2000 Kisses (32 page)

Meat loaf and potatoes.

What could be hard about a simple little meal like that?

Tess stared at the kitchen with absolutely no idea
where to start. Oh, she knew about potatoes—as a botanical specimen at least. She knew they'd been grown in the Andes and brought to the Virginia colonies, from there to England. She knew they were good mashed, fried, or baked.

But she didn't have a clue how to do any of that.

She turned to Grady, who was smiling his way through his third mocha latte. “Does T.J. have any cookbooks here?”

“I reckon he's got a few packed in boxes. His sister always liked to cook. He's not half bad himself when Maria lets him near a pan, which isn't often.”

“I guess I should be glad that Maria has two days off,” Tess said. “She'd probably have my skin if she found me in her kitchen.”

“Oh, she's more bark than bite, though she's pretty protective of the sheriff after the way he fished her son out of that scrape in Mexico.”

“Protective,” Tess muttered. “She could give a mother lion lessons.”

Grady rubbed his jaw. “She's real particular where T.J. is concerned, that's a fact. Now, let me see, I think he put some cookbooks in his spare room in a box.”

Tess followed Grady to the other side of the house. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, outlining fragile pieces of white pottery carefully wrapped in acid-free paper. “It looks like the sheriff is starting his own art gallery,” Tess said.

“He wanted to get these checked out by an expert in Santa Fe,” Grady explained. “He took them from a smuggler who was trying to truck them over the border to Mexico. T.J. figures they're probably authentic Mimbres pottery from over in New Mexico. If so, they'll go to a museum.”

Tess knew that these pieces could be worth a fortune if they were authentic. A man with less honor might be tempted to claim them for his own and pocket the proceeds.

But not T.J.

“The man researched adobe styles for months before he designed this place. He's got more pottery and rugs than he can display at one time. Even Doc Felton's impressed, and that's saying something.” Grady pulled another box across the floor and opened it. “Maybe he put those cookbooks in here. I could have sworn he—” Suddenly the deputy bent forward, trying to close the cardboard flaps.

“What was in there?” Tess demanded. “It looked like photographs.”

“It's nothing important. I reckon I'll just close it up and put it back,” Grady muttered.

But Tess reached past him, digging away wrapping paper to reveal a dozen framed photographs. She blinked as she recognized the smiling faces of two senators, a dozen movie stars, and one presidential hopeful. T.J. was in every photo, dressed in a dark suit with his Stetson nowhere in sight.

“I don't understand.”

“Hell, McCall's going to have my hide now,” Grady muttered. “He never wants to show those to anyone. That was all a long time ago.”

“Only six or seven years, I'd say. What was he doing?”

“Secret Service. He was working up to the presidential protection unit when he left.”

Tess stared at the photos, seeing a younger Jackson McCall, who hid his tension well, in spite of the lines of strain at his forehead. “I should have guessed. He always
has an air of watchfulness, as if he's ready for something to happen. Now I know why.”

Tess turned at a sound from the doorway. Maria stood glaring at them, hands on her ample hips.

“Why do you come here? This room is private for the
senor
”

“We were looking for cookbooks,” Grady said quickly.

“I come back because I hear about the
senoriicfs
accident and I find you where you should not be.” Maria rolled her eyes, then fixed Tess with a suspicious stare. “You wish to cook for Senor McCall?”

Tess barely heard, still studying the pictures of a confident, assertive man who could have gone to the top of his profession. What had made him give it all up?

“Senorita?
”

“Yes?” Tess swiped at the tears blurring her eyes. Now she realized why Andrew had sent her to Almost-— not because of a laid-back, slow-talking sheriff but because of a man who'd been good enough to guard the country's most important people.

“Senoriia
Tess.” Maria was touching her arm, Tess realized, and the housekeeper's eyes were also blurred with tears. “You care about him very much, 1 think.”

“Very much,” Tess whispered. “I just want him to be happy, Maria.”

“Then you will have your cookbooks, even if it pains me very deeply to allow another in my kitchen.” She looked Tess up and down, then nodded. “You will cook something simple, yes?”

“Meat loaf and mashed potatoes.”

“This is not so simple.”

“But I'll bet he likes them.”

“Yes, he does, but—”

“Then I'm going to cook that for him,” Tess said firmly. “I
want
to do this for him, Maria. And I hope you'll help me, because I'm not exactly stellar in the kitchen.”

“This is bad, no?”

“Very, very bad.”

Maria gave a little chuckle. “Yes, I will help. And then I think I will disappear, because you and Senor McCall will wish to be alone.”

Tess flushed, and the housekeeper patted her hand. “He is a good man, the
senor.
He will take very good care of you. Now come. We will work.”

Tess frowned as she followed Maria into the kitchen.

Not that her sudden interest in cooking was a sign of anything serious. It wasn't a
commitment
or anything close to that. She was just showing her appreciation by cooking a few dishes for a nice, decent man, for heaven's sake.

Common sense called for her to keep things light. No matter what happened, she had to be flexible, to stop remembering how he made her laugh. To forget how his mouth felt on all the soft, hidden places of her body.

Tess cleared her throat, aware that Grady was studying her curiously.

“Anything wrong, Miss Tess?”

“I'm just making a grocery list,” she lied, pretending to scan the refrigerator.

She and T.J. were two calm, mature adults. It was merely because of certain circumstances that they'd been thrown in each other's way. He could be regretting his breakdown of control at that very moment, regretting the temporary insanity that had gripped them both in the hot tub.

She forced down a pang at that thought and decided it would be best if she kept her mind on food.

An hour later, Tess pushed open the door of the sheriff's office with her hip, balancing a heavy grocery bag in her arms. Grady followed, struggling with two more.

“You planning another cappuccino party?” TJ. asked from his desk.

“Only for two. And it's dinner.” Tess studied his face. “Something is wrong, isn't it?”

“Give us a minute, will you, Grady?”

Grady cleared his throat, then left quietly.

“Tell me.” Tess's palms were clammy, and she couldn't seem to breathe as T.J. put a rectangular piece of plastic on the desk.

“Have you ever seen one of these?”

“A credit card?”

“Close, but not quite. It's a Smart Card. These little beauties can be used like phone cards. They can also be programmed to store medical records or personal identification for security purposes.”

Tess studied the card curiously. “How does it work?”

“Just slide one through a vendor's access and you're set.” TJ. turned the card slowly. “These will entirely change the way people do business. In five years, they could replace our traditional banking systems, bypassing them in favor of local retailers who provide all transactions via cards like these. You'll be able to load your card via the Internet and then head straight to the store.”

Tess felt a tiny wave of uneasiness. “Do you think
these cards have something to do with the deposit in my account?”

“Possibly. Andrew tells me that there have been a number of suspicious activity reports from banks in Boston and Atlanta, where retailers have significantly increased their Smart Card transactions.” He laughed grimly. “Not many mom-and-pop grocery stores do eighty thousand dollars worth of business in toilet paper and chewing gum in a week. There's a possibility that Smart Cards are being used to process criminal transactions, avoiding normal banking procedures, then transferring the money into a dummy company that appears above reproach. But the millennium might have been their undoing, courtesy of a Y2K computer glitch in the banking system.”

“You mean that's how their money got into my account?”

“It's possible. Andrew and his team are checking other cities for suspicious account activity right now. Unfortunately, your brother is only one of the players, and that's driving him crazy.” T.J. touched her hair. “He wants to be sure you stay safe.”

“I don't understand. How does that affect my safety?”

“With others involved, he can't call the shots anymore.”

Tess swallowed. “I guess that's why I need you, isn't it?” She fingered the Smart Card. “How come I haven't seen any of these before?”

“They're bigger in Europe and the Far East. The first are just beginning to be launched here in selected markets. When you mix Smart Card technology with Internet-accessible electronic wallets, you've got major headaches for law enforcement.”

Tess's eyes narrowed as she realized that beneath his cowboy drawl, T.J. had a razor-sharp technical mind that was tracking every detail of this investigation Though that knowledge comforted her, the silver plastic rectangle on the table still looked ominous as it gleamed in the sunlight.

Tess had dried potatoes on her elbows.

An hour's work had left her sweating and muttering tensely. The kitchen was a ruin of dirty pans, discarded utensils, and damp towels. Boiled potatoes ran in a streak down the nearby wall, the result of a little mishap with Maria's pressure cooker.

Tess scowled at the scene of devastation.

Who knew that cooking could be so exasperating? In spite of all her work, her meat loaf tasted dry and overcooked, not at all like the delectable item pictured in T.J.'s cookbook.

Tess stared at the exotic bottles lined up on the work-table. Tamari, seasoned vinegar, and chile sauce gleamed in the sunlight. Maybe it wasn't too late to spice up the finished product.

She added a liberal dose of the red bottle she'd found at the back of T.J.'s refrigerator, then mixed in a little ketchup and hoisin sauce for variety. But the potatoes were going to need more than sauce to improve them. What was it with those little lumps? The more Tess beat, the more they noticeable they became.

Finally she gave up trying for improvement and arranged everything in a pan in the oven as an attack of nerves set in with a vengeance.

T.J. watched her pacing in the kitchen, her hair glowing like fire in the afternoon sunlight.

“She's been pretty busy in there,” Grady murmured. “Cooking something special for you, I figure.”

T.J. felt a little kick near his heart. He tried to tell himself it was nothing earthshaking, nothing that spoke of permanence and commitment, but the words seemed to fall short.

“You can go now, Grady. I appreciate everything. I'll see you get an extra week off next month.”

“No problem. I sure do enjoy that coffee she makes. Well, I'll be heading off.” He hesitated, scratching his head as he watched Tess pace the room yet again. “I think she drank about ten cups herself. The woman has to be pretty jumpy by now. You might want to do something about that, Sheriff.”