Undercover Cook

Ah, yes. Lowell, Tom’s best friend in the culinary world. Eden had never quite known what to make of the brash Scot, but he had a solid reputation as a chef and restaurateur. “So…you’re going to France?”

“For four weeks…while Lowell deals with some personal issues.”

“Is his wife divorcing him again?” Eden asked.

Tom simply shook his head and Eden decided not to ask for details.

“As soon as we get back, I’m coming to work at Tremont,” Reggie said. “Part time. But this seems a good way to finish up my time off.”

“When do you leave?” Eden would miss her sister. And the baby. But this was a spectacular opportunity. Especially for Tom, who was still trying to reestablish himself in the cooking world after a few missteps the previous year.

“A week and a half.”

“Short notice,” Eden commented.

“Lowell is kind of that way,” her brother-in-law stated.

Eden had met his giant friend, a mercurial bear of a man, and had to agree. Lowell was impulsive.

Tom put his arm around Reggie’s shoulders. “Once I open my restaurant, it’ll be damned hard to get away.”

“You don’t have to explain to me,” Eden said. “I agree that it’s a great opportunity.” Her mouth quirked up at one corner. “But could you maybe leave Rosemary here with me?”

The couple looked at one another and then back at her.

Reggie simply shook her head. “Uh…no.”

Eden left the house smiling, happy for her sister and brother-in-law. The dog and cat would stay with Tom’s former neighbors, Frank and Bernie, who would be able to give them tons more attention than Eden or Justin.

Life was going well for Reggie, and was the usual blur for Justin. As for her…well, she had an ex who was showing signs of getting out of control, and she was going to do something about it.

THE ENVELOPE WAS gone. Eden had fully expected to find it right where she’d run over it. What were the chances that some passerby had seen it and picked it up, perhaps hoping there was money inside?

Or had Ian come back and retrieved it, tire mark and all? That hypothesis was rather satisfying.

Of course now Eden wanted to read it more than anything. After searching the bushes, in case a gust of wind had blown it out of the lot, she got into her car and headed for her house, two miles away.

Eden pulled into her driveway and parked. Her house was so small that the garage was the only storage space she had, so that was where Christmas was stored, as well as her seasonal clothing and all the hobbies she’d started and meant to take up again, but hadn’t because she didn’t have the time. Plus, she had all Justin’s sports gear in there. Definitely no room for a car.

She pulled the keys out of the ignition and was about to get out when the motion-sensor light at the side of the house came on, startling her. Two neighborhood cats, the sensor culprits, came strolling out to the front, their eyes reflecting greenish-yellow as they stopped to stare at her. Her house seemed to be located on some neighborhood migration path. The light came on at least once or twice every evening, and within two weeks of moving into the place, Eden had stopped looking out the window to see what had triggered it, because it was always the same—cats.

Although, she thought on her way to her front door, this was a classic horror-story setup. Complacent heroine, evil marauding terror. Zombies, perhaps. She fitted the key into the door and turned it. Maybe she should just take a quick peek out the window every now and then to see who or what was passing by.

Or maybe she should stop letting the envelope get to her.

But what if Ian hadn’t put it there?

CHAPTER THREE

“THERE ARE three computers,” Nick said. “Two in the back office and the other in the entry area before you go into the kitchen. There’s a file cabinet in the office—”

“Oh, shit.” Daphne let her head fall forward, her forehead hitting the bar with an audible thunk that made the whiskey in Nick’s glass bounce. “He’s here,” she said without moving. “I should never have told him to man up. Now he’s hell-bent on proving to me that he is.”

No doubt whom she meant.

Nick understood why Marcus had a thing for Daphne. A lot of the guys did. She had a killer body, long black, wavy hair and a damn fine face. Plus, she could outshoot most guys in the department. But she wasn’t going to hook up with Marcus, and it would be a hell of a lot easier on everyone in the immediate vicinity if he’d accept this.

“Hey.” Marcus pulled up a stool on the other side of Daphne. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked, as she raised her head and pushed the hair back from her face impatiently.

“I was.”

“Why are you here?” Nick inquired, before Daphne could skewer the guy.

“I saw your truck outside.” Marcus raised his hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Corona, please. With a lime.”

“Are you sure you don’t want one of those sixty-four-calorie light beers?” Daphne asked politely.

“What does that mean?” Marcus looked down at his flat stomach, as if wondering if she was suggesting he was fat. Not fat. Just a wiener, but Nick hoped she didn’t tell him that. Not when they needed his assistance—although he did seem totally impervious to insult.

“We were kind of having a private conversation,” Nick said.

“Oh. Well I didn’t mean to butt in.” Marcus’s voice was clipped. “I just thought we were kind of a team.”

“We are a team,” Nick said wearily. They needed him, as annoying as he was. “So why don’t you tell me about this groundwork you’ve laid.”

Daphne took a drink of her beer and a few drops fell onto the front of her blouse. As she brushed them away, Marcus’s eyes followed the movement like a tracking beam.

“What groundwork?” he asked, glancing away from her chest.

“You said at the cooking lesson that you’d laid groundwork,” Nick reminded him.

“I hope to lay some groundwork,” Marcus corrected.

That wasn’t what he’d said, but Nick wasn’t going to argue fine points. He laid a palm on the bar and leaned closer to the accountant. “I do not need help with the getting into Tremont Catering part. I need help with the files after I get them. That is your job.”

Marcus smirked. “You aren’t the only one who can indulge in covert operations.”

Covert operations? Daphne frowned at Nick, who rolled his eyes skyward. It beat choking their teammate.

“Look,” she said, turning her attention back to Marcus, “we all have our jobs. Yours is behind a desk, and that’s fine. When I told you to man up, apparently you got the wrong idea.”

“No, sister,” Marcus said, pointing a finger at her. “You’ve got the wrong idea. About me.” “You’re an accountant,” Daphne said patiently. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Do not patronize me,” Marcus snapped. He sucked in a long breath that made him look as if he were going to explode. But instead of launching into another verbal assault, he exhaled sharply and headed toward the door.

“Hey,” the bartender called. “Want your beer?”

Marcus stopped and fumbled for his wallet.