by G. K. Parks
“Bennett,” I warned, “you knocked on my door. So spill. What’s going on? Who did you have under surveillance last night?” If he was watching me or anyone I cared about, there would be hell to pay.
“Easton Lango, same as you.”
“Not the same as me.”
“No? Then how did you just happen upon him? It took me an entire freaking day to track down Easton’s location, and you expect me to believe you just stumbled upon it accidentally and with Detective O’Connell in tow?”
I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “Start at the beginning. Why are you following Easton Lango?” I closed the criminal database and searched for Easton Lango on the Cross Security network, but the chef’s name didn’t pop up. “Easton isn’t a Cross Security client, so why are you tailing him? Did one of our clients hire you to spy on him?”
“Not lately.” Renner gave me his best dead-eye stare, hoping I’d crack under the pressure and confess. But since I had no clue what was going on, we might end up stuck in a stare-off all day. So much for my nap. After what felt like an eternity, Renner said, “You really don’t know what’s going on? O’Connell didn’t ask you to take the case?”
“No,” I said, exasperated. “Enlighten me or get out.”
“Lucien doesn’t know about any of this, and I intend to keep it that way. You aren’t the only one who takes the occasional side job.”
That got my attention. I stopped what I was doing and looked up at the former police detective. “Are you sure you should trust me with this information? Cross Security is crawling with rats.” I just didn’t know if I was looking at one of them.
“I trust you. You’ve never given me any reason not to.” Renner attempted a friendly smile and leaned closer. “I need you to keep this to yourself. One of my buddies on the force sent Chef Easton my way. He thought I might be able to help the guy out since the PD didn’t find anything to go on. Easton and I exchanged a few phone calls earlier in the week, but I don’t know much about the situation. He’s convinced someone’s trying to kill him. His restaurant burned to the ground a few months back. The arson investigators ruled it an accident. Fire, police, even the insurance investigators concluded it was bad wiring. No one was at fault, and Easton was cut a check. But last week, Easton went back to the precinct, pestering the police to do something. My buddy, Jake Voletek, caught this guy’s case, but the PD can’t do much. It’s not an open case, and without any evidence to back Easton’s claims, the department won’t waste resources investigating. Voletek thought maybe there was something I could do.”
“Why the secrecy? Why can’t you tell Cross?”
“It’s complicated.”
I knew our boss hated working with the police, but this was ridiculous. “It’s my understanding Chef Easton’s in the running for a Michelin star. That would make him a freaking rock star in the culinary world. Isn’t that precisely the type of client Lucien salivates over?”
“Normally, it is, but Easton’s ex-wife, Bridget Stockton, is on retainer. It’d be a conflict of interest to sign him as a client.”
“Why?”
Renner looked sheepish. “She originally hired us to find out if he was cheating on her. Cross Security tailed Easton. I took several money shots, and she used them to get out of paying alimony.”
“But that’s over and done with, right? Is their divorce final?”
“It is, but Easton’s ex-wife is a partner at Reeves, Almeada, and Stockton. She’s one of the top defense attorneys in the state, and as you know, they contract us to perform investigations for a lot of their cases. Easton may be a big fish, but she’s a fucking shark. Lucien would much rather have her on the hook than her ex.”
“How long have they been divorced?”
“Over a year. I performed the work for her fifteen months ago, but Cross Security’s done a lot of work for Reeves, Almeada, and Stockton before that and since.”
“I didn’t know any of this.”
“You’ve been here for months. How do you not know this?”
I had met Mr. Almeada several times, and Cross had told me we had a barter system worked out between our firm and the law office. But I didn’t realize what that meant. That’s why he wanted distance from the police. If defense counsel feared we might share our investigations or findings with the PD, it would undermine their work product and research, potentially jeopardizing their cases and their clients. “You said you spoke to Easton a few times. Does he know where you work and that you cost him his alimony?”
“Yeah. He figured since we did such a great job for his ex, we must know our shit.” Renner snickered.
“I gave him my card last night after you scared the bejesus out of him. Why did you drive off like a bat out of hell?”
“I thought O’Connell got wind of the case and asked you to look into it. After the shit that went down with you and Kellan, I didn’t want you to think I was spying on you or interfering in your investigation.”
“Idiot.”
“Anyway,” Renner ignored the dig, “that’s actually why I came to see you. Easton called and wants to set up a meeting. Since Cross Security took the initiative to protect him last night, he thinks we’re open to taking his case. He’s on his way here.”
“Are you sure Cross doesn’t know about this?” The one thing I’d learned over the last few months was our boss knew a lot more than he should. He had eyes and ears everywhere, and he wouldn’t approve of Renner’s methods of finding new clients.
“He might, but he’s choosing to ignore it. These situations arise occasionally. And since I know you and Lucien have an arrangement, you’re the only person in the office I trust to handle this.”
Cross and I did have an arrangement, the terms of which we were still hammering out, but suffice it to say, Cross knew I liked to moonlight. And he couldn’t fire me for it. “What do I need to know about your client?”
“Despite our phone conversations, I don’t know much. And technically, Easton’s not my client yet. We don’t have a contract. I promised to do some checking. That was it. He didn’t even tell me where he’d be yesterday.”
I stared at Bennett, wondering if this was a joke. “That’s why you were spying on him?”
“It was part of my process.” He held out the file he’d been holding. “This is what my pal in the police department sent over and my preliminary research.” Renner glanced at his watch. “I gotta run. Lucien gave me a new case this morning, and I’m supposed to meet the client for lunch. I can’t be in two places at once, and since you and Easton already have a relationship, I could use the assist. C’mon, Parker, help a guy out. I’ll owe you.”
“You already owe me.” But I was bored, and this had to be more interesting than performing an endless string of background checks. “I’ll add it to your tab.”
“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver. I’ll let reception know to send him straight to you.”
Before I could say another word, Renner left my office. He moved quickly for a man with a limp. I doubted his injury was much of a detriment, but the police department thought it was, which is how he ended up in the private sector. Honestly, everyone at Cross Security was a broken toy, but some of us hid our scars on the inside.
“Let’s see what we have here.” I rubbed my palms together and splayed open the folder. The first thing I found were dated surveillance photos of Easton Lango in several compromising positions with a limber blonde. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. For a moment, I wondered if she was even legal.
It was the old casework Renner performed for Easton’s ex, Bridget Stockton. Why do men always have affairs with blondes? I wondered. Well, maybe it was true what they say, and this was why blondes had more fun. They just borrowed the guy and didn’t have to deal with any of his drama. If I were smarter and had fewer moral guidelines, that philosophy might have solved some of my problems.
Putting the photos aside, I found the police report and Renner’s current research. The victim, East
on Lango, didn’t have a record or ties to any criminal organizations. He owned a small restaurant that burned down. He filed a claim with his insurance and received compensation. I scanned the arson investigator’s report, but the fire department determined the fire was caused by bad wiring. Before I could figure out why Easton was convinced someone wanted to kill him, my phone rang.
I hit the speaker button. “Yes?”
“Ms. Parker, Mr. Renner’s 11:30 is here. He’s waiting in conference room one.”
“Thanks. I’m on my way.”
I grabbed the file and a legal pad and went down the hall. Last night, Easton wore a bandana, but today his dark blue and silver highlights were on display for the world to see. Chefs are artists, I reminded myself, making a conscious effort not to stare.
Easton wore jeans and a tight black t-shirt, exposing veiny, muscular forearms. His hands were scarred. Compared to most of Cross Security’s clientele, this guy stuck out like a sore thumb. For a moment, I wondered if Renner passed him off to me so he wouldn’t have to admit to the chef’s face he was the reason Easton was missing out on five-figure monthly alimony payments. Then again, I doubted Renner wanted to get into hot water with the boss. It was no secret I didn’t have the same hang-ups as most of my coworkers when it came to job security. I changed jobs almost as often as people changed their socks.
“Mr. Lango?” I asked, entering the conference room.
His sharp brown eyes zeroed in on me, and he glanced into the empty hallway as I pulled the door closed. “I’m supposed to be meeting Bennett Renner, and you don’t look much like a Bennett. You look more like an Alexis Parker.” He fished my card out of his pocket and tossed it on the table.
“He got called away at the last minute. He asked me to speak to you. Is that a problem?”
“Are you his secretary?”
“No, although he offered me the job the first time we worked together.” I closed the blinds and took a seat across from him. “I’m an investigator, just like Renner. But if you’d be more comfortable speaking to him, I’ll have him call you later.”
Easton leaned back in the chair, finding something about the situation amusing. “Nice to meet you, again.” He extended his hand, and we shook. His calloused and scarred palm felt rough against my skin. “I’m Easton, but you already know that.”
“How can I help you?” I settled back in the chair and clicked the pen.
“I don’t know what Bennett’s already told you.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
“My restaurant burned down three months ago.” He reached into the leather jacket hanging on his chair and removed some pages from the inside pocket. He slid the report over to my side of the table and pointed to a highlighted paragraph. “They said it was an electrical fire. Do you believe that shit?”
“Sir,” I began, but he interrupted.
“Easton.” He softened the correction with a dazzling smile, showing a mouthful of perfectly straight, white teeth. Despite the circumstances, his first instinct was to flirt. I was surprised, given how gruff he’d been the previous night, but he’d been afraid. Today, he had nothing to fear, and Nick and Martin were nowhere in sight. I knew plenty of men like Easton. In fact, I was dating one of them. “Chef Easton, if you want to be formal, but it’s entirely unnecessary.”
“What makes you think the fire wasn’t an accident?”
“I know my restaurant. I bought the building. It was mine. My blood, sweat, and tears went into that place. I spent a decade building a following and scraping enough capital together to open my own restaurant. I had countless inspections prior to buying. Everything was checked and rechecked. I wasn’t taking any chances, and two months after it opened, it burned to the ground. This wasn’t bad luck or an accident. Someone intentionally set that fire.”
“Did you receive any threats?”
“Dozens.”
I didn’t expect that answer. “Did you notify the police?”
He flipped through the report. “Yeah, but they didn’t take them seriously. Or they didn’t take me seriously.” The blue hair might have had something to do with it. He spun the paper around. “They didn’t even bother to mention it in their report. See? Nothing. Nada.”
“When did you receive the first threat?”
“A month before I quit my job at Bouillon, someone left a nasty note on my windshield. That was roughly six months ago, give or take.”
“Do you still have it?”
“I should have kept it, but it pissed me off. I crumpled it up and tossed it away. I didn’t think much about it. I figured it was just some prick who didn’t like his meal.” Easton rubbed a hand over his mouth and reached for the glass of water.
“What did the note say?”
“Just that I was a talentless hack who would fail once I went out on my own. I can’t remember the exact wording, but I’m pretty sure it said my dreams would burn to the ground. After that, I got several ugly messages on social media. The police said they were harmless internet trolls, not quite to the level of criminal threat, and there was nothing they could do.” Easton pressed his lips together. “I blocked them and deactivated some of my accounts. Most of it stopped after that, but a few people continued to send vicious messages.”
“Did anyone trace the IP addresses?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it. All I know is it was one thing after another until the fire.” He searched my eyes. “Did you see something last night? You and that cop went after that guy in the car. Do you know who he was or what he wanted?”
“He wasn’t there to hurt you.”
“Are you sure?” Easton asked. “Last night, you seemed just as freaked out as I was. You must have noticed something. Did Bennett find something? Is that why he sent you to keep watch over me?”
“Actually, running into you last night was just a coincidence. I was out with some friends and thought we’d grab a bite.”
“Yeah, okay,” Easton said, unconvinced.
It was time I got us back on track. “Why were you so nervous last night?”
“First night jitters. That was the maiden voyage of Easton’s Eats. I figure whoever burned down my restaurant will come for my truck next. I want to be proactive, but the police don’t give a shit.”
“Have you received any recent threats? Anything since the fire?”
“No, but I know he’s out there, watching, waiting.”
I was intimately familiar with that feeling. Most of the time, I tried to write it off as paranoia, but it rarely was. However, I didn’t know if Easton’s instincts were as finely tuned as mine. “Obviously, you’ve made enemies, Chef. Someone doesn’t want to see you succeed, so tell me about these enemies. Who would threaten you and set a fire?”
He thought for several moments. “I don’t know. Galen Strader. Asher York.”
I scribbled down the names. “Who are they?”
“My rivals. Galen and I have been competing since culinary school, and Asher’s just a prick. To be honest, it goes with the territory. We’re rock stars. Have you ever watched any cooking shows where the chef is a real bastard?”
“I might have seen one or two.”
“It’s not an act. And I won’t apologize for it. Our creations are meant to be perfection, so we hold the kitchen staff to the same insane standards the critics hold us to. Every dish we serve represents us. It has to be perfect.”
I pushed the notepad closer to him. “In that case, I’ll need a list of your employees and coworkers. And while you’re at it, write down anyone who stood to profit from your restaurant’s demise. Investors, competitors, silent partners.”
“You think one of them did this?”
“I know a thing or two about working for a difficult boss, so it’s possible.”
“I’m a hard ass for a reason. My staff knows what to expect. I don’t dish out anything they can’t handle.” He smiled again. “You appear to be a capable woman. I’m sure you’ve never had a case
you couldn’t handle.”
Brushing off the compliment, I asked, “What happened to your staff? Was anyone hurt in the fire?” I slid the report away from him and skimmed the rest of the details.
“No one was hurt. No one was there.”
“Where are they now?”
Easton’s brow furrowed. “I don’t actually know what most of them are doing now. I had a hell of a time dealing with the full-timers and the unemployment office, but after that, everyone went their separate ways. By now, I’m sure they’ve moved on to other kitchens. I lost Dante, my sous chef, to Asher.” He finished writing down the names and shoved the pad toward me. “I want whoever’s responsible to pay.”
“What about your insurance?”
“It kept me from declaring bankruptcy, but I’m ruined, Alexis. May I call you Alexis?”
“I prefer Alex.”
He nodded. “Without a kitchen, I’m no one. I’m Picasso without a paintbrush. The fire took everything. Whoever set it wanted to destroy me, and they succeeded. That’s why I bought the food truck with the insurance money. No staff. No overhead. I just hope it’ll be enough to allow me to rebuild from the ground up and get back on my feet.”
“But you haven’t received any more threats since the fire?”
“No.” He frowned. “This is why the police won’t do anything. They said there’s nothing for them to do. But I don’t want my truck to meet the same fate as my restaurant. I can’t lose everything a second time. I can’t go through that again. I want this bastard to pay.”
I understood the anger. Life wasn’t fair, and it didn’t play by the rules. The police didn’t open an investigation because none of the evidence suggested this was arson. More than likely, bad luck and terrible timing had claimed another victim.
Easton picked up the pen, again finding my eyes. “The police thought I was wigging out and weaving conspiracy theories. Do you believe me, or is this your way of humoring me? Because my time is precious. If you’re not going to take this seriously, I’ll find someone who will. Bennett’s been wishy-washy since the get-go. I just hope you’re not the same.”
Honestly, I didn’t know what to think, but Easton believed he was in danger. My gaze dropped to the burns on his hands. The professionals determined it wasn’t arson, but maybe they got it wrong. “How did you get those? Were you at the restaurant when the fire broke out?”
