Chapter Thirty Saylor #2
The hostess brings us wine without being asked—something that tastes like dark fruit and spice, smooth and complex in a way
that screams expensive. I’m taking my second sip when a man emerges from what must be the kitchen.
Axton Marrow looks exactly like what you’d get if you crossed a chef with a mortician.
He’s tall and lean, with graying hair pulled back in a neat ponytail and hands that move with the careful attention of someone who’s spent years working with very sharp instruments.
His chef’s coat is pristine white, but there’s something about the man that suggests he’s seen enough blood to last several lifetimes.
“Blue,” he says, clasping Blue’s hand with genuine warmth. “And the famous Saylor Mitchell. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“All good, I hope.” I stand to shake his hand, noting the way he assesses me with the same attention most chefs probably reserve
for evaluating a perfect piece of fish.
“All promising,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Welcome to the Cavern. I trust you’ll enjoy the
evening.”
“The food smells incredible,” I tell him.
“Wait until you taste it.” He glances at Blue. “The usual?”
“Surprise us,” Blue says. “But make sure the lady gets the full experience.”
Axton nods. “Consider it done. I’ll leave you to your conversation.” He gives a slight bow. “Enjoy your meal.”
As he disappears back into the kitchen, I turn to Blue. “He seems . . . intense.”
Blue gestures toward the windows where I can see the sea lion colony lounging on the rocks below. “You hear that sound?”
I listen to the barking and bellowing echoing up from below. “The sea lions?”
“They’re loud, messy, and they eat absolutely everything.” Blue takes a sip of wine. “Best neighbors Axton’s ever had.”
“I’m guessing there’s more to that story.”
“Three things matter when you need to make a problem disappear,” Blue says. “Where you do it, how you get rid of it, and when
you need it gone.”
The waitress brings our first course without interrupting. I cut into whatever Axton has prepared—some kind of seared fish
with a sauce that tastes like it has actual magic in it.
“Oh my god,” I moan, taking another bite. “This is incredible. What is this sauce?”
“Axton’s secret,” Blue says, watching me with amusement. “He’s got a way with flavors most people can’t replicate.”
I take another bite, practically melting in my chair. “I could eat this every day.”
“Just don’t order the meat pies,” Blue adds casually.
I pause with my fork halfway to my mouth. “Meat pies?”
“House specialty. The sea lions can’t get enough of them.”
“Like . . . shepherd’s pie?”
Blue meets my eyes across the table. “Uh . . . sure. Although I haven’t seen any shepherds around Grimlock lately.”
The implication hits me like a cold wave. Oh.
“He’s feeding them . . .” I can’t quite finish the sentence.
Blue just raises an eyebrow and takes another bite of his dinner.
I sit back in my chair, staring at him. The casual way he just told me. The fact that I’m sitting here eating Axton’s incredible
food while he’s apparently been turning people into sea lion snacks.
“That’s actually brilliant,” I say finally.
Blue’s smile spreads slowly across his face. “I knew you’d get it. Plus, nobody suspects the guy winning James Beard Awards.”
I grin. “Food critics are scrutinizing but not that scrutinizing.”
“Exactly. And his friends know they can count on him.” Blue raises his glass. “Loyalty’s the most important ingredient.”
The sun’s setting as we finish eating, golden light hitting the water and the sea lions below. A few slip into the waves as
we watch.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Blue says, following my gaze. “Perfectly adapted. We should all be so efficient.”
“How many people in your circle of friends have these kinds of . . . alternative career backgrounds?”
Blue considers this for a moment. “Most of them. Grimlock tends to attract people who’ve made their living in professions
that don’t have much in the way of retirement benefits or alumni networks.”
“Do you trust all of them?”
Blue’s expression grows more serious. “I trust exactly two people in this world now that Peter’s gone. Hans and Wren.
“Hans has been with me for seven years. Found him in Prague, half-dead in an alley after a job went sideways. Someone had
tortured him for information he didn’t have.” Blue’s voice softens slightly. “He could have walked away once he healed up.
Instead, he asked to stay. Said he’d never had anyone patch him up without expecting something in return.
“And Wren raised me. Not officially—she was the housekeeper for the family that took me in after my parents died. But she’s the one who made sure I ate, did my homework, didn’t get myself killed being stupid.” Blue glances at me. “When I bought Maison Rouge, the first call I made was to her.”
“She said yes.”
“She said it was about time I stopped being an idiot and settled down somewhere proper.” There’s genuine affection present.
“Hans would take a bullet for me without thinking twice. Wren would take a bullet for me and then lecture me about why I put
myself in that position in the first place.”
I can hear the deep love and loyalty when he talks about them. “They’re like family to you.”
This is the first time Blue has truly opened up to me. Not just hinting at his past or giving me cryptic half-truths, but
actually letting me see who he is underneath all that careful control. The man who found a broken stranger in Prague and gave
him a home. The man who called his surrogate mother and asked her to come take care of him again. There’s something vulnerable
in the way he talks about Hans and Wren, something that makes my chest tighten.
“The only family I have left.”
“There’s so much about you that I don’t know,” I say quietly, studying his face in the candlelight. The admission slips out
before I can stop it, but I don’t regret it. Not when he’s been this open with me.
Blue’s dark eyes meet mine, and something morphs in his face. “What would you like to know?”
He’s offering something here—a crack in that careful armor he always wears. Since he’s being so open, maybe it’s time I ask
about something that’s been nagging at me.
“The portraits in your house,” I begin, then pause, a teasing smile tugging at my lips. “Should I be jealous that there are
other women hanging in your hallway?”
Blue’s entire body goes still. The warmth that had been in his eyes when talking about Hans and Wren disappears, replaced
by something guarded and unreadable. His jaw tightens.
I can tell he doesn’t want to answer, that I’ve stumbled on to something he’d rather avoid talking about. But after a long moment, he speaks.
“They are reminders of the good I’ve done.” His voice is carefully controlled. “There is so much darkness in my mind, my soul . . .
that in order to focus on changing that man that I was, I need a daily reminder of the good. Those women represent lives I
saved, people I helped when they needed it most.”
The raw honesty in his confession catches me off guard. This isn’t what I expected—not wives or conquests, but some kind of
penance.
“So not your wives?” I ask, unable to keep the relief out of my voice.
Blue actually laughs then, a genuine sound that breaks the tension. “No, not my wives. I’ve never been married.”
He signals to the waitress, effectively ending the conversation about the portraits. But something has shifted between us—another
wall down, another piece of the puzzle that is Blue revealed in the candlelight of the Cavern.
“Dessert?” he asks me.
“God, no. I’m so full I can barely breathe.” I lean back in my chair. “There’s no way I could eat another bite.”
Blue’s mouth curves into that smile that usually means he’s got something planned. “Good. Because the lesson isn’t over yet.
There’s one more place I want to show you.”