Hotshot

  The fact was, she had asked for his help and he had come. Would she have heard from him if there hadn’t been a problem? Would he have wanted to see her again? That, she decided, was the million-dollar question, and if she could summon up the nerve, she was going to ask him.

  Lucy called twice while Peyton was thinking about her situation. She ignored both calls because she wasn’t in the mood to deal with another emergency.

  The third time Lucy called, Finn asked, “Aren’t you going to get that?”

  “It’s Lucy. I’ll talk to her later.”

  The technician arrived to pick up her car. Finn went down to the lot with him, but when he returned, he wasn’t alone. Lucy and Christopher followed him inside. Finn looked resigned; Lucy looked angry; and Christopher looked like he wanted to throttle her.

  “What happened?” Peyton asked warily.

  “You want to tell her?” Christopher snapped at Lucy.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” she muttered.

  Peyton’s shoulders slumped and she felt as though she was deflating. “What did you do?”

  Christopher crossed the room and leaned against the island. Folding his arms across his chest, he glared at Lucy. “She fired Chef Damien.”

  The announcement rendered Peyton speechless. Lucy was vehemently shaking her head. “No, I did not fire him. He was shouting at me to get out of his kitchen, and I suggested that he might be happier working somewhere else.”

  Peyton took a deep breath in an attempt to control her temper. “What were you doing in Chef Damien’s kitchen?”

  “It’s not his kitchen,” she argued. “The restaurant belongs to us.”

  “No, the kitchen belongs to Chef Damien.” Had she been alone with her sister, she would have been screaming at her now.

  “I went into the kitchen to tell Damien that there was a wine distributor waiting in the restaurant to speak to him,” Lucy explained.

  “No, he wanted to speak to Peyton,” Christopher reminded her.

  “Damien must have given him your name,” she told her sister. “Why is it okay for any of them to talk to you and not me?”

  “You’re upset because a distributor asked for me and not you? Could it be that I’m a chef and you’re not, and that’s why he wanted to talk to me?”

  Lucy didn’t answer. “Damien was in a real snit. And rude. He’s terribly rude. I told him I would be doing the ordering from now on.”

  No longer able to control her temper, Peyton snapped, “No, you will not.”

  “I know wines.”

  “Good for you. You’re still not going to be ordering any wines or anything else for the kitchen.”

  “But I have a responsibility—”

  “Lucy, do you know how crazy you are?”

  Her sister surprised them all when she dropped down on the sofa. “Yes, I do.” She looked at Christopher then. “I’m sorry. I didn’t like it when he yelled and carried on, and I overreacted.”

  He didn’t acknowledge her apology, but he quit scowling at her.

  Lucy turned to Peyton again. “Leonard’s is very profitable.”

  “And yet you fired the chef.”

  “You have to talk to him,” she said. “You speak his language. You know . . . chef talk.”

  “You better hurry,” Christopher said. “When I left, he was packing his knives.”

  “The restaurant opens at five thirty, and it’s booked solid.”

  “Lucy, will you agree that your job, your only job, is decor?” Peyton asked. “I’ll handle the restaurants, and for now everything else—and I do mean everything else—is Christopher’s responsibility. When Ivy gets here, we’ll reevaluate. But that’s the way it is for now. Agreed?”

  “Yes, okay.”

  “That was quick. Do you mean it?”

  “I do mean it. I’m turning into a maniac.” She frowned at Christopher when he nodded agreement. “I’m really very sweet.” He snorted, and she decided to ignore him. “Do you want me to go with you to talk to Damien?”

  “It’s Chef Damien, and, no, you stay away,” Peyton said. “Finn, could you give me a ride?”

  She was walking to the door when Finn grabbed her. “Hold on. Leonard’s restaurant is part of Bishop’s Cove? Strangers coming and going inside the gates to dine?”

  “No, the restaurant is outside the gates. Uncle Len bought it seven or eight years ago and remodeled it. We talked him into giving the restaurant his name.”

  “Any other surprises I need to know about?” he asked as he followed her down to his car and opened the door for her. He put his hand on top of her head when she bent to get inside, and she almost laughed. Force of habit, she guessed. He hadn’t realized what he’d done, and she didn’t mention it.

  The restaurant was just outside the gates on the main road and around a curve. They parked in the rear and as they entered through the back door, they could hear pots and pans banging against metal.

  “Oh, it’s bad,” she whispered.

  Standing five feet three inches tall, Chef Damien was a powerhouse. He had a booming voice and seemed to know every curse word in just about every language. At the sound of the door closing, he swung around waving a knife in Peyton’s direction. Finn’s hand went to his weapon.

  “Put the knife down,” Finn ordered, his voice hard, tense.

  “He’s not going to stab me,” she whispered. “That’s his santoku knife. He wouldn’t dare mistreat it.”

  “Knife down now,” Finn shouted. Each word was clipped.

  Chef Damien gently placed the knife on the counter. It took only one quick look around the kitchen to know that Chef Damien had no intention of quitting tonight. His sous-chef was busy working on a sauce while his assistants chopped and sautéed. The kitchen was in full swing, getting ready for the dinner crowd’s arrival.

  Protocol had to be followed before things could return to normal. Chef Damien had to rant for a good long while, and Peyton had to grovel. It was expected, and she didn’t disappoint him. She had to make several promises, too, and all of them involved Lucy.

  Finally appeased, the chef kissed her on both cheeks, giving her absolution. She turned to leave and suddenly remembered there was a distributor waiting to talk to her.

  “Almost finished,” she told Finn.

  She threaded her way through the kitchen, greeting each employee by name. Turning the corner, she stepped into the dining room and came face-to-face with Drew Albertson.

  SIXTEEN

  He was smiling at her, no doubt pleased with the shock he saw on her face. She was so stunned to see him, she took a step back, instinctively trying to protect herself by putting more space between them.

  Her arm brushed against Finn’s as he moved forward to partially block her. His touch calmed her; her panic eased, and she was once again in control. Her courage came back and so did her fury. She didn’t want to back away now; she wanted to borrow Finn’s gun and shoot the man.

  “You’re even more beautiful than the last time I saw you,” Drew said, his voice like silk. “I’ve missed you.”

  Missed her? What kind of twisted game was he playing? Or was he out of his mind?

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  The way Albertson was staring at Peyton made Finn want to put his fist through his face. The bastard wasn’t trying to hide his lust. Finn wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d started rubbing his hands together over the morsel standing before him. Oh yeah, he really wanted to punch him.

  “Finn, this is Drew Albertson,” Peyton announced.

  “I know who he is.” He gave Drew a steely look and said, “You’re a person of interest in an investigation.”

  Drew noticed Finn’s gun and holster. “Who are you?”

  “FBI.”

  “He’s Special Agent Finn MacBain,” Peyt
on supplied.

  Drew’s eyes widened. Peyton thought that was a nice beginning. She hoped Finn would make him nervous, and from Drew’s expression she knew she was getting her wish.

  “Who’s here with you?” Finn took a step forward, forcing Drew to back up. “Answer the question,” he snapped like a drill sergeant.

  “No one’s here with me. I came alone to talk to Peyton.”

  “Show me what’s in your pockets.”

  “Why . . .”

  Finn took another step as he repeated the order. Drew placed the blue folder he was holding on the table. He tried to look around Finn to see Peyton, but he was blocked. He removed his wallet and his car keys from his pocket and dropped them on top of the folder.

  “Sit,” Finn ordered. He all but shoved Drew into a chair.

  The dining room was empty, but there were still a few tables that needed to be dressed before the dinner guests arrived. Peyton saw two waiters peeking around the corner from the kitchen watching Finn and Drew.

  “Where is Rick Parsons?” Finn asked.

  Drew blustered with indignation. “What the hell is this? An interrogation?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what this is.”

  “Do I need an attorney?”

  “That’s up to you. Answer the question. Parsons. Where is he?”

  Towering over Drew, Finn’s intimidation tactics were impressive. He was even making Peyton nervous. He certainly knew what he was doing because Drew looked panicked now.

  “I don’t know where he is. In Dalton, I guess. I haven’t seen or talked to him in days. What’s this all about?” he demanded. “Why am I a person of interest?”

  “Someone’s been taking shots at Peyton.”

  Drew was a bad actor. He tried to feign surprise but failed miserably. “Shooting at her?” He shook his head and said, “That’s terrible. Who would do such a thing?”

  Finn pulled out a chair and sat facing Drew. Peyton took a seat across from him at the round table. Trying to stay composed, she folded her hands in her lap and said, “You sent Parsons after me when I left Dalton. He shot at me several times.”

  “I most certainly did not send Parsons after you, and I don’t believe for one minute that he shot at you.” He added with a nervous glance at Finn, “He doesn’t even own a gun.”

  Finn folded his arms and leaned back. “Is that right? So when you boys go hunting, what exactly do you carry?”

  “We don’t go hunting. We go ice fishing.” Turning his attention to Peyton, Drew said, “I would never do anything to hurt you. Never,” he fervently vowed.

  She wasn’t buying that bridge.

  Finn continued to question Drew, backtracking on the issue of guns again and again, trying to trip him up on some of his lies, but Drew held firm. The two waiters poked their heads around the corner again. Peyton checked her watch and motioned for them to come in and finish preparing the tables for dinner.

  As soon as Finn stopped questioning Drew, it was her turn. “Why did you come here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.” He nervously glanced at Finn before adding, “Alone.”

  “That’s not gonna happen.”

  Drew rushed on. “You left Dalton so quickly, we didn’t get a chance to talk. I’m afraid there’s been a terrible misunderstanding. I thought we had a connection, that you cared as much as I did. All the signals you were sending said as much.” His eyes drooped and he sounded so pathetic when he added, “I would have left my wife for you.”

  Incredulous, Peyton listened to his pitiful speech. His lies were piling up, one on top of the other, and she couldn’t believe he could say them with a straight face.

  Drew continued, “After all we’ve shared, it’s come to this.”

  What was he talking about? “After we shared what?” she asked.

  “You know . . . all our nights together.”

  That was the final straw. She could barely control her anger when she said, “Our nights? We didn’t have any nights together. Sexual harassment and threats—that’s what you call a connection?”

  Drew finally must have realized it was pointless for him to argue. He didn’t stand a chance of getting his way. Looking resigned, he leaned forward and shifted in his seat to give Finn his back.

  He lowered his voice as though he intended only Peyton to hear him. “I don’t want you to sue the magazine. It was a simple misunderstanding.” He quickly added, “But the magazine shouldn’t be dragged through the mud. That’s a little vindictive, isn’t it?”

  “Why do you think I’m going to sue?”

  “I—” He stopped suddenly.

  “Yes?”

  She could almost see his brain spinning as he tried to come up with a plausible lie. He couldn’t very well admit he’d read Mimi’s text, and Peyton was certain that was what he’d done.

  “I just thought you might be considering it. You left in such a hurry you didn’t give me a chance to convince you to stay.”

  “I’m not going to sue.” She didn’t add, unless it’s the last resort.

  His reaction was comical. As quick as lightning he flipped the folder open and pushed a paper toward her. “Sign this.”

  “I’m not going to sign anything.”

  “How do I know you won’t change your mind?”

  She shrugged. “You don’t know. Just assume I’m as truthful as you are.”

  His eyes narrowed, staring at her as though he was trying to decide whether she was being sincere or mocking him.

  “I was going to sue,” she said then, “but Mimi talked me out of it, so you can thank her.”

  “Then sign this paper,” he said as he pushed the document even closer.

  She pushed it back. “No.”

  “What if you change your mind?”

  “If I have to keep dodging bullets, I just might.”

  “I had nothing to do with that. I can’t promise it will stop because I don’t know who’s behind it.”

  She moved to stand.

  “Wait, please,” he begged.

  “Yes?”

  “I just want to be assured . . . if you should change your mind, will you promise me you’ll think about your decision for at least two weeks before you file suit? Give yourself time so that you don’t do anything rash.”

  She translated the request to mean that in two weeks he expected to be the new CEO. “Yes, I’ll weigh the decision for two weeks because it makes sense. I don’t want to have regrets.”

  He nodded. “I trust you to keep your word. I don’t know what I would do if you broke your promise to me. I just don’t know.”

  “Are you threatening her, Albertson?” Finn was more disgusted than angry.

  “No, of course not. I was just telling her I don’t know what I would do . . . that’s all.”

  “Are we finished?” Peyton asked, anxious to get away from him.

  “Oh, one more thing. I’ve made some changes at the magazine, and my food critics will now be giving good and bad reviews. I’ve decided to personally review this restaurant. I believe it belongs to you now, doesn’t it?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “Think of the damage a negative review would do. It would be devastating.”

  “Yes, it would,” she agreed. “But I’m certain it will be a wonderful review. The food here is excellent.”

  “The review depends on you, and I’m hopeful it won’t be negative.”

  She nodded. “Just as I am hopeful the recording I made in your office won’t go viral if I were to put it on the Internet.”

  Drew stood and with a faint, insincere smile said, “No one will take that recording seriously. It was a joke between you and me. Remember? We were just having a little fun.”

  Like Peyton, Finn had had enough. “Two FBI agents will be at your door in twenty-four hours. You damn well bett
er have Rick Parsons there with you to answer some questions.”

  “I don’t fly home until tomorrow afternoon. That doesn’t give me much time. What if I can’t find him?”

  “Then the agents will cuff you and take you in.”

  “On what charge?” he huffed indignantly.

  “Charges . . . plural,” Finn corrected. “I’ve got several in mind.”

  He motioned for Peyton to stay put and followed Drew out into the parking lot. He made sure he got the license plate number and the make and model of the rental car he was driving, and only after Drew had pulled onto the highway did he go back to get Peyton.

  She was helping the waiters with preparations. She carried bud vases with roses and votives and placed them on each table. When she was finished with the task, she lit the candles and straightened the white tablecloths. The most wonderful smells of baking bread and roasting meat floated out of the kitchen, but Finn suspected that Drew had spoiled Peyton’s appetite. Her face had lost its color and she looked sick to her stomach.

  He waited until she was done, then said, “Are you ready?”

  Nodding, she turned to leave. He surprised her by pulling her into his arms and holding her against him. It was a quick but fierce hug.

  “Now that you’ve met him, do you still want to help me get him?”

  He smiled. “You always were a pain in the ass . . . and yeah, I’m gonna help you. I want to nail the bastard.”

  She returned his smile. “You say the sweetest things.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Dinner was a quiet affair. Peyton wasn’t in the mood to cook anything fancy, and so she made a simple spinach salad with dried cranberries and toasted slivered almonds tossed in the sweet and tangy vinaigrette she always kept on hand, followed by roasted rosemary chicken, new potatoes with dill, and fresh steamed asparagus with a hint of lemon. Dessert was just as simple—orange and mango slices dipped in chocolate.

  She wasn’t very hungry, but Finn ate enough for three men.

  “Are you feeling okay?” he asked. “You aren’t eating much.”