jacket up further on my neck.” She was frowning now.
“Was there a breeze?”
“A little. I could smell the water, the lake,” she told him. “I shivered each time the breeze kicked up.”
“Where were your hands?”
“In my jacket pockets. I’d forgotten my mitts at home. I remember lifting my shoulders to bury my chin in the neck of my jacket as I berated myself for forgetting them.”
“You’re walking along, hands in your pockets, the breeze blows now and again, bringing the scent of the lake to you. A shadow moves and you see a man walking up out of the park. What’s your first thought?”
“Run,” she whispered.
“Why?” he asked, watching her face closely.
“My gut clenched and I felt something other than the chill. Fear, I felt fear when he stopped on the sidewalk right in front of me. I knew I’d have to get around him to get home. I thought about crossing the street, but I knew that was a bad idea. I didn’t want him close to me.”
“Why?” he asked again, pushing her for more.
“I don’t know,” she said, snapping her eyes open. “I don’t know.”
“Shh,” he said. Putting his free hand on her back, he rubbed up and down gently. She was getting agitated, which wouldn’t work for what he was trying to do. “He can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him or anyone else hurt you, Mallory. You are safe here. You’re in your home and safe,” he said in a low voice.
She sucked in a breath, the sound ragged and nodded.
“Okay,” he said with a smile. “Tell me how he was standing.”
“What?” she frowned up at him.
“How was he standing? Feet together, apart, hands at his sides, in his pockets and anything else.”
Her eyes took on a faraway look and he knew she was trying to remember. “Close your eyes and picture him, standing there, waiting for you. Nothing else. Just his stance. He has no voice and he can’t touch you. How was he standing?”
Slowly, her eyelids drifted down and she took a deep breath. Her hand tightened on his and he knew she was grounding herself in the moment with that grip. He didn’t say anything more, just held tight to her smaller hand and kept rubbing her back.
“His feet were apart, about shoulder width,” she finally said. “His hands were at his sides. He was shaking them and then clenching them into fists and relaxing them. Over and over.”
“What was he wearing on his feet? Runners, boots, dress shoes, what?”
“Boots of some sort. Black, sort of looked like combat boots. His pants were tucked into the top, bagging over them a bit, but more on the left than the right. The shoelaces on the left were shorter, only done up to the ankle, not all the way to the top.”
“Were they shiny or scuffed up?”
“Scuffed up. Especially on the toes, really ragged looking,” she said. Opening her eyes again, she stared at him. “How?” she asked in a whisper.
He knew what she was asking, but he had her going and he didn’t want to lose the momentum. “What kind of pants was he wearing?”
“I thought they were jeans, but they aren’t. They have pockets up the left leg, one at the calf and a few at the thigh. The right side has a big pocket at the thigh with something inside, it’s drooping a little,” she said. She looked stunned.
“Good, close your eyes, keep looking at him. What color are the pants?” he asked her. Sliding his hand up to her neck, he gently rubbed at the tension he found there.
“Dark blue I think,” she whispered.
“Okay, scuffed up combat boots and dark blue cargo pants. Keep your eyes moving up to his shirt and jacket, describe them to me.”
She chewed on her lower lip and just about ruined his concentration. Sucking in a breath, Trent forced his eyes up from her mouth as his cock jerked in his pants. He was on the job and that job was to protect Mallory, not think about her in that way.
“White button-up, not tucked in all the way. The right side is hanging up a bit,” she told him. “He’s got a dark hoodie on underneath the jacket, black I think. His jacket is black, leather for sure, I remember that from when I was clawing at him. He’s got gloves on his hands, leather too.”
Her breathing was becoming erratic again. “Focus, Mallory. You’re safe in your apartment. Right next to me, where he can’t touch you,” he said, squeezing her neck gently. “Do you see any jewelry, a necklace or anything like that?”
She frowned and slowly shook her head. “No, nothing,” she whispered.
“Okay, that’s good. How tall do you think he is? What’s his build? Tall and skinny, fat and short, round, thin, bulky like me?”
“No, not bulky. He’s tall, not as tall as you,” she said. “Taller than me, though. He was fairly thin, but not scrawny. He definitely had a bit of muscle, but nothing really obvious.”
“All right,” he said. “You did good. We have a lot more information now.”
Looking to him, she nodded and gave him a small smile. Then her face clouded and she frowned. “He wore cologne. Strong and spicy. It made my nose itch and I remember feeling the need to sneeze before...” She paused and swallowed hard.
Before he’d knocked her out. Squeezing her neck, he nodded. “That’s all good stuff. See, I told you that you could do it.”
“How?” she asked again.
This time he answered her. “The mind catalogues a lot of things. Everything we see is logged into the memory. Of course, unless it’s something unusual or something specific we’re looking for, it gets relegated to the subconscious realm, never to be heard from again. It’s where a lot of feelings of déjà vu originate from. We’ll walk past a place and the mind will catalogue it, but because we’re not really focused on it we don’t see it per se. If we happen to go past again, later, and we get that sensation of being there before or seeing something before. It’s just one of those things.”
Squeezing her fingers, he tipped his head to see her face better. “All I did was get your mind focused on the moments you were still safe and then had you pick apart a moment of time. Like a picture, you let the mind survey it from an observer's standpoint instead of a victim. It lets you process all that you’ve seen in a safe manner.”
“Well, that’s one hell of a trick,” she said.
“No trick,” he told her. Sliding his hand down her back, he looked to the clock she had above the TV. “It’s getting late and you’re still recovering from a gunshot. You should grab a hot bath or shower and then try and get some sleep.”
Nodding, she scraped her thumbnail lightly over his skin, chills raced up his arm. “What about you?”
“I’m going to do a bit of work and figure out what I need from the tech guys to make your apartment more secure and give you a greater sense of security. We’re going to wire your place with a security system and, with the management’s permission, wire the building with cameras. Since we don’t know who this guy is yet, we want as much warning as possible if he c
omes for you again.”
“If he doesn’t think I’m dead,” she murmured.
He thought about it for a while and then decided to just say it. “There was a piece about you in the paper. You weren’t named. The cops kept that out, but the details were enough that he’ll know he missed. He may not come back, though if he’s working with someone or for someone, they most likely will. That’s what I’m going to keep you safe from. I don’t want to scare you, Mallory. I happen to believe you deserve to know what’s going on and the potential threats.”
“Thank you,” she said looking to him. “For being honest and not sugar-coating this.”
“Yeah, I’m not big into sugar-coating,” he said with a chuckle. “Go, have a hot bath and get some sleep. You are safe and, if you need me, I’m right here and will be until this guy and anyone else is stopped.”
For a while, Mallory just looked at him before nodding. Squeezing his hand she got up, took her mug, and went into the kitchen. A few minutes later she came out and paused in the hallway.
“Good night, Trent,” she said with a half-smile.
“Night, Mallory.”
Chapter Five
Sliding into the hot water of her bubble bath, Mallory let out a sigh. She could hear Trent’s voice in the living room, the low rumble surprisingly soothing and reassuring.
Except for college, she’d never had a roommate. She really didn’t like sharing her personal space with others. But she found that she honestly didn’t mind having him there. He definitely wasn’t what she’d expected.
After her meeting with Robyn, Mallory had thought she’d end up with a G.I. Joe sort that snapped out orders and expected to be obeyed. But that wasn’t Trent. He listened, he watched, and he seemed to actually care.
She had a feeling though, that if the situation arose, he could bark out orders like nobody’s business. Smiling, she sank deeper into her soaker tub and sighed again.
Something else she hadn’t expected was the visceral reaction she had to him. She knew when he was close. Well, her body did. A low hum seemed to thrum through her belly when he was near, and when he was touching her, it turned into a throb. She’d been embarrassed when she’d slid her panties off for the bath to find them soaked through.
Dangerous Secrets Page 3
