Cooking with Kandy

by Peggy Jaeger

  Nothing. No sound, no light, no movement.

  Thinking Kandy might be in the kitchen, he walked across the hallway.

  Again, he found nothing.

  The apartment was quiet. Uneasily so. Stealthily, he moved down to her bedroom. The door was ajar, the light still on, the bed unoccupied. He crossed the carpeted floor with as little noise as possible and went into the bathroom.

  It, too, was empty. He noticed the towel, folded on the rack, and felt it.

  Damp. The shower, as well.

  He moved back into her room and looked around. Her purse was gone, as was her cell phone, and the one he’d given her.

  He jogged back to his room and dialed the number. When the metallic-sounding message came on, Josh cursed and tossed his phone on the bed. Without wasting a moment, he dressed, took his gun out of his briefcase, checked it, and slid it into the waistband of his pants.

  In the parking garage the space her Corvette occupied was empty.

  Cursing, he ran out onto Park Avenue and tried to hail a cab.

  He knew at once that she’d gone to the studio, knowing how work was her salve for everything.

  And he was royally pissed she’d gone alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kandy tossed her purse on her desk and glanced over the day’s filming schedule Stacy had left for her. They’d be shooting two segments patterned on recipes in her new cookbook, so she decided to get the prep work started.

  Taking the elevator to the studio kitchen, she thought of Josh.

  By all rights, as her bodyguard, he should be with her. Because she’d been angry, she hadn’t told him she was leaving. When he found her gone, he’d be mad.

  And right now she didn’t care.

  In the functioning kitchen she preheated two ovens to the desired temperatures. There were six professional stand mixers in a rainbow of colors along one countertop and she pulled two of them to sit next to the ovens, then gathered all the ingredients she needed to prepare the cream cheese–coffee and pineapple-blueberry upside-down cakes on the schedule.

  When both mixtures were placed into buttered and floured tins, she put them in the ovens and set the timers. She wanted to make sure the studio was prepped appropriately, but when she went down the hallway something struck her as off. When she crossed to the set, the studio lights were on. The last thing her crew did every night was shut off the stage lights. To find them blazing bright at two a.m. was odd. The second thing she noticed was the toolbox, opened and sitting atop a counter. It was then she heard a noise coming from behind it.

  “Hello?” she said, startled when her own voice echoed back. “Is someone here?”

  The noise ceased. When no one answered her call, Kandy’s stomach clenched.

  “Hello?” She moved behind the counter and her heart all but stopped.

  “Mark? What are you doing here so early?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” He rose from his crouched position, a wrench in one hand.

  The calm, quiet tone of his voice sent a shivery thread of worry down her spine. She glanced at the wrench and then back to his face.

  “Is something wrong with the oven?”

  Taking a step toward her he said, “Not yet.” His eyes were bright and focused, his gaze glued to her face. Smacking the wrench against one palm, he asked, “Why are you here so early, Kandy?”

  “I—I had some work to do before filming.”

  “That’s too bad. I’d hoped to finally end this today.”

  “End what?” But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew.

  “You.”

  Tossing his hands up in a “What can I say?” gesture, Mark shrugged.

  “Why? Why would you do this to me?”

  “It’s not about you, Kandy.” With a shake of his head and a frown, he added, “It’s those damn iron-clad contracts of the network’s. They can’t be broken.”

  “Any contract can be broken, Mark.”

  “Yours can’t.”

  Squinting, the bright set lights haloing him from behind, she asked, “Is this why you’ve been tormenting me? Just to get out of your contract?”

  He nodded again. “It was the only way I could think of. Try to rattle you, maybe get you to take a leave. I figured I could get production stopped, the show would be put on hiatus, or better yet, canceled.” He shook his head, his gaze trained on her face. “You should have stayed away from the studio, like I warned you to. I’ve got no choice now. This has to look like an accident.”

  Adrenaline shot through her system. In the time it took to decide what she should do, she sprinted across the studio, aiming for the hallway. Running as fast as her legs would take her, Kandy felt herself tackled from behind just as she reached the closed set door.

  Mark shoved her up against it, the force of his body flattening her face across the steel portal. He ground the sharp edge of the wrench against the small of her back, pinioning her to the door.

  “This show’s killing me,” he growled into her ear. “Killing my career. I’ve got opportunities. Now. Not in two years, when the contracts expire. I’m sorry, but I’ve got no choice.”

  He grabbed her ponytail and yanked her away from the door.

  Kandy saw lights explode behind her eyes when he hauled her in front of him. She tried to smack at him with her hands and nails.

  When he brought the wrench down hard on her shoulder, Kandy felt the blow, sharp and cutting, and then the room dissolved into blackness.

  * * *

  “Can’t you go any faster?” Josh asked the cabbie.

  “There’s laws against speeding, mister.”

  Josh pushed back into the seat, disgusted.

  It had taken him ten minutes of running around Kandy’s neighborhood before he found a cab with its light on. It was just his luck the cabbie had to be an honest, law-abiding citizen.

  “We’re almost there,” the driver said.

  Josh saw the building looming close ahead. Before the cab came to a complete stop, he tossed a twenty-dollar bill at the driver and bolted.

  “You want your change?” the cabbie called.

  Josh ignored him and tore up the front steps.

  One of the night watchmen rose from his seat as soon as Josh burst through the revolving door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the man asked, a hand dangling above his weapon belt.

  Josh tore his license from his wallet and shoved it in the man’s face.

  “Is Kandy Laine here?”

  Gazing from the picture on the license to Josh several times, the man finally asked, “Why do you want to know?”

  With every ounce of reserve he could muster, Josh blew out a breath and said, “I’m her bodyguard. She left without telling me where she was going. Now, is she here?”

  Nodding, the man snorted. “Gave you the slip, huh? Yeah, she’s here. Came in about a half hour ago. Said she had work to do.”

  Without thanking him, Josh ran to the elevator and pushed the button for her office floor.

  What was I thinking?

  Leaning the back of his head against the ice-cold metal, Josh realized he hadn’t been thinking at all. He’d been reacting, pure and simple.

  To the way Kandy looked when she reached out to him.

  To the way she smelled—sweet and tangy like warm apricots—when he cradled her close.

  To the delicious way she tasted.

  No thoughts were needed when it came to figuring out why he’d broken every rule he’d made for himself and given them both an hour of relief, of pleasure.

  Of love.

  Jumping out of the elevator when the door opened, he bolted to her office.

  “Kandy?”

  When he found it empty, he searched her desk. Seeing the day’s shooting schedule, he quickly guessed she was in the studio.

  Forgoing the elevator, he shot to the stairwell and thought about
how he’d left her, the harsh words between them, and the way he’d hurt her.

  His only thought was how he could make it up to her.

  The bitter odor of gas assaulted him when he pushed through the studio doors. Alarmed, he ran down the corridor to the set, the smell becoming more intense the closer he got.

  The scene he found stopped him dead.

  Kandy was sprawled on the floor in front of an open oven, not moving. Mark Begman stood over her, a propane torch in one hand, a cigarette lighter in the other. The hiss of gas releasing from the oven was loud and Josh’s nostrils burned at the acrid stench.

  “I’m sorry about this, Kandy, I really am,” Mark said. He coughed and swiped a hand at his eyes. “It’s my only way out.”

  Mark cocked the lighter open. Without thinking, Josh called out, “Mark, no.”

  The assistant director turned, the lighter and unlit torch still suspended in his grasp.

  “Keane.”

  Josh ran toward him, the powerful smell choking him.

  “No! Stop,” Mark called out. “Don’t come any closer.”

  Josh halted. “What are you doing, Mark? Don’t light that torch. This whole room’ll blow.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Josh inched closer. “Think about what you’re doing. You’ll kill yourself along with Kandy and me.”

  “No, I won’t. I’ve got it timed. Stop right there, Keane. Stop.”

  Josh pulled up short.

  “You won’t get away with this,” he said. “You know you won’t.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Is it worth committing murder just to get out of a contract?” Josh asked.

  Mark’s face registered his surprise. “You know?”

  “About the contract and your chance to direct.”

  “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I can’t let that damn contract stop me. Not now. Not when I’m so close.” Mark lifted the lighter.

  Josh needed to get closer. His gun was tucked into the back of his pants, and he knew he could stop Mark if he could get off a good shot.

  Mark flicked open the lighter, moved his thumb to the crank position.

  “Mark, don’t!”

  As the words came from him, Kandy moaned and rolled to her side, her hands bracing her head.

  Distracted, Mark glanced at her and Josh took his chance.

  In three steps he had his gun out, poised and cocked at the AD. “Drop them, Mark. Drop them! Now.”

  Josh knew he was on dangerous ground. One spark from either the lighter or his gun would set the place ablaze.

  “Mark?” Kandy rubbed her neck. “What are you doing?”

  “Kandy! Get up. Run.”

  She looked over at him.

  “Drop them, Mark,” Josh repeated, his eyes never wavering from the man.

  With one swift glance at Kandy, Mark tossed both items directly at Josh and bounded from the set. Josh deflected them, ran to Kandy and asked, “Are you okay?”

  Helping her stand, his arms tight around her, Josh saw the dark, ugly bruise forming on her neck.

  “Y-yes.”

  He reached over to the oven and turned the knob to shut the gas off.

  “Come on.” He hauled her from the room, through the double doors and into the hallway. Gently, he slid her to the ground. “Stay here.” He shoved his cell phone into her hand. “Call 911.”

  “Where are you going?” she cried, trying to hang on to him.

  “Call.”

  He ran in the direction Begman had.

  * * *

  The heavy sound of feet running on metal was all the information Josh needed to know where Mark was headed.

  The roof garden.

  Gun still poised and ready, he took the stairs three at a time until he came to the entrance. The access door was thrown wide open.

  Josh went through it.

  During the daytime, sunlight engulfed the huge terrarium, warming it, bathing it in natural, brilliant light.

  Now, in the dark dead of night, the large, rectangular structure threw shadows and confusing curves at the naked eye. The day’s warmth was gone, replaced by an eerie, dank chill.

  Josh bumped into a table, stifled a curse, and slunk along the edge of it for a reference point.

  “Mark, I know you’re in here.”

  Silence.

  Creeping, Josh moved around the perimeter of the table, his eyes trying to adjust in the faint glow seeping in from the moon.

  Through the wall-to-wall glass he could see night was fast ending and being replaced by the inky blackness that evolves before dawn eventually creeps over the horizon. In a moment there would be barely any illumination in the garden.

  “Come on, Mark. It’s over. Don’t make this any harder on yourself. Give up now before the police get here.”

  A soft noise to his left made Josh turn. He never saw the clay pot that pounded down on his trigger arm.

  He cried out as the gun shot from his hand, skittering across the floor and out of his reach.

  Mark flew after it. In considerable pain, Josh bounded to it as well.

  Striking him from behind, Josh landed a blow to the side of the AD’s head. Mark countered it by shifting and knocking Josh to the ground. Rolling, each vied for dominance. Mark’s fist connected with Josh’s throat as his own hand rammed into the AD’s midsection.

  A shaft of light illuminated Josh’s gun and both men saw it at the same time. Mark, who’d been on top, sprinted up and crab-crawled to it, Josh at his heels.

  The elevator arrival chime pinged in the distance.

  Both reached the gun at the same moment.

  Josh thought he had a good grip, but just as he tried to fully wrap his hand around the butt, Mark elbowed him in the throat again, knocking him backward.

  Recovering, Josh rose up on the balls of his feet and pushed Mark forward, the gun tight in his grasp.

  A moment later, as the struggle for the gun continued, the elevator door opened and the room was thrown into a stark stretch of fluorescent light.

  The gun discharged, the blast loud and echoing.

  The last sound Josh heard was Kandy’s scream.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Drink this,” Kandy said, handing him a filled-to-the-brim coffee mug.

  “Grandma’s blend?” His voice was dry and gravelly, an aftereffect of being punched twice in the throat.

  With a nod, she said, “It’ll help.”

  “I don’t think a cup of coffee is going to help heal a bullet wound or make him feel better, Kandy,” Gemma said, looking at her sister over the kitchen counter, her eyebrows creased in twin commas of irritation.

  “You’d be surprised,” Josh said, taking a long, blissful draught of it. Staring across the counter at Gemma, he repeated, “You’d be surprised.”

  It had been a long, tedious few hours.

  Just as Kandy arrived in the herb garden, two armed security guards with her, Josh’s finger gripped the barrel of the gun, Mark’s finger its trigger. In an instant Josh made a decision to roll right and would think later about how fortuitous the action had been. Mark pressed the trigger at the same time Josh yanked on the AD’s hand. The result had been the bullet’s deflection off Josh’s flank instead of straight into his torso. It was obvious Mark wasn’t used to firearms, because he fell backward from the recoil, which gave Josh the edge. He planted his balled fist squarely into Mark’s nose, causing a knockout that left both of them sprawled on the floor.

  A second later, when Kandy threw the lights on and saw Josh’s fallen and bleeding body, she screamed again and flew to his side, while the security guards restrained an unconscious Mark.

  All his protestations that he was fine, just bullet grazed, fell on Kandy’s deaf ears. She became an oracle of command, issuing orders left and right to the security guards, and then the police and paramedics, who arrived soon after.

  She
rode in the ambulance to the hospital with him, gripping his hand in a vise clutch. When the paramedic guided an intravenous needle into Josh’s arm, her face paled and her lips blanched.

  They were met at the hospital by a frantic Stacy, Gemma, and Hannah, who had been notified by the police, at Kandy’s request. Reva arrived as Josh was being wheeled into the emergency room bay. Kandy was prepared to march right in with him, but an intractable nurse instructed her to wait outside. When she’d begun to loudly and vehemently protest, it was Hannah who was able to pull her daughter away before they were asked to leave altogether. The moment Hannah saw the growing bruise on the back of her daughter’s neck, she’d then started shouting her own orders, demanding someone examine Kandy. While Josh had been tended to, Kandy had been as well. A very quick exam and then a trip to X-ray confirmed she was bruised and battered, but had not suffered any more serious injuries.

  Ten stitches, an official visit from two responding officers, and five hours later, Josh was discharged into his own care.

  “Is this nightmare really over now?” Reva asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, draining his coffee mug. Before the ceramic hit the table, Kandy was refilling it.

  “Thanks.”

  “I still can’t believe it was Mark,” Gemma said, wrapping her fingers around her upper arms. “Why didn’t he just ask to be let out of his contract?”

  “I know why,” Stacy told them.

  With all their attention settled on her, she took a deep breath. “After speaking with you, I called the legal department,” she said, looking at Josh. “The way the network set up the out clauses, it monetarily penalizes anyone who wants to leave before the contract ends. Heavily.”

  “How heavily?” Josh asked.

  “Depending on the position, anywhere from half to three-quarters of a year’s salary per year left on the contract.”

  “As an AD, Mark must make what? Sixty, seventy thousand a year?” Gemma asked.

  “Ninety-five,” Stacey said. “I had personnel pull his salary records.”