Secret Vows (Hideaway (Kimani)) (24 page)

“Good.” The single word was a monotone.

“I’ll see you later,” Greer said over her shoulder as she passed him on the staircase. Nothing in her expression revealed her revulsion for a man who sold stolen guns to criminals, guns used to kill innocent adults and children. Stolen guns used by those with real mental illnesses and unable to pass the background check. He’d dishonored the uniform he wore in the service of his country and made light of an emotional condition where returning soldiers experienced feelings of helplessness and anxiety. They felt sad, frightened and disconnected. Many were stuck with a constant sense of danger coupled with haunting, painful memories. Greer knew Danny couldn’t be the mastermind behind the operation, merely a link in a network spanning illegal gun sales in several states.

Greer returned to the kitchen, washed her hands and slipped a bibbed apron over her blouse and jeans. She sat next to Bobby, telling him about the weeklong reunion the Coles had celebrated for years, and he was expected to join them because he was now considered a part of their extended family.

Bobby gave her skeptical look. “How do you think the regulars will react when we close Stella’s for a week?”

“They’ll have to deal with it, Uncle Bobby. Maybe the reason you’re so tired is because you don’t close for vacation. You close for Thanksgiving, Christmas and the Fourth of July. What happened to your putting the Gone Fishing sign on the door?”

Bobby’s hands stilled. “Everything changed when I lost Stella.”

“My aunt’s gone and I know she would want you to be not only happy, but she would’ve wanted you to take care of yourself. And keeping this restaurant open 362 days a year is ludicrous. You claim you want me to manage Stella’s, and I’m going to do that starting today. You’ve instituted some wonderful changes by going completely buffet-style and eliminating Sunday dinner. Now we have to decide what other days we’re going to close.”

Bobby went back to peeling potatoes. “That decision will have to be yours, Miss Manager.”

Greer hid a smile. She hadn’t expected Bobby to acquiesce so quickly. “We’re going to close between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day. When I checked your books, I realized revenue is down during that week because most of the college students go home on break. Mother’s Day is another below-average revenue day. Most folks would rather go to a fancy restaurant with sit-down service.” She chewed her lower lip as she tried to come up with another day to close. “Beginning today I’m going to set up a graph by days of the year and chart what we take in on any given day. Next year at this time, we’ll see our peak and low periods.”

Bobby dropped a potato in a large aluminum bowl. “What if you’re a mother next year this time? What are you going to do? Strap your baby to your back—”

“No,” Greer interrupted. “Jason has agreed to help me.”

“He’s a musician, Greer.”

“He’s more than a musician, Uncle Bobby. He has an MBA,” she said when Bobby gave her skeptical look.

“It’s obvious he’s a man with many talents,” Bobby said under his breath. The sound of the entrance bell echoed in the kitchen. He glanced up at the wall clock. “I’ll get the door.”

Greer was on her feet when Bobby returned with Andrew and another man. Andrew made the introductions as she welcomed Omar Warren to Stella’s, wondering how many people remarked about his uncanny resemblance to Green Day’s lead singer, Billie Joe Armstrong.

“Andrew, after lunch Bobby and I would like to meet with you and Omar to discuss possible changes in the dinner choices.”

Andrew lifted his sandy eyebrows. “Can you give us an idea of what you want?”

“I’d like a dedicated night for Italian, Asian-fusion, Mexican, Caribbean, Southern and Cajun cuisine.”

Omar and Andrew smiled. “I love the idea,” Andrew remarked. “O and I will create a mock-up menu for your approval.”

Bobby winked at Greer as the two cooks shed their jackets and shirts for a white smock. It was apparent they were receptive to modifying the obvious dishes that had become favorites. With theme night she was certain it would appeal to loyal regulars and attract new customers.

* * *

Greer stood at the entrance to the studio, watching Jason as he played George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue.” His head kept time with the bluesy rhythm. Listening to the tonality, she realized Diego was wrong, very wrong to compare Jason to his brother. For Greer it wasn’t about the number of awards he’d win or lose, but recognizing the genius in others. And Jason had done exactly that when he had composed the songs for Justin Glover, whose albums had gone double platinum within seven months of its release. She applauded when Jason finished the composition.

“Bravo!”

Jason spun around on the piano bench. “How long have you been standing there?”

She smiled. “Long enough.”

Jason stood, closed the distance between them and cradled her face. “You’re going to have to make some noise the next time.”

Her arms went around his waist. “I didn’t want to spoil the mood.”

Bending slightly, he swept her up in his arms. “You’d never spoil anything. How was your day?”

“It was very good.”

Greer held on to his neck, sniffing his throat. “You smell like soap.”

“I just took a shower. What made your day very good?”

Resting her head on his shoulder, Greer told him about diversifying the menu. She also raved about their new hires. “It’s nice when you don’t have to train someone.”

“Who trained you to wait tables?”

“My aunt. How was your day?”

Jason let out a sigh. “Boring.” He said
boring
whenever he found himself swallowed up by a creative force field he hadn’t experienced since writing the songs for Justin Glover’s album. During that time, he had averaged about three hours of sleep. Justin, blessed with an unparalleled voice, was able to glide fluidly from one genre to another. He had the ability to scat, rap, sing ballads, upbeat tempo dance and club rhythms, as well as mellow, heart-wrenching breakup songs. Although most critics gave his inaugural album high marks, a few indicated Justin should select a particular genre. Was he hip-hop, pop, R&B or country? Justin’s response was he’s all those and more, while inviting popular vocalists to collaborate with him for his next album.

“If you worked at Stella’s, you’d never be bored.”

He dropped a kiss on her hair. “That’s because it’s a fun place to work. You get to eat free, watch television, listen to the jukebox, ride the mechanical bull or shoot pool.”

Greer giggled. “It’s a lot more than that, sport. We bus tables, constantly fill and run and empty the dishwasher, sweep the floor, monitor the bathrooms, put out garbage—”

“I get it, babe. You’ve made your point.”

She kissed his stubble. “Since we have a waitress to replace me, I have time to bring Stella’s into the twenty-first century.”

“How?”

“I’m going to computerize the inventory.”

Jason placed his foot on the first stair leading to the second story. “Do you suspect someone is stealing?”

“No. I just think it’s easier to keep track of how many bottles of ketchup we have on hand before reordering. I counted sixty-five cans of crushed tomatoes. At any given time we should have only half that amount on hand.”

“So my baby is an efficiency expert.”

Greer blushed. “No. I just want to streamline the bottom line.”

Jason carried her up the staircase. “Are you certain you don’t have a degree in business?”

“Very certain.”

He paused halfway. “You feel as if you’re putting on some weight. Are you certain you’re not pregnant?”

“Very sure. I got my period today.”

“Bummer. I guess we’ll have to wait a few more days before we’re able to consummate our marriage.”

Greer tightened her hold on her husband’s neck. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“You ain’t lying,” he drawled.

“I have an appointment to see a gynecologist next Monday.”

She’d told Jason she had wanted to wait a year before starting a family because she truly wanted to enjoy being a wife before becoming a mother. And she still had a few years before she had to concern herself with being high-risk.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“I don’t need you to hold my hand, Jason. The doctor’s office is a stone’s throw from the restaurant.”

Jason set Greer on her feet, his expression a mask of stone. “It’s not about holding your hand, Greer. I’m just trying to be supportive.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “Look at this face and put it in your incredible memory bank. I am not Larry Junior. Just because you allowed that twisted puppeteer to control your life, don’t lump me in the same category.” Turning on his heels, he walked out of the bedroom, leaving her to stare at his departing back.

That’s not what I meant.
Before Greer could get out her apology, Jason was gone. She wasn’t comparing him to her ex. They were as different as night was from day. Jason could never be Larry, and Larry definitely couldn’t be Jason even if he’d been reborn.

She wasn’t yet married a week, and she and her husband had had their first confrontation. As a realist Greer knew she and Jason wouldn’t be able to agree on everything. However, she was always willing to compromise if it was within her sphere of reason. They’d promised each other they wouldn’t bring up Larry’s name, and Jason was the first one to break the promise.

It wasn’t until she stood under the spray of the shower that Greer realized she’d left her tote on the pickup’s passenger seat. She wasn’t concerned about anyone breaking into the vehicle because it was in an enclosed garage. The temporary lapse was a reminder she had to find a place where she could conceal her badge and gun where Jason wouldn’t find it.

She completed her shower, moisturized her body, pulled on a nightgown and slipped into bed—alone.

Chapter 20

Los Angeles

W
ebb sat on the terrace outside his bedroom staring at lights in the valley of the City of Angels. His plan to systemically dismantle Slow Wyne Records had begun. An executive from another hip-hop label had come to him asking to sign one of Slow Wyne’s vocalists. What the man didn’t know was that the singer had become a liability because he’d begun using crack cocaine. But what the man didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him when Webb agreed to release the crackhead. He accepted the generous check, depositing the money in the bank under a dummy company before wiring it to an offshore account.

At the same time he was undoing Slow Wyne, he was adding to his bank accounts on several Caribbean islands. If Basil hadn’t died, Webb would’ve been more than content to run his own security company and hopefully live to a ripe old age. But Slow Wyne was a cancer, eating at him inside and out. There wasn’t anything about the company that appealed to him. First it had been the clients, and now it was the employees. All of them were slackers, and it was the reason Basil had run the company like a despot.

The burner phone rang, and Webb stared at it for three seconds, then picked it up. “Irvine.”

“Have my money ready,” Monk said without a greeting.

“Is he gone?”

“No. He’s as good as gone. My people are inside.”

Webb squinted. “Your people may be inside but he’s still alive.”

“That won’t be for long.”

“I’m not giving you anything until I have proof that he’s dead.”

“Mr. Irvine, did you ever go to Sunday school?”

“What the hell does this have to do with our business arrangement?”

“Just answer the question,” Monk said.

“Yes, I did.”

“I want you to think of Herodias who told her daughter to ask Herod Antipas for the head of John the Baptist. Mr. Irvine, I’m Herod and you’re John. Screw with me and I’ll chop your flippin’ head off and put it on a stake for all of L.A. to see. I’m giving you one month to have my money ready or your mother will bury her last bastard son.”

“The deal’s off, Monk. Keep the money and I’ll call us even.”

“We’re not even. You still owe me half a mil.”

“I owe you your life, Monk. No man threatens me and lives to tell about it. Goodbye, whoever the hell you are.” Webb stood up and threw the cell phone over the balcony. He was out five hundred thousand dollars but that no longer mattered. He would take care of Jason Cole—his way and on his terms.

* * *

Greer sat at the desk signing payroll checks in the miniscule space off the kitchen that doubled as Bobby’s office. It was large enough for the desk, chair, two-drawer file cabinet and the tiny bathroom with just enough space in which to turn around. When she’d come in earlier that morning, Bobby hadn’t come down yet from his apartment. It was nearly one in the afternoon when he finally did, then abruptly turned around to go back upstairs. Greer didn’t want to believe she was that obtuse—that she’d forgotten today was the anniversary of her aunt’s death. Bobby was in mourning.

She’d found herself spending more time at Stella’s since Jason was summoned to Florida for a family emergency. Their tiff, which now seemed eons ago, had lasted mere hours. Greer woke to find Jason pressed against her back, his arm holding her captive. Five days later they consummated their marriage with lovemaking that left both fighting to breathe. After a month of marriage, the sex between them was like a drug. They were addicted to each other.

Their plan to host Thanksgiving was postponed to the following year. Nancy Cole-Thomas—
Tía
Nancy—had been the victim of a hit-and-run where she’d sustained severe head trauma, broken ribs and a collapsed lung. Fortunately the police caught the motorist when he crashed his car into a telephone pole. The driver was a seventeen-year-old strung out on ecstasy.

Jason had called her from the Palm Beach hospital where his father, aunt and uncles maintained an around-the-clock vigil at Nancy’s bedside, and Greer felt it would be in poor taste to celebrate given his aunt’s medical condition. He called her every morning and at night to give her updates, and she tried to lift his dark mood with stories about the quirky characters that came to Stella’s first annual Halloween costume party.

Her own moods vacillated from elation to frustration with the feedback from the regional office that she should not interfere with Danny’s continued activities, and to Greer that meant her future with the agency was in limbo. She was still an observer, nothing more than a civilian informant. Some agents preferred surveillance while, for Greer, her preference was going undercover. There was always the risk of her cover being blown, but at least she wasn’t sitting around snooping.

A soft knock on the door caught her attention. Her head popped up. Jason stood in the doorway, flashing his sexy wolfish grin. Her heart pounded in her chest like a trip hammer as her jaw dropped. Her shock was replaced by joy when she returned his smile. He appeared dark and dangerous, dressed entirely in black: pullover sweater, leather jacket, jeans and boots. His bearded jaw was evidence he hadn’t shaved in more than a week.

“Hey, you. What are you doing here?”

“What, babe? No welcome home?”

Greer sprang from the chair and into his arms. “You told me you wouldn’t be back until Sunday.”

Jason took her mouth in a punishing kiss. “I missed you too much to stay away.”

Going on tiptoe, she pressed her breasts to his hard chest. “Not as much as I missed you.”

His tongue slipped between her parted lips, simulating making love to her. His mouth moved to her throat, the column of her neck, breathing a kiss under her ear. “Now that’s debatable.”

Anchoring her arms under his shoulders, Greer tried to absorb his warmth and smell. “How’s your aunt?”

“She’s home, but not at her home. She’s convalescing at Timothy and Nichola’s house.”

“Sweet heaven. Are you certain they’re not going to start a nuclear war?”

Jason ran his hand over Greer’s hair. “My aunt has changed. She claims she saw her dead husband in a dream, and he told her she has to make peace with her daughter-in-law or she wouldn’t see him in heaven.”

Greer stared at Jason, her eyes making love to him. “Was she dreaming or hallucinating?”

“Whatever it was, it worked. Even though Timothy hired a private nurse to take care of his mother, Nancy will only allow Nichola to help her, and in return my aunt is teaching her daughter-in-law how to cook.”

“That’s worth us having to cancel Thanksgiving.”

“I agree. Now what do I have to do to convince you to have dinner with me?” Jason asked.

“All you have to do is ask.”

“Mrs. Cole,” he whispered in her ear, “will you do me the honor of going out to dinner with me?”

Going on tiptoe, Greer pressed her mouth to his ear. “Mr. Cole, I’d love to go to dinner with you, but it will have to be here. This is the anniversary of my aunt’s passing, and Bobby’s sort of out of it.”

Pulling back, Jason offered Greer his arm. “Then Stella’s it is.”

“Please let me print out these checks, and I’ll be right with you. Why don’t you go out and get us a table because, as soon as karaoke begins, it will be standing room only.”

He didn’t want to leave her, not even for five minutes. Spending almost two weeks away from Greer had permitted Jason time to reassess his relationship with her. He’d professed to be in love with her but those were just words. During their separation, he’d experienced a profound loss of companionship, and he now knew but a glimpse of what his grandmother had spoken of when she had buried her husband after seventy-five years of marriage.

Many years ago, M.J. had taken him aside after he’d been kidded mercilessly by his cousins, the male ones in particular, about not bringing a girl with him to family functions. M.J. had told him in softly spoken Spanish that he shouldn’t worry about what others said about him, and when he met the woman with whom he would spend his life, he would know it immediately. She had related how Samuel Cole had come to Cuba to purchase a sugar plantation, but anti-American sentiment was very strong and he went away without closing the deal. But she found something about the young, brash handsome American she couldn’t resist. Samuel was very formal with her while she shamelessly flirted with him. She managed to exact a promise from him to return to Cuba. No one was more surprised than she when Samuel did come back.

Her voice had dropped, becoming a whisper when she had admitted to seducing her future husband. M.J. did not sleep with him until their wedding night, but she had used whatever feminine wiles she’d learned from her libertine
Titi
Gloria to get the man who’d rescued her from an arranged loveless marriage. Even in her advanced years, M.J. had not forgotten the date she saw Samuel Claridge Cole for the first time: October 21, 1924. Two months later nineteen-year-old Marguerite-Joséfina Diaz married twenty-six-year-old Samuel on December 27, 1924.

M.J. was reflective when she had admitted to Jason that Samuel was a better father than he’d been a husband, but she took the blame that she may have contributed to Samuel seeking out another woman. Anything and everything she’d wanted, her husband gave her, while Teresa had never asked for anything from him but himself. M.J. had punished her husband for his infidelity when she had banished him from her bed for two years, something she had regretted all of her life. There were two things his
abuela
told him which he never forgot: marry a woman who wanted him for himself, and never go to bed angry.

Jason knew he wasn’t perfect, but he did want to be a good husband to Greer and a good father to the children he hoped they would have. He walked out of the office, scanning the dining room for an empty table. He spied Chase sitting at his usual table with a man who’d rested a bike helmet on an empty chair. It was apparent his friend had returned to Mission Grove while Jason had been in Florida.

Chase’s head came around as Jason approached the table. He managed to give the biker a barely perceptible nod before the leather-clad man stood up and walked away. Rising to his feet, he extended his hand to Jason.

“Welcome back.”

Jason shook the proffered hand. Chase’s deeply tanned face indicated he’d spent a lot of time outdoors. “I should say the same thing to you. How was Idaho?”

Chase indicated the chair the biker had just vacated. “Sit down. The fishing was phenomenal.”

“When did you get back?”

“A couple days ago. I came by your place, and Greer told me you were away. She invited me in and I must say your woman can really burn some pots.”

“She cooked for you?” Jason’s voice, although soft, held a thread of hostility. Greer had acknowledged Chase wasn’t her type, so he couldn’t understand why she would invite him into their home.

“No. She was cooking for herself, and when I mentioned how good everything smelled, she said she’d made too much for one person, so she offered to share her dinner with me.” There came a beat as Chase met Jason’s eyes. “I hope you’re not thinking I was trying to come on to your woman?”

Jason sat up straight. “It did cross my mind.”

Chase splayed the fingers of his right hand over his heart. “I have a lot of sins to atone for, but going after another man’s woman isn’t one of them. I know how committed Greer is to you because she must have mentioned your name a dozen times. You’re a lucky man, Cole. You hit the jackpot because your woman is beautiful
and
talented.”

Slumping back in his chair, Jason stretched out his legs. “That’s what I keep telling myself. I’m no choirboy, but finding someone like her is like owning a Triple Crown winner.”

Chase stood up. “Here she comes.”

Jason rose to his feet as Greer approached the table. His gaze swept over her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She appeared no older than some of the coeds who came to Stella’s. He pulled out a chair for her, curbing the urge to kiss her. “What do you want to eat?”

Greer smiled at Chase as she sat down opposite him. It was Asian-fusion night. “I’ll have a few pot stickers, chicken and broccoli, and vegetable-fried rice.”

Jason glanced at Chase’s half-empty plate. “Do you want me to bring you anything?”

Chase waved his hand. “I’m good here. I’ll go back for something later.”

Five minutes later Jason returned with Greer’s order and his plate filled with Thai chicken wings, shrimp rolls with Thai dipping sauce and curry chicken. He set Greer’s plate in front of her, along with a place setting.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked her.

Picking up a napkin, Greer spread it over her lap. “I’ll have one of the waiters bring us something. What do you want?”

“Perrier.”

Greer knew Jason never drank any alcohol before or after flying. “Chase?”

“I’ll have a tonic with lime.”

Raising her hand, she caught Stefi’s eye. The petite waitress had the nickname Miss Goth because of her natural inky-black short hair, translucent complexion and sky-blue eyes. Black mascara and kohl intensified the lightness of her eyes.

She came over to the table, smiling and exhibiting a beautiful set of white teeth. Her smile slipped momentarily when she saw Jason, but she recovered quickly. “Yes, Greer.”

“Could you please bring us one Perrier, a tonic water with lime and a club soda with a twist of lemon.” Greer watched Chase’s eyes follow Stefi. He was still staring when she returned from the bar with their drink order. It was the first time she’d noticed that he’d shown any interest in a woman.

Reaching into his pocket, Chase pulled out a large bill, pressing it into Stefi’s hand. “Keep the change.”

Stefi stared at the fifty as if it were a venomous reptile. Her eyes were wide with indecision. “Do you realize what you gave me?”

Deep lines fanned out around Chase’s hoary-gray eyes when he smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with my eyes, and I happen to count very well.”

Stefi blushed an attractive pink. “Thank you, Mister...”

“It’s Chase.”

Her flush deepened. “Thank you, Chase.”

Greer and Jason exchanged a knowing glance. It was obvious Chase was attracted to the pretty waitress. “Would you like a more formal introduction?” she asked him when Stefi walked over to the bar.