Eleventh Grave in Moonlight
Page 12
That seemed to satisfy him. For now.
“Okay,” I said, snapping out of my musings, “how about you look into that agency some more? And maybe do a more thorough background check on the Fosters. I want to know everything about them. Where they were born. Where they went to school. How they met. Surely there is something in their past that will help explain their present.”
“Already on it. You know, there’s something we haven’t discussed yet.”
“Yeah?”
“If this does come out, especially your husband’s part in it, the Loehrs could be summoned for a deposition or even to testify in court.”
“Crap. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Since they’re in hiding with your daughter, I thought that might be a bad idea.”
“No, you’re right. We’ll just have to keep Reyes’s abduction out of it altogether. If that’s possible.”
“Shawn will go along with that. I’m certain.”
“I think so, too. He seems like a great guy.”
“He does,” she said. “Wait. What about the other two?”
“The other two adoptions that shady agency facilitated. Where did those kids come from?”
I sat behind my desk again. “Yeah, I wondered about that, too. Maybe you should look into those. You know, in your spare time.” I was such a slave driver.
“Do you think your friend Agent Carson could help?”
“With the case, probably. With the fact that your blouse is still inside out?” I eyed her doubtfully.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why didn’t you remind me?” She took off for the restroom, appalled. “I’m meeting Robert for lunch.”
“Get a quickie while you can!” I said with a giggle.
I sat at a table in Calamity’s, Reyes’s bar and grill, and watched my husband leave his office and head toward me. I’d offered to make him lunch. He was the master chef in the family, but I’d watched just enough Food Network to be dangerous. I figured it was high time I cook for him. There was just one problem with my master plan. I’d gotten so busy this morning that I didn’t have time to cook, so I’d had to improvise.
He moved with the grace of an animal, his dark hair and intense gaze captivating the room. Most eyes turned toward him. Most breaths caught. Most conversation came to a standstill.
When he sat down, I pushed one of two plates toward him. Each had three rows of crackers with tuna salad on top and a fat, orange carrot on the side as garnish. The carrots still had their peels and stalks on them, stalks that took up half the table. But I’d run out of time.
He eyed his plate, his expression filled with traces of humor and doubt.
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” I said. “We’re having whores-de-vours.” I gazed up at him. “Who doesn’t adore whores-de-vours?” When he didn’t answer, I took the opportunity to add, “And carrots.”
“I had no idea you were so fond of hors d’oeuvres.”
“Love. Them.” I snapped off the tip of my carrot and ate, crunching it as loudly as I could.
“More than my huevos rancheros?”
Damn, he had me there. His huevos, rancheros or otherwise, were pretty fantastic.
He lifted a cracker as though it had a viral infection and took the whole thing in one bite. Then his face – no, his doubts! – transformed. He nodded in appreciation and ate another.
I took a bite, too, and marveled as I savored the best tuna salad I’d ever had. It was tuna salad, for his Brother’s sake.
“This is really good,” he said, a little surprised.
“It’s phenomenal.” I was even more than a little surprised.
He finished off his first line of whores, then asked, “What’s your secret?”
“No idea,” I said with my mouth half-full. “I didn’t make it. I got busy.”
He cast me a look of horror but recovered quickly. “Who made it?”
He choked, coughing lightly before asking, “And how did Sammy take that?”
“I don’t think he knows yet.”
“And the carrots?”
“They were there. Just seemed kind of fitting.”
He leaned back in his chair. “An entire kitchen at your disposal and you had to resort to thievery to feed me. What kind of billion-heiress are you?”
For that, I stole one of his crackers. “Billion-heiress implies an inheritance. I married into money, thank you very much. I’m officially a trophy wife.” When he continued to watch me with an uncomfortable mixture of appreciation and humor, I put down the cracker and said, “So, what did you want to talk about?”
“I think you know.” His deep voice washed over me like warm water. Or honey. Or rum. Add some lemon and I could pass for a hot toddy.
“What did you do to ruffle Jehovah’s feathers?”
How did he know I did anything to ruffle his Brother’s feathers? “How do you know I did anything to ruffle your Brother’s feathers?” When he only stared, silently judging me for, like, ever, I caved. “What gave it away?”
“That would be the army of angels tailing you.”
Damn. I knew he’d notice. Then again, they were a little hard to miss. They were just so… there. Angels. Everywhere. With their wings and their swords and their dark eyes following my every move. Make one tiny threat to take over the world and bam! Heaven’s version of the Secret Service rains down on you, throws you to the ground, and puts you in a headlock. Metaphorically.