Dangerous Secrets (4 page)

“Honestly, I can say that I’ve never thought that
much about food. But I guess you’re right, if the flavors aren’t there then
people won’t want to eat it.”

“Not just flavor. The first sense that a chef needs
to engage is the sense of smell. Smell is a huge part of an enjoyable dining
situation.”

“How so?” he asked, taking a drink of his water.

She was distracted for a moment by the way his
throat worked, but blinked and looked at him. “If you’ve ever had a cold and
eaten, you’ll know what I mean. When you’re stuffed up nothing tastes right,
does it?”

He tipped his head a bit and then nodded. “Now that
you say that, I think you’re right.”

“That’s because smell helps us taste the food
better, makes it enjoyable and more of a sensual event.
If
it’s done right.
Too many people just stuff food into their mouths
without taking a moment to fully enjoy the scent, taste and textures. You have
to treat a good meal like you would a fine glass of wine or an aged scotch. You
absolutely must appreciate and utilize as many senses as you can before just
digging in.”

He was staring at her and Mallory knew her cheeks
were pink. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I tend to take it a little personally when I
see people just shoveling back their food without any consideration to the time
involved in getting that meal to their table.”

“I’m guessing you aren’t just talking about the
kitchen prep,” he said with a grin.

“No, I’m not, but,” she wrinkled up her nose. “I
don’t mean to get into a lecture.
Especially since you are
here to help me out and all that.”

He shrugged and took another drink of the water
before setting it aside. “No, I’m curious now. Tell me, please?”

Looking him in the eye, such nice blue eyes, like
the color of older jeans, she nodded. “All right, but I did warn you,” Mallory
said.

“I’ve been duly warned. Proceed.” Taking another
bite of the chicken, he let out a hum of pleasure that went straight to her
soul and her belly.

“Well, you have to think first of the farmers and
growers. They spend their times nurturing our foods until it’s time to harvest.
Same with the ranchers, who tend and care for the animals that will, one day,
reach our tables. After that, we, the chef’s, go to the markets and find the
best of everything to bring back to our kitchens. Not to the restaurants,
though not right away. That’s usually weeks, if not months down the line after
we have puttered around in our own kitchens.
Adding a little
bit of this or that, removing this to replace it with that, changing
quantities, balances and testing over and over and over.”

“So, kind of like a scientist working on a new drug
to get everything in proportion,” he said.

Stunned, Mallory blinked and nodded.

“My father’s a biochemist,” Trent said with lazy
roll of his shoulders. “He was a bit horrified that I didn’t follow him along
the scientific pathway. But he understood that I wasn’t built that way, and
while he still tries to
chat
me up about whatever he’s
working on, he always supported my choice to join the Marines.”

“So you do understand,” she said with a smile.

“Well, to a degree. Let’s not go crazy here.” He
laughed deeply. “I understand the basics and the principals, but don’t start
throwing out fancy terms, because I’ll just end up with a glazed look on my
face and likely fall asleep on the spot.”

Ducking her head, she snickered. “Right, I’ll keep
that in mind.”

“Good. Anyway, you were saying?” He put a piece of
potato in his mouth and groaned. “Oh God, these are so good.”

Flushing with pleasure at his words, she had to
really work at getting her head back onto topic.
“Right.
So, like a scientist, we putter in our laboratory until we are satisfied with
the outcome. Then comes, like the scientist again, the testing phase. If we get
the thumbs up from our bosses, we introduce the item to the menu and start to
get feedback from our customers. If the feedback is positive, it goes on the
menu as a limited item. If the reviews are excellent, it becomes a permanent
item. The last is relatively rare because the critics are pretty harsh.”

“I can imagine,” he commented.

He’d emptied his plate and, when she looked
down,
she realized she’d eaten everything off of hers. She
hadn’t tasted a thing, very unusual for her and frankly, it shocked her a bit.

“Please, if you want seconds, go right ahead,”
Mallory told him.

“I think I will,” he grinned. “It was really good,
and as my momma often claims, I’m still a growing boy.”

Mallory couldn’t come up with something to say to
that, so she just sipped her water while he dug into a second helping. He
clearly enjoyed it as much the second time around as he had the first.
Which made her happy.
She loved to cook and loved to see
people enjoying what she’d created even more.

Once he sat back with a satisfied expression, she
lifted an eyebrow. “More?” She asked with a smile.

“No, any more and I’ll be in a food coma.”

Chuckling at that, she got up and began to put
everything away. When he handed her a dish, she waved him off. “You don’t need
to help,” she said.

“My momma raised me to know that the cook never did
the cleaning. And, since this is your place, I’m amending it slightly. I can at
least help a little in the clean up until I know where everything goes.”

She slowly nodded and relented.
“All
right.
But you wash. Since I do know where everything goes, I’ll dry and
put away.”

“Deal,” he grinned. Collecting their plates and
utensils, he took them over the sink.

It was strange having someone else in her kitchen.
Her home kitchen at any rate.
Especially someone with as
large of a presence as Trent had. He definitely made the room seem a hell of a
lot smaller.

Chapter Four

After they’d finished cleaning up, Mallory made a
pot of coffee. With a cup in hand, Trent collected his bag and dug out his
laptop as well as a couple of folders.

She’d shown him to the guest room, which was small
but comfortable, and thankfully, not overly feminine. Clean white and dark
green colors, with real wood furniture and heavy drapery on the windows. He’d
slept in much worse places, but except for his own bedroom, not many had looked
or felt better than her spare room.

“Towels and other linens are in the closet in the
bathroom. There’s a double vanity so feel free to leave whatever you want on
the end. It’s an apartment so you don’t need to worry about running out of hot
water. Though, I do recommend letting the shower run a couple minutes before
climbing in. There’s always a spike of ice-cold water around the minute or so
mark that, if you’re under it, will send you flying,” she’d told him during her
little tour.

Now that they were both back in the living room, he
sat on the sofa and shifted around to look at her.

“What?” she asked, brushing a piece of her hair
back behind her
ear.
A nervous
gesture.

“I know you’ve likely gone over this with everyone
and their uncle a few hundred times. But I need you to tell me about the
attack,” he said.

Leaning forward, she set her cup down on the coffee
table sharply.

He was pretty sure she’d jump to her feet and leave
the room, but she surprised him. She stayed put, clasping her hands together
and nodded.

“I’ve only had to tell it a couple dozen actually,”
she said softly.

“It doesn’t get any easier for a while,” Trent
said. “In time, though, the sharpness of the details and the harshness of the
moment will fade a bit. It still won’t be easy to talk about, but it also won’t
hurt nearly as much.”

“So I’ve heard,” Mallory whispered.

Trent just sat there and waited. She was scraping a
nail lightly back and forth over the knuckle of her opposite thumb. Leaning
forward he frowned at the scars he saw and reached out to lift her hand.
“Where’d you get these?” he asked.

She blinked at him and then looked to her hand.
Chuckling, she shrugged. “Cooking can be hazardous when you’re still learning.
My mom taught me a lot in my early years, but then came culinary school. That’s
when you start picking up a few dings and nicks along the way. The pressure is
high in the courses, they only let the very best out into the real world and
only the best of the best get to go on for more training.”

She turned her hand over in his and tugged the
sleeve of her sweater up. Pointing to a white mark, about four inches long she
glanced to him. “First time I burned myself in an oven.
Caught
the rack with my arm.
For the first few seconds you don’t even realize
what you’ve done and then the pain receptors kick in.”

He looked at the mark and the few others he could
see. “I can honestly say
,
I never knew that being a
chef was such a dangerous profession.”

Shrugging, she tugged her sleeve back down.
“Only in the beginning, or if you’re distracted.
I’ve
learned that having a clear mind while working with sharp and hot objects is
the only way to work.”

“Understandable,” he said. He should let her hand
go, but he didn’t want to and she didn’t seem to mind. At least she wasn’t
pulling back.

“So, anyway,” she said. Clearing her throat a
couple of times, she began to recount the attack to him. He let her talk her
way through it, squeezing her hand when she became agitated and then just holding
on as she finished talking.

He had a lot of questions, but he waited until
she’d calmed down a little.
Waited as she drank some coffee
and, finally, relaxed her shoulders.

“I know this is hard and I’m sorry,” he said.
Rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, he watched her face. “Close your eyes.”

At her sharp look, he smiled. “Trust me, I’m just
going to ask a few questions and we’ll see if we can’t get a little more
information from your subconscious.”

“How?” she asked, her fingers tightening around his.

“I’m going to ask you a few random questions and
then some pointed ones. I’ll go back and forth in the direction to get your
mind to relax. Just say whatever comes to you, no matter what, all right?”

Mallory gave a little nod, her eyes on his until she
let her eyelids fall.

“Good,” Trent told her. “You’re walking along the
sidewalk.
It’s
dark out, the street lamps are on, the
park’s just to your right and the street’s to your left. Tell me what you see
to your left.”

“Cars, parked by the curb.
There’s a guy on the opposite side on a skateboard.”

“Good, very good.
You can hear the skateboards wheels on the sidewalk.
The
slight change in sound as he hits a seam.
Was it warm?”

“Not really, it was pretty chilly out. I remember
zipping my jacket up further on my neck.” She was frowning now.

“Was there a breeze?”

“A little.
I could smell the water, the lake,” she told him. “I shivered each time
the breeze kicked up.”

“Where were your hands?”

“In my jacket pockets.
I’d forgotten my mitts at home. I remember lifting my shoulders to bury
my chin in the neck of my jacket as I berated myself for forgetting them.”

“You’re walking along, hands in your pockets, the
breeze blows now and again, bringing the scent of the lake to you. A shadow
moves and you see a man walking up out of the park. What’s your first thought?”

“Run,” she whispered.

“Why?” he asked, watching her face closely.

“My gut clenched and I felt something other than
the chill. Fear, I felt fear when he stopped on the sidewalk right in front of
me. I knew I’d have to get around him to get home. I thought about crossing the
street, but I knew that was a bad idea. I didn’t want him close to me.”

“Why?” he asked again, pushing her for more.

“I don’t know,” she said, snapping her eyes open.
“I don’t know.”

“
Shh
,” he said. Putting
his free hand on her back, he rubbed up and down gently. She was getting
agitated, which wouldn’t work for what he was trying to do. “He can’t hurt you
anymore. I won’t let him or anyone else hurt you, Mallory. You are safe here.
You’re in your home and safe,” he said in a low voice.

She sucked in a breath, the sound ragged and
nodded.

“Okay,” he said with a smile. “Tell me how he was
standing.”

“What?” she frowned up at him.

“How was he standing? Feet together, apart, hands
at his sides, in his pockets and anything else.”

Her eyes took on a faraway look and he knew she was
trying to remember. “Close your eyes and picture him, standing there, waiting
for you.
Nothing else.
Just his
stance.
He has no voice and he can’t touch you. How was he standing?”