Her Sexiest Surprise

“Weapons? I don’t know. My person didn’t have one. He just waited in the car to drive them back.”

“That makes him—minimum—an accessory.”

“Even unknowing and innocent? That sounds bad.”

“Like I said, that depends. Go on.” There was obviously more to the story.

“Okay…” Her voice was shakier now. “Now the bad nephew wants the driver to keep driving for similar jobs and my person is afraid to say no.” She stopped, her face full of fear. “Can you help me, Riley?” she said. “My person, I mean?”

He couldn’t promise much. “Who is it, Chloe?” A relative, no doubt. Riley had seen it before. He’d sat down with parents whose son stole from neighbors to fund a meth habit, a single mom with a daughter turning tricks to buy designer clothes, a wife whose husband had embezzled from his job to cover gambling debts. They’d all seemed sad and bewildered and lost. It got to him every time. What had they done to deserve this? How could loved ones hurt each other so badly?

“It’s my dad, Riley,” she said softly. “And the guy, the bad nephew, is Sal Minetti.”

Enzo Sylvestri’s nephew. Adrenaline shot through Riley. “I see.” His mind raced, but he hid his reaction, needing as much information as he could gather first.

“My dad’s a good guy. He tries. He was just doing a favor. He’s too generous. And Sal wants him to drive more and he’s afraid to say no. He can’t be arrested, can he?”

“He could, yes, but if he comes clean, if he helps the case against the rest of the crew, sometimes the D.A. will deal.”

“So if he talks to the police he’ll be okay?” Chloe lifted her big eyes to him like he was the Savior himself.

“Like I said, it depends.” What could he tell her? The law was the law and he’d been around long enough to know that what a man confessed to was usually the first load of dirt he’d shoveled under the carpet. “Do you have a lawyer?”

“Do we need one?”

“There are public defenders, but they’re run pretty ragged. Not much time per case. Some are better than others….”

“So, it’s serious? He’s in big trouble? You can’t make it go away?” Water gleamed in her eyes. She was about to cry? Shit.

“Let me talk to my lieutenant. If they’re working on a case on Minetti, there might be wiggle room.” There would be interest, he knew. Hell, he was interested.

“That would be great. I mean, I know my father will cooperate. With you on our side, helping us…”

“All I can promise is to talk to my boss.”

“That’s great,” she said.

No, it was terrible. He should get her father down to the station now, while he was scared, before he clammed up and demanded an attorney, but Riley already cared too much about Chloe.

“So, it’s settled, at least. Let me fix breakfast.”

“That’s not necessary, Chloe.”

“But it’s fun. I love to cook.” She blinked at him, startled that he’d even question the idea. She was up and in the kitchen before he could object. He followed, wishing he’d kept his big mouth shut.

You made promises you couldn’t keep and you ended up in big trouble. Or someone else did.

3

RILEY GROUND BEANS and started coffee, watching Chloe swirl through his kitchen like a fragrant fairy. She plugged in the waffle iron, banged a sauté pan onto the stove and slapped down butter with the efficiency of a TV chef.

“Looks like you know what you’re doing. Do you cook a lot?” Despite everything, he was pleased to have her in his kitchen making him breakfast.

“I’m practicing for culinary school.” She laid slices of ham into a cupcake pan, then began whipping eggs.

“So you’re looking to become a chef?”

“I love making people happy with food.” She grinned, her drying hair forming soft curls against her cheeks. “Eventually I hope to own a restaurant, though I know that’s a tough business.”

He realized he was ogling her. “Can I help with anything?” he asked to distract himself.

“Chop these mushrooms and scallions maybe? Very fine, please. Then, could you set the table?” She grabbed a knife from his rack. “These are good knives. You must cook some, too.”

“When I have time, which isn’t often.” He’d eaten far too much pizza, takeout and convenience-store burritos of late.

“You work too much?”

“Probably. More overtime than my lieutenant wants, that’s for sure.” He shrugged. “Leads dry up fast if you don’t push when you have them.”

“So you’re dedicated.” Her stirring slowed as she studied him. She was thinking that meant he’d move heaven and earth to save her father, he’d bet. “That doesn’t surprise me about you.”

“Why not?”

“Because of how you were…with me.” She blushed again. “You paid attention. You had a lot of…focus.” Her spoon slowed, as if she were remembering them in bed. Her eyes glowed like they had their own burners.

“I had you naked. Who wouldn’t focus?”

A shiver moved through her. “Riley…” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he said, backing away. Sex was out now. His body registered disappointment with a low-grade ache.

She turned to pour the batter into the waffle iron. The promising sizzle and the smell of sweet dough had him salivating like Idle, who sat at attention, hoping for spillage.

“God, that smells good,” he said.

“I hope it tastes as good.” She busied herself mixing what he’d chopped into the egg mixture, dashing in herbs and oil, then layering the ham into each cupcake space. He couldn’t take his eyes from her flying fingers. Or her tight backside and softly swaying breasts. The scene was like a dream—breakfast aromas and a warm, enticing woman in his kitchen.

Idle whined desperately.

Chloe laughed. “Maybe you can have a bite, Idle,” she said. “Did he get that name because he idolizes you?”

He laughed. “It’s Idle. Like an engine. He was in a cage in a suspect’s house, so skinny and weak I thought he was dead, but when I got close he vibrated with this low buzz like a car in Neutral. It was all he could manage.”

“How sad.” Idle stared up at her as if she was some kind of doggie saint.

“The way he’s looking at you at the moment, maybe I should spell it the other way. I know how you feel, boy,” Riley added.

She lifted her gaze to his.

He was leaning in, going for a kiss, kicking himself the whole way, when the timer dinged. They both pulled apart like boxers at the end of a round.

Chloe turned back to her cooking and he busied himself setting the table with the white plates and cheap silverware he’d bought when he got into the Academy. He dressed up the table with Chloe’s purple flowers in their pot. Not bad…

“If this meal turns out as good as I think it will, I’ll use it at my new job,” she said.

“You’re quitting Enzo’s?”

“No. I’ll still be there. My birthday gift from the Sylvestris was an offer to be their cook and housekeeper. They’re paying me too much, but it’s really to help me with culinary school. How could I say no?”

“That’s generous of them.” What was she doing getting so hooked up with a mob family? Not safe and not wise.

“It’s the kind of people they are. Our families go back a long way. My father worked for Enzo’s dad back in Chicago.”

“Really? How’d you all end up in Phoenix?” He needed to learn what she knew before he said more.

“Ten years ago, Enzo had a heart scare and retired so he could spend more time with his family—Natalie’s his second wife and the kids were little. We came out two years later. My dad drives him around and does odd jobs. Enzo mostly golfs, fishes, does the restaurant. He…putters, really.”

Putters? Not exactly how Riley would describe profiting from drugs, vice and extortion, but he kept that to himself. Instead, he said, “The guy hardly needs a driver. Can’t he drive himself?”

“It’s more of a favor, I think. See, my dad saved Enzo’s father’s life back in Chicago. He drove a taxi and was waiting for a fare when someone shot at Arturo as he came out of a restaurant. My dad threw him into the cab and drove him to safety, catching a bullet in his thigh for his trouble. That leg still bothers him.”

“So, the Sylvestris owe your father.”

She stopped working and turned to him. “They’re grateful, sure, but it’s more about how close our families are.”

This was worse than he thought. Chloe couldn’t be so naive she didn’t realize the Sylvestris were a crime family, could she? Or had she closed her eyes to it? Either way, he was disappointed in her.

Chloe flipped the waffle expertly onto a plate, then swung over to the oven to pull out the egg dish. “Let’s eat,” she said, smiling at him.

They sat at the table across from each other. The plant blocked his view of her, so he shifted it to the floor.

“This looks great,” he said, looking down at his plate.

“Dig in.” Chloe waited for him to cut into the waffle and put it in his mouth.

The bite melted on his tongue like cinnamon-flavored butter. “God,” was all he could say, going for more.

She grinned. “Now the eggs.” She leaned in, waiting.

He sampled the dish. “Incredible. See for yourself.”

As she tasted, she analyzed improvements—more oil, less cream, fewer scallions, homemade preserves and a dab of crème fraîche for the waffles.

As she talked, he watched the gleam of butter on her lips, caught glimpses of her tongue until he wanted to take her mouth. He pictured her last night, her hair wild, her body perfect, moving in complete sync with him. Control yourself.

Idle’s snuffle thankfully distracted him. The dog was nosing into the plant, so he carried it to the living room.

Back at the table, he kept eating. Every time he got the urge to kiss Chloe, he took another bite. Before long he was working on thirds.

“You really like it, huh?” Chloe asked, resting her chin in her palm, watching him as if this were her greatest pleasure.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, swallowing.

“Did you always want to be a cop?”

“I guess,” he said, caught off guard by the new topic. “My dad was one.” He pushed away from the table, way too full. He’d be in the gym all night working this off.

“Did he retire?”

“Killed in the line of duty when I was twelve.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” She grabbed her heart, like the tragedy had struck someone she loved.

“That was twenty years ago,” he said, shrugging.

“What was he like, your father?”

“Strict. Serious. No bullshit. If I even thought about doing anything wrong, he was on me.”

“What wrong things did you do?”

“The usual kid nonsense. Fistfights, staying out late, setting off fireworks.”

“He must have inspired you, though.”

“He didn’t talk much about the job, but I knew he was proud.” He remembered the crisp uniform and the smell his pop brought in of metal and smoke and upholstery and clean sweat. He’d set down his gun hard, like it was the weight of his job on the shelf, waiting to be picked up the next day.

“Was your mom scared of the danger?”

“She got pissed over his hours. I remember that. When she bitched about a ruined dinner, he’d say, ‘What should I tell the folks that got broke into? Cold air coming through the smashed window, their belongings tossed to the floor, scared the guy’ll come back on ’em? Sorry, the wife’s got pot roast waiting?’”

“She probably felt guilty.”

“I guess. I was a kid, so I don’t know the whole story. After my dad died, she couldn’t handle me, so I went to live with my dad’s brother, Frank.” Who had been distant like his dad, but angrier. Seething and sulky. It took Riley a while to figure out it was because Riley’s parents considered his father a hero, while Frank was a mere truck driver.

“Did you get along? You and your uncle?”

Jeez, the woman didn’t leave anything alone. “We did okay.” The resentment played out with Frank beating the crap out of him over stupid shit—a broken plate, an unmade bed, coming in at eleven instead of ten-thirty. Finally ashamed, Frank started taking long hauls and staying on for a return job to avoid Riley. “He was a truck driver. I was on my own a lot.”

“No aunt on the scene? Or a girlfriend?” She spoke tentatively, as if she’d read something into his silence.

“Frank wasn’t much with the ladies. Not that I saw, anyway. He died when I was at the Academy. Heart attack…asleep in his truck. Just how he’d have wanted to go—on the road.”

“Sounds like he wasn’t much of a parent to you.”

“He called once a trip. You can’t expect more of people than they have to give. Same with my mother. She did her best.”

She was silent for a moment, as if she disagreed, but didn’t want to argue with him. “I’m sorry, Riley.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. Everybody has troubles, Chloe.” You took the blows, got up, dusted off and moved on. That was life.

“You lost both your parents, really. My mom left us when I was ten and my sister was six.”

“That’s a shame.” He didn’t know what to say to that. She looked sad. “You see her much now?”

“Mostly she writes. We talk at Christmas and birthdays. She feels guilty about having left us, I know now.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Same with my mom.”

“So we have a sad thing in common, huh? Moms missing in action.” Her blue eyes held his, full of sympathy and sorrow and he got the old ache in his gut. He didn’t think about it much, but losing his parents so fast, then trying to live with his belligerent uncle, had been tough. He’d fought to please Frank—cooked him dinner, polished his dress shoes, built bookshelves. The kiss-up bullshit only made the man harder.

As a kid, he couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t yet know the way people could twist up emotions—turn guilt to fury, jealousy to hatred. “We learned from it, too,” he said firmly. He’d learned to watch out for himself, to respect others’ privacy. Not difficult for him, really. He was like his dad—not big on emotion. His squad mates were all the family he needed.

“That’s true,” she said, but he had the feeling her lessons had been different. He rolled his shoulder, uneasy that he’d said so much about himself. “So you have a sister?”

“Yeah. Clarissa.” She sighed.

“What’s the big sigh about?”

“Oh, just that it’s taken her forever to grow up. She dropped in and out of college, kept running out of money. She’s married now, finishing school, I hope. Her husband finally gave up being a rock-band roadie and took a job as a sound engineer. I don’t know why Clarissa’s so…I guess the only word is flaky. Maybe I babied her to make up for Mom. Maybe I did too much for her all the time.”

“You did your best.” And spoiled the hell out of her, he’d bet. The woman had a big, soft heart. Hell, she’d adopted a feral cat. He’d never have the patience for an uphill battle like that. “So, where would I get a waffle iron like that?” he asked to change the subject.

She named a gourmet kitchen store and added, “Are you looking to impress the women you bring home?”

“Who says I bring home women?”

“You brought me, remember? You were very smooth.”

“That was a special occasion, Chloe.” A rare one. When the urge got strong, he hooked up, but only short-term. He didn’t want emotional blowback. Couldn’t stand hurting anyone. After his encounter last month with Marie Sendrow, a fellow officer, he’d decided to stay clear for a while.

As down-to-earth as Marie was, she’d acted funny after that night—holding his gaze, letting their bodies brush, talking low. He’d decided to keep his head down and focus on work.

Chloe had caught him off guard. She was different from the women he usually chose. Fresh and new and so awake.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him now.

“You,” he answered honestly. “And last night.”

“Oh.” Her eyes warmed with arousal, startled by his admission, he could tell. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. It’s almost all I can think about right now.” She leaned in.

So did he. When he got close to her, the world went as blurry as a dream, and he couldn’t think at all. They breathed the same air, inches apart. His cock fought the confines of his jeans. She tilted her mouth. So did he.

Right before it was too late, Chloe pulled back. “We probably shouldn’t do this.”

“No. Probably not.” Last night was last night. This morning was different. Chloe’s father was in trouble with the Sylvestris, who appeared to be Chloe’s second family, and Riley had questions to ask. Lots of them.

“I should go,” she said, carrying their plates to the sink.

He helped her clean up, then walked her to the door, chewing on the last square of waffle to keep from kissing her.

“Thanks for helping us, Riley,” she said. “It means a lot.”

“No promises.”

“I know,” she said, but she didn’t. She thought he could work miracles. He watched her walk to her car, her sack of cooking stuff braced on her gracefully swaying hip.

When she drove off, Idle whined as if in pain.

“You’re too easy,” he said to the dog, who’d fallen in love with Chloe on sight. Idle looked up at him. Save her, man.

Great. Now he was putting words in his dog’s mouth. Maybe he wasn’t so lucky after all.

WHEN CHLOE GOT HOME, her father had left a note, saying he’d gone to an AA meeting. Good. He’d taken the right step. Pepper Spray’s tail stuck from beneath the couch, where she must have darted when she heard Chloe come in.

Her message light winked, so she hit Play. “We need you A-S-A-P.” Natalie. “Save us from ourselves, Chloe. P.S., you can get oriented to your new job!” Natalie had so much energy. Chloe wasn’t surprised the dour Enzo had fallen for her.

Chloe headed over, grateful for something to distract her from her father’s troubles and Riley, who crept into her thoughts anyway as she drove. She pictured his dark eyes, square jaw and his smile—slow to arrive and worth it when it came.

She’d felt close to him. They shared tough childhoods, but hers had made her hold more tightly to the people she loved, while his seemed to have made him keep his distance.

She’d enjoyed cooking for him. Next time, she’d do eggs Benedict…maybe crepes, since he’d wolfed the waffles.

What next time? New Chloe had had a wild night of freedom and old Chloe had awakened to find her father in deep weeds. There was a lesson there. Never let down your guard.

She was no martyr, of course. You helped loved ones, but you didn’t take over their lives or protect them from the consequences of their screwups. But if you could save them unnecessary pain, you had to try.

She reached the Sylvestris’ small mansion in an exclusive neighborhood and pressed the buzzer, awed by the lush landscaping, the Doric columns, the statues, the huge fountain. Natalie was enthusiastic about everything she did.

Chloe couldn’t wait to hit that cook’s dream of a kitchen, with deep sinks, the latest appliances, giant preparation island and every cooking implement there was. Delores, their previous cook, hadn’t cracked much more than the microwave, according to Natalie. She’d been hired as a favor to a friend, which was so like the Sylvestris, who were generous to a fault.

In Chicago, Enzo’s family was “connected,” she knew. Maybe he’d had shady relatives and business associates in the past. Chloe judged people by her experiences with them. People could change, couldn’t they? If they couldn’t, life would be pretty pointless.

What Chloe knew about Enzo was that he loved his family and treated his employees like relatives. Many were. Any niece or nephew who needed college money knew they had a job at Enzo’s. In the summer, there was practically a busboy or girl for every table. If Enzo had any faults, it was being too kind to people like Sal and his unsavory friends and some nephews’ and cousins’ kids Chloe found creepy or scary.

“So glad you’re here!” came Natalie’s cheery voice through the speaker. She gave Chloe the code to let herself in from then on. A few seconds later, Natalie opened the huge front door, wearing a smear of batter across her stylish workout clothes, and releasing a gray mist and the smell of burnt food. “Thank God you’re here. My cooking went wrong. Come save us!”

Chloe followed Natalie into the kitchen, where she saw a plate of burnt, doughy-looking pancakes.

“Look what I did!” Natalie said, sounding triumphant. “I was upstairs getting the kids down and this happened. I’m hopeless.”

“You had the heat too high, and probably not enough oil. Any cook can burn something if they leave it unattended.”

“I used to love my mother’s pancakes. I wish I’d paid attention when she showed me. Teen girls are sooo much smarter than their parents, you know.” She sighed.

“God, it stinks in here.” Charity, Natalie’s sixteen-year-old daughter, loped in for an energy drink from the fridge.

“Not for breakfast,” Natalie said.

Charity sipped, then curled her nose. “Get some freshener.” She looked over at Chloe. “So you’re our cook? I’m doing low-carb. South Beach, but no cheese and I’m going for gluten-free.”

“Okay,” Chloe said, not impressed by her attitude.

“Like I said, teens know it all,” Natalie said. “Low-carb this, South Beach that, gluten-free, mucous-free. What a pain.”

“Ma, do some nachos, ’kay?” That was Ronnie, seventeen, hollering from the next room, from which Chloe could hear cars racing and the shouts and groans of guys playing Xbox.

“Say please!” Natalie hollered back.

“Pul-eez. And use good cheese, not that American crap.”

“See how much we need you?” she said to Chloe with a sigh. “Not even my nachos are up to par. Let’s see if we have good chips.” Natalie led her into a pantry as big as a bedroom jammed with pricey gourmet items and piles of junk food. Chloe picked up a jar of truffle oil and a can of caviar, her mind racing with possibilities.

Natalie grabbed a bag of tortilla chips and Chloe followed her to the equally packed refrigerator. “So, he says good cheese…” Natalie lifted a wedge of Havarti. “What do you think?”

“Too sharp,” Chloe said. “Perhaps Muenster?” She reached for the container. “It’s creamy and melts well. We can add garlic and chili for zing.”

“Perfect! I’m thinking you can really shape up the kids’ nutrition. Get Charity to eat more—she’s a stick and she hates veggies. Maybe add liquid vitamins? I don’t know. Ronnie’s a disaster. We bought him a weight bench and he uses it to stack gamer mags. Maybe girls will motivate him to get in shape.”

She tapped her chin, then looked at Chloe. “Speaking of sex, how did your birthday date go?”

“Oh, that. Uh, okay. It was…nice.”

“Look at you. You’re all red. You did it. You got laid on your birthday! That’s fabulous!”

“Not so loud, okay?” She hoped no one had overheard that.

“Sure, sure.” Natalie lowered her voice. “I think it’s great. And not a word to Enzo, I swear. In the vault.” She brought her hands together like a closing door.

“What’s in the vault?” Sal, the man who had ruined her father’s life and sobriety, gave Chloe a once-over from the archway. He’d bathed himself in a cloying cologne that made her nose tickle. She sneezed.

“Bless you,” Sal said, grinning at her.

“What are you after, Sal?” Natalie asked impatiently.

“A Bud, but I can get it.” He leaned between them to get a beer from the fridge, then turned to Chloe. “What brings you to our kitchen, pretty lady?” Another once-over. Ish.

“This is Chloe Baxter, Sal. She’s our new cook.”

“Baxter? You related to…?”

“Mickey? Yes, he’s my father.” Just leave him alone. She fought to be pleasant.

“And, hey, you work at Enzo’s, right? You’re a hostess.” He pointed a finger at her, then clicked it like a trigger.

“Yes.” Sal was a harmless flirt. If a woman actually took him up on his advances, he’d no doubt wilt like celery left out overnight.

“So, you’ll be cooking…. I can’t wait.” He rubbed his stomach and licked his lips, just this side of lascivious.