Chapter 7 Tom
TOM
“Royce!” I bark into my phone as I open and close the cabinets in Kat’s pretty but nonfunctional kitchen. Seriously, who keeps potholders all the way over by the sink when the stove is across the room? Actually, it reminds me of my nephew’s apartment.
“It’s nice to hear from you again so soon, Uncle Tommy. How are things at chateau Harrington?”
“You’re fired,” I grumble, placing the sauce pot on the burner and pulling a cutting board from the back of another cabinet.
He chuckles and I can hear the tapping of keys in the background. Luckily for him, it’s the only thing keeping my blood pressure in check at the moment.
Kat Harrington has a certain vulnerability to her that gets to me in a way I’ve never experienced before. I’ve seen tragedy and heartbreak and I’ve seen grotesque and vile.
But the sadness in her eyes and the way she reacted like a cornered animal this morning is something I can’t get out of my head.
I’ve never wanted to wage a war just to see someone smile, but I can’t think of much I wouldn’t do to see the lightness return to her gorgeous face.
I want to make her promises I have no business saying aloud.
I want to kiss her—taste her—and own that sweet body until she forgets she ever had to worry.
But I have to keep my hands, and mouth, to myself.
So, I’ll cook and yell at my nephew because he tolerates me, thank God. The thought has a smile curving up the corner of my lips as I set the phone on speaker and prop it up on the counter.
“Are you cooking?” he asks and I sigh, pulling a knife from the butcher’s block and starting to work on the onion I found.
“Yes.”
“Wow.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying…”
“She needs to eat. I need to eat. I’m making dinner.”
“Sure.” Silence fills the line but it’s comfortable, like when he first came to live with me and we didn’t have anything to talk about yet so we just occupied the same space.
“I need Ozzy to come and retrieve something she got in the mail.”
“Today?”
“I don’t know. It was hand delivered, no postage.” I pour some olive oil into the pan as it’s heating and rescue a few cloves of garlic from a bowl on the counter that have seen better days. I rattle off the information Kat had shared about how long she was away.
“So, we have a several-day window. Any thoughts?”
“My gut says it was delivered Saturday thinking she’d return home.” Swallowing hard, I add the diced onion into the pot and give it a gentle stir. “It’s a pretty significant escalation from one vandalized book to arson of several in a residential neighborhood.”
There was no reason to share that theory with Kat—not yet at least.
“I’ll map it out and see if I can find some kind of connection between suspects that have been identified.”
“Have you cleared Colt and Roan? And the rock star?” I ask, lowering my voice as I scrape the garlic into the pot, inhaling as the fragrant aroma fills the kitchen.
“Yes. I had a few things to follow up on today, but most of it was settled before you met with them this morning.”
“Good.” Relief is potent, especially when it comes to eliminating family. “Anything on the local author friend?”
“Nothing that I’ve found so far other than Kat’s sales have been better than Hazel’s over the last year. Looks like Hazel tried a new series that didn’t take off, pivoted, and is getting back on track.”
“I need Hazel and the aunt nailed down as soon as possible. Kat and Hazel have an event this week, and I want to make sure we have everything covered. Make sure you pull whatever you can on the accident with the sister.”
“You got it. I’ll let you know when I have more. You staying there or should I send Jace for the overnight?”
“No, I’ll be here for the foreseeable future.”
“She know that yet?” He snorts as I add the cans of tomatoes and rummage through her meager spice cabinet.
You’re showing your age, Tom, I chide myself, but seriously, where the fuck is the onion powder?
“No.”
“Keep me on speaker.”
“Also no.”
“That’s no fun,” he complains and I can’t help but chuckle.
“Piss off your fiancée and then you can deal with her yelling.”
“I’d like to at least make it to my wedding before she tries to strangle me,” he muses, nothing but adoration for the woman who turned his world upside down. She’s exactly what he needs, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t give him hell for it too.
“Tell her I said hello.”
“I will. Go woo Kat with your cooking skills.”
“I’m not wooing her; we’re eating.”
“Yeah, but women like a man who can cook.”
“You can make pancakes.”
“And Kinsley loves that about me.”
“I’m hanging up before I have to fire you again.”
“Yeah, yeah. Talk soon.”
Disconnecting the call, I stir the sauce and clean up the counter, washing the dishes and leaving them in the rack to dry before filling another pot with water.
It’s mechanical and I have to force myself to slow down. I don’t want Kat to be on edge in her own home, and I sure as hell don’t want to be the cause.
Taking a steadying breath, I allow myself a leisurely scan of the kitchen.
It’s beautiful, crisp, and clean with white countertops, cabinets, and light hardwood floors.
There’s no clutter to speak of out here or in the open-concept living room with the light camel-colored furniture, neutral throw pillows, and muted accent rug.
I haven’t been with Kat long, but these rooms feel nothing like her, and I have the strangest desire to find out why.
In a strictly professional sense.
Personally, I absolutely will not be going there.
I need to stay focused on the task at hand.
Identify and neutralize the threat.
It’s simple.
So why am I wondering if she’s a bath salts kind of woman or one that likes those fizzy bombs that turn the water different colors?
Get your head in the fucking game.
Rolling my shoulders back, I push all the thoughts away not a second too soon as Kat rounds the corner and walks into the kitchen. Her hair is combed but wet, her feet bare, and she’s dressed in a well-loved sweatshirt and leggings.
She’s gorgeous.
Off-limits.
And for the first time in my life, I feel I may have a very real problem on my hands.