Dangerously Dark (31 page)

I edged closer, then ran my hand along the bar's edge. I walked my fingertips up to the bottle of Grand Marnier. I slid my hand up the neck of the bottle, then looked up at Tomasz.

Just as I'd hoped, he was staring at my hand on the bottle. Conveniently, it was vaguely suggestively shaped, with a rich amber color and a sexy, curvy neck. I channeled my inner Lauren and gave that bottle a long, lascivious stroke up and down.

Tomasz's eyes almost bulged out of his head.

“If we're ever going to be together, Tommy,” I purred, “I mean,
really
together”—I gave the bottle another stroke, feeling nauseated as I did—”you're going to have to learn to trust me.”

Leaning forward, I let him look down my shirt. Yes, I know it's gross. But these were emergency circumstances. I wished I'd had the foresight to undo a few buttons. But then, I wished I'd had the intuitive farsightedness not to come there at all. Why hadn't I listened to myself? I'd
known
somehow I should be wary of him.

Wearing a dazed expression, Tomasz looked from my (meager) cleavage to my hand on the bottle. I might not have had the goods to attract Declan's bosom-loving attention, but Tomasz was hooked. “I want to trust you.” He swallowed hard. “I do.”

I leaned into him, then used my other hand to reach lower. If Tomasz felt that surreptitious gesture, he thought I was reaching for something else—something that
wasn't
that heavy steel Dewar of liquid nitrogen, now held slackly in his grasp.

“Well, I'm afraid that would be a mistake,” I told him.

Then, with a silent thanks to all my days of traveling—to all the miscreant pickpockets who'd inadvertently shown me the useful benefits of misdirection—I grabbed that steel Dewar and lifted it high. Then I bashed Tomasz on the side of the head.

I hit him as hard as I could. As hard as I could
imagine.
The solid
thwack
that hunk of metal made when it contacted his skull sickened me. But it worked. Tomasz staggered backward.

He gave a guttural howl of pain. But by then, I was already grabbing that monogrammed key fob and running for the door.

Unbelievably, it opened just as I reached it.

I ran into the first person who entered as I screamed about Tomasz being crazy—screamed about needing to call the police.

I was shaking all over. I realized I was crying, too. I couldn't breathe. But I
could
dizzily recognize Danny—and the lock-picking set in his hand?
Huh?
I was wrestling with my crossbody bag, simultaneously searching for my cell phone and waiting for Tomasz to come staggering after me like a horror-movie monster, when I began to make sense of what was happening.

I had to step aside to let all the police officers inside before I could say anything, though. There were a
lot
of them.

“Danny? Did you just
break in
to Muddle + Spade while the police were watching you?” I frowned, wanting to hug him, smack him,
and
yell at him at the same time. “What have I told you about going back to criminal behavior? It's bad for you!”

“I'm starting to think
you're
bad for me,” my perennially tardy bodyguard said. “You keep bringing me into contact with criminal elements. That violates my parole. It's got to stop.”

Then I
did
smack him. Gently. “You're not on parole anymore,” I reminded him unsteadily, “and you know it.”

“If I keep hanging around you, I might be sometime soon.”

I hoped not. All around us, the police were busy with the work I devoutly hoped I wasn't imagining. They were arresting Tomasz, handcuffing him, reading him his rights.

“There's someone hurt in the back!” I yelled, pointing.

But they were already helping Carissa. I saw the same detective I'd spoken with earlier crouching over her, speaking to her in a low voice. He called for medical assistance for her.

That could have been
me,
I couldn't help thinking. Helpless. Alone. Slowly dying from a stupid deadly cocktail.

If I was ever going to die from a comestible, it
had
to be chocolate. No other food or drink would have the same significance. Not given who I am and what I do.

For a few seconds, Danny and I just watched all the hubbub. Eventually, I reasoned, we'd have to give statements. In the meantime, it was reassuring to be surrounded by people who knew what to do—whose job it was to catch killers, like Tomasz.

“How did you know to come here?” I asked Danny.

“I went to the police station to ask them to put a rush on the fingerprinting on the plastic wrap you found.” He put his hands in his pockets and glared as Tomasz was led past us, head down, surrounded by armed officers. “It turned out they already had a fingerprinting job going. Its results had just come in.”

I shook my head. “I can't believe you'd willingly go into a police station for me. That's like entering the lion's den.”

“
For you.
That's the operative part.” For a couple of breaths, Danny took in my face, my hair, and my fearful body. I wasn't proud that I'd run. But I'd planned to get help from one of the vendors and come back for Carissa. My dying wouldn't have helped her, either, I'd decided. Danny exhaled. “Anyway, the other fingerprinting job was on some plastic wrap that Janel had brought in. Once you did the same thing, they rushed it.”

“She
was
investigating! Just like us.”

Danny nodded. “Tomasz's prints were all over that stuff. Combined with what I knew about everything that had gone on here, plus your heroic work making sure Tomasz didn't get away—”

I managed a weak grin, recognizing his teasing.

“—led the police straight here. Justice done, et cetera.”

I felt light-headed with relief. Also, doubtful. “Well, that's great, but what if it doesn't stick?” I asked. “After all, most people don't have their fingerprints on record.”

Danny was ready for me. “Tomasz did, thanks to his filthy-rich parents. They had Berk fingerprinted as part of an anti-kidnapping measure years ago. My clients do it sometimes, too.”

I'd forgotten he had other freelance security clients.

Also, that answered that, I guessed. Case closed.

“I was right,” I told Danny. “Declan's death
was
a murder.”

“No,
I
was right,” he came right back at me. “You should have left Portland. You almost died confronting that lunatic.”

“Hmm. I suppose that means
Travis
was right, too. Just like you. Right? Wouldn't you say so? He wanted me to leave, too.”

“Nah. I don't remember anything about that,” Danny mused with pseudo seriousness. “I don't think it ever happened. I mean, me and Harvard working together? No way. Forget about it.”

Then he gave me a grin and led me outside, ready to help me get some fresh rainy air, do what I had to do with the police, and prepare to (finally) leave Portland for good.

And this time, I really meant it.

Eighteen

Leaving Portland for good didn't mean leaving
right away,
though. I had time before my flight to go on a short field trip.

“Pretty good view, right?” I asked Danny the next morning, standing at the stone retainer wall at the Vista House, high above the Columbia River Gorge on a promontory called Crown Point. We'd driven out the historic old Columbia River Highway to see the views—and to decompress from all the
murder.
“I love it out here. There's something about being above it all that's so freeing—especially after everything that's happened.”

Danny stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and braced himself against the springtime breeze. I knew he'd rather have been hiking through the gorge or exploring all the waterfalls—including the most famous, Multnomah Falls—but we'd had to make certain concessions today. He squinted, peering at the view.

“Yeah. It's nice.” My protection expert glanced behind us at the Vista House. Its Art Nouveau sandstone exterior looked oddly at home amid the windswept gorge. Inside, the place was full of marble and brass, with opalescent art glass windows and period details. But Danny wasn't looking for any of that.

I studied the wide, winding Columbia River Valley, drawn to the green hills, craggy rocks, and acres of evergreen trees. I might spend most of my time in kitchens and confectioners', but I like to get out and encounter the wilderness now and then.

“If I'd come out here while all the drama was going on, it might have given me a different perspective.” I breathed deeply. “Back at Cartorama, it was easy to get carried away.”

“You had reason to get ‘carried away.' This time.”

Danny was right. There really
had
been a murderer at the cart pod. I really
had
had a part in catching him, too.

Tomasz.
He'd come to Portland and created the perfect community—at least for him. Once Declan had threatened the Cartorama “family,” though, Tomasz hadn't been able to forgive him. He'd felt too betrayed by Declan wanting to sell out.

A brief perusal of Declan's emails from the Prodigy Group had confirmed Declan's interest in profiting from a cut of the cart pod property sale. But that wasn't a crime. He certainly hadn't deserved to die. I figured that Tomasz and Declan had argued in the back room at Muddle + Spade before he'd died. That would explain Declan's phone being there. He'd probably dropped it, then accidentally kicked it beneath the shelves.

After the police had examined it, I'd returned it to his parents. I figured they would have wanted it. They had.

“I can't believe Carissa was just using Declan for his contacts all along,” I said, making myself keep talking before I started feeling too melancholy. “I didn't know she'd become so ambitious. She'd always been so nice to me, back in the day.”

“She was trying to use you, too,” Danny reminded me. “And your expertise. There was a reason she invited you to her engagement party weekend. Carissa was hoping you could hook her up with your chocolate-whispering peeps and help her franchise Churn PDX, just in case Declan's contacts didn't do the job.”

Unwillingly, I nodded. Carissa was still in the hospital, being treated for the injuries she'd sustained after being forced to drink Tomasz's deadly cocktail of liquid nitrogen. I'd narrowly escaped similar injuries myself. Carissa had been in a lot of pain. She was lucky to have survived. Recuperating might delay her ice-cream dynasty for a while, though, I knew.

I hoped that forced delay gave her a chance to examine some of the things she'd done, like manipulating Declan and scaring Janel. Maybe Carissa would make better choices in the future.

Speaking of Janel . . . “Janel suspected Carissa all along, you know,” I told Danny. “She knew Declan was alive when she left him after their argument that night.” That's what Austin had told me, at least. Janel's prognosis had improved, but she was a long way from chitchat. “Janel saw Carissa in her car outside the cart pod. We know Carissa had been leaving after overhearing Janel's fight with Declan, but Janel thought Carissa was just arriving. She thought Carissa had rigged the trailer on purpose and had come that night to make sure Declan was dead.”

Danny made a face. “No wonder she taunted Carissa with all those Declan's Dozen costumes on the tour.” He shook his head. “Remind me not to piss off any short, stocky blondes, okay?”

“As if
I'm
going to get involved in your love life.” I studied the gorge below us, watching the tiny-looking cars navigate the old highway. “Janel thought that reminding Carissa how much she knew about Declan might shake loose a confession.”

“Hmmph. Carissa was way too frosty for that.”

“Well,
we
know that, but Janel didn't. Neither did Austin.” He'd been helping Janel investigate. That's why he'd run interference for her on the first night of the Chocolate After Dark tour. It was also how he'd come to fall for Janel—how he'd urged her to continue investigating. “If not for Austin, Janel might not have taken that plastic wrap to the police.”

Grudgingly, Danny nodded. He looked at the Vista House again. He looked at me. “I still wish you hadn't confronted Tomasz the way you did. Someday, learn to wait for me, okay?”

“Hey,
I
didn't know there'd be any trouble,” I said in my own defense. “Tomasz was really good at seeming normal. In fact, he's probably one of the most charming people I've ever met.”

I hadn't been the only one who'd been affected by Tomasz Berk, either. Austin had let Tomasz talk him into refusing to refill the liquid nitrogen tanks for Declan on that fateful night. He'd told Austin that he needed to “stand up” for himself with Declan. He'd known that such a move would force Declan into the trailer alone, where Tomasz could enact his revenge.

Likewise, Janel had let Tomasz talk her into “stalking” Declan. He'd kept her going by saying that he had “inside information” from his good friend—saying that Declan was “tormented” by his engagement to Carissa . . . and secretly wanted Janel, instead. Janel hadn't been any crazier than any other jilted woman, I'd realized belatedly. She'd simply had her feelings whipped into a frenzy by a master manipulator: Tomasz.

He'd been setting up Janel to take the fall for Declan's murder the whole time, knowing that she'd look guiltiest.

I'd almost fallen for it, too. I was still sorry for that.

Making it a clean sweep, I knew now, was Lauren. The pierced and tattooed temptress of Cartorama had
not
been stepping out on Danny with that tall, dark, handsome stranger.

“You'd probably say the same thing about Lauren, right?” I elbowed Danny, grinning. “She's pretty charming, right?”

“Now that I know she's not looking over my shoulder for the next guy, sure,” Danny agreed, giving away the bare minimum.

We'd discovered that Tomasz had gotten to Lauren, too. He'd learned of her closeness with her brother, Will (aka the tall, dark, handsome stranger with whom she'd been slipping away during the chocolate tours)
and
of Will's own struggling culinary-tour business. Tomasz had encouraged Lauren to spy on Declan's tour and report back to Will with hints for his own business.

I thought Tomasz had done it just to drive a wedge between Lauren and Danny, because Danny hadn't been part of the pod. As with me, Tomasz had advised Lauren to “steer clear” of my friend. He'd warned her that my security expert was “bad news.”

As with me, Lauren
hadn't
taken that advice to heart.

Deliberately steering me away from Lauren and matters of the heart, Danny jutted his chin. “So, what are your plans now?”

I wasn't sure. “I think it'll be a while before I feel another yen to settle down anyplace.” I smiled, letting Danny know I wasn't taking my nascent urges for hearth and home too seriously. “For now, my priority is going back to work. I asked Travis to look up some juicy consulting gigs to divert me.”

I'd given my financial advisor the rundown on everything that had happened in Stumptown—plus a few sincere compliments to thank him for all the work he'd done to help. I wanted to keep Travis on my side. I was buttering him up for a future visit.

I hadn't given up on the idea of meeting him face-to-face. Not by a long shot. But for now, I just wanted to temper some chocolate, troubleshoot some bittersweet soufflés or cookies or cakes, and forget about murder for a week or two. At the least.

“What are you going to do?” I asked Danny. “Back to L.A.?”

He gave a noncommittal sound. “I might stay here for a few days.” His gaze wandered back to the Vista House—just as a tall, curvaceous, flirtatious brunette emerged. Lauren, of course. She'd insisted on showing us her ‘hood. She was the reason we'd come to the Columbia River Gorge at all. She waved. So did Danny. His smile broadened. “I think I can keep myself busy.”

I didn't doubt it. I guessed this was how it was going to be between us for a while. Me, jetting off to the next international destination to make sure the world's chocolates were just as scrumptious as they could be. Danny, using my murder-related pit stops as a means to hook up with hot women.

It was just like my brawny longtime friend to capitalize on the situation. Danny was nothing if not opportunistic.

And, of course, chronically late. But I was used to that.

“You know,” I hypothesized as I watched Lauren navigate the pathway in her high heels, “sooner or later, one of these women is going to want to keep you around longer than a few days.”

But Danny only shrugged. “That won't matter. I won't do it,” he said. “What I want isn't in any one of these cities.”

“Right.” I knew him too well. My wiseass tone said so. “What you want is in
all
of them. You don't fool me, Jamieson.”

“I was never trying to fool you.” His gaze met mine, serious for a minute. In a second, Lauren would catch up to us; then we'd be off to tour the rest of the gorge. Afterward,
I'd
be off to PDX—the airport this time, not the city. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Danny said. “You're not unbreakable, you know.”

“I will if you will.” I couldn't stay serious. Not with the wind in my hair and another adventure looming. I wanted to leave
and
I wanted to stay. But most of all, I wanted to say, “That's exactly the same thing Travis told me when I called him this morning—that ‘unbreakable' business. That's a pretty funny coincidence, right? You and him having the same take on things?”

The same take on me,
I meant. But there was no point rubbing it in too hard. Feeling cheered up, I gave Danny a saucy look and headed away, off to view the vista from another vantage point so I could give him and his new lady friend some privacy.

“Harvard and I are
not
the same!” Danny called after me in a husky, aggrieved tone. “We're completely different.”

Didn't I know it.
But before I got too wrapped up in either one of them, I had some
Theobroma cacao
to troubleshoot and some gridskipping exploits to enjoy. Because after what had happened to me in San Francisco and now in Portland, I was beginning to suspect that my unusual talents went way beyond chocolate . . . all the way to helping bring down killers. That was
big.

From here on out, though . . . I was focusing on
chocolate,
I reminded myself.
Period.
I didn't think there was anything that could tempt me away from that sensible stance. But I didn't want to consider it
too
hard. Because if there's one thing I know about life, it's that chocolate is better than vanilla. And two is better than one. And exceptions are always the rule.

Okay, that's
three
things. I never said I was meticulous.

With chocolate, I'm methodical. With everything else?

I was learning to be. That was a start.

From the other side of the promontory, I gestured to Danny and Lauren. “Hey, let's go!” I yelled. “I've got things to do!”

Then I led the way to Lauren's Subaru and reluctantly slid into the backseat. Next time, I promised myself,
I
was definitely going to be the one doing the driving.