Harlequin Intrigue, Box Set 2 of 2 (29 page)

He shrugged. “Maybe I should buy the Fitzler property, live just down the road from my old house.”

He was joking. But the idea didn't seem all that crazy to her. “It has that big outbuilding,” she said. “Certainly big enough for creating prototypes or whatever it is you engineering types like to make.”

He scratched his head. “You know what they say, you can never go back home again. Somebody very wise probably learned that the hard way.”

“That's just something that parents try to tell their kids when they're graduating from college. Come on. It would be cool. You'd be in one house and Chase in the other. It would be as if you owned the road. Like the road might really be called Route 6 but everyone in the community would refer to as Hollister Road.”

“Now you're getting crazy,” he said good-naturedly.

She let it go. It was his decision. She would be long gone. With that unsettling thought heavy on her heart, she reached for the radio knob and started looking for something to listen to.

They didn't talk again until Cal said, “Five minutes out.”

She rubbed her hands together in anticipation.

“It's possible that the Mercedes Men may have the location staked out,” he said.

She'd thought of that. The risk was worth it. For some reason, the Mercedes Men had stopped at Dawson's Diner. She didn't think it was as simple as they suddenly had a hankering for a ham sandwich. “I'll get down on the floor. You check out the parking lot. If we see their cars, we leave.”

“That should work.”

She unbuckled her seat belt and got on the floor. “I hope they're there,” she said.

He chuckled. “Ready to bust somebody's chops?”

“Maybe.”

“Even if the lot is clear, I should probably go in first, just to make sure that they haven't gotten smart and changed vehicles. Give me a three-minute head start.”

She could tell when they turned into the lot. It was rougher and Cal slowed way down. The SUV made a big circle. He was going around the building. “Anything?” she asked.

“Nope. I'm going to park. Three minutes,” he reminded her.

“Got it,” she said.

He parked, shut off the vehicle and got out without another word. She looked at her watch.

The first minute went fast. The next sixty seconds dragged on. She held her breath for the third minute. Then she straightened up, opened her door and calmly walked into the diner.

Cal was sitting in a booth and smiled at her. She sat down.

He pushed a menu in her direction. “See anybody interesting?” he asked, his voice low.

She shook her head. As she'd walked in, she'd looked at everybody. There hadn't been a flicker of recognition in her blank slate of a mind and nothing alarming on anyone else's faces.

“The same waitress is working today. Her name is Lena. Maybe she'll be helpful. I left a really good tip.”

Despite her anxiety, she smiled. When the waitress came up, she was wearing a bright fuchsia smock and white pants and her hair was pulled up into a lopsided bun. She was probably midforties.

“Hey,” Lena said, looking at Cal. “I remember you.”

A woman would have to be dead not to remember Cal Hollister. Big tip or not.

He smiled up at her. “The apple pie was so good I had to come back.”

“Glad the storm didn't get you,” Lena said. She turned toward Stormy. “Can I get you some...” Her voice trailed off. “Coffee?” Lena finished stronger.

She had to take the chance. “Have we met?” she asked. “You look so familiar.” She did her best
I'm sweet and harmless
imitation.

“I...uh...” Lena stammered and looked at Cal. He had a relaxed look on his face and was looking at the menu as if his greatest ambition in life was to discover the morning breakfast special.

“I don't think we've met,” Lena said. “But I saw a picture of you. Just the other day.”

“Oh really, which one was that?”

“You were sitting at a bar. Wearing a royal blue dress that crossed in the front.”

She could see the dress. Could see herself at the bar. She'd been nursing a glass of white wine. Waiting.

Damn it. Who was she waiting for?

Who the hell had taken a picture of her there?

And how in the world had this woman seen it? “Love that dress,” she said.

“Your fiancé was flashing it around when he came in to talk to Pietro about the food for your wedding reception. He's pretty proud of you.”

She was glad no one had yet poured her coffee. She would have surely choked on it. She couldn't very well ask her fiancé's name or for a description. She put a finger up to her lips and tapped thoughtfully. “I'm trying to remember how he knew Pietro,” she said.

“He told me that the two of them had worked together at Moldaire College. I got the impression that they hadn't seen each other for a while.” Lena lowered her voice. “I know Pietro and his wife moved here about four years ago. Unfortunately for him, she and their son left about a year ago, moved back to Kansas City. He stayed, though, said he liked the area.”

“That all rings a bell,” she said. “You know, I'd love to say hello to Pietro. Is he working today?”

“Nope. It's his day off.”

“Shoot.” She waved her hand in Cal's direction. “My stepbrother helped me pay for the wedding. We'd both appreciate having the opportunity to thank Pietro personally for making it such a special day. Does he live nearby?”

“A couple miles down on Summerfield Road,” Lena said. “Big yellow house on the hill.”

Cal gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Great,” she said.

Lena smiled. “He's a nice guy but his ego does need to be stroked. He'll enjoy hearing how the food was at the reception.”

Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. Just because he'd fixed food for the wedding reception didn't necessarily mean there'd been a wedding. “Delicious,” she said. “It was delicious.”

“You two going to have breakfast?” Lena asked.

She could hardly wait to follow up on the two leads. Pietro and Moldaire College. But it would look odd if they didn't eat. “Absolutely. I'll take a short stack of pancakes and a big cup of coffee.”

Cal ordered eggs, bacon and hash browns along with coffee. He waited to speak until Lena was at the other end of the restaurant.

“Nicely done,” he said.

“Thank you. We probably better leave her another big tip.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Stormy ate half her pancakes before pushing her plate aside. He figured that was as good as he could have hoped for.

He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told her that she'd done a nice job. She'd struck just the right chord with Lena and the two of them had been chatting like old friends.

Lena came by, dropped off the check and cleared their plates. He took one last swig of coffee. “Ready?”

Stormy nodded.

He saw her glance at the check amount and knew that she was likely going to add it to her list of expenses to reimburse, somewhere between basil and flour.

He left Lena a tip in line with what he'd left the first time. Her information had been golden but there was no sense letting on that they were too grateful.

He led the way out of the diner and, after opening the door, stood in the entrance and scanned the exterior. Nothing too different than when they'd come in. Different vehicles getting gas, of course, but none of them was a black Mercedes. Of course, it was possible that they were being observed from a distance. He and Stormy had done just that at the toboggan factory. He glanced off into the distance. There wasn't anything close enough to warrant concern. He stepped away from the doorstep and started walking. He shortened his stride so that Stormy could easily keep up.

“Pietro or Moldaire College?” he asked.

She opened her door and slid in. He walked around the SUV.

“Pietro,” she said, buckling her seat belt. “Even if Moldaire is a small college, it will still be like looking for a needle in a haystack because I won't know where to start.”

“The first time I met Lena, she told me that Pietro was a chef at a restaurant in the student union at the college. Catered all the significant events.”

“That helps,” she said. “Still, let's see if we can find him. Maybe he can start to fill in the missing pieces.”

“He might be in on it. Maybe one of the Mercedes Men is his best friend. His brother.”

She sat back in her seat, evidently considering his comment. He appreciated that in her excitement at having a lead, she didn't immediately dismiss his concerns. She was a thinker.

“Lena said they worked together at the college. She didn't say they were old friends or any kind of relative.”

“Maybe she doesn't know the extent of their relationship,” he countered.

“Maybe. I need to take the chance. But you're right. There is a risk. I'm going alone.”

“Like hell you are,” he said.

“It only makes sense,” she argued. “If he's in on it, then we don't want him to know anything about you. If that happens, your home will be compromised.”

“What if he tries to detain you until his friends come back?” He didn't know why he was bothering to even discuss it. It wasn't going to happen.

“Let me see your gun,” she said.

That surprised him. “Why?”

“I want to see if it feels familiar.”

He didn't care if she'd given shooting instruction to the military. “Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

She shrugged. “I think so.”

“The fact that you
think
you know how to shoot a gun is not terribly comforting.”

She waved a hand. “I promise I won't shoot myself or him, unnecessarily,” she added.

He could feel his breakfast rumble in his stomach. He, who never got nervous about anything. “I'm not giving you my gun.” He started the car. Pulled out of the lot.

“I assume you know where Summerfield Road is?”

“Sort of. I think it's only a few miles from where I found you. There won't be that many houses. We should be able to find the yellow one on the hill.”

“Okay. Get me close and then I'll let you out. Once I talk to him, I'll be back to get you.”

“No. You let me out, give me ten minutes to get into position and then drive up to the house.”

She didn't say anything. Then finally she sighed. Loudly. “Fine. Let's just do this.”

He took the same exit off the Interstate that he'd taken just two days ago. When he made the sweeping turn, he couldn't help but look at the place where he'd found Stormy. The wind had whipped the snow around and there was no sign that he or anyone else had tromped through the ditch.

“Was that the place?” she asked, her voice soft.

He slowed down. “Yeah. Want to have a closer look?”

She shook her head. “I am amazed that you saw me from the road. I...could have easily frozen to death.”

She could have. That thought made his knees feel as if they were made of jelly. But she didn't need to be dwelling on the what-ifs. “I think you were probably knocked out when you hit your head on the fence post. You were just regaining consciousness when I arrived. I suspect you'd have gotten up and thumbed a ride from the next car.”

“I'm not sure,” she admitted.

She was quiet for another two miles before she turned in her seat. “I'm glad it was you,” she said. “I'm glad and very, very grateful it was you.”

His throat felt tight. He was falling for Stormy. He didn't know her real name or her real story but none of that mattered.

“Did you recall that picture that Lena was describing, the one where you were wearing the blue dress?”

“Oddly enough, I did. I can't remember my own name but I could see myself in the blue dress, sitting at the bar.”

“What bar?” he asked casually.

“The Blue Mango.” She turned to him wide-eyed.

“Who were you with?” he followed up quickly.

* * *

S
HE
TRIED
TO
visualize it. But it made her feel sick. She shook her head. “It appears my subconscious is onto your tricks.”

“At least we got The Blue Mango,” he said. “That first night, in the hotel, you smelled like mangoes.”

She felt warm. “It was the hotel lotion.”

“I'm fond of mangoes,” he said.

She wasn't sure what to say to that. “Have you ever heard of this place?”

“Nope.” He pulled his cell phone from his shirt pocket and tossed it into her lap. “See if you can find it.”

His browser was fast and it took less than a minute. “There are three Blue Mangoes. One in Connecticut, one in Los Angeles and one in Kansas City.”

“Focus on the Kansas City one,” he said. “Proximity should never be ignored.”

“It's on Lager Avenue. They have their menu posted. It's a restaurant, too, not just a bar. Looks good,” she added, rather stupidly, she thought. His remembering how she'd smelled that first night had shaken her.

He slowed down to take the turn off onto Summerfield Road. It was a roughly paved road with large potholes at the edges.

Heck, maybe she'd only remembered The Blue Mango because she'd used mango lotion post injury. She certainly couldn't explain why some things were there and most things were not.

But maybe they wouldn't need The Blue Mango after all. Maybe everything would fall into place after their visit with the chef.

She knew that Cal was worried but she intended to be very careful. The knowledge that she'd been tied and drugged just days ago was still very fresh in her mind. But she'd push the man for answers if she had to. Time was ticking away. It was already Thursday.

Two miles down the road, she saw a yellow house on the hill. “Think that's it?”

“I'm sure it is. I'll do a pass-by first,” Cal said.

“Good idea,” she said. Cal didn't speed up or slow down as he drove by the two-story farmhouse. There were no cars in the driveway. That didn't mean much. There was a separate two-car garage. Pietro could be parked there. Visitors, too, she supposed.

What was clear was that there had been some activity at the house recently. The driveway was partially cleared of snow, the work of a shovel probably, versus a snowblower. Someone had made a path wide enough for one car that led up to the garage.

She couldn't tell if there were footsteps in the snow leading from the garage to the house but she assumed so. When she got close, she'd be able to tell if it was one set or multiple.

Once they crested the hill and were out of sight of the house, Cal slowed down quickly and stopped the vehicle. “I'll walk from here, through that field, and circle around behind the house. Ten minutes should be plenty.”

He was going to be walking in knee-high snow, with waist-high drifts in places. He was going to get soaked. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely.” He pulled on his gloves. “If something goes wrong,” he said, “your job is to get the hell out of here. Don't worry about me.”

“Nothing is going to go wrong.”

He turned toward her and before she realized his intent, he'd pulled her toward him. He kissed her hard. It was fast, intense and made her want more. “You got that right,” he said and opened his door.

If she'd thought it was difficult to wait three minutes before going into the diner, ten minutes was an eternity. In the entire time, no cars came from either direction. That was good in that there was no one to see Cal sprinting across the field.

She couldn't believe the man was running through the snow. He was clearly in amazing shape. It would have been quicksand to her but he was acting like it was warm surf.

At seven minutes he was too far away to distinguish from the trees that ran the perimeter of Pietro's property. At exactly ten minutes, she put the car into Drive and took off.

The driveway leading up to the house worried her and something told her that she didn't drive in snow very often. As she made the turn, the back tires lost traction and the rear end swerved. She got the vehicle under control, stayed in the path and drove up to the house.

She did not see Cal but she knew he was there.

She got out, listening carefully. She didn't hear anything unusual. She studied the footprints in the snow. It was hard to tell whether it had been one person making multiple trips between the house and garage or multiple people making one trip. She stepped up onto the porch, looked for a doorbell, didn't see one and started knocking.

About a minute later, the inside door opened. A middle-aged man with dark hair cut short and heavy, black-framed glasses stood beyond the screen door. He was wearing gray sweats and a white T-shirt. That almost made her smile because that was what she'd been wearing when she'd borrowed Cal's clothes. If she hadn't changed, they'd have been twins.

The man was holding a yellow pepper in his hand. That boosted her courage. Men with yellow peppers were harmless. This had to be Pietro, the chef.

He looked around her, as if he was trying to figure out how she'd ended up on his porch. He didn't show any signs of recognizing her but if the Mercedes Men had showed Lena her picture, it was a good hunch that they'd also shown the chef.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

She smiled. “I'm sorry to bother you but you recently catered my wedding and I just wanted to tell you what a wonderful job you did.”

There was no change of expression. She started to get very nervous.

“I...uh...got your name from Lena at the diner,” she added.

“How was the pork?” he asked.

“Delicious,” she said.

“The rosemary potatoes?”

Uh. “Fragrant. Wonderful.”

“Good.” His tone was flat.

She remembered that Lena had said that he needed his ego stroked. Maybe
delicious
and
wonderful
weren't enough.
Fragrant
probably didn't even count. She should have gone for something more.
Awesome. Best ever. Cooking-show worthy.
“I was wondering if you had a card or something that I could give to my girlfriends. A couple of them are getting married soon.”

He scratched his head. “No. Listen, I don't mean to be rude but I'm in the middle of something.”

She understood why he'd become a chef and stayed in the kitchen. He didn't have the personality to interact with customers. “But—”

He slammed the door in her face.

She wanted to kick it open and demand more information. But that didn't necessarily seem like the thing to do.

She walked to the SUV and got in. He hadn't cleared enough of the driveway to pull around, so she had to back down the lane. It allowed her to keep an eye on the house. She still did not see Cal.

She turned, drove over the hill, slowed and stopped. It was almost twelve minutes before she saw Cal coming across the field. Once he got close, she got out of the driver's seat and into the passenger seat. He entered the vehicle in a burst of cold air and pure male.

“Did you hear?” she asked.

“Every word,” he said.

“Where the heck were you?” she asked.

“Behind the garbage cans next to the garage. I wanted to see what vehicle was in the garage and then I wanted a position where I had a clear shot at the front door.”

He said it without emotion and she knew that had Pietro presented any danger to her, Cal would have stepped in quickly and taken care of things.

“I didn't get anything,” she said. “I'm sorry.”

“You got something. I don't think Pietro and your groom—”

“He's not
my
groom,” she interrupted.

He smiled. “Okay. How about we just call him G for short. I don't think Pietro and G were friends. He pretended not to recognize you but when you mentioned the food, you didn't surprise him. That was plain. And it was smart to try to reel him in with the mention of friends who might need catering. But he was so clearly done with you. That has to mean something. And I think it speaks to his relationship with...ah, you know who.”

It struck her that he was being deliberately a little provocative and silly to make her feel better. He had realized that she'd be bitterly disappointed and had wanted to head that off at the pass.