Читать книгу Tempting Target - Addison Fox - Страница 13
ОглавлениеReed skimmed the police report, the sounds of the precinct fading as he dived into the data. Robert Barrington might not have a rap sheet, but Charlie McCallum wasn’t so lucky. He’d been fairly clean since hooking up with Leah Tate, Cassidy’s sister, but before that he’d had some issues.
Disturbing the peace. A few suspicious vice notations about his presence at parties with drug paraphernalia, even if he managed to slide on actual possession. And a nice big DUI the summer he got out of college. Was it possible the love of a good woman had made him go straight?
Reed fought a snort and knew the facts already gathered told a vastly different tale.
Charlie’s present home in the city morgue, along with the confession Robert gave Cassidy that Charlie had been responsible for his wife’s death, suggested McCallum had never gone straight.
He’d just gotten better at hiding it.
“So what were you doing all that time, Charlie?”
Reed brought up a state database on his laptop and fiddled with a few search queries before shifting gears to focus on the mysterious disappearance of Robert Barrington’s bond paperwork. He’d already ordered up the video feeds from that day and should have them later this afternoon.
In the meantime, he was going to do some old-fashioned detective work and go visit his mother.
While he avoided dragging her into his cases, her knowledge of Dallas’s elite from both inside and out made her an invaluable resource. And while he wouldn’t quite say Charlie McCallum and Robert Barrington had been part of the city’s elite, they’d played in that world.
Desperately wanted in, if his suspicions were correct.
Twenty minutes later he pulled into the driveway of the Park Cities home his mother and Tripp made theirs. Despite the oppressive heat, the flower beds that surrounded the massive structure were full of bright, perky flowers that practically winked in the still air.
His mother answered the door herself and he was caught—as always—by the sheer, genuine beauty in her face. Diana Graystone Lange had always seen the world in vibrant, rich colors, and those same colors seemed to reflect back on her, projecting a vivid warmth. “Reed! Darling, come in.”
She ushered him inside before dragging him into a tight hug. Her head came just below his chin and her petite frame was slight in his arms. As always, she gave him one last tight squeeze before she pulled back, her smile warm and her gray eyes sharp.
She’d always had that ability. To keep her smile as a vivid beacon of distraction while her eyes did all the work. “While I’m delighted by it, what’s brought this midday visit?”
“I can’t have lunch with my mother?”
“You can have lunch with your mother. But since you rarely do so on a random weekday, I suspect you’re here for a bit more.”
He pulled her close in a side-armed hug as they walked down the long foyer toward the kitchen. “I think they need to give you the detective’s shield.”
“I’m a mother. It amounts to the same thing.”
A large pitcher of iced tea sat on the table, a thin cotton cloth wrapped around it to catch the sweat, and she poured them two glasses. “Tripp’s not joining us?”
“He said he might, but he was still at the club when I spoke to him a few minutes ago. I think it’ll just be us today.”
While he and Tripp had come to care for each other, Reed suspected the older man understood better than he let on that he needed to give the two of them space today.
“As a matter of fact, I do need to ask you a few questions.”
She handed him the glass and gestured him toward a seat at the kitchen table. Although they had a formal dining room that could seat the Dallas Cowboys football team, when it was just the two of them, his mother always insisted on the more insular warmth of the kitchen.
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“I caught a case last week. One that isn’t what it appears.”
He quickly filled his mother in on the past week, surprised to realize in the retelling just how much had occurred. The seemingly run-of-the-mill break-in at Elegance and Lace that had opened the strange turn of events that included fake copies of the British crown jewels in the floor, three genuine rubies that had lain nestled in with the fakes and two dead bodies.
“The crown jewels? As in the royal family and British crown jewels?”
“According to the landlady, yes.”
His mother refilled their glasses before crossing to pick up a quiche cooling beside the stove. “You realize just how unbelievable this is? I knew there were fakes made during the war, but they’ve always been a closely guarded secret, including the hiding place of the real jewels. But to think they saved the copies and that they were buried here all this time. In Dallas, Texas. How did they even get there?”
“Josephine Beauregard. The landlady. It was her father who made the fakes.”
“So why not destroy them? I can’t believe they’d want them around after the threat of war had passed.”
“That’s what I asked. Apparently it’s got something to do with the rubies.”
“The real ones?”
“Yep. They wanted them out of England, too, so hiding them with the fakes was the method everyone settled on to get them out without suspicion.”
The large helping his mother set down before him still steamed from its time in the oven, and a fleeting image of Lilah drifted through his thoughts as he took in the feather-light mix of eggs and piecrust. Pushing the enticing picture away, he focused on the plate. “Jeez, Mom. I’m not a growing boy anymore.”
“You’ll always be a growing boy to me.” She took her seat opposite him and leaned forward, the large strand of pearls around her neck nearly in her slice of quiche. “Come on, come on. Tell me more. Have you seen the rubies?”
“Yes.”
Her back went poker straight, the pearls slamming against her chest with a thud. “Reed Edward Graystone, you’ve seen royal jewels and it took you all this time to tell me?”
“I’m doing my job.”
“And I’m a woman who loves a good piece of decoration. Tell me about them.”
“They were gifted to George and Elizabeth by a maharajah or someone of his ilk.”
His mother went off in a fit of fancy and he gave her a minute, stuffing himself with the delicious quiche while she ranted about the Queen Mother, Queen Elizabeth and him touching something that belonged to royalty.
“Can I see them?”
He glanced up from his now-empty plate, the last bite already vanished between his lips. “They’re evidence.”
“I’d still like to see them.” She lifted her fork and pointed it at him. “And don’t talk with your mouth full.”
He washed the last of his lunch down with the iced tea and nodded his acknowledgment. “Well, they’re not mine to show. The women have the stones. The ones who own Elegance and Lace.”
“But you just said they’re evidence.”
“Technically, they’re property. Of the landlady, who is fine with the women holding on to them.”
“But you need them for this case. And if someone’s already ransacked their business, I’d think they would want the police to hold on to the jewels.”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“How complicated?”
“How much time do you have?”
* * *
Lilah had forgotten the consult.
She never forgot their schedule, and the very fact she’d nearly missed the meeting Violet had scheduled for them with one of their October brides had left her already-raw nerves flustered and frayed.
“What are we going to serve Amanda and Quinn?”
“I’ve got it, Vi.” Lilah stomped around the kitchen, dragging a glass serving dish from one of the cabinets. She had the Bavarian cream and she had a tray of the thick pastries. All she needed to do was add the rich mixture and she’d have cream puffs.
“Can I help you?”
Lilah eyed Violet over her shoulder. “Touch my food and die.”
Violet’s gaze never wavered, but she finally gave one hard nod. “You sure you’re up to this today? Gabby’s coming over to cover off the catering portion, and Cassidy and I can run interference for the items Elegance and Lace is responsible for. I can come back and get the cream puffs in a few minutes.”
“Get out, Vi.”
“Lilah—”
“Out.”
Violet stalked off on the stilts she habitually wore, their heavy clicking only adding to the tension headache throbbing in her temples.
She’d be ready. She’d be fine. And she’d be brilliant, to boot.
Oh hell.
Lilah glanced down at her chest and saw the evidence that she was anything but fine. Her chef’s coat had a large smear of cream and eggs running down dead center, both of which had crusted over into an unappealing yellow roughly the color of baby vomit.
“Damn it.”
Powering through the cream puffs—she had a little over a dozen plated in moments—she then raced for the small collection of clothes she kept in her office alcove for just this reason. Her anger at Violet’s prim and annoying tone still simmered as she stomped into her office. Mad with self-righteous anger, Lilah shrugged off her unbuttoned coat and flung it on the ground as she bent over, digging through the bottom drawer of her desk.
Her hand closed around a pale pink sweater set and she grabbed the cashmere like a lifeline. Who cared if it was a billion degrees outside? Violet had the AC cranked up to roughly match the air in the frozen tundra anyway.
Fingers tight on the material, she had the sweater up and out of the drawer and was already spinning around when she came face-to-face with Reed Graystone.
As she stood, unmoving, in her pale pink bra.
* * *
She’d already given him the satisfaction of a scream that very morning and she’d be damned if she was going to do it again. But neither could she stop the jackrabbit hammer of her heart in her chest as Reed stood stock-still, those delicious gray eyes wide in his face.
“You—” he managed to get out before he took a few determined steps away from her. “You should probably change.”
Despite the awkward moment, she couldn’t quite shake the satisfaction that bloomed in her chest at his appreciative gaze. Nor could she fully shake the tight ball of heat that had taken up residence in her stomach. He was an attractive man, and at the moment, she had his full attention.
Her gaze dipped lower, pleased to see she appeared to have all of his attention.
Ignoring the small thrill that shot through her, Lilah shut the door, even if it was an unnecessary formality. He’d already turned his back and had moved into the main part of the kitchen. She slipped into the sweater set, adding a quick fluff to her hair before she opened the door once more.
And felt her breath catch as she took in the long, lean lines of him.
Damn, but the man really was a vision. Trim waist, long legs and a rather impressive set of shoulders. He wasn’t skinny, but she suspected he’d leaned that way in school. No longer. Mother Nature, puberty and what she suspected was a fair amount of gym time to keep up with his job had sculpted him into a rather impressively built man.
Shaking off the persistent attraction that stuck to her like molasses, she pushed her way into the kitchen. “Twice in one day, Detective. To what do I owe the honor?”
“I told Cassidy I was coming back this afternoon. Didn’t she mention it?”
Cassidy had mentioned it, but admitting that—or the fact that she’d watched the door for the past three hours—wasn’t on her agenda. “So here you are. And I’ve got a meeting. We’re trying hard to remember we actually do run a business around here.”
“Then go to it. I can wait.”
“You don’t have anything better to do?”
“I have several calls to make. I can do them here as easy as I can at the precinct. Mind if I use your office?”
She gestured toward the small alcove off the kitchen. “Be my guest.”
Lilah passed him, the heat of that large body warming her through the already-oppressive cashmere. Why had she selected the sweater set again?
Ignoring the discomfort and chalking it up to her penance for nearly missing the meeting, Lilah grabbed her plate of cream puffs. In her haste, she’d plated everything she had, which amounted to fourteen puffs.
With a quick glance toward the clock, she snagged a small plate from the cabinets and removed two of the pastries. She rearranged the gaps on the serving plate—Violet would never know—and handed Reed the desserts. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”
* * *
Reed stared at the empty dessert plate and marveled at the pastries he’d just done his level best not to shovel into his mouth. The cream puffs had to be the best thing he’d ever tasted and he could have sworn he heard his blood humming on a satisfied sugar high as he methodically polished off both desserts.
Damn, but the woman could cook. Bake. Create. What exactly was he supposed to call the food he just ate?
He was an eater and he came from a family of foodies. One of his earliest memories after his mother married Tripp was the three of them out on a Saturday night for a steak dinner at one of Dallas’s finest restaurants the weekend before school started. He’d been wide-eyed and scared of making a mistake—both at the restaurant and at school—but Tripp had kept a bright smile on his face as he’d walked him through the various cuts of meat on the menu.
That night was one of the first times he’d recognized his stepfather wasn’t all bad. The man had been trying in his own way, and the gentle coaching that was never overbearing had gone a long way toward cementing their budding relationship.
That evening had also set him on a path as a food lover. And in a town full of some of the world’s best restaurants, he had a ready supply of offerings at his disposal.
Which was why, Reed realized, he’d been to both of Steven DeWinter’s restaurants in Dallas as well as the man’s properties in Las Vegas and Chicago. He pulled out his phone and did a quick search on the restaurateur, curious to see if the press-ready bio matched his memory. As he tapped in the search, his mind filled with the big man in the chef’s coat. Attractive and fit, DeWinter didn’t look like someone who spent his day around food.
In fact, come to think of it, DeWinter had more the build of a gym rat than a foodie.
Reed clicked into the bio, the man’s impressive list of credits, including a stint as the chef for several major events in the previous Hollywood awards season, running the length of the screen. Reed kept scrolling, curious to see any references to a personal life, only to find nothing.
Shifting, he opened a standard search app and did a deeper dive into the man’s background and that was where he found it. A small reference to having been married to a Lilah DeWinter for just shy of two years.
Which, from what he’d pieced together, made sense and matched the timeline Cassidy had provided.
A wholly irrational spear of anger lanced once more, a hot spill of frustration and—jealousy?—at the thought of Lilah married.
She was a grown woman. Of course she had a past. Hell, so did he. And while his might not come with a walk down the aisle and the proverbial picket fence, he’d had his fair share of relationships. He had no right to judge.
Or be jealous.
The distinct sound of heels interrupted his thoughts and he glanced up to a loud voice and an overall general impression of dynamic movement. A woman spoke on her cell phone, gesturing with her free hand as a loud wave of half Spanish, half English spilled from her lips.
She didn’t even realize he was there until she’d nearly sat on the edge of Lilah’s desk. Her dark brown eyes went wide in her face as she leaped up, nearly stumbling over heels that added several inches to her already-considerable height. Reed moved up to help her, steadying her motion before her windmilling arms carried her right over to the floor.
“Mama! I said I understand.” The woman gripped his hand, her long fingers curling around his before she squeezed to let him know she was fine, then she promptly marched off toward Lilah’s kitchen.
Fascinated, Reed kept his attention on the heated conversation before it finally ended with a firm “I love you and will discuss this with you later.”
Assuming she’d disappear now that her conversation had concluded, Reed was surprised to hear the sultry tones that floated down the hallway. “You can come out now, Detective Yummy.”
The moniker nearly had him stumbling as he stepped through the door. “What was that all about?”
“Parents. Mothers, more specifically. Do you like yours?”
An image of the warm, fascinating woman who’d shared lunch with him filled his mind’s eye before the answer spilled forth. “Absolutely. I love her.”
“I didn’t ask about love. I asked about like.”
“Well, yeah. I like her, too.”
“Lucky.” The woman sighed, shoving a mass of curls behind her shoulder before extending a hand. “I’m Gabriella Sanchez.”
“Are you the bride?”
Her loud snort and dark expression suggested immediately that he’d overstepped, but Reed wasn’t quite sure why. “Hardly. I’m the caterer. Although the fact I’m not the bride was half the reason for that call.” She gestured with her phone.
“I’m sorry?”
“Never mind. So you’re the dreamy detective. Violet and Cassidy can’t stop talking about you.”
Not Lilah? Forcing the thought aside, Reed decided to let the comment play out. “Oh.”
“They’ve been very impressed with your help and, I believe Violet said it, ‘your God-given patience to deal with the lot of us.’”
“They’ve had a bad scare.”
“One that’s not over.”
The buoyancy that had carried her into the kitchen—even in the midst of a heated family conversation—vanished at her words. Reed saw her conviction as clearly as he saw the exotic beauty that painted her face and shaped her long, lithe body.
And in that moment he suspected people sorely underestimated Gabriella Sanchez.
Before he could say anything, Lilah marched through the door with the now-empty tray of cream puffs. Reed was surprised at the depth of disappointment that gripped him at the evidence the pastries were gone.
“Gab. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I had to take that. It was my mother’s fifth call this afternoon and I was starting to worry something was really wrong.”
Reed didn’t miss Lilah’s penetrating gaze as she took in the sight of the two of them alone in the kitchen, but her comment was casual when she spoke. “Amanda was wrapped up in the discussion of her dress with Cassidy, and Quinn had excused himself to take a work call. No one noticed.”
When Gabriella didn’t offer up anything else, Lilah added, “Is everything okay?”
“Same old same old with my mother.”
“Who’s getting married?”
“My cousin Marcie.”
“Sorry.”
Gabby shrugged, those thick curls bouncing lightly against her back. “She’s been dating the guy forever. We all knew it was coming.”
With a quick hug for Lilah, Gabriella turned toward him and gave him an impulsive hug. “They’re lucky to have you, Detective Yummy.”
“Thanks.”
The woman moved out of the kitchen as fast as she’d come in, and it took Reed an extra moment to realize Lilah had already picked up her empty plate and crossed to the large, stainless-steel sink on the far side of the room. “Did it go well?”
“Fine. They’re excited.”
“And hungry, obviously.” Reed moved up next to her. “The desserts are gone.”
“They’re the groom’s favorites. I’m doing about forty dozen for the wedding.”
“You’re doing four hundred and eighty cream puffs for a wedding?” The words were spoken to her back as she moved toward her long counter to pick up her abandoned mixing bowls from earlier.
“There are nearly four hundred people invited to the wedding. You can count on people to take seconds and, besides—” she shrugged “—that’s how many they want.”
The number boggled his mind. “How do you package that many?”
The dark cloud that had seemed to settle over her never wavered, even as a puzzled look stole over her face. “This is what I do. I’ve got large cardboard boxes we’ll put together for the event. I’ll layer them with parchment paper and then transport the pastries in my truck along with the cake for the wedding.”
Reed realized he had no idea what went into a wedding and his always-curious mind was already thinking through the implications of how someone made that much food. “It’s impressive.”
“You want impressive, you should go see Gab’s setup. She’s the one who has to feed four hundred people an entire meal.”
“That’s what she does? Food? I didn’t realize you had a fourth partner.”
“I don’t. I mean, we don’t. But we’ve been working with Gabby for a few years now. A few odd jobs here and there and now it’s become more consistent. She can’t get into the big hotels because they want to cater on their own, but there are a ton of venues in North Texas that want wedding revenue but don’t necessarily want to manage all the catering themselves.”
“Where’s this wedding?”
“The Arboretum in October.”
Reed thought of the endlessly beautiful acres at Dallas’s botanical gardens, particularly gorgeous in fall. He let out a long, low whistle. “That must be costing them a pretty penny.”
When she said nothing, he added, “The height of wedding season at one of the city’s best venues. And with four hundred people? I’d say a small fortune, more like.”
“Weddings are expensive. And. Well.” She shrugged again. “They appear to have the money for it.”
She busied herself with the dishes and Reed found himself amused at her complete freeze-out. “You’re busy.”
“We’re always busy.” She scrubbed the mixing bowl of crusted cream. “And we lost nearly a week dealing with the break-in and—”
“And the attack on Cassidy.” He kept his words gentle, but he pushed all the same.
He didn’t want her scared—far from it—but he knew in his gut whatever had landed in their laps was far from over. Becoming complacent was the worst that could happen.
“Robert’s gone now.”
“But the person who shot him isn’t.”
She continued scrubbing and only offered up a light shrug of her shoulders. “That’s why you’re here.”
“And you’re running around in your damn underwear, letting anyone and everyone inside your shop.”
Her hands stilled on the dishes, her eyes going wide. He still only saw her profile, but even from that angle he could see her dark brown eyes were wide orbs in her face.
That shock was nothing compared to his own surprise at the harsh words that had spilled from his lips, catching him unaware.
“You have no right.”
“I have every right. I’m trying to keep you and your partners safe and you’re not taking this seriously.”
“Seriously?” She snapped the water off with a hard twist and grabbed a towel to dry her hands. “I’m not the one back here making eyes at our caterer.”
“What?”
Lilah whirled, the irritation in her voice punctuating the gesture. “You heard me. I realize she’s an attractive woman, but you couldn’t wait to flirt all over Gabby.”
Whatever self-righteous anger had carried him this far faded in the face of her resentment.
And a sudden awareness of just why she was upset.
“I wasn’t flirting with your caterer. I can’t say the same for her.”
“Just because she looks like a supermodel doesn’t mean she deserves to be objectified.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Her mouth was already open to keep on arguing when she snapped it closed at his agreement.
Without checking the impulse, Reed leaned in, delighted when those dark eyes went wide and round once more. “But I don’t think that’s why you’re upset.”
“It’s anger for my friend.”
“Oh, really.” He took a moment to just breathe her in, the light scent of sugar that hovered around her simply intoxicating.
“Of course.”
He pressed a light kiss to her cheek before dropping another along the line of her jaw. “It wouldn’t be jealousy?”
Whatever initial acceptance she might have had in the moment vanished. “It’s most certainly not that. And why don’t you ratchet down that swelled head while you’re at it?”
Reed couldn’t stop the smile, especially now that he was virtually high on the scents of vanilla and warm sugar, coupled with the cream puffs that were still humming in his veins.
Could sugar really make someone reckless?
“I wasn’t the one who called myself Detective Yummy.”
“That was—” She broke off. “Gabby was just being funny.”
“Consider me amused.”
Awareness filled her dark gaze and in that moment Reed felt something shift deep inside of him. He knew what it was to want—to need—but the look in Lilah Castle’s eyes was something more.
In her gaze he saw the desperate craving of someone who knew what they wanted yet were afraid to let go.
On sheer instinct, he closed the distance once more and dragged her small, slight frame against his own. At the actual feel of her—muscle, sinew and bone under his hands—he realized his initial estimation was spot-on.
She was a pixie.
As his lips came over hers, her head already tilted up to meet him, he amended that thought. She might be small—a mere slip in his hands—but she had a woman’s curves and a woman’s needs.
The instinct that pushed him on was greeted with full acceptance and he groaned as she opened her mouth, an invitation to deepen the kiss.
The moment was hot—desperate—and he took full advantage.
Heat radiated off her, through the thin material of her sweater. One of his hands was large enough to cover nearly the entire span of her back while the other drifted down toward her derriere, pulling her close.
Her hands gripped his waist, her fingers restless at the waistband of his slacks, and he saw a wash of stars when her stomach bumped hard against his groin.
What had begun as impulse—and a deep need to finally taste her—had turned on him, and Reed felt himself fast losing control. With one last rush of teeth and lips and tongue, he took advantage of the moment and deepened the kiss, lingering over her luscious mouth with satisfying urgency.
Then he pulled away and added a few steps of distance for good measure. As he took in the passion-glazed gaze and soft color high on her cheeks, Reed came to a startling realization.
He was wrong.
Her cream puffs weren’t the best thing he’d ever tasted. Lilah Castle was.
