She looked worried. “You’re supposed to be certified through the state’s liquor control...”
He grinned. “The woman who broke into city hall is going to worry about that?”
“Maybe if I knew the plan.”
He smiled wickedly. “It’s beautifully simple. I’ll just bet if Delia Tyree did get her jewelry back, she won’t be able to resist wearing at least one piece at her big holiday party. If we can get a photo of her in it we’ll have proof it was returned.”
She frowned at Ben for a long moment. “You think she’d really wear something she claimed was stolen?”
“I do. But most of her guests won’t know whether it was part of that lot or not.”
“What if she doesn’t wear any of it?”
“If we’re there, maybe we’ll overhear something.”
She looked first pleased then reluctant. “You’re starting to sound like me. I’m not sure that’s good.”
“Why, Elizabeth Corazon,” he said with a laugh, “now you know how I feel.”
That was true, she thought. Was she really starting to see the world in a different light?
“I think,” he added, “Tyree’s going to get caught as being part of Pimental’s schemes in the next twenty-four hours or so, anyway. I doubt Pimental will protect him when he starts talking. I’ll call Norton. Maybe he can get the Corpus Christi police to be there if we get anything good.”
She thought about it, her dark eyes fixed on him with uncertainty.
He must be making headway, he thought, because she replied with clear trepidation.
“Okay.”
* * *
“WHAT YEAR IS IT?” Jack asked Ben. They sat at the picnic table in the play set, drinking coffee and eating red-velvet cupcakes Teresa had made for Christmas. Soren and Rosie played on the slide and Helen and Gary had gone to town.
Ben frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m asking if you know what year it is. Or who is president. Or what your date of birth is. If you want Grady, Sarah and me to go to Corpus Christi with you tonight and pretend to be catering staff, I have to conclude that you’ve gone over the edge. It’s not that I’m surprised. I knew this day was coming. It’s just that a couple of days before Christmas is lousy timing. Mom will be really upset.”
Ben sighed at Sarah. “Can you shut him up?”
“Sorry. I think he was born with an Energizer battery in his vocal cords. He can harass like that for hours.”
Ben turned to Corie in feigned surprise. “Huh! That gene must run in the Manning family.”
She elbowed him. “I’m not sure what he wants to do, either,” she told Jack and Sarah, “but I’ve promised to trust him, and it would be nice if I wasn’t in this alone. Please.”
Jack nodded. “Anything for my little sis. Okay, what do we do?”
Ben briefly outlined the plan.
Jack’s narrow-eyed gaze turned to Sarah. She smiled widely. “I waited tables in college. We can do this.”
“I’ve talked to Hector,” Ben said. “He’s getting us in.”
“Getting us out again is what I’m worried about,” Jack countered.
“Not a problem.”
“Without getting shot, I mean.”
“Ha, ha. Without getting shot. Unless you screw up and somehow reveal us to be construction jockeys instead of catering staff.”
“If you—!”
Sarah put both hands up. “Please, stop. We’re doing this for Ben and Corie after all they’ve done for you.”
Jack sighed and finally shrugged his shoulders. Then something seemed to occur to him. “But Tyree knows Corie, right?”
“Right.” Ben had been dreading telling her this but he couldn’t put it off any longer. “She has to stay home.”
Steam almost came out of her ears. “What? No! Ben, I will not be left out of this, out of some misguided—”
“It is not an effort to protect you.” That was just a small lie. “Just think about it. Tyree knows you. And a caterer’s jacket isn’t going to conceal your identity. A simple wardrobe change worked for Superman, but that was a comic book. This is real life—with very important issues at stake.”
She fumed. “Fine,” she said eventually and left the table.
* * *
CORIE WALKED INTO the house, privately making her own plans about Tyree’s party. And while she was at it, she had to talk to Teresa. She found her in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. Corie leaned on the counter beside her. “I have a question,” she said. “Or, rather, a statement.”
Teresa glanced her way, did a double-take and studied her closely. “You look very determined. What is it? Have you taken out a contract on Ben rather than learn to deal with him?”
Corie swatted Teresa’s arm. “No. I want to talk about Rosie.”
Teresa rested the knife on the counter and turned to her.
“I want to adopt her.” The notion had been coming on gradually, and suddenly seemed like the only course of action.
Teresa’s smile formed slowly. “I think that’s the best thing that could happen to her. And to you. But—what about going to school?”
“I can do both. I’m feeling invincible.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding. The thing is...”
“Yes?”
She winced as she asked, “That would hurt Soren, wouldn’t it? I hate that.”
Teresa sighed and folded her arms. “Poor guy. There’s almost no way to avoid hurting him, whatever happens. But he’s smart and adaptable. He’s been happy here. You stayed here happily.”
“I know.” Corie shook her head sadly. “I don’t think I could deal with two kids.”
“Taking one child is big.”
“And yet you do it all the time, knowing you can’t keep them.”
“It’s what I do.” Teresa smiled and wrapped her arms around Corie. “Rosie will be what you do. And she adores you. She’ll be so happy.” Teresa glanced out the kitchen window, distracted by the sight of Grady, Jack, Sarah and Ben. “What’s going on in the backyard? Looks like a summit meeting.”
Corie laughed lightly. “The less you know about that, the better. I’m going home. See you in the morning.”
She heard Teresa’s questioning, “Corie?” but kept going. Explaining Ben’s plan for Tyree’s party—and her own—would not lend Teresa comfort.
* * *
THAT EVENING, DRESSED in dark slacks and jackets bearing the gold Creative Catering logo, Ben, Grady, Jack and Sarah were put to work as part of the team in the Tyrees’ white-and-chrome kitchen.
“Please keep quiet and get yourself in stakeout mode,” Ben told Jack.
“Stakeout mode?”
“Yes. Just keep your eyes open. And watch Mrs. Tyree particularly. The jewelry could be earrings or a necklace or a ring. You remember the stuff we dumped out of Corie’s bag that night.”
“Sort of. I was busy being horrified by what she’d done.”
“Yeah, well, if you were a cop, you’d get over being horrified by what people do. They’re amazingly resourceful at breaking the law.”
Jack was quiet for a minute. “You’ve fallen in love with her,” he said.
Ben met his eyes. “Yes.”
“She’s in love with you.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“What are the two of you mad at each other about?”
Ben moved a stack of trays, preparing to lay them out. “It’s just become a way of life for us. She’s wild and fearless and leans toward criminal solutions to her problems.” He smiled grimly. “But when I try to keep her from harm, I end up doing more shady things than the Soprano family. And I’m a cop! This can’t go on.”
&nb
sp; “So, you’ll figure it out. She wasn’t very happy being left behind today.”
“It just made sense. If Tyree recognized her, we’d be dead in the water.”
Jack’s smile was wry and affectionate. “Love involves a large gray area that can’t be tidily labeled good or bad. You can do things for love that you can’t do for the law. I know you don’t like being off balance like that. But sometimes that’s good. Gives you a new perspective.”
Ben took another tray from him. “Very profound, Yoda. Forget about me and focus on Delia Tyree, okay?”
The words had just left his mouth when the woman in question walked into the kitchen, buxom and smiling in an elegant green-silk gown with pearl buttons down the front. She wore no jewelry that Ben could see, though her ears were covered by long, blond hair.
“Welcome to my home.” She spoke in broad Southern strokes. “We’re looking forward to a very special evening, so I’d appreciate it if you would all treat my guests as very special people.” She waved a hand toward several of the dishes set out on a large chopping block in the middle of the room. Ben focused on her hand, but the back of it was turned away from him and he couldn’t see if she was wearing that ruby ring Corie had stolen. There was no jewelry around her neck.
“The food looks wonderful, and you’re a very handsome crew.” Delia glanced at Grady, who was helping to make open-faced sandwiches with a group of women, and then her gaze lingered over Jack and Ben an extra moment, her smile widening before she addressed the entire staff. “So, please do your very best and Santa might give you something extra.”
The promise dangled in the air and she smiled as she walked away.
“I didn’t see any jewelry,” Jack said quietly. “But then, maybe she isn’t finished dressing.”
“True.”
David Walther, a tall, big man who looked more like a wrestler than a caterer, walked through the kitchen to check on their progress. He stopped beside Ben and Jack. “Everything okay, here?”
“Yes,” Jack replied.
Walther studied him then Ben. He frowned from one to the other. It felt like the time Ben had been sent to work undercover in the next county to smoke out a bartender dealing drugs. A friend of Jack’s had come in and blown his cover. “Hector told me you weren’t very experienced, but that you had class and, as long as you didn’t have to cook, you would make me look good.” Walther didn’t appear to be convinced that was true. “Don’t make a liar out of him.”
“Right.”
“I need champagne glasses on those trays.”
Jack punched Ben in his good arm as Walther walked away. “You’re not selling the caterer’s assistant thing,” he accused. “You always look like a cop.”
“Me? You’re the one with bulging biceps and the eye of the tiger determination that says ‘Army through and through.’”
“Well, pardon me for being good at what I do. What I did.”
“It’s all right. You can’t help it. You’re just a born hero.”
Jack heard something in his voice that made him give Ben a closer look. “Haven’t we had this out before? I’m afraid a lot. I just keep going.” After a moment he added, “You’re a cop. How many people with fear issues are cops?” He looked at him more closely. “You’re afraid of Corie, aren’t you? Of loving her. Of getting her out of her dark memories and bringing her into the fold, into our family.”
Ben hated it when Jack did that—understood him better than he understood himself. “I don’t seem to be getting through to her. Whatever she feels for me doesn’t change anything for her.”
“It will. Give it time.”
“I’m running out of time. I have to get back to work, give my notice and find an office.”
Walther reappeared with boxes of champagne glasses. “Speed it up, guys. Guests will be arriving in ten minutes.”
Without discussion, Ben and Jack concentrated on preparing the trays.
An hour later the huge living room that spilled into a dining room and a sunroom at the back was filled to capacity with guests in glittery holiday dress. The women sparkled and laughed. The men tugged at their collars and talked college football as though it were any other occasion.
The house was lavishly decorated with fat garlands and large pots of cacti entwined with lights.
Ben felt as though he’d been a caterer’s assistant most of his life. It didn’t take long to become comfortable with the tray on the flat of his right hand, lifting it high over his head to work his way between the tight knots of conversation. Dosing himself with ibuprofen before he left home had been a good idea. He was feeling strong and barely noticed his injured arm.
The women smiled at him and some of the men—those for whom he’d gone into the kitchen in search of the bourbon they preferred—slipped tips into the breast pocket of his jacket. He tried to resist, sure Walther would disapprove, but had a pocket full of bills anyway.
Christmas carols provided background music but became almost inaudible as the conversation level rose and the evening wore on. He went to the kitchen to pick up a tray of chipotle shrimp and was distracted by the sight of a shapely woman in a lacy-black evening dress that skimmed her knees. She had short red hair with long bangs that fell into her eyes.
Nibbling on a shrimp, she sketched him a wave and wandered out the back of the kitchen toward the stairs.
It took him a minute to realize that he recognized the easy sway of those hips and the set of that cocky little head.
He caught up with her in three strides and grabbed her arm. Ridiculously, the first whispered words out of his mouth were, “You cut your hair?”
Corie looked up at him, almost unrecognizable under the glamorous makeup.
“No!” she whispered, looking around to make sure they were alone. “It’s a wig.”
She tried to pull away but he tightened his grip and led her back into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”
“I noticed Delia isn’t wearing any jewelry tonight. I thought I’d look upstairs to see if it’s in her drawer.”
“You will not.”
Her eyes ignited. “Ben...”
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t issue orders again...but, then, he was dealing with Corie.
“What if Tyree catches you?” He tried reason. He didn’t think it would work but he tried anyway.
She arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t recognize me and you claim to love me.”
She was going to be the death of him. “I don’t claim to love you. I do love you. But I’m going to murder you if you don’t—!”
Walther walked into the kitchen and Corie said with a light laugh as she patted Ben’s arm, “Thank you, waiter. I so appreciate your getting me the plate of shrimp. My blood sugar drops every once in a while. I shouldn’t have skipped lunch today, but I was buying this dress...” She smiled at Walther as she twirled and the sequined skirt of her dress flared. Ben heard Walther’s intake of breath.
“Fine crew you have, sir,” she said, walking past him. “Very courteous and accommodating.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I’ll tell my host.” Corie smiled charmingly at the caterer. “In fact, do you have a business card? I have an event coming up in late January.”
“Of course.” Walther dug into his inside pocket and handed her a card. He offered his hand. “I’m David Walther.”
She shook it. “Magdalena Manning. Delighted to meet you. I’ll call you soon, Mr. Walther.”
Ben was going to stroke out with tension.
“Now, that’s a woman,” Walther said, watching her walk away.
Ben groaned silently.
You have no idea, he thought.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CORIE STRUCK THE mother lode. The top drawer of the right side
of the French Provincial dresser in the Tyrees’ master bedroom held the large velvet box Corie remembered from the last time she’d been in this room and emptied it into a small cloth bag. Several diamond pendants of various sizes, a gold pendant and a broach of clustered emerald stones. This time, she took only a photo. Well...several, to show that everything stolen had been returned.
She felt so relieved to see everything there, so vindicated. The bedroom door opened and Cyrus Tyree walked in. He stopped in his tracks just inside the door and stared at her for several seconds, his mouth open. The he closed it, and the door, angling his head as he frowned at her.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his eyes going over her in an attempt to identify her. “And what are you doing in my bedroom?”
She helped him by pulling off her wig. It still took him half a minute. She realized he’d only ever seen her in the jeans and sweatshirt she wore at Teresa’s or the waitress uniform she worked in.
“The Ochoa brat!” he said in astonishment. His expression changed to one of comprehension as he pointed to the drawer. “So, it was you who took Delia’s jewelry.”
She nodded. “Here it all is, and yet you told your insurance company, and national television, that all you got in the mail were Mardi Gras beads.”
He shrugged as though that was unimportant and pointed a condemning finger at her. “You stole from me.”
“You stole two years’ worth of rent from Teresa by failing to tell her that your father left the house to her. She’s struggled to pay her rent, when you’ve been the worst landlord on the face of the planet. You never fixed anything and sent Bigelow to throw her out. You’re worse than a thief, you’re a crook! A small-time swindler!”
“You stole my wife’s jewelry!”
“To sell it and pay up Teresa’s rent and try to buy the house from you so we didn’t have to deal with you anymore. There seemed a certain justice in buying the house from you with money from the jewels I stole from you. But it was Teresa’s all along.”
“What happened to that plan?”
“My brother found me after all these years. My very honest brother. He made me send the jewelry back. Honesty’s not a consideration for you, though, is it? You were going to put Teresa and her kids out on the street so you and fat-cat Pimental could split the bribery money from Pennington Properties.”
To Love and Protect Page 19
