by Rebecca Deel
“Grace sees me as competition.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Home Runs is a service for families. I don’t solicit catering jobs, Ethan. If a customer asks me to do something like Emily’s breakfast for the ladies, I try to accommodate. I see it as a service to the family.”
He unlocked the SUV, helped her inside, and climbed into the driver’s seat. “You don’t want to cater or open your own restaurant?” From her cooking reputation in the community, she could be successful in either business.
An odd look crossed Serena’s face.
“What is it?” He analyzed his question, couldn’t figure out what he said to elicit that kind of response.
“I don’t function well in a restaurant or hotel kitchen, Ethan.” Her voice clued him in to her embarrassment. “I tried at several different places, but didn’t last more than two weeks at each place.”
“Why not? I’ve heard Rachael Ray could take cooking lessons from you.”
“Remember what happened to me at Mr. Miller’s house and the police station?”
Ethan remained silent while he processed the implications of her statement. If she was that sensitive to the sight of blood, Serena most likely had problems cooking red meat. “Have you thought about a vegetarian restaurant? Bet the yuppies would love it.”
“I considered that, but I want more personal contact with my customers. I prepare surprise desserts for the kids, birthday and anniversary cakes. Since I talk to my clients often, I know when their schedule is so erratic they don’t have time for elaborate dinners.” She flashed a smile at him. “How many restaurants have you been to where the chef knew all that about you?”
“None. Why did you start running errands? Seems like cooking would take most of your time.”
“I started doing errands for a few housebound clients. Other customers heard about it and asked if I would consider adding the service to the cooking. It wasn’t a hardship at first. Most of the time, I ran errands on my way to and from the grocery store. After a couple of months, the errands grew to a stand-alone business. That’s when I asked Pam to help.”
“You still haven’t heard from her?”
She shook her head.
“Would you tell me if you did?”
Serena snapped her head around. “You think I kept information from you?”
“You already have.”
She settled her back against the door, arms crossed. “That’s different. Pam’s safety is at stake.”
“So is yours.”
“The creep hasn’t bothered me since the other night.”
He parked in her driveway, turned off his engine and faced her. “I still want the creep’s name.”
“Why?”
Her strangled whisper twisted something in his chest. “I want to know who to watch, whose face to get into if he even sniffs in your direction. In my line of work, surprises get you killed.”
“Please, Ethan. Don’t force me to tell you.”
He struggled to prevent frustration from showing in his voice. “Why are you protecting him? You just called him a creep.”
She refused to meet his eyes.
She’d labeled the guy a predator, categorized him as an enemy. So, if the problem wasn’t the unknown male, what held her back? Dim lighting in the SUV’s interior hid most of her expression, but he caught the flash of guilt marring her beautiful face.
“Serena, any man worthy of the name treats a woman with respect, no matter the circumstances.” Ethan steeled himself against the embarrassment and shame on her face. “Tell me his name or I’ll ask questions around town. I’ll find out either way, but it’ll save you grief if you give up his name.”
Surprise registered on her face. “But I’ve only told two people about it, and you’re one of them.”
“Doesn’t matter. The townspeople will know.”
She turned her face away from him. The stretch of silence grew lengthy while he waited for Serena to sift through her options. It all boiled down to trust. Would she trust him to do what’s right in protecting her and other women from predators like this guy?
“What will you do if I tell you his name, but still won’t file charges?”
“What I can.”
She glared at him. “Which is what?”
“Watch, wait, warn him off when the opportunity arises.”
“He can be vindictive.”
“I’ve got broad shoulders. Name?”
Serena jerked open the door. “Mitch Harrington.”
#
Never liked reporters much. Now he had a good excuse to dislike Harrington. Ethan dumped chopped bell pepper and onion on his omelet, topped it with cheddar cheese, then folded over the top half. He turned off the burner and let the waning heat finish cooking his snack. In the morning, he’d find out the make and model of Harrington’s vehicle and his address.
He drank half a can of Coke, then plated his omelet and sat at the table. In the next few days, he’d cross paths with Harrington again. This time, he would have a few statements for him, off the record.
Had he lost a friend tonight? A bite of omelet stuck in his throat. He hoped not. The more time he spent with Serena, the more he enjoyed her company. He liked her sense of humor, her grit, the way she viewed her work as a service instead of a money-making venture. She gave herself to others.
Ethan frowned. Would her experience with the reporter hinder her generous spirit or make her distrust men in general? He didn’t want to be painted with the same brush as Harrington.
After washing his plate and fork, Ethan turned off the light and crossed the kitchen. He lifted the phone and dialed.
#
“Still talking to me?”
Serena smiled into the phone, though Ethan couldn’t see it. Her pride still hurt, but his voice brought joy better examined at another time. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. Care to offer arguments in your defense?”
Ethan’s rumbling laughter sent shivers of pleasure racing down her back. “Sounds like you’re already leaning toward a pardon or I’d be listening to a dial tone.”
She curled on her side, rays of moonlight illuminating her darkened bedroom. “Did you eat something when you got home?” Heat rose in her face. “You didn’t each much at the dinner. I meant to offer you a snack before you left.” She’d exited his truck in a huff and practically slammed the front door in his face.
“I’m sorry I upset you, Serena.”
Guilt speared her conscience. He didn’t deserve shouldering the guilt. “I should’ve told you about Mitch the first time you asked for his name.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, grateful he couldn’t see her. “Because Mitch may be pond scum, but he’s good-looking pond scum. I fell for the face before I learned the truth. I didn’t want you to know my people-judging skills apparently rank a negative five on a ten-point scale.”
“And you couldn’t tell me that?”
“Not in person. At least on the phone, I can squirm with embarrassment and you can’t see it. I’m sorry for being evasive. You were just doing your job.”
“In the beginning.”
Huh? She rolled to her back, gripping the receiver, heartbeat thundering in her ears. “And now?”
“You free for lunch tomorrow?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Blackhawk, what kind of trouble are you brewing in the middle of nowhere?”
Ethan smiled. “Lt. Parrish, good to hear from you, sir.” He closed the office door, shutting out the squad room noise, and sat. “Thanks for returning my call.”
Parrish chuckled. “I would have called anyway. Had an inquiry about you yesterday.”
His smile slipped. “Who?”
“Your detective, Rod Kelter. Seems he had questions about you.”
Ethan glanced out his office window at the red-haired detective typing at his keyboard. “Did you answer them?”
“Sure.” Parrish hesitated, then said,
“He’s a sharp man, Blackhawk.”
“Yes, sir, he is.” Ethan turned his chair to face the back wall. “Lieutenant, did you get the information for me?”
“You were right. Tony Coronado is a muscle man, but he’s on a casino payroll.”
He’d figured on Coronado’s connection to the mob. The casino association surprised him. “Which one?”
“The Shamrock. Word on the street is there’s a hit man working with him.”
Ethan’s blood ran cold. “Do you know who it is?” He had a feeling he already knew the hit man’s name.
“Not yet. Watch your back, Ethan. This hit man is good enough the snitches are afraid to talk.”
He didn’t blame the snitches for clamming up. “Lieutenant, I need you to call in some favors.”
“Name it.”
“I’m 90 percent sure I know the hit man’s name. I need confirmation, fast.”
Parrish’s chair squeaked. Ethan pictured the big man leaning forward, elbows on his desk, a familiar pose when he anticipated explosive news. “Who?”
“The Fox.”
Silence greeted his statement. Then, “That would explain his lack of activity here. I was hoping he’d returned to Europe. Can your people handle this?”
Ethan thought about his slate of officers, many under 30 years old and experience limited to Otter Creek and Dunlap County. “Much as I hated to do it, I’ve already left a message for Craig Jordan at the FBI.”
“I know you don’t see eye to eye with Jordan, but that’s a smart move, Ethan. Jordan wants The Fox behind bars as much as you do.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened. He doubted anybody wanted The Fox as much as he did.
#
Ethan stared out his window onto the town square, concern gnawing at his gut. How did Pam get mixed up with a casino, the mob and an international assassin? A sharp rap sounded on his office door.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
Ethan motioned for Rod to close the door and waited for the detective to sit. “Do you have other questions about me?”
He froze. “Sir?”
“Did Lt. Parrish answer all your questions?”
“Yes, sir.” Rod cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Chief.” A flush stained his pale cheeks.
Ethan moved to the front of his desk and leaned against it. “Don’t apologize, Rod. You’re doing what I pay you to do, investigate all the possibilities. A new police chief arrives in town about the same time a burglary spree starts. One of the vics becomes an assault victim. The chief shows up with bruised hands and a lame story about shutters. Then the assault vic is murdered and the chief’s prints are found at the scene.”
He crossed his arms. “If you keep digging, you’ll find out the chief is an ex-Army Ranger, an expert tracker, a crack shot and more than capable of pulling off the crimes in question.” Ethan smiled. “If I was in your place, I would’ve checked up on me, too.”
Rod exhaled, relief evident on his face. “Thank you, sir.”
“Lt. Parrish also told me that Coronado is what we thought, muscle. His partner is one of the mob’s hired guns.”
Rod whistled and jerked out his notepad and pen. “Did Parrish confirm the gunman’s identity?”
“Not yet. He learned that Coronado works for the Shamrock Casino in Las Vegas.”
“What’s he doing out here?”
“I think someone sent him after Miller or Pam. The perps are tearing up the town searching for at least one computer flash drive. Looks like that drive contains information someone’s willing to kill to retrieve.”
Ethan’s phone buzzed. “Chief,” Trudie said, “Megan Cahill wants to see you. Do you have a minute?”
“Send her in.” Ethan hung up, frowning.
“What?” Rod asked.
“Megan Cahill’s here.”
Rod grinned. “Got your bulletproof vest on?”
#
“Ms. Cahill, nice to see you again.” Ethan closed his office door. He waited for her to sit, then moved behind his desk.
“Isn’t ‘Ms. Cahill’ kind of formal since you’re dating my sister?” She pulled out her tape recorder and laid it on her lap.
She doesn’t waste time getting to the point. “Am I?” He hoped they were moving in that direction, but he and Serena hadn’t had enough time together to explore the possibility without some kind of crisis. Maybe he could change that in the next day or two.
Megan smiled. “I need information about Pam’s disappearance for the next edition of the Gazette.” She stationed her tape recorder on his desk, the mike pointed his direction. “May I tape this interview? Keeps me from misquoting any statements longer than ‘No comment.’”
Ethan chuckled. “I’ll give you what I can without compromising our investigation.” He told Megan about the trashed house and Pam’s apparent disappearance. “The state police are helping us look for her car. No sightings yet.”
Megan tilted her head. “Any idea where she might have gone?”
“You think I’d tell you if I did?”
She laughed. “Any possibility the thefts are tied to Pam’s disappearance?”
Ethan gave her points for making the connection. “I don’t have proof of that.” He studied the face so much like Serena’s. Megan’s voice differed from Serena’s, more husky. He’d pay closer attention to Madison’s voice the next time he saw her.
Ethan had reached the end of what he could share. Would Meg know anything useful? “Serena tells me Pam and the Cahills are long-time friends.”
“Turning the interview around, huh?” Megan turned off her tape recorder. “We drove Josh nuts every summer. Can you imagine four boy-crazy teenage girls hogging the phone and bathroom?”
“Sounds like he deserves a survival medal.” Ethan sat back in his chair. “Did you stay in touch with Pam all these years?”
“Most of the time. After we graduated from high school, we drifted in different directions. Madison married Luke two days after graduation, Serena attended culinary school, and I enrolled at UT.”
“What about Pam?”
“She earned a business degree at UNLV.”
Maybe Pam worked for the casino. That would explain the mob tie in. “You said you ladies stayed in touch most of the time. When were you out of touch?”
“We didn’t hear much from Pam after she finished college. Any time Serena flew to Las Vegas to cover vacation time for Uncle Mike’s chef, she called Pam.” Megan shrugged. “Then last year, Pam’s mother died. We all attended Mrs. Oliver’s funeral. To be honest, I don’t think Pam noticed us. Her new boss and his cronies had her wrapped up pretty tight. We didn’t get close enough to express our condolences.”
Ethan sorted through all Megan’s information. “Do you know the name of her employer?”
Megan shook her head. “Some casino. Serena might know.” She rose and stuffed the recorder back in her bag.
Ethan walked with her to the door.
Megan’s voice stilled his hand on the doorknob. “You seem like a good man, but we don’t know you and you don’t know us.” Fierce protectiveness burned deep in her eyes. “The Cahills are a close family, Chief Blackhawk. We protect our own. If you hurt Serena, all the Cahills will be on your trail.”
#
Oh, no. Another one?
“I’m sorry, Serena.” Ella Burch handed her the check. “I included a month’s expenses. I’m sure you have plenty of people on your waiting list to fill my spot.”
Not anymore. She folded the check and slipped it into her pocket. “Can you tell me why, Ella? You seemed happy with the Home Runs menus and prices.”
“It’s the prudent thing to do right now.”
“Prudent? Talk to me, Ella. I can’t fix a problem with Home Runs if I don’t know it exists.”
“Oh no, dear.” Grey curls bounced on her head. “It’s nothing you’ve done. I would recommend your services later.”
“You’d recommend me to others but you won’t hire me?” Frus
tration crept into her voice. “Why?”
“It might not be safe.”
“Not safe?” She cringed. Next, she’d be asking for crackers. She sounded like a parrot. “What do you mean by that?”
“The break-ins.”
What was she talking about? “What do the burglaries have to do with Home Runs?”
Ella sighed. “Oh, don’t be dense, dear. Every house where you worked has been robbed.”
Serena stared at her, horror gripping her gut. “Ella, that’s a coincidence.” Maybe if she told herself that long enough, she would start to believe it. “And it’s only been four places, not all my families.”
“It’s just a matter of time. Once the thieves are in jail, I might reconsider if other options don’t work out.”
Outside in the driveway, she yanked open her car door. What options did Ella mean? Unless Ella had taken cooking lessons in the last few weeks, she couldn’t boil water without starting a fire. No one else in town provided the same service. Did Ella plan to eat out every meal? Wondering how much Meg charged to run an obituary, Serena jammed her key in the ignition and cranked the engine. The headline? Home Runs, Inc., Dead at age one. Cause of death: fear.
As she drove, Serena replayed the conversation with Ella in her mind. Was she right? Were Home Runs’ customers in danger because of her? Who would trust her after this? Was her dream of cooking for families dead?
Not without a fight. Her knuckles whitened. If necessary, she’d work in a restaurant or hotel kitchen part-time until her clientele built up again. She would bring gallon-sized containers of chamomile and mint tea to work. She could work for Grace, provided her rival would hire the competition. Serena’s lip curled. Fat chance of that happening. Ethan needed to catch these guys soon. Her livelihood depended on his success.
#
She parked behind her parents’ house, between Meg’s ‘Vette and her father’s Towncar. The crack of a bat and cheers of her father and sister drifted into the kitchen as Serena closed the door. She smiled. Some things never changed, like the Cahill baseball tradition. “Who’s winning?”
Aaron Cahill’s silver-capped head peered around the corner. “Hi, sweetheart. The Braves just nosed ahead by one run. Want to join us?”
