Blood Ties in Chef Voleur (14 page)

“That better, Care-Care?” It was Harte.

Cara Lynn opened her eyes. They felt heavy and sticky, but after a few blinks she could see out of them. And she’d been right. There were a bunch of faces. Her whole family, it looked like. She focused on the most familiar of all the familiar faces. Her mother’s. “Mom? What’s going on?”

Her mother smiled down at her. “Cara Lynn, honey. We were so worried.” Her mother’s eyes filled with tears.

“What’s going on?” she said, louder, and tried to push herself up in the—
bed
. It was a bed. A
hospital
bed.

“Hey, Cara Lynn,” Christy said, leaning in and smiling at her. “Reilly, press that blue button down there. She wants to sit up.” Christy put her hand on Cara Lynn’s—the one that wouldn’t move like she wanted it to.

“You’re in the hospital,” Christy said, patting her hand.

Cara Lynn nodded. That much she’d figured out.

“Your hand has an IV in it, just for a little while. You’re okay. Your arm was nicked by a bullet and you hit your head. But you’re doing fine. They bandaged your arm and we’re just going to stay here overnight to make sure you don’t have a concussion or any bleeding from that little bump. Okay?”

“Come on, Chris,” Cara Lynn said, not quite as clearly as she’d have liked. “I know you’re a pediatrician, but I’m an adult, okay?”

“Hey, Care-Care,” Harte jumped in. “Be nice, okay? Christy’s only trying to help.”

Cara Lynn had only been awake for a couple of minutes, and she was already tired of her overprotective, suffocating family. She closed her eyes and turned her head away from Harte’s voice. “Could everybody leave please?” she said. “I need to think—” her voice broke and she felt hot tears slipping down her cheeks.

She heard a cacophony of voices, all speaking at once. Her family. Her wonderful, irritating family.

“Hey!” she cried hoarsely, feeling a raw ache in her throat. “Please! Go!” The tears were falling harder now. “All but Christy.”

The voices continued, but they began to fade as people left. Finally, she heard the door close with a quiet whoosh.

She sighed. “Chris?”

“Right here,” Christy said. “Baby doctor, at your service.” She sat on the edge of the bed near Cara Lynn’s left hand.

“What’s going—on?” Cara Lynn asked, still confused and wondering why she was suddenly sobbing.

“What do you remember?” Christy asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I—” but she did remember something. She remembered droplets of blood floating in the air. She remembered a sweet, secret smile that was just for her.

“Oh—oh my God, where’s Jack? Is he okay?” She got her hands pressed into the plastic-covered mattress on the hospital bed and pushed herself up as much as she could. “Christy, do you know where he is?”

Christy held out a hand as if to make sure Cara Lynn didn’t jump out of bed. “Shh. Hang on a minute. Everything’s okay. Jack’s okay. Paul is okay—mostly okay.”

“Jack’s okay? Are you sure? I saw a lot of blood. It was all Jack’s,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion and drowsiness.

“Paul hit him on the chin with the gun barrel. He had four stitches in that beautiful face.”

“Oh,” Cara Lynn said, her eyes welling with tears that Jack had been hurt. Then she thought about Paul. “What happened to Paul?”

“He’s in jail. Remanded because he’s a flight risk. Reilly said he’ll probably have to serve time for something. Claire’s lawyers have found a bank account in his name in the Cayman Islands. Apparently there’s something over a million dollars in it. And then he’ll certainly be indicted for kidnapping, assault, attempted assault with a deadly weapon.” Christy shook her head. “The list goes on. I kind of feel sorry for him.”

Cara Lynn nodded. “I know,” she said thoughtfully. “Me, too.”

Christy looked up at the IV that was hanging from a pole, with clear tubing leading from it into the back of Cara Lynn’s right hand. Cara Lynn could tell that she was calculating something.

“You checking to see how much morphine I’ve had—or Valium or whatever?” she asked. “I’m fine. I can take it. Tell me what happened. Is Jack really okay?”

Christy raised her eyebrows and pinned Cara Lynn with a look. “I’m not going to tell you a thing until you calm down. I might have to report to your physician that you’re having symptoms of brain trauma.”

Cara Lynn laughed, but Christy looked completely sincere. She cleared her throat, which was feeling even more sore. “What is wrong with my throat?” she asked.

“When they went in to get the bullet out of your arm, they intubated you.”

“Intub—why?” Cara Lynn looked at her arm which was bandaged. “The bullet was still in there?”

“Not deep, but it was.”

“Okay. Can you just fill in the blanks for me?”

Just as she finished speaking there was a knock on the door. Christy raised a finger in the air, then stepped to the door and peeked out. When she turned around there was an enigmatic smile on her face. “I think there’s someone here who can answer your questions better than I can. I’m just going to slip out now. Why don’t you buzz the nurse’s station when you feel like you’re ready for visitors, or ready to go to sleep.” Christy’s smile grew larger. “Either one is okay. I’ll send the family home if that’s what you want.” Then she disappeared, pulling the door closed behind her.

Cara Lynn called out, “Christy—wait!”

The door opened to a crack, but it faced the wrong direction for Cara Lynn to be able to get a peek at who was there. “Christy?” she called.

No answer.

“Mom?”

Then the door opened wider and a dark figure stepped into the room. It took Cara Lynn a moment to focus on the battered face, and another moment for her to recognize it.

“Jack,” she breathed. “Oh—”

He was in the slacks and polo shirt he’d been in when he’d come into their apartment to confront Paul. Both the slacks and the shirt were streaked with blood. His hair was mussed and tousled, and his chin was red and purple and swollen and had a strip bandage on it.

“Oh, Jack—are you all—right?” she said, between sobs. “I saw a—lot of bl-blood.”

He moved a few steps closer. His eyes were dark as black holes, but that sweet smile was still on his face. Although it looked to her like it was wavering. “Hey, Cara. I’m fine. The question is—how are you?” He looked down at his feet, then back up. “I didn’t know you’d been shot.”

“Me, either,” she said.

His smile faded. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything that happened.” He looked down at the floor again, then at a place somewhere to the left of her eyes. His face was serious now, no trace of that beautiful smile. “I screwed things up so badly.”

She pushed herself up in the bed again. “These damn sheets are slippery,” she said, then held out her free hand. Jack stepped closer and took it in his. “You didn’t screw up,” she said, then gave him a small smile. “At least not everything.”

“Cara, hon, can you—” he stopped. He looked at her and raised his chin slightly, as if readying himself for a blow. He cleared his throat. “Could you—would you—marry me?”

She stared at him in shock. “Jack? We—we are married.” Then she narrowed her gaze. “Aren’t we?”

He sat down on the bed, still holding her hand, looking down at it. “I just want it to be for the right reasons this time,” he said softly.

She smiled at him and shook her head. “I’ll be happy to marry you again, for the right reasons. Just don’t tell my mother, or we’ll have to do the big North Shore wedding.”

“Well,” he said, playing with the ring on her left ring finger. “I sort of already did,” he said without looking up. “So we have to do the North Shore wedding now.”

She pulled her hand away from his grasp and reached out to cradle his cheek in her palm.

He raised his gaze to hers.

She sighed and shook her head. “Why did you tell her?” she whispered.

“Why? To get in good with her of course,” he said. “By the way, she wants you to wear her wedding dress, although according to the doctors, you’ll have to get it let out.”

“Let out? What are you talking about?” Behind Jack, the hospital door opened and her whole family flowed into the room, acting as though they were trying to be quiet and unobtrusive, but every single one of them had a huge grin on his or her face, and giggles and chuckles kept erupting.

Jack leaned forward and kissed her gently, then pulled away until he could gaze into her eyes. “Apparently, you’re pregnant.”

“I’m—what?”

He nodded. “About four weeks.” He smiled, but his eyes looked wary. “Cara, I love you,” he said. “Kiss me?”

“I’m pregnant?” Cara Lynn felt stunned. “And—and you
want
to kiss me?”

“When we kiss, I find myself wanting to confess everything to you. It made it really hard to lie to you.”

Cara Lynn’s grin broadened, and behind Jack, her family was grinning and beaming as well.

“Then we will definitely be kissing a
lot,
” she declared. She lifted her good hand. “Everybody, come in. Apparently there are going to be two babies coming soon!”

As Cara Lynn’s family gathered around the bed, all talking and smiling, Jack felt something he had never felt before. He understood, for the first time, what it meant to be part of a family. He’d had a mother and for a short time, a father. And of course his grandfather, his Papi, had been his family. But this was a lot different. The Delancey clan was dozens of people, who seemed to be accepting him into their large extended family.

It was kind of strange, but it also warmed a place inside him that had never been warm before.

“Jacques,” Cara Lynn said, laughing.
“Je t’aime.”

Jack kissed her—on the mouth.

Epilogue

Several weeks later, Jack and Cara Lynn walked out of the courtroom. Harte Delancey walked with them.

“I don’t understand,” Jack said, cringing inside. “None of the rest of the family wanted to be here? Was it just too hard for them?”

Harte smiled as he shook his head. “Not at all. We all agreed that I’d come, just because I represent the entire family, and the media would be out in droves if a dozen or more Delanceys showed up.

“But every one of them is happy that the truth has finally come out and justice has been served,” Cara Lynn added.

Jack opened the passenger-side door for her and watched as she got in. Her baby bump was barely visible, but she was more beautiful than ever. He would swear in a court of law that she had an ethereal glow that he knew had to come from carrying her precious cargo. As he closed the door, she reached for her seat belt.

When he turned, Harte was standing there with his hand extended. “Congratulations, Jack. Armand Broussard has been cleared of all charges related to the death of Con Delancey.”

Jack couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks,” he said, then sobered. “But are you sure the family is okay with this?”

Harte shrugged. “All I can say is that Mom is having a cookout this afternoon and I’m scheduled to cook the steaks. The whole clan is planning to come. Even Hannah and Mack.”

Cara Lynn, who had let the passenger window down, chimed in. “Let’s go. I’m starving,” she said. “I need protein.”

Jack looked at her and then back at Harte. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. Let’s go get this pregnant woman some protein.”

Harte cleared his throat. When Jack turned, Cara Lynn’s brother’s face was bright red.

Behind him, she said, “Harte? What is it?”

“Well,” he said, his mouth spreading into a huge grin. “It looks like there are three, not just two pregnant Delancey women.”

“Harte!” Cara Lynn cried, opening the car door and jumping out to hug her brother.

Jack put an arm around Harte’s shoulder and gave him a quick hug, too.

“Dani’s pregnant? That’s
wonderful!
” Cara Lynn said as tears streamed down her face. “Oh, no! Everything makes me cry these days.”

Jack let go of Harte and took Cara Lynn in his arms. “I think you’re gorgeous when you cry. Let’s go,” he said, sending Harte a congratulatory nod over Cara’s shoulder. “The family’s waiting for us.”

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from KCPD PROTECTOR by Julie Miller.

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Chapter One

“Elise? I need—”

“Right here.” As soon as the lacquered black door between their offices opened, Elise Brown was on her feet, carrying the file from the corner of her desk over to her boss, KCPD Deputy Commissioner George Madigan. “Crime rate statistics for the downtown area over the past three years. I also checked the Farmers’ Almanac for the last time Kansas City had record temperatures like this and forwarded stats on the dramatic rise in reported crime incidents for that summer to your laptop. I pulled up similar stats on the increased number of 9-1-1 calls during power outages.”

“And my dinner—?”

“Done. I called the restaurant and moved your reservation this evening back to eight o’clock. Your appointment will meet you there.”

George’s firm mouth cocked into a wry grin, deepening the lines beside his steel-gray eyes as he opened the folder. “You might at least let me finish asking my questions before you hand over the answers.”

George Madigan didn’t ask—he gave orders—but Elise didn’t mind. She tipped her face up to his and smiled. “Just being indispensable.”

“That you are. I swear you could do this job without me. But I wouldn’t manage the other way around. Thanks.” He dropped his gaze to the information he held, thumbing through the pages, already engrossed in his work.

Elise smiled at the crown of his dark brown hair. It was short and thick and peppered with shots of silver that only added to the mature air of masculinity that oozed from every pore. Not that she cared one whit about how the man looked or what he oozed. All she cared about was this job and the way George valued her as a trusted associate.

There were no miscommunications when her boss spoke. No flirty double entendres she had to evaluate and dodge. No favors or blackmail or anything that could leave her feeling like a fool for not clearly understanding what was being asked of her.

She appreciated the mutual respect in their working relationship, and had no intention of muddying the waters by wishing there might be a little more charm to his authoritative demeanor or wondering how a full-blown smile or belly laugh might soften the life experience sculpted into his angular features.

The deputy commissioner and KCPD had taken a chance on her when her confidence had been so close to rock bottom that she wasn’t sure she even deserved a job in the corporate world again. Working as an executive assistant for one of the top administrators in the department, she was rebuilding the self-assurance that had been shredded at her last full-time position. Fixing her bruised heart and shattered trust in men were projects for another day. For her, the job was enough. It was everything. It had to be.

“This is good stuff,” George praised. “These numbers should help make my case for allocating more funds.”

“You hired me to be knowledgeable, efficient and to anticipate your needs.”

To make her point, she flipped the page to point out the totals he was searching for and nodded toward the office behind him where five people sat around a cherrywood conference table, engaged in a heated discussion studded with phrases like “We’re already short staffed,” “Not my responsibility,” “How much?” and “Would you go there without a cop around for miles?”

Elise didn’t even need to drop her voice for privacy. “Emergency budget meeting? Complaints from the union about freezing salaries instead of paying overtime? The most vocal person in the room is Councilman Johnson. Ergo, you want to be armed with the information showing a direct correlation between hot weather and a higher crime rate, and how putting extra uniformed officers on the street during peak power demands will counteract that danger.”

A dark eyebrow arched as he looked up from the file. “Ergo?”

Elise met his gaze and shrugged. “So you can shut up Mr. Johnson.”

That earned a chuckle from deep in his throat. Okay. So the man did possess a little charm. “You’re onto me. Did anyone ever tell you that you’d make a good detective?”

Elise looked beyond the wide shoulders of his blue dress shirt to see the medals and commendations framed on the wall behind his desk. Her boss’s day might be filled with administrative duties now, but there was no doubt who the real detective was here. “I function much better behind the scenes than I do on the front line, sir.”

His square jaw tightened momentarily. But before he snapped the folder shut and gave voice to whatever thought had crossed his features, a light knock on Elise’s office door diverted her attention across the reception area.

“Hello?”

“Excuse me, sir.” Elise crossed the taupe carpet to meet the deliveryman hidden behind the extravagant bouquet of yellow roses at the hallway door. “Yes?”

“Is this the deputy commissioner’s office?” a winded voice asked.

“It is.”

“Finally. Do you know how far I had to carry these things?” When the twentysomething man poked his head around the tall glass vase, his ruddy cheeks and forehead were dotted with perspiration. She also noted that he was wearing a visitor’s badge around the sweat-stained neck of his brown uniform. Good. That meant he’d been cleared at both the ground floor and the security desk at the eighth floor elevators, and she didn’t need to screen him as any kind of threat to the higher-ups at KCPD.

“Has it topped a hundred degrees out there yet?” Elise asked, reaching for the electronic signature pad he pushed toward her. Since a heat wave was bearing down on Kansas City for its third straight week, it was a topic of conversation friends and strangers alike could share. She hoped her friendly smile might improve the man’s mood.

But she got little more than a weary grunt in return. “I just need you to sign for these, ma’am.”

Understanding how a heat index of one hundred and ten and humidity that was nearly as high could make tempers and frustrations flare, Elise quickly wrote her name. “Could I get you something cold to drink? Some ice water?”

The man’s grim expression relaxed as he traded the vase for the keypad. “I’ve got a cooler in my van in the parking garage across the street. But thanks.”

“Looks like Commissioner Madigan has a special admirer.” Elise hefted the over-the-top bouquet into her arms. Had George won some award he hadn’t mentioned? Been seeing someone during the few hours he wasn’t in the office?

“They’re for you, ma’am.” The deliveryman glanced down at his keypad screen. “You’re Elise Brown, right?”

Surprise warred with confusion inside her at the unexpected gift. “For me?”

“Yes, ma’am. Enjoy. And stay cool.” The man was all smiles as he walked away.

Elise touched her nose to one velvety blossom, cautiously inhaling its cloying, perfumey scent as she counted. Eleven, twelve...twenty-three yellow roses, complete with golden ribbons, baby’s breath and a cut-glass vase—for her?

The flowers grew unbearably heavy.
Twenty-three roses. One for every day we’ve been together.

“Easy.” Suddenly, a strong hand cupped beneath hers, taking the weight of the glass. “We don’t want a flood on the carpet.”

A flash of blue danced into Elise’s peripheral vision a split second before her boss’s crisp voice startled her from her momentary paralysis. She backed away a step and hugged her arms securely around the vase. “I’ve got them.” She turned and carried them to the corner of her desk. “Thanks.”

The flowers might be a different color, but the similarity...twenty-three? Elise breathed in deeply, clearing the troubling thought from her mind. It wasn’t possible. The florist had simply miscounted. Or the deliveryman had stolen one for his girlfriend. This was just a coincidence and she’d overreacted. That part of her past was over and done with.

Dead men didn’t send flowers.

But who would?

Shuffling through the stems and greenery, Elise searched for a card that wasn’t there. She pulled the empty plastic clamp from the vase that should have held the sender’s name or a message for her, and hurried out into the hallway. “Wait a minute,” she called after the deliveryman. “Who are these from? There’s no card....”

But he’d already disappeared around the corner by the elevators and security desk. She could either kick off her heels and run after him, or solve the mystery on her own. And since Nikolai was dead... With another steadying breath, Elise had made her decision.
Ease up on the paranoia. There’s a rational explanation. Figure it out.

But when she turned around, she froze, her path blocked by George Madigan filling the doorway. His sturdy forearms were exposed by his rolled-up sleeves, and their tanned strength formed an impenetrable barrier folded across the front of his chest. “Did I miss your birthday?”

Although he wore no gun, his badge was right there, clipped to his belt, its polished blue enamel and extra brass chevrons indicating he had the right to stop her and ask any questions he wanted in this office. Elise tipped her face up to his narrowed gray eyes. Was that suspicion she saw there? Curiosity? Concern?

She knew that George Madigan on a mission could be an intimidating thing. His devotion to the department, his single-minded determination to solve problems, made him a force to be reckoned with in city and departmental politics. But the idea of him turning that perceptive intelligence and laser beam focus on her was as unnerving as it was thrilling.

And that made those little ripples of awareness stirring her blood far too dangerous.

Tempting as it might be to share her fears with her boss, Elise nixed the idea. Her problems were her own. She understood George Madigan well enough to get her job done, and that was as far as their relationship needed to go. Mixing work and personal was definitely a bad idea.

“Elise?”

Oh, snap. How long had she been staring at the loose knot of his tie?

Despite the air-conditioning that cooled the building’s temperature to a tolerable level, Elise suddenly felt hot. She brushed aside a short dark wave of hair that clung to her damp skin and tucked it behind her ear before scooting around the file he fisted in one hand. “My birthday’s not until September.”

Two months away. Elise set the card holder beside the vase and sorted through the ribbons and greenery again. She found one broken stem being held upright by sprigs of baby’s breath and the oversize bow, but still no card.

A queasy sense of unease turned in her stomach. Nikolai had sent her twenty-three red roses after he’d gone back to Russia. A thank-you, apology and
do svidaniya
all in one. But Nikolai was dead. Murdered by her former boss Quinn Gallagher’s father-in-law when Nikolai had dared to threaten Quinn’s daughter.

“I know it’s not Administrative Professionals’ Week. I marked that on my calendar.” George followed her to the desk and reached out to finger one of the blooms. “These are unexpected.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” she conceded, wishing she could mask her emotions as well as her boss could. “They’re definitely a surprise.”

The only men in her life were her father and her poodle mix, Spike, and neither one was the flower-sending type. Her mother was the one to remember special events, but nothing was happening in Elise’s life today, or even this week. She hadn’t completed the renovations on the Victorian home she was restoring, so any celebration of that was premature. Successfully housebreaking the dog hardly merited all these flowers. And the last man she’d gone out with certainly had no reason to send such a gift. Although they’d once shared a college romance, she’d made it clear to James this past weekend that she was only interested in friendship now that he was back in town after spending several years working abroad.

After her disastrous track record of unrequited love and getting involved with the wrong men, she wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship.

Elise startled at the warm hand on her arm and looked up into George’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She jumped again when the telephone rang. Shaking off his touch and any further speculation about the roses, she leaned across her desk and picked up the receiver. “Deputy Commissioner Madigan’s office. This is Elise speaking.”

There was a long pause on the line, and then she heard, “Did you get them?”

The hushed, breathy voice was barely audible.

“Excuse me?”

“I got them special. Just for you.”

Suddenly feeling too shaky to stand, Elise sank onto the edge of the cherrywood desk and turned her head toward the mysterious bouquet. “Who is this?”

The phone was pried from her grip by a stronger hand. “This is Deputy Commissioner Madigan of KCPD. Who—?”

The click of the call disconnecting was loud enough for Elise to hear. When she jerked her head back toward the sound, her gaze was filled with George’s paisley tie and broad chest. That chest came even closer, almost folded around her, as he reached behind her to hang up the phone.

Elise pushed to her feet, curling her toes inside her pumps to steady herself, when she realized she’d nearly turned her nose into the inviting haven of the older man’s crisp shirt and body heat.

But George didn’t move. He stood there, feet planted like tree trunks to the floor, watching her reaction. “What’s going on?”

Rubbing at the goose bumps revealed by her sleeveless dress, Elise shrugged off her confusion about the flowers as well as that sudden and inexplicable urge to take shelter against her boss’s chest. “I have no idea.”

George tossed the file onto her desk and quickly inspected the bouquet. “You don’t know who these are from?” He didn’t give her time to answer. “Did you recognize the caller on the phone?”

Elise shook her head. “I think it was a man’s voice, but he was whispering. I could barely hear him. I would have thought it was a wrong number, but he...asked about the flowers. At least, I think that’s what he meant. He didn’t actually say ‘flowers.’”

“I didn’t catch a company logo on the deliveryman’s shirt. Did you?” George was already headed for the hallway before she realized his intent. “I’ll check with Shane at the front desk to see if he remembers the uniform. He should have logged him in, so we can at least get a name and who he works for. Then we can call and find out who ordered them.”