Here Comes Trouble (2 page)

Great.

“Hello, lover.” The husky, sleep-riddled voice felt like ants crawling down his legs.

“Why are you shouting?” he mumbled into the pillow. “No shouting. Must be quiet.”

The nameless woman next to him chuckled with what sounded like a muffled witch’s cackle. Her leg slid farther over his. “I think someone had too much to drink last night.”

Chase’s only response was a grunt. Maybe if he ignored her she’d shut up and let him go back to sleep. Then the blessed pounding in his head would quiet long enough to let him move to a vertical position.

The persistent woman didn’t get his hint. “Come on, Chase. You promised me one more time,” she whined. Chase hated it when women whined.

One more time his ass. He had no clear memory of last night, of how he ended up in this woman’s bed, or who she was. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open long enough to get a clear picture of her face. Maybe if she closed her curtains at night like a normal person, he could open his eyes without feeling like he stared straight into the sun.

Slowly, images from the last twelve hours or so formed in his head. He remembered closing up the restaurant after work, and walking to his truck. It had been late, around midnight, the parking lot mostly empty. Chase squeezed his eyes shut tighter as the mystery woman next to him scraped her fingernails over his ass. What the hell was her name? She had stood leaning against his truck when he walked out of the restaurant. She’d held a six-pack of beer in one hand and a bottle of Jack. That would explain the hangover.

“Chasey …” She placed a kiss on the back of his shoulder.

Ah, hell. Only one woman had the balls to call him
Chasey
.

Sonja Hartley, a woman with more beauty than brains. Her hair had been straight the last time he’d seen her; that’s why he hadn’t recognized her. They’d gone on a few dates about a year ago, but their relationship had never progressed past casual dinner and some pretty inventive sex. He couldn’t really remember what happened after downing four beers with whiskey chasers. His elementary detective skills would deduce driving back to her house, getting shit-faced then tumbling into bed. Great. It was like being back in college.

He groaned again and rolled onto his back, if only to stop her groping his backside. No way was he going another round with this woman. Had he been sober, he probably never would have gone the first round.

“You promised me, Chase.” Her tone had gone from sweet and pleading to more demanding.

He tried one more time to open his eyes. The light was still blinding, but this time he managed to hold them open and blink the room into focus.

Holy hell!
 
It was like Walt Disney had thrown up in here. What was the name of the princess who had her own castle at Disneyland? Cinderella? Chase imagined her room looking something like this. The bed was one of those four-poster canopy things with a sheer, gauzy curtain draped across the top. The curtain did a piss-poor job of filtering out the sunlight. The rest of the room was all white furniture and pink girly shit strewn about every available surface. If he had to wake up in this room every day, he’d walk outside and throw himself in front of a semi-truck.

“Chase, I’m serious. I have to be at work in an hour, and I know how you like to take your time.”

Work. Shit
.

“What the hell time is it?” He rasped, his throat sore and dry as if he’d spent the better part of the night swallowing pinecones.

Sonja leaned across him to check her watch, which she’d discarded on the nightstand. In the process her breasts scraped against his chest. He had to get away from this woman. His mind was pretty logical about these things, but his manly parts weren’t. It tended to respond whenever seeing a remotely attractive woman.

“It’s eight o’clock,” she responded.

Fabulous. He should have been at work an hour ago. He hoped his father had had a late morning too and wouldn’t notice his son’s tardiness.
Not likely
.

He kicked off the hideous, flowery, girly comforter and stood on weak legs. Not a great morning to skip his customary jog. He could really use the opportunity to regain his strength. Hell, he didn’t even have time for a shower.

 
“Where’re you going? I have a whole hour.”

“I don’t.” He heard her moving underneath the sheets and avoided looking at her. “Where the hell are my clothes?” He’d spotted his jeans on the other side of the room but the rest were nowhere to be seen.

“I think your shirt and shoes are still in the living room.”

He swiped his jeans off the floor and was about to pull them on when he remembered he was still buck naked. “Where’s my underwear?”

“I don’t know.” Fake innocence laced the morning huskiness of her voice. She’d pulled herself upright and held the lavender sheet around her breasts. She watched him with deep blue eyes while nibbling on a baby-pink nail.

The last time they’d been together she’d somehow gotten hold of his watch. Reluctantly he’d driven back here to retrieve it, at which time she’d tried to get him back into bed.
 
Heck, maybe she did have brains after all.

“What’d you do with them?” He was starting to feel foolish standing bare-ass naked in the middle of her stupid girly room.

She pulled her knees up to her chest. “I swear I didn’t do anything with them. Maybe they got kicked under the bed. You were kind of in a hurry,” she said with a wicked and knowing smile.

He eyed her with suspicion, which she only returned with the same naughty tilt of her unpainted lips. His underwear wasn’t under the bed. It could be anywhere, considering he couldn’t remember taking them off.

“Screw it,” he said pulling jeans on. “I’m going commando.”

Sonja walked on her knees to the edge of the bed and ran her index finger over his chest. “Why are you in such a hurry? I’m offering you more sex.” Her finger continued its journey down his stomach and into his pants, along with the rest of her hand.

Damn persistent woman. He managed to tear her hand away right before it wrapped around his not-so-sensible parts. “Will you stop molesting me? I’m late for work.”

She sat back on her heels and crossed her arms under her breasts, completely uncaring of her nudity. “I see you still live by the same bang-and-run motto.”

“You got that right.” He tossed the words over his shoulder as he walked out her bedroom door. Sure enough, his shirt lay by the front door, along with his socks and shoes. He gathered them up, and walked to his truck.

The early morning air was already warm, promising another unbearably hot day. Chase left his shirt off and tossed it on the passenger seat as he climbed into the vehicle. His phone, which had been left in the cup holder all night, beeped annoyingly at him from the second he sat down. The leather seat burned his backside, one spot in particular on the back of his left shoulder. He ignored the pain and picked up his phone.

One voice message. Probably his father ripping him a new one for being late.

“Where the hell are you? There’s food missing from the refrigerator. Drag yourself out of whoever’s bed you’re in and get your ass in here.”
  

Yep, his father definitely didn’t sound happy. Maybe he’d just say his alarm clock broke. No need to exacerbate the old man’s anger by letting him know that Chase’s drunken one-night stand interfered with his work.

What a morning to have a hangover

****

Twenty minutes later, with combed hair and fresh clothes, Chase walked into McDermott’s to face a less-than-pleased Martin. At eight-thirty in the morning, the restaurant was empty except for his father and the head chef who were gathered in the kitchen. The kitchen was set up for prep like it was every morning, with fresh pasta being pressed and vegetables being cut.

“What happened?” Chase walked across the large room and came to a stop in front of the two men.

His father turned to acknowledge him. “You’re an hour and a half late.”

“Sorry. I overslept.” That was a close to the truth as he’d get. “Your message said there’s food missing from the fridge.”

“Yeah, there are five pounds of halibut missing.” The muscle in his father’s jaw tensed when he finished speaking.

“How do you know?”

“I did a supply check last night when I left. I counted fifteen pounds of halibut. When I got here this morning, there were only ten pounds,” Henry said. Unlike most chefs, Henry’s demeanor was calm. He was one of those men with very unremarkable looks, except for the russet-colored Fu Manchu and the sideburns that grew all the way down to his jawbone. Other than that, his five-foot-nine height made it hard to intimidate for him anyone. But the man could cook anything placed in front of him.

“What were we doing with fifteen pounds of leftover halibut?” They rarely had leftover food. Extra food equaled money loss; unless it was something they could puree or add as a side dish. Neither could be done with halibut.

“That’s not the point,” his father interjected. “We have over a hundred dollars’ of seafood missing and no explanation. Where do you think they went, Mr. GM?” Martin directed his attention to Chase.

“What’re you asking me for? We shouldn’t have had any leftover seafood anyway.”

Henry threw a cautious glance at Martin. His throat worked before he answered. “We had a slow night.”

Chase slid his hands in his pockets and jingled the change. “Have you asked Meryl and Phil?” Meryl and Phil, the sous chefs, were the backbone of Henry’s operation and nothing went on in the kitchen they didn’t know about.

“Meryl wasn’t here last night. And Phil doesn’t know what happened to them.” Henry’s thick fingers pulled at one of the buttons on his pristine white jacket.

“Seems to me we have a dishonest employee on our hands.”

“Wait a minute, Dad.” Chase knew exactly where his father’s thoughts were heading. “Those fish would have been thrown away anyway. And you don’t know someone stole them. There could be a dozen explanations for this.”

“Such as?”

Well, shit. He didn’t have any ideas off the top of his head. His brain was still beer-foggy.

“I didn’t think so. I have some paperwork to go over in my office. But I want you,” Martin said with a glance at Chase, “to start going over the security tapes. Have something ready to show me by the end of the day. In the meantime, I don’t care for tonight’s specials. You and Henry need to come up with some new ones.” With that, he disappeared through the heavy metal door that led to the offices upstairs.

That was his father for you, ever the consummate order-giver. Why was the man even here? He should be at the new restaurant that opened a few months ago. Hadn’t Chase proven he could handle things here without the need for a babysitter? His father was such a control freak. Chase tried not to resent the particular trait that ran strong in his own blood. In fact, it was what made his father so successful. He just knew now Martin would use this whole someone-is-stealing-from-me thing to breathe even further down Chase’s neck. Like he was some teenager in training who didn’t know shit about restaurants.

As Henry walked away, Chase stood in the empty kitchen and couldn’t ignore the burning on his back. Had Sonja held a lighter to his skin last night while he slept? The same small spot burned all the way to work. It almost felt like someone had seared off his flesh. He rolled his shoulder back as if that would ease the burning. It didn’t help.

A heavy sigh flowed out of his sleep-deprived body. Might as well start watching those tapes. As if he didn’t have anything better to do.

“Rough morning?”

The light, bedroom voice floated over his skin and washed away any fatigue he’d been feeling. His senses went on instant alert. Funny how Lacy Taylor, a woman he hadn’t given a passing thought to in his youth, managed to do that to him.

He turned and let his gaze meander down her body. A thin cotton shirt, draped loosely over small but perky breasts, fell almost to the hem of some frayed denim shorts. The cutoffs did a piss poor job of covering creamy, slender thighs, thighs that were built to be wrapped around a man’s hips. Chase’s MO was usually a busty brunette. He didn’t make a habit of going after skinny blondes who cut their jeans into shorts and were always ready to verbally spar with him. Lacy had a way of making his body rebel against his own mind.

“You’re brooding,” she added when he didn’t respond to her.

“I don’t brood.”

She flipped a strand of long, blond hair over her shoulder. “All men brood. It’s an occupational hazard. Plus I could hear your teeth grinding together when I walked in the door.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up. “You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

“Noticed that, did you?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and ignored her comment. “You’re here a little early.”

Her teasing smile fell a fraction. “I need next week’s schedule.”

“You know Anita doesn’t post those until Wednesdays.”

“I was hoping she’d be here working on it.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Her teeth sank into her full lower lip as she gazed around the empty restaurant. The mischief lighting up her green irises faded. Chase wanted to coax that light back into her eyes. Getting her all riled up had become a favorite pastime of his. Lacy wasn’t one to take flak from anyone, least of all him. She met him head on every single time.