Emily Kate couldn’t decide whether to be happy or furious when Connor showed up at the restaurant that afternoon. He looked ragged, exhausted, and had aged ten years since he left her house earlier that morning. She’d harassed Pedro until he admitted that he’d taken Connor to the bus station after picking him up from her house.
She’d fallen into a funk at that point. She’d managed to make it out of the kitchen and into the restaurant proper, and then she’d sunk into an unoccupied booth, feeling hugely disappointed.
Well, that certainly explained the way he’d acted the night before. Ravishing her as if he thought he might not ever see her again. Over and over, all night long. And she’d let it happen, instead of insisting he talk to her about his plans.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. No wonder her brother was constantly scaring off potential suitors. It appeared she was incapable of making smart decisions when it came to dating the opposite sex.
Except now Connor was back. No, there was no decision about how to react to his presence. She didn’t need to decide between happy and furious. She was straight up furious.
She burst through the swinging doors, just as Connor pulled a Texas Rangers baseball cap off his head. “What are you doing here?” she said icily. Everyone in the kitchen turned to watch her, but she didn’t care. For once, she wasn’t remotely concerned about being on display.
“Getting ready to work. How’s the crowd out there? Pedro says you let him put his enchiladas on special today. Are they selling okay?”
“You do not work here anymore,” she said, surprisingly even, considering her insides were quaking with suppressed rage at the moment.
Connor flashed her a surprised look right before his gaze darted to Pedro, who flushed a dull red and looked guilty as hell.
“Obviously I decided to stay.” He shifted his gaze back to her. He continued to watch her, and Emily Kate felt a surge of satisfaction at the wary look in his eye. He should be wary.
“Obviously I’ve filled your position,” she retorted, as she waved at Pedro, who now wore the black chef’s hat.
He immediately pulled it off his head and offered it to Connor. “No, ma’am,” he said in a rush. “I don’t want it. I want to study under Connor for a while longer.”
“Awhile longer,” she repeated. “How much longer? A day? Two? A week? Can we have a specific end date this time?” Her voice was like ice. Just like her heart.
“I’m not sure,” Connor admitted. “Things are ... complicated at the moment.”
“Complicated.”
“Yeah.”
“My life, on the other hand, is not remotely complicated. I own a restaurant. My restaurant is currently fully staffed. I have no need for an executive chef who may or may not decide to stay beyond the very next day.”
Pedro actually winced at her words, but Connor looked angry. He strode across the kitchen, snagged her by the arm, and then dragged her into the small, windowless office that she almost never used, and slammed the door closed behind him.
“Knock it off, Emily Kate. I’m not in the mood,” he snapped when he released her arm and dropped into the faux leather chair parked behind the old, wooden desk.
Her mouth fell open. “You’re not in the mood? You’re not in the mood,” she repeated shrilly. “You aren’t the one who was left behind without so much as a goodbye.”
“I said goodbye,” he muttered.
She threw her arms in the air. “Oh, well. My apologies. I guess I didn’t realize that by goodbye you meant forever. As in, I’m getting on a bus and heading who knows where and I don’t expect to ever see you again.”
“You’re seeing me right now.”
“You’re being an ass. Get out of my restaurant.” She stabbed her finger at the closed door.
Connor sighed gustily and then reached out his arm and hooked it around her waist. The next thing she knew, she tumbled into his lap. She struggled to stand again, but he clung to her more tightly and buried his face in her hair.
“I love the way your hair smells,” he mumbled.
She finally managed to twist out of his grasp and jumped to her feet. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, her hands fisted on her hips.
He laughed. It sounded slightly hysterical to her ears. “I didn’t tell you I was leaving because I couldn’t bear to see your face. I knew if you looked remotely sad, I wouldn’t be able to go. And I really need to go, Emily Kate. This has been great. All of it, especially you. I wish I could stay, I really do. I want to stay.”
“Then stay.”
He shook his head. “I can’t. I need to go back. I need to be an executive chef there, not here. It’s what I’ve been working toward for ten years.”
While she was proud of her little restaurant out in the sticks, and her patrons would argue it was the best restaurant in the area, that area was not enough for someone who had trained and worked in a metropolitan city, in a restaurant as renowned as Oliver’s. She’d done her research, had looked it up on the Internet. So whether she wanted to or not, she understood what Connor was trying to tell her. And while it hurt that staying with her was not enough to pull him away from his dream, she also knew damn well she could not ask that of him. It wasn’t fair.
She’d made a choice to take over Louisiana Kitchen instead of continuing to pursue her dream of making a living as an artist, and while she loved the restaurant—and appreciated the steady income—she also resented it. If Connor had a chance to realize his dreams, she of all people could not hold him back. Except ...
“Then why are you here now?”
“Remember, my wallet was stolen? I can’t go anywhere.”
“Oh.” Her brother’s warnings about guys with crooked smiles echoed in her head. “Right.”
• • •
Going back to Louisiana Kitchen had been stupid. But when he drove away from that bus terminal, he’d felt so overwhelmed, all he could think about was getting into a kitchen, getting behind a grill, throwing himself into cooking. He needed to get his hands dirty so he could think straight, so he could relieve the stress that had him twisted into knots. With no other options at his disposal, he’d made a dive for his foxhole.
He’d gone to Emily Kate.
She had been angry, and he didn’t blame her. He should have let her stay that way. It would have been easier, because damn it, he had to leave. At some point, he had to go back.
But he hated to see her upset, hated that she practically hated him. Hated being so close and not touching her. Christ, he had it bad.
But not bad enough, since he lied to her about his reason for coming back. He almost told her the truth but changed his mind at the last second. At least this way, she allowed him to stay on at the restaurant, even took him home with her at the end of the night.
“Fine,” she said after he reminded her he had no ID and no money. “You can stay. You can work tonight, and you can sleep in my guest room. But tomorrow we call my brother and let him handle this.”
He hadn’t even heard anything she said after “sleep in my guest room.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s FBI,” she said. “He’ll know the quickest way to get you a new form of identification.”
“No, I mean why do I have to sleep in the guest room?”
She’d given him such a strange look that he was certain he must have missed a large portion of the conversation.
“Connor, when you have a new ID in hand, where do you expect to be?”
“Is this a trick question?”
She harrumphed at that point, clearly growing agitated with him. “In Detroit,” she announced with a flourish. “Your ten-year dream? All your hopes and wishes? Oliver’s?”
“Oh. Right,” he said, refusing to understand the connection between his leaving and her insistence that they no longer share a bed.
“I’m not sleeping with you anymore. I’m not going to do that to myself again. How fair is it to me to keep having sex with you when I know you’re leaving at any minute? Not to mention I’m about to lose another executive chef.”
He didn’t particularly like her reasoning, although he grudgingly understood it. On some primal, female level, she did not want to get attached. Since he was already attached, he well understood that she might be worried about how that would feel.
His body, unfortunately, wholeheartedly disagreed with her reasoning. Sleeping in the guest room, which shared a wall with her bedroom, knowing she was only a few feet away, asleep, all alone in that big, empty bed, was the greatest form of torture. He lay awake for most of the night, alternately reliving the last few glorious nights and talking himself out of heading next door and climbing into her bed, consequences be damned.
Except the consequences were damned, and he knew he couldn’t do it.
Now, after dragging himself into the kitchen in search of a strong cup of coffee, he found Emily Kate sitting at the dining room table, already drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. As he pulled a mug out of the cupboard, she turned around and looked at him.
“I think you have some explaining to do,” she announced.
He poured coffee into the mug and walked over to sit at the table next to her. “What are you talking about?”
She slid the newspaper across the table and sat silently, gesturing at the front page.
“That’s me.” The article covered the entire top half of the front page and included a blown up picture of the bus terminal, with security personnel and police officers standing in clusters on the sidewalk out front. Superimposed into the corner of the picture was a smaller, grainy one of Connor. “Where the hell did they get that?”
“Your mug shot?”
“Contrary to what you obviously believe, I’ve never been to jail. What the hell is this about?”
She pulled the newspaper back in front of herself. “The FBI would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience. Something about a stolen vehicle that had been rented by the federal government.”
“I left the car at the rental place. That’s not stealing.”
She stared at him. “Why were you driving an FBI vehicle in the first place?”
He lifted his hand, cupped the back of his neck. What the hell did he do now? Tell her the truth? All of it? Part of it? None of it? Did he run again? Tempting, but he had thirty bucks in his pocket and no means of transportation. Not to mention the fact that his face was splashed on the front page of the local paper.
“I saw your brother at the bus station, and I panicked. He left the car running, so I took it. All I could think about was getting out of there.” He wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and hunched his shoulders while staring into the steaming, murky liquid.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. And I don’t know what to tell you. I screwed up, Emily Kate. I’m involved with some shit having to do with the casinos, and I don’t want to tell you because I’m afraid the people who are after me will come for you, too.”
“People are after you? Who’s after you?”
He took a chance and glanced up—thank God she appeared more concerned than angry. But that was part of her charm. She was such a caring individual, she tended to put others first, her own wants and needs be damned. If only he could be half the person she was.
“I’m not going to tell you. Didn’t you hear me? I’ll be putting you in danger.”
“Then tell my brother.” She reached for her phone lying on the table. Connor covered her hand, holding it there so she could not pick it up.
“I can’t talk to the FBI, Emily Kate.”
“It’s my brother.”
“He’s still an agent of the federal government.”
“What, are you afraid you’ll get arrested?”
Connor flapped his hand at the newspaper. “You tell me. What would you think, if your picture and your name were splashed all over the front page and there’s a request from the feds to talk?”
“Connor, be realistic. If they truly believed you were a criminal, they wouldn’t ask you to turn yourself in via an article in the paper.”
He supposed she had a point. Except he knew what else he’d done. Stealing her brother’s rental car was the least of his issues.
“Jack is on his way here.”
“Shit.”
“Just talk to him. Explain your situation. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“Isn’t his job to arrest people like me?”
“Not if you’re innocent.”
Connor waved at the newspaper again. “I did this,” he said.
“I’m sure Jack will understand,” she repeated.
Connor pushed away from the table. “I’m equally as sure that he won’t. How long before he gets here?”
“About an hour and a half.”
He strode from the room.
“Where are you going?” Emily Kate asked as she stood and chased after him.
He stopped when he reached the bathroom door and she nearly barreled into him. “To take a shower. Care to join me?”
Her face reddened, just like he expected it would, and she vigorously shook her head. Too vigorously. He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.
“What are you going to do after you shower?” she called through the door.
“I don’t know. Probably go to the restaurant. I think better when I’m handling food.”
• • •
While he showered, she retreated to the boathouse, which she’d converted into an artist’s studio after she’d moved into her grandparents’ home. Just as Connor used cooking as stress relief, Emily Kate had her painting. She noticed as she walked across the deck that someone—Connor, she assumed—had replaced a few rotted boards there, too. When had he had time, and how had she not noticed before? Nevertheless, she was grateful and appreciative that he’d done it without expecting any sort of praise. Which she found interesting, considering it seemed to her the very thing he was searching for in life was praise for his craft.
Inside the boathouse, she lifted the protective canvas off the paintings she’d finished, and then situated them in a row under the windows. Her forte was definitely landscapes, even though she still itched to paint Connor’s portrait while he was standing behind the stainless steel counter at Louisiana Kitchen.
She should hate him right now. He had certainly given her enough reason to. Leaving without telling her. Planning to do it all along. Returning and getting angry that she didn’t welcome him with open arms. His refusal to tell her what trouble he’d fallen into. His insistence—still—that he needed to go back to Detroit to realize his dreams.
Yes, she should hate him, but she didn’t. With her luck, she was in love with him, although she hadn’t actually fallen in love ever before in her life, so she didn’t exactly have something upon which to base what she felt for the frustrating man. Since the feeling was strong and passionate, and she was certain it wasn’t hate, her natural conclusion was love.
Which was a problem in itself. The anticipation of heartache—because she knew he would eventually leave for good—was, in her opinion, as bad as actually suffering through the real thing.
A noise drew her attention away from the paintings—Connor, standing in the doorway, freshly showered and reminding her of decadent chocolate and sexy baths.
“These are gorgeous,” he said, his gaze on the paintings.
“Thanks.”
“I mean it. You have talent. Serious talent. You could definitely make a living at this.”
She waved her hand in a vague fashion. “I have the restaurant.”
“But that isn’t your dream.”
“No. But I still care about it. It’s a piece of my life, my childhood. I want it to be successful. I just wish I could find a balance between the two.” She had foolishly believed Connor would bring that to her life.
“I’m sorry.”
His apology was a nice gesture, not that it changed anything. “Why didn’t you tell me you fixed the deck?”
He shrugged.
“Thank you for doing it. I really appreciate it.”
He appeared surprised by her graciousness. She tilted her head to the side. “You’ve never told me the reason behind Oliver not promoting you to executive chef. Do you even know why?”
He cupped the back of his neck and his gaze darted to the side. “I, uh ... I’m not exactly the most scrupulous person.”
“So I’m beginning to notice,” she drawled.
“I slept with Oliver’s wife.”
She gasped. She didn’t necessarily have an expectation of what he would say, but that had not been remotely on her radar.
“I didn’t know it at the time.” He flapped his hand helplessly. “This is embarrassing to say, but women ... I don’t know. They’re attracted to me. It’s been like that ever since I’ve worked in restaurants. I was fourteen when I took my first job as a dishwasher. And even though I wasn’t legally old enough to work, I got moved pretty quickly to the front of the house, because the manager said I was a nice compliment to the scenery. I didn’t even fully understand what he meant at the time.”
He stepped up to the row of paintings and crouched to more closely admire one of an oil pump in the middle of the lake, with a bald eagle perched on the top.
“When it happened—when I hooked up with Oliver’s wife—I had been working at his restaurant for four years and was pretty sure I was next in line to be promoted to executive chef. She was waiting for me one night after my shift. Standing next to my truck, wearing a trench coat and this sexy, practically see-through number underneath. Introduced herself as Gina. Never mentioned her last name. I’d never seen her before. She was a silent partner in the restaurant and rarely visited. I was single, she was hot, so I took her home.” He shrugged, as if to say, What else would you expect me to do?
“Obviously, Oliver found out,” Emily Kate commented, feeling her anger morph into a mix of emotions. She was still upset, of course, but sympathy pushed its way in there, as well as jealousy. While it had happened six years before she met him, frankly, Emily Kate didn’t want to think about Connor with any other woman, casual affair or not. That was beside the fact that he’d left without saying goodbye. Or, truthfully, that he’d left her at all.
“She told him. I don’t think it was anything personal to me. I was simply who she chose. For whatever reason, she was angry with her husband and sleeping with some other guy was her way of lashing out at him. And instead of blaming her, Oliver blamed me, and I spent the next six years working my ass off to prove he should promote me anyway.”
“Why? Why didn’t you leave and go somewhere else? What was so special about Oliver’s?”
“Besides the fact that it’s the premier restaurant in Detroit?” He shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, actually. And I’ve come to realize it isn’t even that. It’s the fact that he wouldn’t give it to me. The ultimate challenge. If I could just convince him to promote me, my life would be complete.”
“What about now? Do you still believe that?”
“I think it’s damned difficult to change the mindset I’ve had for most of my adult life.”
She turned to the window and watched the bayou meander by for a few seconds. “Jack will be here shortly.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not ready to face him, Emily Kate.”
She heard the fear in his voice. Whatever he was involved in, if it was connected to the casinos, and if her brother was also involved, Connor probably was smart to be afraid. A small part of her wanted to help him, but at the same time, his recent honesty not withstanding, she still wasn’t entirely ready to forgive him. Although in truth, she figured he was also doing the right thing by not telling her. He had far more morals and scruples than he believed he did. Still feeling uncertain, she dug the car keys out of her pocket and offered them to him. He looked up, a surprised expression on his face.
“I suspect you’d like to go to the restaurant,” she said.
“Yeah.” He covered her hand, squeezing it for a moment, and she thought he might try to pull her into a hug, but he let go instead. “Thanks. Call me when you’re ready to go in, and I’ll come get you.”
“I will.”
“Thanks, Emily Kate. I ...”
“I know,” she said simply, and then he nodded and left the boathouse.
• • •
“Hey, Jack,” Emily Kate said a short time later, when her brother stepped into the kitchen and gave her a hug.
“I don’t suppose you’re in the middle of making breakfast?” he asked hopefully. “I’m starved.”
Emily Kate chuckled and began pulling eggs, butter, and a package of sausage patties out of the fridge.
“How’s the case going?” she asked as her brother helped himself to a cup of coffee and then sat down at the table.
He lifted the newspaper and glanced at the front page. “I see you’ve read all about it.”
“So that’s connected to your casino case?” She knew that, of course, from what little Connor had told her, but she hoped her brother might give her more information. Information that could somehow help Connor out of the hole he’d dug for himself. Maybe, just maybe, if she helped him fix his problems here, he might realize the dream he thought he wanted could be had anywhere. Including Louisiana Kitchen.
Jack nodded and sipped his coffee. “I swear, it gets more fucked up by the day.”
Emily Kate stood at the stove, grilling sausage patties. “So this guy Connor is a criminal?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“I don’t know what he is. I know that the local bus terminal was on lockdown for about four hours yesterday and that he was there, and a half dozen witnesses saw him get into my rental car and drive away. Not to mention the fingerprints we pulled from the steering wheel match his. What we can’t figure out is why the hell he stole the car and then left it at the rental place without trying to wipe his prints. Either he’s trying to get caught or he’s stupid.”
“Or maybe he’s not a criminal and doesn’t exactly know how to act like one.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jack’s scowl.
“He’s the same guy Vik pegged as spearheading this scam he insists is happening at the casino. The reason Cullen and I are here in the first place.”
Emily Kate lost her grip on the spatula. It clattered to the floor, splashing grease on her legs, the floor, and the front of the stove. “W-what did you say?”
Jack jumped to his feet. “Shit. Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?”
She waved away his concern. “What do you mean, he spearheaded the casino scam? How do you know this?”
He gave her a funny look before bending over, retrieving the spatula, and placing it in the sink. “We don’t know for sure. Vik claims it’s him. That’s why we were at the bus station yesterday. We had a tail on Vik’s guy, and when the tail told us he was camped out at a bus station, along with a guy who matched this Connor Rikeland’s description, we headed over, figuring one or the other was trying to skip town. What is wrong with you?” He grabbed the pan of burning sausage patties and flipped off the burner.
“Connor Rikeland,” Emily Kate repeated. Her head was swimming with so much information, yet not nearly enough. Nothing made sense, although she believed one thing with absolute certainty, because she believed what little Connor had told her.
“He didn’t do it,” she said.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “How do you know?”
“Do you know what the scam is?” she asked, instead of answering him.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Come on, Jack. Just tell me.”
He refused.
“What if I told you I might know Connor Rikeland?”
His eyes narrowed until they were slits, and she wondered how he could still see. His face reddened, and he clenched his fists as well as his jaw. “How, precisely, do you know Connor Rikeland?”
She could tell he was already drawing the likely accurate conclusions. Her brother was no dummy.
“What’s he accused of?” she countered.
He stood there, steadily breathing, obviously trying to weigh which of the two of them was most stubborn. Finally, he ground out, “Fixing the cards at the tables. It happens on occasion. Usually, it’s stupid, petty bullshit. One guy, one casino. He gets caught, gets arrested, gets banned from the casino, and life goes on. In this case, it appears it’s a bigger deal. Vik claims he’s lost millions at this point. Whoever’s doing it is not an amateur. Not by a long shot.”
“Wha-what if he’s innocent?” Did she sound as desperate as she thought she did?
Jack snorted. “If he’s innocent, then why hasn’t he come forward yet? If you were wrongly accused, wouldn’t you want to clear your name?”
“Not everyone reacts the same way, Jack.”
He studied the grainy photograph of Connor. “Not if they’re guilty.”
“He isn’t guilty.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know him. He’s the new chef at my restaurant.”
• • •
Connor was on a cooking spree. He’d received a fresh batch of oysters with today’s shipment, so he whipped up the ingredients for Oysters Bienville to run on special for tonight’s dinner crowd. Then he tried his hand at deep-fried oysters, and Pedro quickly declared him an expert. While the rest of the kitchen staff enjoyed the fruits of his labor, he made crab-stuffed mushrooms, Cajun popcorn, shrimp salsa, and Cajun barbequed shrimp. When he still couldn’t figure out what the hell to do with himself, he began making soups, even though it was too damn hot for soup.
He made oyster stew, shrimp and leek bisque, crab-corn chowder, and a giant pot of gumbo. Finally, he dropped into the chair he’d pulled out of the too-small office, wiped his forehead with a towel, and blew out a sigh.
“You good yet?” Pedro asked. “Because there’s no way in hell we can sell all this food on a Monday night, and Emily Kate’s going to be pissed off if we use any more ingredients today.”
“I don’t know what to do, Pedro.”
“Maybe you should leave,” he suggested. “Then you’ll finally realize what a dumbass you would be for doing so.”
“Huh?”
Pedro waved at the swinging doors leading to the dining room. “She’s perfect, bro. And she’s crazy about you. Don’t deny that the two of you are doing the horizontal tango when you leave here every single night. You both look too damn happy when you come in in the morning.”
“My problems are bigger than Emily Kate,” Connor said. “And there’s still the issue of my stupid dream.”
Pedro gave him a look that resembled sucking on a lemon. “Your dream is stupid, if you think you need to go somewhere else to realize it.”
“This isn’t a cosmopolitan city,” Connor protested. “This is a small restaurant tucked into the backwoods of northeast Texas. It isn’t the same.”
“You’re right,” Pedro said, and suddenly he appeared angry. “You don’t deserve to stay here.” He stormed away, and Connor winced when he heard a loud crash, because he knew it was Pedro taking out his anger on the pots and pans in the kitchen when he should be yelling at him.
Pedro was wrong. Connor deserved to reach his goal ... didn’t he?
Sarah, one of the waitresses, popped her head into the kitchen. “Hey, Connor. There are some guys out here asking for you.”
He shot from his seat. No one except for the restaurant staff knew him or knew that he was here. “Who are they?”
Sarah shrugged. “Don’t know. One looks Italian, the other’s black. Want me to go ask their names?”
“No,” Connor said. “But close the door. I’ll ... I’ll be out in a minute.”
“’Kay.” She pulled her head away and let the door swing shut. Connor edged closer and peeked through the small circular window.
“Whatcha doin’?”
He gave a small yelp when Pedro snuck up behind him and asked the question. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
Pedro shrugged.
“You sure got over your anger fast.”
“Some of us know how to learn lessons. So why you so jumpy, bro? What’s going on? You ain’t messing with drugs, are you?”
“No,” Connor said as he peeked through the window in the swinging door. “I’m not messing with anything. Not even Emily Kate, anymore. I’m just trying to figure out how to get my life back on track.” He pulled his head away from the door. He didn’t recognize the black guy, but he knew the Italian one. It was the same guy who had been watching him in the bus terminal. The same guy who’d been at the launch when Connor returned the boat he’d stolen.
“And those guys are going to help you?”
“No,” Connor said grimly. “Those guys are going to derail it further. How the hell did they figure out I was here?”
“Maybe their girlfriends told them. You’re the talk of the town these days. Haven’t you noticed the crowd leans heavily toward the fairer sex? Even my girlfriend came in and said you were hot. She thinks Emily Kate should do a calendar, alternating you and me each month.” He grinned.
“That’s a lousy idea,” Connor said. “Look, I gotta get out of here. I need to go warn Emily Kate. If they know I’m here, they’ll be able to connect the restaurant to her, and I don’t want her in danger.”
Pedro suddenly turned serious. “You think these thugs are going to hurt her?”
Connor grimaced. “After what I witnessed last week, I think they’d hurt her grandmother and not lose sleep over it.”
“Bastards,” Pedro seethed. Then he gave Connor a shove toward the back door. “You go warn Emily Kate. Leave these assholes to me.” And then he shored himself up, all stocky five foot six, and he stalked out of the kitchen to face the two men. Connor hoped to hell his friend didn’t get hurt as he bolted for the back door.
• • •
“The lunch crowd will start arriving soon, Jack. I really need to get going.”
“It’s Monday. The restaurant’s never busy for lunch on Mondays. They can live without you for a little while longer. Now, explain it to me again, how you managed to hire Connor freaking Rikeland to be the executive chef at Louisiana Kitchen?”
Jack paced the floor in Emily Kate’s living room while she sat on the crimson couch and tried not to think about what she and Connor had done in that very spot, just a few days prior. What would Jack think if he knew?
Probably throw Connor in prison on principle, knowing her brother.
“It just sort of happened.” She flapped her hands as she recited the same words she’d already repeated three times. “He walked in, said he could make pecan-encrusted trout, and the Henrys were hooked.” As was I. But that was beside the point. Jack was still too focused on the fact that she’d hired a guy to run the kitchen at her restaurant without even remotely checking his credentials to realize she was sleeping with the guy, too. She knew it was only a matter of time, though.
“Son of a bitch,” he said, his voice almost a snarl. “You’re sleeping with that bastard.”
“W-what?” Okay, that happened quicker than she expected.
He stabbed his finger at her. “It all makes sense now. Wendy’s comments. Your red face. Holy Christ, have you been sleeping with him since you hired him? What the hell, Emily Kate?”
“He’s a great guy, Jack. He’s an excellent chef. And he treats me wonderfully. And—and he’s the one who fixed the stairs. They were getting so bad, I could have gotten sued, if, say, the UPS guy tried to deliver a package and went through one of those rotting boards.”
Jack was not in the mood to see reason, at least not her version of it. “He could be dangerous,” he shouted. “He could have killed you!”
“I thought you didn’t believe he was really the criminal.”
“What I said was my gut tells me there’s something fishy about this case. Un-fucking-believable.” He grabbed his phone and called his partner and told him to get the hell over to Emily Kate’s house. He just had to hear this one.
After which he flung his arms into the air and began pacing with renewed vigor. “Fucking bastard. I bet he has a crooked smile, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he?”
Emily Kate wisely chose not to respond.
“I knew it. He does. He charmed his way into your restaurant and into your bed. He’s using you, Emily Kate. He’s a two-bit loser who’s just looking for a piece of ass, and you’re giving it to him. What if you end up pregnant?”
“I suppose this isn’t a good time to point out you and Kennedy did the same thing?”
“Her cousin was marrying my best friend. I think it was safe to assume she wasn’t a complete stranger. And besides that, we’re married now. You gonna marry this Connor Rikeland guy?”
Emily Kate balked. Marry Connor?
Yeah, right. That was as likely as it was that he would stay in east Texas instead of run back to Detroit when this was all over.
Just then, the back door burst open and Connor came running through it. “Emily Kate! Emily Kate, are you okay? There’s a car in the driveway that—”
“Connor,” Emily Kate called out. Before she could react further, her brother lunged, and she knew damn well what he meant to do. “Connor—run!”
• • •
Connor’s face made contact with an iron fist. He collapsed in a heap on the floor while Emily Kate started shouting at the guy who had shown up at the bus station, the one Connor assumed was her brother.
“What was that for?”
“That’s Connor Rikeland,” her brother said, stabbing his finger at the prone figure.
“And that gives you carte blanche to punch him?”
“Yeah. He’s screwing my sister.”
Yep, definitely her brother.
Emily Kate growled, actually growled. “I swear to God, I’m going to start sleeping with every man with whom I come into contact. Just to see if you can keep up with abusing them all.”
“I sure as hell will—and you’d better not!”
Connor raised his hand. “Can I weigh in here?”
“No!” she and her brother said in unison, and then they continued to argue.
It was so heated, Connor expected them to come to blows at any moment. Emily Kate railed at her brother for ruining every date she’d ever been on, and he informed her that it was for her own good because she was obviously lousy at picking men.
That stung, not to mention Emily Kate hadn’t exactly picked him. He’d picked her. None of this was her fault, and it wasn’t fair that her brother yelled at her when all of it was Connor’s fault. Including the guys who had been at the restaurant a short time ago.
“Emily Kate!”
Finally, the arguing paused, as both of them turned to give him twin questioning looks.
“They’re coming. They were at the restaurant when I left. I don’t know how they figured out where I was, but—”
“Shit!” her brother yelled and flung Emily Kate behind him just as the door flew open again and two men muscled their way in, guns drawn.
He should’ve waited to fix the damn steps.
It was the two guys from the restaurant. As Connor watched, they both pulled guns out of holders under their blazers. He reacted instinctively, diving at Emily Kate’s brother, catching him around the waist and knocking him off balance, just as two bullets shattered the glass in the window behind where his head had been a moment ago.
The FBI agent didn’t pause but immediately grabbed the table leg and flipped it onto its side so it became something of a shield. And then he shifted it to block the entrance to the hallway. “Go,” he commanded, looking at Connor and pointing at the hall. He had a handgun in his other hand and prepared to return fire.
Connor understood. He grabbed Emily Kate as she fought him.
“Jack!” she screamed. “No—stop! Jack!”
Connor wrapped his arm around her waist, picked her up, and ran.
“Jack!”
He shoved her into the master bedroom. “He’s fine, Emily Kate. He does this for a living, remember?”
“Not shootouts!” She looked positively terrified for her brother.
The sound of gunfire caused them both to flatten themselves on the ground. Connor grabbed her and tucked her body underneath his own, as if he could shield her that way. It was almost laughable the way his body reacted despite the dire circumstances.
Feet pounded down the hall, and Connor had a fleeting moment of utter clarity in which he realized that he had about a million things to say to her, and if that was one of the bad guys rushing down the hall, he would not have the opportunity to do so. Ever.
“Emily Kate, I—”
“Y’all okay?” It was Jack, standing in the hallway, breathing heavily but otherwise unharmed.
“Are they—?” she asked the partial question.
Jack shook his head. “Cullen’s here, and he has them subdued in the kitchen. The locals are on the way to take them to the station.” He stabbed his finger at Connor. “You,” he barked, “come with me.”
Connor glanced at Emily Kate one last time and then climbed to his feet and obeyed.