Chapter 32
Cue the Alarm Bells
Tessa
At the kitchen table, Maisie was laughing. "Oh, please, he's not a hit man."
I could see why she laughed, but something about her new employee wasn't adding up.
What was his angle, anyway?
I paused in the middle of pouring flour into a measuring cup. "I didn't say he was."
"But Franny did?"
"She didn't say for sure," I admitted. "It was just one of her theories."
Maisie took another sip from the tiny bottle of pineapple rum I'd left sitting on the table – a little something to help her relax – except now she looked too relaxed to take any of this seriously.
Already, she'd told me the story of how this mystery man – a guy named Griff – had come to her rescue earlier today.
One minute, she'd been on her own, dealing with a grown man's hissy-fit, and the next minute, some passerby – a very attractive passerby, judging from Maisie's expression – had jumped in to help.
After getting the customer soothed and settled, the guy had stuck around, offering to work for food and a bike.
It was plausible, I guess. But something about it smelled rehearsed. Like…what if the customer and rescuer were in on it together? From Maisie's retelling, they both seemed the same age. Plus they'd arrived at her shop only a few minutes apart.
A coincidence? Maybe.
Or maybe not. Call me a cynic, but life in Chicago had left me jaded. I'd seen plenty of scams and setups – none of which ended well.
But did I tell this to Maisie?
No.
I was sorely tempted. But I didn't know anything for sure. And until I did, it seemed cruel to add to her worries.
What I really needed was something to keep her alert, but not overly concerned. And then it hit me – a detail from Franny that might help Maisie keep up her guard. "Get this," I said. "She's seen him twice, right?"
Maisie shrugged. "How would I know?"
"Well, that's what she said at the coffee shop. But anyway, she swears that he looked different today compared to yesterday, like he's in disguise or something."
Maisie only laughed. "He was dressed more casually, that's all."
Wait, what?
How did she know? I froze in the middle of measuring salt. "So you met this guy yesterday, too?"
"Briefly," she said. "I was there when he got off the ferry."
She was? I set the salt aside. "And you actually talked to him?"
"Yeah, there was some mix-up with his duffel bag, and I was stupid enough to get involved." She gave a dismissive wave. "It's not important."
And yet, it felt important. I grew very still as I tried to think. A duffel bag mix-up? Why did that sound familiar?
Maisie asked, "What's wrong?"
I wasn't sure. But somewhere in my subconscious, alarm bells were already ringing. Still, I summoned up a smile. "Eh, nothing. Just something in the back of my mind. I can't quite place it."
"Okay, so…" Maisie lifted her little bottle. "If he's not a hit man, what else is he?" She snickered like it was all a big joke. "According to Franny, I mean."
Concerning or not, it was good to see her smiling, and I couldn't help but laugh. "Her backup theories?" I paused while she took another sip. "Millionaire banker or gangster in hiding."
Maisie almost choked on the rum. "A gangster? Why would she think that?"
My lips twitched into a smirk. "She said he looked dangerous. And sexy."
"Oh, my God." Maisie lifted the bottle and drained it dry before returning it to the table.
"Want another?" I asked. "I've got plenty left."
Maisie shook her head. "No way. One hangover this week is enough."
Keeping my tone light, I asked, "So…? Is he?"
"A gangster?" Maisie let out a scoff. "No. Definitely not."
I rolled my eyes. "No, I meant, sexy."
A dreamy expression crept into her eyes while her mouth curved upward, and a light flush appeared on her cheeks.
Call me crazy, but I didn't think it was from rum.
I laughed. "That bad, huh?"
She blinked. "What? Oh." She cleared her throat. "Yeah, I guess some might call him sexy."
Might?
Judging from her expression, he was smoking hot. And of course, this made me think of – yup, you guessed it – Ryder Vaughn.
He was smoking hot and then some.
Everything faded to the background as I recalled how good he'd looked in that souvenir shop, standing there holding that peanut butter fudge. Somehow, the guy had managed to make fudge-shopping look surprisingly sexy.
How was that even possible?
I was still lost in my own daydream when Maisie added, "But it's just not his looks. He was really great at the shop today – with the mechanics in particular."
So a master mechanic was working for free? This, like so many other things, defied all logic. "But if he's so great, why would he work so cheap?"
Annoyance flashed across her face, but her voice was perfectly polite as she explained, "He said he's here for a month, and he wants to kill some time – so he's doing some work at the shop, that's all."
I gave her a skeptical look. "For free."
She sighed. "Not free. For sandwiches and transportation." Her eyes narrowed. "And how did Franny know I wasn't paying him with actual money?"
"Oh, that? She heard it from her nephew." I paused to think. "Somebody named Jason?"
Maisie groaned. "Damn it. It was because of the sandwich." She went on to explain how, as she'd called in the sandwich order, Griff had balked at using her credit card. But Maisie had insisted because he was working for free. And Jason – who'd taken the order – must've overheard.
I gave a sympathetic wince. "Well, I guess that explains it."
"I guess," she muttered. "I'll need to be more careful."
"So…?" I said, fishing for more. "Did he like the sandwich?"
Maisie grimaced. "Actually, I don't think so."
Was the guy nuts? "Why not?"
"Well, he had me pick, saying that I'm a local and would know what's best, so of course, I pick my favorite."
I nodded. "The turkey melt."
"Right. And you know how it is, all cheesy and delicious with tomatoes and dried cranberries."
Did I ever. I'd been short of money since my arrival, so I'd splurged at the deli exactly once. Still, the sandwich had made quite an impression. "Yeah?"
"Well, I swear to God, he takes one bite, stops, swallows it hard, and then he opens the sandwich right there in the back room."
"And?"
"And he goes through and picks off every single cranberry, like he's allergic or something."
Weird. "Is he? Did you ask?"
"Sure," she said. "But all he said was that he's eaten enough dried fruit to last a lifetime."
I froze. Oh, shit.
Remember those alarm bells?
Now, they were ringing in double time. Cranberries. A duffel bag. A guy hot enough to make Maisie swoon.
I sucked in a breath. "Oh, my God."
Maisie frowned. "What?"
My stomach was doing cartwheels. "The duffel."
"What duffel?"
I tried to recall Maisie's words from just a few minutes ago. "You mentioned that he was carrying a duffel yesterday, right?"
"Yeah, why?"
I braced myself. "Was it big and black?" Please say no. Please say no…
But Maisie nodded. "Yeah."
Double shit.
She continued. "But that's a pretty common bag. Why do you ask?"
I felt nearly nauseated. "I think I met him."
As Maisie stared in surprise, I answered the next logical questions silently in my own head.
Where?
At the coffee shop.
And with who?
Ryder Freaking Vaughn, that's who.
Damn it.
So Maisie's dangerous new employee was from Chicago?
By now, the alarm bells were screaming. This so wasn't good.