Lilah was still trying to make sense of the whirling storm in her mind when Reed ended the kiss and stepped away from her. Her normal twin shields of humor and sarcasm had deserted her and she was left staring at the man like a gaping fish.
She knew the gaping-fish look. She’d seen it one night when she helped Gabby filet a last-minute request of four dozen Dover sole and she knew it wasn’t pretty.
So she clamped her mouth shut.
As soon as she managed to get a few breaths back.
Damn, but the man could kiss. And no matter how desperately that irritated her, stuffing her brains back into her ears had to be her first priority.
As she righted the waistband of her sweater set—and holy cow, the cashmere was now hotter than her ovens—Lilah took a moment to scan Reed’s face.
And took a small measure of solace that he looked as shell-shocked as she felt. The cocky grin he’d sported as he’d teased her about being jealous of Gabby had faded, replaced with a serious look that she didn’t quite know how to take.
Shielding up, Lilah smoothed the sweater once more and fought the unseemly urge to wipe the light sweat on her lower back. “Why are you here, Detective?”
“I had lunch with my mother.”
The comment about his mother stymied her and whatever hardball she was winding up faded at the sweet, gooey bubble that opened up in her chest. “How nice?”
“It was nice, but that’s not why I bring it up.”
Lilah waited, not trusting herself to say anything further.
“My mother has a unique perspective on Dallas society.” He reached for the dishrag and began drying the items she’d already set on the drying board earlier.
“How so?”
“She was a decorator to the city’s elite when I was a kid and then married one of those elite customers when he had his home redone after he divorced.”
Reed handed her one of the heavy mixing bowls she’d used earlier and she took it, not sure what else to do with it. Or him.
“So she’s seen both sides of the fence, as it were.”
“Exactly. I figured she might have some insight into this case. Who runs with who. What others say about them. She doesn’t do a lot of decorating any longer, but she keeps her ear to the ground with her charity groups.”
“Wait—” Lilah turned from the open cabinet where she was busy stowing the bowl. “Is your mother Diana G.?”
Reed winked. “Her street name.”
Before she could stop it, a hard giggle spilled from her lips at the image of his small, petite, elegant mother with a “street name.”
“I met her several months ago at a function. She’s lovely. And, as I remember, she put the event caterer squarely in her place for serving day-old bread for the sandwiches.”
He waved a couple of now-dry mixing paddles in his hand. “The horror.”
“She was lovely to me, though. I only just put the name together because everyone called her Diana G., but her name on the event program was Diana Graystone Lange.”
“Of course she was lovely to you. I’m quite sure you don’t use day-old anything.”
Echoing his words, she laid one hand on her breast, extending her other for the paddles. “The horror.”
The tense moments—both pre-and post-kiss—had vanished as they worked in companionable silence.
“What did she tell you?”
“I filled her in on the case and told her about the rubies.”
A small shot of panic filled her at the knowledge yet another person knew about the jewels, but Lilah pushed it aside. Quite a few people—bad people—knew about the gems that had lain buried beneath the floor of her business. Putting a few good guys on their side who might be able to help could only work in their favor.
As if sensing her indecision, Reed added, “She’s a vault, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“I believe it. I’m quite sure she’s forgotten more gossip about Dallas’s elite than any of us even know.”
“You’d be surprised how quickly she can conjure it up, though.” Reed picked up the last item on the drying rack. “She wants to see them. The rubies.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“I also asked her about Steven DeWinter.”
Lilah stilled at that, the comfortable camaraderie fading at Steven’s name. “Steven’s a discreet person who prefers to keep his humiliation private. I’m sure she hasn’t heard much.”
“On the contrary.”
She looked up at him, not surprised to see his gaze squarely on hers. His eyes were all cop. Dark gray storm clouds, swirling with energy and life and a driving need to bring justice.
From what she knew about Reed Graystone, she suspected he wore that look often. She’d done a bit of information gathering of her own after he’d taken on their case. Although the Dallas PD kept information about their staff on pretty tight lockdown, there were a few articles mentioning him.
Several acts of bravery while he was still in uniform and a particularly difficult human-trafficking case two years prior that he’d broken wide-open. The case had gained national attention and the department had awarded him several accolades for the work.
She’d been filled with a strange shot of pride reading the articles and had spent far more time than she’d realized before she’d shut down the search program in a rush. Confirmation she, Cassidy and Violet had a strong detective on their case was one thing. Dreaming about his accomplishments was another.
“You don’t seem curious about what my mother knows.”
The mention of Steven threw a bucket of ice on her thoughts and brought her firmly into the present. “My curiosity about Steven DeWinter ended a long time ago.”
Lilah knew the words to be true, but curiosity and preparation were two different things. While she’d had no interest in the restaurants he opened or the events around town where he was photographed, she’d made it her business to keep a close eye on the man’s comings and goings.
She paid attention to the events he was scheduled for so she could steer clear of any catering requests, and she kept a close watch on any public appearances he was planning around town. And she knew full well that Violet paid attention to the guest lists of the weddings they covered to avoid any inadvertent interactions.
Vi denied it, but Lilah knew her best friend’s MO and she was more than grateful for the interference.
“Humor me, then. Forget curiosity and call it basic detective work. I went to my mother because dealing with those who run in the elite circles of our fair city isn’t always found in files or case records.”
Lilah held back the harsh laugh, even as she knew that simple point to be more than evident. Steven hadn’t been on anyone’s radar. Clearly, Robert Barrington hadn’t been, either. Yet here they were, with the overwhelming reality that Robert had played fast and loose with the law.
And the increasing suspicion that Steven either knew what Robert was involved in or had been the conduit to Robert’s introduction into the criminal underworld.
“While I appreciate you keeping us informed, what do you want me to do about it? I’ve had no contact with the man for over five years.”
“No, but you did live in his world. Look. I understand this is painful. But if you’d talk to my mother, walk her through what you know and see if the two of you can jingle any bells, that’d be helpful.”
Before she could even muster up an argument, Reed pressed on. “Besides. She’s only going to nag at me until I show her one of the jewels anyway. Since you’re so determined to carry one around in your shoe, we can kill two birds with one stone.”
Lilah wanted to say no. Really, she did. The thought of revisiting any of her time with Steven left a dull coating of nausea lining her stomach.
But she wanted some answers even more.
“Let me go change.”
“You look fine.”
“It’s about a thousand degrees outside. Since it’s roughly the same temperature in this sweater, I’m going to go change.”
She took off in the direction of her office, stopping at the sound of his voice.
“You sure you don’t need my help this time?”
With a small smile she couldn’t quite suppress, she turned around. “Nah. I’ve got this one.”
* * *
Although he’d meant the joke about her clothing to lighten the mood, Reed couldn’t shake the image of Lilah in her bra. The woman was a vision. She had high, perfect breasts—small, but not too small—and creamy pale skin.
And she was toned.
He’d never thought about it until seeing her physique, but the woman was ripped, with thin layers of muscle clearly visible underneath her shoulders, biceps and back. Obviously working thick dough and managing frosting and large trays of cakes all day did something to one’s muscles.
Some very attractive things.
Reed shook off the vision, only to have it replaced by an image of that small, firm body tight in his arms, her lips feverish on his.
With an act of will he didn’t realize he possessed, he pushed that thought aside, as well. The kiss had been a bad idea. He didn’t get involved in his cases and coming on to the victim was a really shabby idea all the way around.
Now that he’d tasted her—satisfied his curiosity, really—he needed to let this crazy fascination go. She needed his help, not his come-ons.
He’d nearly convinced himself when she sauntered out of her office. The thick plastic shoes had been traded for a pair of nude pumps with heels roughly the size of ice picks. Her hair was twisted into a quick knot at the nape, and a thin silk blouse the color of rich emeralds shimmered around her when she moved.
With the exception of the bright pink streak in her hair, all sign of the baking fairy had vanished. The woman in its place was an attractive goddess, one who’d be readily accepted at any high-society function in town.
“Ready?”
It took him a moment to answer, his tongue having firmly implanted itself on the roof of his mouth, especially when he caught sight of her slender, muscular legs beneath a slim black pencil skirt. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s go.”
She wended her way through the kitchen and into the main area of Elegance and Lace. He’d observed the design already—the long, rectangular shape of the shop, firmly cut off from the kitchen.
“This partition?” Reed asked as they moved through the entranceway to the main showroom. “This keeps the business officially separate?”
“Yes. It’s a fully functional kitchen without interference from the public areas. That’s why this space had worked out so well.”
She turned to look at him over her shoulder and he managed to shift his gaze from the delectable curve of her backside just in time.
“Had?”
“I’m not sure any of us would say it’s working out all that well right now.” She offered up a small wave at Cassidy, whose head was down, fully focused on a pattern on her worktable. “Headed out, Cass. See you in a bit.”
Cassidy waved, the motion abstract until she caught sight of Reed. She scrambled away from a long roll of material that lay on her worktable. “Where are you going?”
“A quick errand. Detective Graystone has a few questions and he thinks his mother might know the answers.”
“His mother?” Violet stepped up to the door of her office, her gaze on high alert.
Reed watched the byplay between the trio, amused to see the questions arcing between them, nearly deafening even though no one spoke a word.
“It’s a new detecting method.” Lilah’s tone was breezy and he could have sworn he saw her wink. “Apparently it’s all the rage.”
He wanted to say something—really, the woman was infuriating—but the twin smiles on Violet and Cassidy held him back. He’d be damned if he was going to be the butt of their collective joke.
“My mother knows people.”
“She must.” Violet actually did wink, the cheeky move only adding to the discomfort of the moment. “And you must be getting itchy for some answers.”
“What makes you say that?” He offered up the question, quite sure he wasn’t going to like the answer.
Violet took the few steps out of her office, coming over to smooth the lines of his sport jacket. “Men usually bristle at taking strange women home to their mothers.”
“Hey! I’m not stra—” Lilah broke off at Violet’s quelling glance.
“What makes you think I’m bristling?” he asked.
She gave his shoulder one last brush with her fingertips. “Are you?”
* * *
Reed was still digesting Violet’s words as he turned onto his mother’s street twenty minutes later. The afternoon traffic hadn’t hit its peak and they’d navigated the relatively short drive with ease.
He wasn’t bristling. Or bristled. Or... Damn.
He was wound up because he knew damn well his mother saw everything and she’d no doubt grill him later this evening about one Lilah Castle.
Pushing away the thought, he latched on to another one.
“I’m curious about something.” He slowed for a four-way stop and used the moment to turn toward Lilah. “Violet would make a good cop.”
“Oh?”
“She doesn’t miss much.”
Lilah laughed out loud at that. “No, she doesn’t.”
“So why does she do weddings for a living? It seems—” He broke off, not wanting to insult her friend. “It seems a bit frilly for someone so sharp and all-knowing.”
Lilah grew thoughtful before she answered. “Vi’s a realist. Eminently practical and always full of plans. Lots and lots of plans. It makes her exceptional with details. And don’t let her fool you. She likes the frilly, too. And she keeps us on track and in business with her terrifyingly organized brain.”
Reed took it all in, the clear affection and respect more than evident in Lilah’s words. But it was her next question that caught him totally unawares.
“The real question, to my mind, is was she right?”
“About what?” Reed pulled through the intersection, his focus once again on the road.
“Have you ever brought a woman home to your mom?”
“I’m thirty-two years old.” He turned into the driveway, surprised at the snappish tone. Dialing it back, he softened his voice. “Of course I’ve brought women home.”
“How many?”
The question stopped him. How many women had he dated that he’d brought home to meet his mother? As he began doing the math, he realized the number was awfully small. “Two.”
“And how many of them were in high school.”
On a resigned sigh, he nodded. “Two.”
“I guess Vi was right.”
Lilah already had her door open and was out of the car before he could reply.
His mother had met several women he’d dated. At dinners. Summer barbecues. Even at various weddings they’d all attended.
So why hadn’t he brought any of them home?
He puzzled over that as he followed Lilah to the front door. Which, he suspected, was her point.
* * *
The man known as the Duke sipped an ice-cold glass of vodka as he waited for his team to escort DeWinter in. The shades were drawn in his home office, the oppressive summer heat to be battled at all costs.
The combination of dark paneling and drawn curtains kept the room in perpetual darkness and he had a small lamp angled toward his guest chairs as the only source of light.
He hadn’t seen DeWinter in a few years—not since he joined him for the man’s Chicago restaurant opening two years before. It had been a promising evening and he’d left pleased that he’d continued to invest in Steven DeWinter.
The Duke was always ready to back a winner and the restaurateur had big dreams and a maniacal willingness to see them through. The man ran a top-of-the-line kitchen and tolerated nothing but discipline and genius from those who worked for him.
But it was DeWinter’s solid streak of ruthlessness that really sold him as an investment.
An image of dealing with Robert Barrington flashed through the Duke’s mind and he nodded to himself. Oh yes, he prized ruthless discipline above most anything else.
The soft knock at the door—just as he preferred—punctuated his thoughts.
It was that discipline and attention to detail that mattered. Too many had lost that, so focused on their phones, their electronic toys and their endless rush to get somewhere only to find they’d gone nowhere.
He’d learned long ago it was only when you sat still that people actually paid attention.
“Come in.”
He ran his life with an order that appeared deceptively calm on the surface but was the outcome of rigorous expectations. On himself and on his staff.
Alex, his man of business, opened the door. The man still sported a fading bruise around his eye, delivered the week prior after one of his failed attempts to go after the women of Elegance and Lace. It still irked the Duke each time he looked at the mark, the evidence of what they’d still not accomplished. “Mr. DeWinter is here, sir.”
“Send him in.”
Steven came through the door, his standard-issue black slacks, black shirt and black Italian loafers pristine. For a man who worked with food, he was impeccable in his dress. Nary a stain in sight and covering a large, fit body that spoke volumes about the man’s discipline.
More traits the Duke admired.
“It’s good to see you.” Steven extended his hand and the Duke shook it, breaking his standard protocol in his private office. He played at the social game in polite society, but in his private world he preferred to avoid contact.
“You, as well. Word has it your Restaurant Week menu is a hit.”
“I’m pleased with the response. My new pastry chef’s not working out, but he’ll see us through the week.”
“Weak link?”
“Yes. The man’s got no creativity or innovativeness.”
The Duke knew DeWinter’s ex-wife had developed quite a reputation while they worked together and for all his success, he’d gone through his dessert chefs like water ever since.
How interesting that their recent project would now bring them full circle.
“Barrington and McCallum failed at their tasks.”
“Robert?” Steven leaned forward, surprise etching itself in his features. “He’s a good guy and deeply committed. I know I haven’t seen him in a while, but I recommended him with my full endorsement. What happened?”
“He failed.”
Whatever surprise had carried Steven into the conversation vanished. The Duke saw his mouth shift before he calmed himself, stilling any movement. “I see.”
“I’m not sure that you do.”
“Excuse me?”
“Charlie McCallum failed. Failed at his attempts to penetrate your ex-wife’s store and then further failed when he gave me false intel.”
“Charlie’s always been a bit of a doofus, but he’s committed. You must know I’d never recommend anyone I thought was subpar.”
“Yet you did, Steven.”
“Let me call them. I can get them both back in line.”
“I doubt that.”
“But I can. I’ll make it right.” Steven leaned forward and rested his elbows on the edge of the desk. The Duke fought the urge to swat at him and instead reached for the slim folder beside him.
His motions deliberate, the Duke slipped two photos from the folder. The first showed Charlie McCallum, his eyes wide-open, the kill shot marked at the base of his throat. The second was Robert Barrington, where he lay in an empty field at Fair Park, a bullet hole square in the center of his forehead.
Steven leaped away from the desk, fumbling the chair in his haste to stand. “They’re dead?”
“Yes. Quite.”
“But I don’t—”
“They were your recommendations.”
“Yes. As guys I trusted to do the work you asked. Clearly, they weren’t given enough time.”
The Duke pushed the photos farther across the desk, pleased when Steven’s gaze skittered over them once more.
“They were given ample time and resources. And they failed.”
“But—”
The Duke held up a hand. “I’d suggest you keep any further recommendation and endorsement of their skills to yourself. As you can see, further defense is moot.”
Steven nodded, the motion counter to the sudden shaking of his shoulders.
“Sit. Please. We have some details to work out, you and I.”