“I like that. I like keeping people alive. I like knowing I’m doing something good with my life.”
He nodded. “That’s how I feel about my work with the charity. Being a psychiatrist is great and I know that I help most of my patients, but being actively involved in the charity really excites me. Making a difference in a kid’s life, a parent’s life. That’s a natural high.” He smiled and leaned closer. “I think we could do some great things together. What do you think?”
“I think we think alike. Why don’t we see how the first date goes and revisit this topic at a later time?”
He laughed. “Okay, I’m not in a huge hurry.”
“Well, I am.” Amy popped up behind the swing and Olivia gave a surprised laugh.
“Are you eavesdropping?” Wade asked. Olivia heard the amusement in his voice.
“Of course,” Amy said. “How else am I supposed to know what’s going on around here?”
“You sound like a friend of mine,” Olivia said.
Stacy’s head appeared next to Amy’s. “When are y’all getting married?”
Wade flushed and Olivia turned away to hide her grin while he shushed the girls.
Erin Abbott had brought Stacy by and quietly apologized to Wade. He’d hugged her and told her not to think another thing about it. She was so relieved she almost started crying. “Thank you.”
“Anytime you need some time off, just let me know. I’m more than happy to keep Stacy.” He glanced at the girls bent over Stacy’s new phone. “And I don’t think Amy will argue.”
Erin’s gaze jumped between him and Olivia, and Olivia tensed, wondering if the woman was going to be as snarky as she’d been at church, but she had just smiled. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours to get her.”
Now Olivia leaned her head back against Wade’s arm and closed her eyes. Thank you, God, for not giving up on me. And for helping me conquer my fears.
“Get out of here or I’m going to tickle you,” he growled playfully.
Olivia opened her eyes to see Amy roll hers. “Puleeze, Dad. I’m almost thirteen.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Amy grabbed Stacy’s hand. “Come on, let’s go check out your new makeup and you can tell me what Jason said about me.”
The girls ran inside and Wade sighed. “Life won’t be perfect, you know,” he said, his voice rumbling in her left ear.
“I know. I don’t expect perfect.”
“Well, if you plan to continue your line of work, I don’t expect it will be boring either.”
“Nope. Probably not.” She bit her lip. “Are you all right with me doing what I’m doing?”
He shifted his wounded shoulder. “As long as you’re a better dodger than I am.”
She raised his hand and kissed it. “I’ll do my very best,” she promised. Then looked into his eyes. “I have too much to live for.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
Her phone buzzed and she lifted a brow. “That’s the mayor. I’ll have to take it.”
“Go for it.” His eyes reflected his pride in her.
She gave him another quick kiss and pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“We have a celebrity coming to town next weekend who’s received some death threats. Are you available?”
Olivia felt peace sweep her. This is what she’d been called to do. She glanced back at Wade. This, and to be a part of a very special man’s life.
“I sure am.”
A TASTE OF YESTERDAY RESTAURANT
12:34 AM
SATURDAY
Chink, chink, chink.
Seated at the desk and studying the frustrating spreadsheet, Daniel Matthews had ignored the sound for the past five minutes. Until he realized it wasn’t supposed to be there. It came from somewhere below him, a barely-there noise, but one that had him curious. He looked up from the computer. Everyone else had gone home for the night, leaving him alone in the building.
Hadn’t they?
Of course he was alone. He’d escorted his new head chef, Marie Stewart, out the door and to her car. When she drove away, he’d returned to the restaurant and locked himself inside. He tapped his pen against the paper on the desk and thought. Okay, so if he was the sole occupant, what was making the noise? Something with the water heater again?
Chink, chink, chink.
Didn’t sound like the water heater, but what did he know? He rose from the desk and walked to the open office door. Just beyond the threshold, the steps to the basement and wine cellar were to his left. The door stood open because he’d promised his closing staff he’d take care of locking up. Before he left, he planned to check the wine inventory—he just hadn’t gotten to it yet. The numbers on the spreadsheet had captured his attention.
It was past midnight. He’d come down to the restaurant after putting in a full day in his fifth-floor office at the headquarters building. He might be the CEO of A Taste of Yesterday, Inc., but he still liked to keep his hand on the day-to-day operations of all of his restaurants. This one in particular, since it was his newest establishment.
The chink, chink, chink sounded again. He frowned and flipped the light on in the stairwell, revealing brick walls that were original to the old 1860s building. One of the few structures in Columbia that had survived Sherman’s 1865 march when he and his troops had nearly burned the city to the ground.
Daniel started down. His hand slid along the rail and he tried to listen over the echo of his shoes on the matching brick steps. At the bottom, he paused, the chill of the basement penetrating the wool sweater he had on over a long-sleeved T-shirt. At the bottom, he stopped. Listened for the sound.
Heard . . . a footstep? “Hey! Is someone down here?”
He walked past the wine cellar. Just past that, rows of storage shelves greeted him on either side of the brick path that ran between them. He continued toward the back of the basement, his heart pounding a bit faster, his blood humming through his veins. As he got closer to the back, the temperature dropped. A lot. Why was it so cold in here?
A shuffle of a footstep up ahead made him pause. “Hello? Who’s there?”
No answer. But he knew someone was there.
Uneasiness crept through him and he wondered at the wisdom of continuing on in his search for the source of the noise.
Chink, chink, chink.
What was that? The noise was louder now, so it was definitely coming from down here. More footsteps. But fainter. Daniel moved back to the wine cellar and grabbed a bottle of wine from the nearest rack. Probably not much of a weapon but better than nothing. He patted his back pocket. He’d left his phone upstairs. He grimaced. Of course. And the Beretta M9 he’d slipped from his coat pocket into the locked top drawer of his desk wouldn’t do him any good. He rarely went anywhere without the gun on him, but had gotten too comfortable in his office. If he went to retrieve the weapon, whoever was down here would get away. If he confronted the person, it could be a deadly mistake. Then again, it was highly unlikely the person up ahead would know Daniel had once been a Marine. Daniel would use that to his advantage.
He gave a low grunt. So be it. Hand-to-hand combat it would be. No one was going to break into his restaurant and not expect to face consequences.
With his adrenaline surging, he made his way back toward the sound. The recently replaced exposed pipes above his head rumbled. He’d never noticed that before. True, he’d had everything checked out before he bought the place, but since it had been renovated and opened to the public, he’d spent little time in the basement.
He finally came to the end of the row of shelves. The room opened up and light from the parking lot filtered through the open basement door. He heard the roar of an engine, and a chill that had nothing to do with the basement temperature swept over him. He raced to the door in time to see taillights fade into the distance. Someone had been in the basement. But why? Who?
A gust of wind caught him full in the face and he flinched. Goosebumps pebbled his
skin.
Chink, chink, chink.
Daniel spun toward the sound. His eyes landed on a body hanging from the ceiling pipe, held there with a chain wrapped around his neck. Daniel inhaled sharply and backpedaled as he stared at the grotesquely distorted features gently swaying back and forth.
Another heavy burst of wind came through the open door behind him and the extra length of the chain knocked against the exposed pipe.
Chink, chink, chink.
Katie Singleton fought a yawn as she crossed the Broad River on 76 and headed home. To her left, just off Elmwood Avenue, blue and red flashing lights caught her attention. Briefly she wondered what was going on, but was too tired to think any more about it. At least it was a good tired.
She’d just come off a job that had ended well. It had been a fun concert with a well-behaved, well-mannered celebrity who appreciated—and listened to—her security team. Otherwise known as a dream assignment. As far as she was concerned it was the perfect way to start her week of vacation. Well, week of renovation. Which was vacation to her. She’d just purchased the home she’d grown up in as a child. A 1920s Charleston-style home on Gadsden Street that was “livable,” but still needed a lot of work.
She glanced in her rearview mirror, the law enforcement lights catching her attention once again as she passed them. Was that Daniel Matthews’s restaurant? A Taste of Yesterday? Riley Jamison, Daniel’s niece, was one of Katie’s students in the self-defense class she taught twice a week at the local gym. Katie made a spontaneous decision and pulled off at the nearest street. She swung onto Elmwood and headed back toward the lights.
When she got closer, she slowed and could see the action going on toward the back of the building. She also recognized Detective Quinn Holcombe, a man she worked with in a professional capacity on a regular basis. She rolled to a stop outside of the tape that had already been strung and caught Quinn’s eye. He lifted a brow and jogged over.
She lowered her window. “What’s going on?”
“Katie.” He placed a hand on the hood of the car and leaned over. “What are you doing here?”
“I was on the way home from the concert across the river and saw all the lights. It looked like it was coming from here. I know Riley Jamison, Daniel Matthews’s niece.”
The light went on for him. “I see.” He shook his head. “Apparently someone broke into the basement of the restaurant and hung himself.”
Katie blinked. “Hung himself?”
“Well, that’s what it looks like. I’m not saying that’s what happened.”
“Murder?”
He hesitated and she knew it wasn’t because he was talking out of turn. Thanks to the mayor and her work with the Elite Guardians, Katie had special credentials that allowed her to be “read in” on cases, even contracted as a professional in certain circumstances. “Maybe,” he finally said. “I think so, but that’s just speculation. We’ll have to wait for the ME’s report, of course, but . . .” He shrugged. “Matthews said he heard footsteps and made it to the door just in time to see a car drive away. Like I said, we’ll see.”
“Do you know who the victim is?”
“The chef Matthews fired week before last.” He consulted his notebook. “Maurice Armstrong. Apparently they had words after Matthews caught him stealing from him and confronted him. Armstrong denied it, but Matthews had it on video. He told him if he ever set foot on one of his properties again, he’d turn him in and have him arrested.”
“Ooh, that doesn’t sound good.” She frowned. “Why didn’t he call the police and have him arrested?”
“Armstrong has a fifteen-year-old daughter he’s got sole custody of. If he goes to jail, she goes into the system.”
“Sounds like Matthews is not such a bad guy.”
“I don’t think he is. I think he’s tough—he’s a former Marine who served two tours in Afghanistan—but he’s also got a good heart.”
A man who could take care of himself then. And while his actions sounded honorable—even compassionate—were they? Or had he not reported the theft for ulterior motives? From what little she’d picked up from Riley, the girl adored her uncle. But she might have on rose-colored glasses. “Matthews—Daniel—was here alone? And he found the body?”
Quinn pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah.”
“You think he killed him and staged it to look like a suicide?”
“I think someone did. Don’t have the feeling it’s Matthews though.” He shrugged. “We’ll know more as time passes.”
“If it’s truly a suicide, I can see hanging himself in the restaurant as being some sort of freaky revenge for Daniel firing him. But other than that, why would anyone kill him, then decide to string up his body in the basement of a restaurant where he used to work—and was subsequently fired from?” she murmured.
“Good questions. The only answers I can come up with for now would be to make Matthews look bad. Guilty.”
“Frame him?”
“Yeah. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.”
“No doubt. Any security cameras?”
“On the front of the building. One on the back. We’ll take a look and see what they show.”
She glanced past him. “Where’s Bree?”
Brianne Standish, Quinn’s partner, was usually on the scene with him, only Katie hadn’t spotted her.
“Her sister had a DUI, she’s dealing with her—and her mother.”
Katie winced. “Ouch.”
“Tell me about it.”
Bree had some family issues that were making her crazy, but she was coping as best she could—and she had a partner who understood and had her back. “All right, I’ll get out of here. I just wanted to . . .” What? She shrugged. “I don’t know what I wanted. Guess to make sure Riley wasn’t somehow involved.”
Another officer rushed from the building. “Quinn!”
Quinn straightened and turned. “Yeah?”
“We’ve got another development.”
“What’s that?”
“One of Matthews’s other restaurants is burning over on North Lake Drive.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. Apparently, it’s been burning awhile. Fire trucks are already on the scene.”
Quinn tapped the hood of Katie’s car. “You want to join the fun?”
Katie considered it. Did she? Could she? As an ex-ATF special agent and trained arson investigator, the thought of the fire intrigued her. Flashes from the past made her hesitate. “Um . . . no. I don’t think so.”
Quinn studied her for a moment. “You know you want to.”
Yes. Yes she did. “Okay, I’ll ride over. I know where the place is.” She bit her lip wanting to recall the words. But she didn’t.
She caught the brief flash of surprise in his eyes before he nodded. “Good. See you there.”
“Where’s Daniel?”
“Still answering questions. He’s pretty shaken up.”
“Are you going to arrest him?” she asked.
He blew out a puff of air. “No. Like I said, I don’t think he did it. But even if I did think him guilty, I’ve got no evidence to support an arrest tonight.”
She hesitated. “Why don’t I give him a ride? I can come back this way on my way home and drop him off to get his car.”
“I’ll tell him.”
So much for starting her vacation.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my parents and my in-laws for your willingness to keep my kids so I can travel to conferences or just spend time writing.
Thanks to Andrea Doering, my fabulous editor at Revell, and to Tamela Hancock Murray of the Steve Laube Agency. I appreciate you and all you do!
And thank you, Barb Barnes, for your excellent work on this manuscript—and others. You truly make them the great reads that they become.
A huge thanks to Wayne Smith and Drucilla Wells, beta readers extraordinaire—and retired FBI agents who know their stuff. Anythin
g that is found lacking in this area of the book is totally my fault.
Thanks to my sweet Tuesday afternoon “critters,” Edie Melson, Vonda Skelton, and Alycia Morales. I value your friendship so much—and your excellent feedback on various portions of the manuscript. Love hanging out with you girls!
And thank you to DiAnn Mills, who’s always up for a Skype brainstorming session! Love you, sister!
And, of course, thank you, Jesus. You are my everything.
Lynette Eason is the bestselling author of the Women of Justice series and the Deadly Reunions series, as well as No One to Trust, Nowhere to Turn, and No Place to Hide in the Hidden Identity series. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Romance Writers of America. She has a master’s degree in education from Converse College and she lives in South Carolina. Learn more at www.lynetteeason.com.
Books by Lynette Eason
WOMEN OF JUSTICE
Too Close to Home
Don’t Look Back
A Killer Among Us
Gone in a Flash (ebook short)
DEADLY REUNIONS
When the Smoke Clears
When a Heart Stops
When a Secret Kills
Retribution (ebook short)
HIDDEN IDENTITY
No One to Trust
Nowhere to Turn
No Place to Hide
ELITE GUARDIANS
Always Watching
www.LynetteEason.com
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