"I didn't hear my phone," she muttered.
"Because you probably have it on silent," Lindsay said knowingly. "So what's the deal? Are you going to talk to Stephan or not?"
"I'm still thinking."
"You're this close. Why not just take the last step?"
"Again, I'm thinking." Her gaze moved to the cigarette in Lindsay's hand. "Are you smoking again? I thought you quit."
"I did quit – three times. It's been a stressful month," Lindsay replied, a guilty expression on her face. "The kitchen is chaos. We need you to come back to work."
"It's not that I don't want to," she said with heartfelt sincerity.
"But you're still afraid to go inside?" Lindsay's gaze filled with compassion.
She nodded, feeling like a fool. She'd always prided herself on being tough and resilient. She'd had to be that way to survive her childhood. So why couldn't she just walk through a damn door?
"It looks different now," Lindsay said, pulling out her lighter. "The dining room has been painted. The seats have been reupholstered. You won't recognize the place. It's had a makeover."
"What about the kitchen?"
"Well, not much has changed there," she admitted. "But is it really the kitchen that bothers you?"
"It's everything." She frowned as Lindsay started to light. "You are not seriously going to smoke that."
Lindsay sighed. "Fine." She put the lighter away. "Now you do something for me. Come inside."
"It sounds so easy. I know I'm being a coward."
"You were traumatized. Everyone understands that. You found Will, and it wasn't like he was a stranger. You were together. You were in love. He was going to ask you to marry him. It's tragic what happened."
She swallowed back a knot of emotion. "We don't know for sure that he was going to propose."
"Well, we know he loved you. And finding him the way you did had to be horrific. I wish I hadn't left early that night. I wish I had been with you."
"Do you? It might have been you who ended up on the floor, Lindsay. It might have been me, if I hadn't gone out the back to talk to those kids. Or we could all have escaped if Will and I had just left right away. Did you know that the front door wasn't locked? They didn't even have to break in. They just walked in."
"I do know that, and I feel guilty about it, but none of us knew what was going to happen, Adrianna. This is normally a very safe area."
"Logically I accept that, but emotionally I'm still a mess."
"That's why you need to talk to someone."
She shook her head. "I'll work it out."
"A mental health professional could help."
"I don't do shrinks," she said flatly.
"Okay, all right," Lindsay said. "I recognize that stubborn look on your face. So what do you want to do today? You don't have to decide for tomorrow or next week or next year. You just have to figure out the next five minutes."
"That doesn't sound so hard." She lifted her chin. "All right. Let's go inside."
As they walked across the square, Adrianna's resolve was weakened by a wave of panic. By the time they reached the front door, her heart was beating too fast, and she felt dizzy and nauseous, exactly the way she'd felt when she'd seen Will lying on the floor, blood pooling around his head, running through his blond hair.
She stopped abruptly. "I don't think I can do it."
Lindsay put a hand on her shoulder. "Will would want you to move on with your life. He knew that running Vincenzo's was your dream. He wouldn't want you to let his death stop you from having the career you're meant to have."
Lindsay's words rang true, but still …
"Maybe my career is not meant to be in this restaurant," she said. "I could work somewhere else."
"And that would be different? Tell me if I'm wrong, but have you been able to go into any restaurant in the last two months?"
"No, I haven't," she admitted.
"The first step is always the hardest."
"That's what I tell you when you pull a cigarette out, and you ignore me."
"Don't do what I do, do what I say." Lindsay opened the door. "After you."
Adrianna peered inside for a moment, her gaze only reaching as far as the podium where the hostess stood.
There was no carpet at the entry any more, just hardwood floor, and the paint on the walls was a dusky peach color. The hustle and bustle of the restaurant rang a familiar bell in her head. For a second, she felt a pang of longing that didn't quite banish the fear, but reminded her that this restaurant had once been her second home.
She took another step, crossing the threshold, feeling so stressed she thought she might have a heart attack. Her panic increased when she heard the door close behind her, but somehow she managed to keep breathing. The hostess was new, a young, tall blonde, who gave her a curious look, but didn't say anything after she glanced at Lindsay.
Adrianna swallowed hard as she moved a few steps forward. She tried to look anywhere but at the floor.
"Adrianna!" Stephan's booming voice rang across the room.
She focused her gaze on him, grateful for the distraction. Stephan was a short, robust Italian with black hair and dark eyes, a charming personality and a charismatic smile. He loved people and people loved him. He greeted her with a hearty, tight hug that was filled with genuine affection. Vincenzo's was a family restaurant, and the staff was considered part of the family.
"You are very late, but I'm glad you came," he said. "Shall we go into the kitchen?"
She shook her head. "Not today."
He gave her a speculative look and then said, "We'll talk in the office."
"Yes." The office would be safe. There were no bad memories in there.
Stephan ushered her around the bar and down the hall.
She felt better when she entered the office and took a seat in the chair in front of Stephan's desk. The clean, organized atmosphere was calming. Stephan was an excellent businessman and neat to a fault. While he had a warm, gregarious personality, there was no question about his high standards when it came to the restaurant. She'd become a better chef working under his management.
"What do you think of the remodel?" he asked.
"It looks good."
"The dining room is now in excellent shape, but I cannot say the same for the kitchen. We need you, Adrianna. The customers miss your specials. There isn't a day that goes by that someone doesn't ask for you. I want you to be our executive chef. That will mean a raise and better hours. In fact, you can tell me when you want to work. If you need to start part-time, we'll do that."
He was being incredibly generous, and she wanted to say yes to everything, but she had to be honest with him. "It sounds great, but I don't know if I'm ready. I have nightmares. I keep reliving that moment when I heard the shots, when I raced through the kitchen …"
Stephan sat back in his chair, pressing his hands together. "I can't imagine how difficult that was for you." He paused. "We all loved Will, but you two had a special relationship. He was your biggest supporter. He used to tell me I was a fool to wait to name you as my executive chef."
His words only twisted the knife in her heart.
"I'm not sure I can even remember how to cook," she said.
"It will come back to you, Adrianna. It's in your blood. You breathe food. It's who you are. It's what you live for."
He was right. Without cooking, without her career, she had no idea who she was. Which was exactly why she'd been floundering the last two months.
"I don't want anyone else running our kitchen," he continued. "If that means waiting a few days or a week, then that's what we'll do. But I can't wait forever, Adrianna. I hope you understand that."
"I do. You've been generous to wait this long. I really appreciate it."
A knock came at the door, and Stephan said, "Come in."
One of the servers appeared with a large bag. "Hello, Chef," she said to Adrianna.
Adrianna felt a surge of pride at the address.
She had worked so hard to become a chef, was she really going to let fear rule her life?
"Your order," the server said to Stephan, setting a bag down on the desk. Then she left the room.
"What's all this?" she said to Stephan, suddenly suspicious.
"It's your take-out order. The spaghetti isn't as good as when you were making it. Try it, and tell me what's missing."
"Lindsay knows the sauces as well as I do."
"I want your opinion. I put some other entrees in there as well. Just give them a taste, and call me, all right?"
She saw the challenge in his eyes and gave a helpless smile. "You're very sneaky."
"I'll do whatever it takes to remind you of why we need you." He stood up and came around the desk, handing her the bag as she got to her feet. "Call me."
"All right," she replied.
"I'll walk you out."
Stephan didn't say anything more, but she was grateful for his presence as she re-entered the dining room. Again, she managed to keep her gaze focused straight ahead. When they reached the door, Stephan gave her a kiss on each cheek.
As she stepped out of the restaurant, she felt a wave of relief that did not bode well for her returning to the kitchen, but she would leave that for another day. She'd gotten through the door. That was the first step, and for the moment, it was enough.
* * *
"These kids were in the alley behind Vincenzo's the night of the robbery." Wyatt tossed the print from the security camera down on Josh's desk the minute he returned to the station.
Josh glanced up at him in surprise. "How do you know that?"
"Because I ran into the chef from Vincenzo's, Adrianna Cavello. She told me she went into the alley to give some kids pizza. That's why she wasn't in the restaurant during the robbery. And she identified these children as being the ones she spoke to."
"Hold on. She didn't say she saw anyone in the alley when I interviewed her," Josh replied with a frown. "And where did you talk to her?"
"By the fountain near Vincenzo's. I showed her the photo, and she identified the kids. She also said that the youngest girl bore a resemblance to Stephanie." He paced around the desk, adrenaline surging through his veins.
Ever since he'd talked to Adrianna, he'd felt renewed energy. He'd spent an hour searching the streets around the fountain, and while he'd come up empty, he still felt more hope than he had in a long time. "This is the break I've been looking for, Josh. We find the kids, and I think we find Stephanie."
Josh didn't appear convinced.
"What?" Wyatt demanded. "You've got something to say – say it."
"You don't know the youngest girl is Stephanie. The photo is blurry. And why would she be running around San Francisco late at night with two other kids? It doesn't make sense, Wyatt."
"It may not make sense, but it's all I have. I want to get this photo out to every officer in the department. Even if Stephanie isn't one of the children, these kids may be witnesses to the robbery and homicide at Vincenzo's."
"All right. Hang on a second." Josh flipped through a file on his desk. He ran his finger down the page. "Here it is. When I interviewed Adrianna, she said she was in the alley by the garbage bin when the shots rang out. She didn't mention anyone else. I assumed she was taking out the trash." He shook his head, annoyance in his eyes. "I should have asked more questions, Wyatt. She was so traumatized when I first interviewed her, I couldn't get much out of her. The second time we spoke, she was still fuzzy on the details. But I should have pressed harder."
"She should have volunteered the information," he said with a frown, wondering why Adrianna hadn't included the children in her statement. Had she been trying to protect them? But she hadn't been concerned enough about their welfare to call for help when they first showed up at the restaurant.
The click of heels lifted his gaze from Josh to the sparkling, irritated green eyes of his partner, Pamela Baker.
"Where the hell have you been?" she asked. "You told me you'd be back an hour ago."
"I have a lead on Stephanie," he said.
She immediately softened. "Seriously? What is it? Can I help?"
"Josh will fill you in. I need to make some calls. I'm sorry I bailed on you today."
She waved away his apology. "It's fine. I was just annoyed you left me to do all the paperwork on the Delgado case. I didn't realize something more important had come up. You should have told me."
"I wanted to check things out first." While Josh was filling Pamela in, he headed back to his desk. His first call was to a friend at Human Services. Adrianna might not have thought to call for help when she talked to the kids, but maybe someone else had.
Chapter Four
Adrianna stared at the foil containers of food sitting on her kitchen counter. The aroma made her mouth water and also triggered a lot of memories, some beautiful, some painful.
As a child, she'd grown up hungry. She'd gotten used to an ache in her stomach that never quite went away. Food had always been a focus for her – how to get it, how to pay for it, how to stretch noodles into a full meal, how to make sure she had something for the next day. Like the three children who had come to her in the alley behind Vincenzo's, she had also had to scrounge for food at the back door of restaurants or supermarkets.
Wyatt Randall had wanted to know why she hadn't called the police. Will and Lindsay had asked her the same question. But she'd felt a connection to those kids, and when Ben had pleaded with her not to say anything, she'd heard her younger self making that same plea.
But she should have been thinking like an adult instead of like a scared twelve-year-old girl. She should have contacted someone to take the children in. Or at the very least, she should have asked more questions. Should have, could have … guilt was getting her nowhere.
Opening the first container of spaghetti, she pulled a fork from the drawer and twirled the long strands of pasta around it. Her first taste was good, but not great, she thought with a frown, wondering what was missing. She took several more bites. The flavors were close but not quite there. Turning to the mushroom pizza next, she had the same feeling, and also with the lasagna and the cannelloni. The flavors were hinted at, but they weren't bold, or magical.
Setting down her fork, she stared at the containers. She wanted to fix the dishes, to add seasoning, to heat and stir, and love them into magnificence. But that would require her to cook. She could do it here. She didn't have to go into Vincenzo's. She could deconstruct the ingredients and figure out what was missing.
Jumping to her feet, she started pulling out pots and pans and ingredients. For the first time in a long time she actually felt like cooking again.
Two hours later, her kitchen smelled like garlic, onions, oregano and other delicious herbs. Pots and pans were stacked high in the sink, and she'd cleaned out her pantry and refrigerator in search of ingredients, but it had all been worth it. She'd teased the dishes into brilliance, and she was happy with her efforts.
In fact, it was the first time in a long time she didn't feel, sad, angry or guilty.
Cooking had always been her therapy. Which was exactly why she should go back to work.
The restaurant needed her and she needed the restaurant.
The doorbell rang sharply and abruptly, startling her out of her thoughts. Like most apartments in San Francisco, visitors had to be buzzed in. A quick glance at the clock on the wall said it was nine-thirty. Lindsay would still be at work, and she really didn't have any other friends who would just drop by without calling.
She pushed the Intercom and said, "Yes?"
"It's Wyatt Randall. I need to speak to you."
Her heart skipped a beat. Wyatt Randall? What the hell was he doing here? "Why do you want to talk to me?" she asked.
"I have a few more questions about the kids you saw the night of the robbery."
"I told you everything I know."
"Can you let me in? I won't take up much of your time."
She hesitated.
He was a police officer. He should be trustworthy, but she was scared of shadows these days, and letting a strange man into her apartment didn't seem like a smart move. She also suspected she would not like the questions he wanted to ask.
The buzzer rang again, reminding her that he was waiting, and not patiently.
"All right," she said, buzzing him into the building. Then she moved through the living room to the front door.
Her one bedroom apartment was small and cluttered, a mix of colors, styles and furniture she'd picked up from a furniture consignment store. It wasn't much by anyone's standards, but it was home, and it was all hers. Will had suggested they move in together, pool their income and get a bigger place, but she'd put him off. While it had sounded like a lovely idea, she hadn't been ready to give up the first place she'd ever called home. Nor had she been interested in sharing her home with Will. That probably should have told them both something about the depth of their relationship, but it wasn't a subject they'd spent much time discussing.
A knock came at her door, and she quickly opened it, relieved to have a distraction from thinking about Will and the home they would never share.
Wyatt strode through the door, not waiting for an invitation. A man of action, she thought – the kind of man who could turn a woman's life upside down. Not that he was here because he was interested in her, she reminded herself. He was a man on a mission, and she'd somehow become part of that mission.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Why didn't you tell anyone about the kids being in the alley at the time of the robbery? Inspector Burton and I reviewed your statement, and you made no mention of the children."
She'd realized her omission after her first interview with the inspector, but she hadn't come forward, because the information wasn't relevant. The kids had had nothing to do with the robbery and they couldn't have seen any more than she did. She hadn't wanted to put them in the middle of a situation that didn't concern them.
Guilt must have shown on her face, because Wyatt's gaze narrowed. "What's going on, Adrianna? Why did you lie?"
When Wishes Collide Page 4
