Dark Chocolate Demise (8 page)

She stood frozen. She couldn't leave unless she had Captain Jack, but she really didn't want to stay and end up shot dead like Kristin Streubel.

Could she just leave the door open and run down the stairs? Then if Captain Jack was in there he'd be able to escape. What if the person inside harmed Captain Jack? She couldn't bear the thought.

Wait
, she chided herself. This was ridiculous. Surely Jack had just gotten himself shut in the bathroom. It had happened before. She let out a long breath. She was just nervous because of all the talk about the mobster Frank Tucci gunning for Angie. It was making her imagine things.

“Jack,” she called. She was determined to prove to herself that she was just being an idiot. “Where are you, buddy?”

She was just reaching for the lamp on the table behind her futon when she spotted the little fur ball curled up on the couch. In the dark she could make out his coat of soft white fur, and she reached out to scratch his head, filled with relief that her baby was fine.

When he felt her hand, he pressed his head against her fingers to encourage more love. Mel smiled and rubbed him right behind the ears where he liked it best. Captain Jack uncurled and stretched, and Mel realized that he wasn't curled up on her dark chenille throw, but rather he was napping on the chest of a man, a big hairy man with a broad chest and a beard.

Ack!
Mel let out a squeak and snatched Captain Jack off of the man. In her haste she lost her balance and landed on her butt on the floor. The noise woke the man and he sat up. Mel scrambled away. She had to get out of here.

She rolled to her knees, keeping Jack in a football hold with her right arm. She half stumbled half crawled towards the door. Captain Jack let out a yowling protest, wiggled free, and darted towards the kitchenette, where normally she would be fixing his supper at this time.

“No, Jack! Damn it!”

Mel snatched her cordless phone from the holder and was trying to dial 9-1-1, but her hands were shaking and she was still trying to scuttle away.

“Mel, wait!” the man said.

Mel glanced up. She knew that voice. She felt the world contract and then spring back, or maybe that was just her heart.

“It's me,” he said. Then he reached over and switched on the same lamp she had been trying to turn on when she came in.

Joe!

He stood while Mel crawled onto the lone armchair in the room. She felt all of the blood rush to her head, and she could do no more than stare at him like an idiot. He took the opportunity to lock the door.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi?” she asked. She grabbed a pillow from behind her back and hurled it at him with the force of a closing pitcher in a pennant race.

Joe caught it before it connected with his face. He lowered it and smiled at her. It was his knee-wilter, Joe DeLaura patent-worthy grin, the same one that had been turning her to jelly since she was twelve and he was sixteen.

“It's been a while,” he said.

“Seven weeks, five days”—she paused to glance at the clock on the wall and then added—“and one hour. Not that I've kept track.”

When he grinned, his teeth were a white slash against his scruffy beard. Mel wondered when he had acquired that. She wondered if it was soft or bristly; then she reminded herself that she didn't care.

“The brothers said you wanted to talk to me,” he said.

“Yeah,” Mel said. But now that he was here and since so much had happened, she had no idea what to say to him. She'd thought she'd have more time to prepare.

“I've missed you,” he said. His chocolate brown eyes looked as miserable as she felt. And the way he was staring at her made her feel as if he was trying to reacquaint himself with every bit of her.

“Well, then perhaps you shouldn't have rejected my proposal,” Mel said. She was pretty sure she was spitting out icicles with her words.

Joe looked pained. They hadn't spoken since the night he had told her that things had changed between them, no explanation, just a rejection of her proposal of marriage. Then he had disappeared into the night like a fugitive.

“Mel, I'm sorry, I know I could have handled it better,” he said.

“You think?” she asked. She rose to her feet. This had been a bad idea. She'd thought she wanted to talk to him just to see how he was doing and reassure herself that he was okay, but too many old feelings were bubbling to the surface. It was time for him to go.

Joe tossed the pillow onto the futon, and they stood staring at each other. The four feet between them might as well have been filled with hot coals. There was no crossing this chasm.

Mel was a potent cocktail of angry, sad, scared, confused, you name it. She was practically vibrating with the combustion of emotions inside of her, and she had no idea which one was going to explode out of her first. If Joe had a functional fight-or-flight response going on, he would be smart to run for cover, because she was a little bit crazy right now.

Captain Jack had leapt up onto the counter. As if sensing a squabble brewing between his kitty parents, he let out a long, pitiful yowl and then knocked his plastic dish off the counter. Mel had no doubt that it was to remind her that no matter her personal issues, it was dinnertime.

She heaved a sigh and strode over to the counter. Retrieving his dish from the floor, she crossed over to her pantry, which was little more than a narrow floor-to-ceiling cupboard.

As she filled Jack's bowl, she glanced at Joe, who was still watching her with the intensity of a laser beam. She swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat. She shook off any misguided attraction she might be feeling and reminded herself to cling to her rage.

“I'm going to need my key back,” she said. She was pleased that her voice sounded even, almost casual in fact.

“No,” Joe said.

“Excuse me?” She placed the food bowl in front of Captain Jack, who commenced chowing down.

“I'll need it to keep an eye on the place,” he said. “I spoke to Tate. I know what happened today. You're leaving town with Angie.”

Mel thought it was a darn good thing all of her pots and pans were well out of reach, otherwise she might have been tempted to pick one up and brain him with it.

“That's not happening,” she said. She turned to face him, crossed her arms over her chest, and raised one eyebrow in challenge as she stared him down.

Joe mimicked her stance right down to the eyebrow, and she knew it was game on.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “Did I make it sound like it's optional? Because it's not.”

“You are not the boss of me,” Mel said. “I have two weddings, a bar mitzvah, and three baby showers to bake for in the next two weeks. I am not going anywhere.”

“Oz can do the baking,” he said.

“He's still in culinary school,” Mel said. “He doesn't have time.”

“Then cancel the orders,” he said.

“No!” Mel said. “My business reputation will be destroyed.”

“Fine,” he said. “Subcontract Olivia to fill the orders for you. You know she'd do it.”

“And have her steal my customers?” Mel argued. She uncrossed her arms and spread them wide in the universal gesture that asked,
Are
you a moron?

Joe scratched the beard on his chin as if it itched. Mel stepped closer to get a better look at his whiskers. There was something not right there. She reached out and grabbed the edge of his beard, and then she yanked. With a sound like Velcro separating, Joe's beard peeled off of his face.

“Yow!” he yelped and clapped a hand to his chin. “What did you do that for?”

“Why are you wearing a fake beard?” she asked. She wanted to cling to her fury, but he looked so ridiculous that she was having a hard time not laughing at him.

“I didn't want anyone to recognize me,” he said. “I didn't want to come anywhere near you until this case is over.”

“And you think this piece of roadkill”—she paused to dangle the faux face hair in between them—“was a decent disguise?”

“You have to see the whole thing,” he said.

“Go on then,” she said.

Joe turned away from her and scrounged around on her futon. He fumbled with his back to her, and when he turned around she had to admit he looked nothing like Joe DeLaura, assistant district attorney and snappy dresser. Instead he had a pillow-enhanced gut and a ratty NASCAR baseball hat, and when she handed over the beard and he stuck it back on his face, she knew she wouldn't have recognized him if they'd passed each other on the street.

Then she met his gaze, and his disguise unraveled like tugging a loose thread on a sweater. The long dark lashes that surrounded his warm brown eyes were so pretty they were almost feminine, and when he looked at her with equal parts worry and want, she felt the impact like a fist to the chest.

Mel spun away from him. She didn't want to do this anymore. It hurt.

She went to check on Captain Jack, who kept his face in his food bowl and ignored her.

“Good disguise,” she said. She heard Joe rustling behind her and she assumed he was removing the hat and pillow. “How is Scott doing?”

The sounds behind her stopped. She would have turned around to look at him, but she didn't want to. Maybe it was best if Joe stayed in disguise. Then she could pretend he'd gone to seed and try to get over him.

Joe was silent for so long she wondered if he'd heard her. When she glanced behind her, she found him beardless, hatless, and pillow-less standing right behind her. He braced his hands on the counter, one on each side of her, caging her in. He was so close, Mel could feel the heat coming off of his body. The desire to lean against him and seek comfort after such a horrible day was almost more than she could resist.

She stiffened her spine. She knew Joe was not above using her attraction to him to manipulate her into doing what he wanted. This was the problem with letting someone wholly into your heart; they knew exactly which buttons to push to get what they wanted.

“He is beyond devastated,” Joe said. His voice was a low, gruff rub. “Kristin was his other half. At the medical examiner's office, noises were coming out of him that I've never heard before. It sounded like someone was ripping his heart out of his chest with their bare hands.”

Joe paused and ran his hand over his face as if he could wipe away the memory.

“It is exactly how I would feel if anything happened to you. Don't you see? You have to go,” he said.

Mel felt herself soften under his pleading like wax under a flame. She broke eye contact. She shook it off.

“Stop it,” she said. “Frank Tucci isn't coming after me. He went after Angie—maybe. She's the one who has to leave town, and I trust Tate to make sure that she does.”

“And when she does, who do you think he'll go after next?” Joe persisted. “Even with us being . . . apart, you're still a target as my last girlfriend.”

Last?
Mel told herself she didn't care, but the way her heart banged around in her chest, she knew she couldn't deny that she was happy that Joe wasn't dating anyone else. So stupid! As if the man had time to date while trying the biggest case of his career.

“Do you really think that one of Tucci's thugs killed Kristin thinking she was Angie?” Mel asked.

Joe winced. He ran his hands through his thick black hair and blew out a breath. “I hate it, but yeah, that's what I think. I can't let him win, Mel. I'm going to get that son of a bitch, and I'm going to make him pay.”

His voice came from deep in his chest and sounded like the menacing growl of a wild dog. Mel had never seen him so furious or so determined.

She nodded. She could only imagine how he must feel. The guilt that she felt after realizing that Angie was okay only because Scott's wife was killed in her place had been the emotional equivalent of getting backslapped by a wrecking ball. She knew Angie and Tate felt the same.

“Tate will convince Angie to leave,” she said. “But Joe, I can't go. I would lose everything.”

“Not your life,” he said.

Mel saw his jaw jut out. Oh, boy. The DeLaura stubborn streak was rearing its blocky head.

“I could always call your mother,” he said.

“You wouldn't dare,” she protested.

One of Joe's eyebrows twitched, and she knew that he would tell Joyce and he wouldn't even feel bad about it.

“No, just no,” she said. “My mother does not need that kind of stress and worry. You could give the poor woman a heart attack.”

“Not if you leave town,” he said.

“Let me be very clear,” Mel said. “I. Am. Not. Leaving.”

“But—” Joe began but she cut him off.

“No,” she said. “Listen, if there had been an attempt on my life or any indication that I was in danger then sure, I'd consider leaving, but there hasn't been. You should be happy. Dumping me really worked out for you.”

It was a cheap shot to the man junk, and she knew it. Still, she didn't take it back or apologize.

“Mel,” he said. “You know it wasn't like that. Listen, I'm sorry. I know I hurt you, but it was to keep you safe.”

“Because I am just an idiot cupcake baker who can't take care of herself, right?”

“You know it's not that simple.”

Mel knew he was right, but she had a couple of months of stored-up hurt and resentment, so even knowing he was right, she kept on arguing.

“Oh, I think it is that simple,” she said. “You think I am too dumb to handle myself in your world, so you just cut me loose.”

Okay, now she was just needling him. She knew it. He knew it. She knew he knew it, and yet she couldn't stop herself.

“Mel.” Joe knuckled his eyes as if trying to get everything back into focus.

He looked so tired that she almost relented, but then she remembered that he had walked away from her proposal without even telling her why. Manny had been the one to tell her what was up; for that alone, Mel harbored a chip on her shoulder with all the density of a pound cake.

“Don't you ‘Mel' me,” she said. She pushed around him, snatched his things up, and shoved them at him. “Time to put on your fugitive outfit and git.”

She didn't wait for him but strode to the door and unlocked the dead bolt and the door handle. She gave him a pointed look, making her expectation of his imminent departure clear.

He shook his head as if he knew he would get no further with her. He pressed on his beard, stuffed the pillow in his shirt, and slapped on the cap. He took a moment to scratch Jack's ears and exchange a head butt. Jack purred deep and long as if pleased that the members of his human-cat pack were all here.

Mel wanted to hustle him out the door, but the sight of her two boys together took her out at the knees. She'd missed Joe so much. She'd missed this, the three of them together. She missed being a part of a “We be” instead of an “I be,” as in “We be doing this” instead of “I be doing this.”

And it wasn't that she couldn't be alone. Mel did alone alarmingly well. In fact, since she worked with customers all day long, most nights she was more than happy to spend her evenings with no one to talk to except Captain Jack. But Joe, well, she missed him. She missed knowing that at the end of the day there was someone waiting for her. And yeah, she could go out and find a new man, but he wouldn't be Joe.

Joe straightened up from snuggling Jack. He turned to look at her, and Mel didn't like the look in his eyes. It didn't bode well for her winning the argument.

He strode towards her, his lanky form well muscled despite the pillow stuffed into his shirt. He stopped right next to her, and his chocolate brown gaze was warm as it studied her face as if trying to memorize the shape of her lips, the length of her eyelashes, and the curve of her cheek. It also made her brain turn to goo.

Before Mel could register his intent, she was hauled up against him, and he planted a kiss on her that made her light-headed and weak in the knees. She had only a second to note that the rough feel of his faux beard against her skin was kinda hot before he pulled away to look at her.

“Do you want to know when the first time I noticed you
that
way
was?” he asked.

Mel swallowed. He was still holding her pressed up against him, and she found her language skills were lost somewhere amidst the sensory overload she had going on. She tried anyway.

“A year and a half ago,” she guessed. It came out breathier than she intended, but he didn't seem to mind. She tried to make light of it and added, “Right after we opened the shop, and your sweet tooth led you to your doom.”

“Wrong,” he said. “The very first time I knew Melanie Cooper was going to cause me a whole lot of trouble was on the family vacation to Cabo. The second night there you and Angie dressed up and snuck out to go clubbing.”

Mel's eyes went wide. “I was seventeen. That was back when I was a chunk.”

Joe cupped her face and stared into her eyes. “You were as beautiful then as you are now, and I almost had a heart attack when you smiled at me from across the club, wearing that too-tight and too-short dress and flirting with men who had bad intentions.”

Mel was stunned, then she frowned. “You grabbed us and hauled us out of the club and then yelled at us all the way back to the hotel. You tortured us for days, threatening to tell your parents about what we'd done.”

“I had to keep you in line somehow, didn't I?” he asked. “Besides, I found the thought of you smiling at any other man the way you smiled at me in the club—disturbing.”

“You spent the rest of the vacation bird-dogging us,” Mel said. “Angie was furious.”

“You didn't seem to mind,” he said.

She knew what he was doing. He was reeling her in the way he always did, reminding her of how long she had loved him from afar. Per usual, it was fruitless to deny it.

“No, I didn't mind,” she said. “Because you already had my heart; I'd been crushing on you for five years by then. Why didn't you say anything or do anything in Cabo?”

“Because you were my little sister's best friend,” he said. “Because right up until Cupid snuck up and shot me in the behind that night, I had always thought of you as another sister. But once I didn't, I found I couldn't anymore.”

“Then you went back to college,” she said.

“And then you went to college while I was off to law school,” he said.

“But you never said anything the few times I saw you,” she said.

“I convinced myself it was just a phase, some temporary Mexico vacation insanity that would pass,” he said. “And then you had that boyfriend. He was a toad.”

He sounded jealous. Mel smiled.

“And you had a girlfriend,” she said. “Sal said she looked like a giraffe.”

“She did,” Joe admitted. He laughed and then he grew serious. “You moved to Los Angeles.”

“But then I came home.”

“And I was waiting.”

Mel leaned forward and rested her head against Joe's chest. The hurt and anger she'd been hanging on to over the past few weeks was yielding under the old Joe DeLaura razzle-dazzle. Damn him.

“You're asking me to wait,” she said.

“Just one more time, if you're willing,” he said.

Mel straightened up and met his gaze. How long could she wait for this man? She felt as if she'd been waiting her whole life, but then, from what he'd told her, she wasn't the only one. He'd been waiting, too. And didn't that just charm her stupid.

“Maybe,” she said.

Joe raised his eyebrows in surprise. She supposed he'd expected her to be more resistant. Silly man.

“But things have to change,” she said. “You can't just shut me out of the information loop. If something is going on, like a dangerous case, you have to tell me about it and not just walk away. And you can't order me to leave town.”

He nodded as if he was really listening to her. Mel had her doubts, but she was willing to give him a chance. One more chance.

“All right,” he said. He hugged her close, picking her up off of her feet, and Mel had to fight the urge to wrap herself around him in a hold that strangled. He set her down and added, “You do realize that since you refuse to leave town, I'm going to have to deploy alternate measures to keep you safe.”

“Huh?” Mel braced herself against the wall as her thinking was still a bit fuzzy from being so near him.

“You leave me no choice,” he said ominously. He cupped her face and kissed her one more time. It was equal parts tender and possessive, a thorough debauching of her senses, and it left Mel dazed and bewildered and hopeful. “Be careful, cupcake.”

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but he didn't. Mel fought to get her moorings as he opened the door and with one last soulful look, he left.

Mel reached out and locked the door behind him, realizing as she did that he had never handed over her key. She noticed her fingers were shaking and her breath was coming in shallow hiccups. Her throat was tight and she was trying not to cry. Now that there was a new understanding between them, she realized how much she hated that he was leaving her—again.

As if sensing her distress, Captain Jack hopped off of the counter and padded to where she stood by the door. He wound himself around her ankle and let loose a yowl that told her he wasn't happy with Joe's departure, either. Then he stood on his hind legs and placed his front feet on her knee, slowly extending his claws to hook into her jeans.

“Okay, okay,” Mel said. She reached down and scooped up her boy, snuggling him close. As he purred and rubbed against her, Mel sighed. Then she straightened up and looked at him. “What do you suppose he meant by ‘alternate safety measures'?”

Captain Jack didn't say, and the sinking feeling in her stomach was not reassuring.

Angie slammed through the back door the next morning. She was muttering under her breath, and Mel glanced up from the steel table in the bakery's kitchen and watched as her friend yanked open the door to their tiny office, threw her purse into the room, and slammed the door shut. The force of her slam caused the door to pop back open and bang off of the wall and slam shut again. This time it stayed shut.

“Finished?” Mel asked.

Angie sucked in a breath. It sounded to Mel as if she was trying to take in all of the air in the room. She had known Angie for over twenty years, and she knew that when Angie stood with her shoulders back and her head high, she was in the grip of a powerful temper.

Mel put down the tiny cookie cutter she'd been using to punch out gerbera daisies in the bright yellow fondant she had rolled out. She considered her friend with the same respect she'd give a wild javelina, should one come barreling into the bakery.

When it looked like Angie was successfully calming herself down, Mel offered, “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” Angie snapped. “Yes. Oh, what's the point?”

“You might feel better,” Mel said.

“No, and in about five minutes you're going to feel as livid as I do,” Angie said.

“What are you talking about?” Mel asked. “Is something wrong with Tate? Are you two okay? What aren't you telling me?”

Angie glanced over Mel's head at the imperceptible camera her brother Tony had installed in the shop. She stomped towards it, glared up at it, and then made a rude hand gesture.

“Angie,” Mel said. “What has gotten into—”