Addison Fox - Tempting Target

He smiled to himself as the previous evening came to light in his mind’s eye. They’d crushed it, with a packed house from five o’clock on. His sommelier had busted his ass, as well, securing several sales of some of their most expensive bottles.

It was a subtle fact Steven had learned his first year in business—people did love to spend when they felt they were being oh, so generous to the city’s homeless. Even if his only requirement for participation was a small portion of the meal. He did his part and gave his fair share to the food bank the event benefited, but the drink revenue was all his.

He glanced down at the receipts his manager had prepared, a dark cloud spoiling the good news from the dinner crowd even a few high-priced bottles of wine couldn’t assuage. The damn dessert revenue was still down.

He’d have to fire Wilhelm after this week was done. The guy did a decent soufflé, but his pastry crusts were thick as sand and about half as tasty.

A fleeting image of Lilah drifted through his mind, a quick shot of anger following on its heels. She’d been damn good. Better than he’d wanted to believe.

She’d also been his one weakness.

Her light-as-air mousse had flown off the menu and he still, even after all these years, had patrons asking about her Bavarian cream puffs.

His staff had been threatened to within an inch of their lives not to mention those same cream puffs could be had for a quick call across town to that damn warehouse hole she and her girlfriends now called a business.

Suddenly irritated, the triumph of the previous evening vanishing as if it had never been, he stomped toward the kitchen and the jovial voices of his prep team. He zeroed in on Wilhelm, the big man’s smile as wide as Texas as he mixed up a batter for his evening’s creation.

“Wilhelm.”

The man snapped to attention at the sound of his name, the smile fading in full. It was only when he belatedly realized his mixer still beat in heavy, thwapping circles that he shut off the machine. “Yes, sir?”

“Dessert sales were off last night.”

“I beg pardon, sir? We’ve got the small trios as part of each patron’s meal. I plated them myself last night. Everyone received a dessert plate.”

“We had very few add-on desserts.”

A quick slash of fear heightened the color in the man’s cheekbones as he pondered the criticism. “But we have offered dessert as part of the special menu for Restaurant Week, sir. I’ve used the desserts as a springboard for the fall menu and will be writing up the guest commentary. They were selected carefully to gain learning for fall.”

“And I’m focused on now. Today. Fall sales don’t matter to me if August sales are crap.”

Wilhelm grew quiet, his eyes wide with fear. Steven reveled in that look, the large man so stymied by common business sense he appeared on the verge of tears. None of his comrades in the kitchen staff were all that eager to help, either.

Further proof of their loyalty.

“See that you visit the tables personally this evening. I expect to see a difference in tomorrow’s receipts.”

He moved off, the quiet kitchen coming back to life with the rustle of pots as he headed for the main dining room.

Wilhelm needed to go. He toyed with firing the man on the spot, but common sense won out. They had a full set of reservations for three seatings a night through the end of the weekend. He detested the sniveling bastard but he needed him.

And he hated needing anyone.

Another shot of irritation speared through his midsection, cut off only by the hard buzz of his phone in his pocket. Steven dragged out the slim piece and nearly barked out a hello before he caught sight of the name on the screen. Pulse galloping, his throat was already dry as bones picked clean by vultures as he lifted the phone to his ear.

“DeWinter.”

“My place. Thirty minutes.”

“Of co—”

The phone had already clicked off before he could complete his sentence and Steven was oddly grateful for that fact. Conversations with the Duke were blessedly rare, but when they came it was better to take your lumps and move on.

As he dropped into the seat of his low-slung sports car five minutes later, the heat radiating around him like an oven, Steven DeWinter was forced to acknowledge the same thought in a matter of moments.

He truly hated needing anyone.

Chapter 4

Reed skimmed the police report, the sounds of the precinct fading as he dived into the data. Robert Barrington might not have a rap sheet, but Charlie McCallum wasn’t so lucky. He’d been fairly clean since hooking up with Leah Tate, Cassidy’s sister, but before that he’d had some issues.

Disturbing the peace. A few suspicious vice notations about his presence at parties with drug paraphernalia, even if he managed to slide on actual possession. And a nice big DUI the summer he got out of college. Was it possible the love of a good woman had made him go straight?

Reed fought a snort and knew the facts already gathered told a vastly different tale.

Charlie’s present home in the city morgue, along with the confession Robert gave Cassidy that Charlie had been responsible for his wife’s death, suggested McCallum had never gone straight.

He’d just gotten better at hiding it.

“So what were you doing all that time, Charlie?”

Reed brought up a state database on his laptop and fiddled with a few search queries before shifting gears to focus on the mysterious disappearance of Robert Barrington’s bond paperwork. He’d already ordered up the video feeds from that day and should have them later this afternoon.

In the meantime, he was going to do some old-fashioned detective work and go visit his mother.

While he avoided dragging her into his cases, her knowledge of Dallas’s elite from both inside and out made her an invaluable resource. And while he wouldn’t quite say Charlie McCallum and Robert Barrington had been part of the city’s elite, they’d played in that world.

Desperately wanted in, if his suspicions were correct.

Twenty minutes later he pulled into the driveway of the Park Cities home his mother and Tripp made theirs. Despite the oppressive heat, the flower beds that surrounded the massive structure were full of bright, perky flowers that practically winked in the still air.

His mother answered the door herself and he was caught—as always—by the sheer, genuine beauty in her face. Diana Graystone Lange had always seen the world in vibrant, rich colors, and those same colors seemed to reflect back on her, projecting a vivid warmth. “Reed! Darling, come in.”

She ushered him inside before dragging him into a tight hug. Her head came just below his chin and her petite frame was slight in his arms. As always, she gave him one last tight squeeze before she pulled back, her smile warm and her gray eyes sharp.

She’d always had that ability. To keep her smile as a vivid beacon of distraction while her eyes did all the work. “While I’m delighted by it, what’s brought this midday visit?”

“I can’t have lunch with my mother?”

“You can have lunch with your mother. But since you rarely do so on a random weekday, I suspect you’re here for a bit more.”

He pulled her close in a side-armed hug as they walked down the long foyer toward the kitchen. “I think they need to give you the detective’s shield.”

“I’m a mother. It amounts to the same thing.”

A large pitcher of iced tea sat on the table, a thin cotton cloth wrapped around it to catch the sweat, and she poured them two glasses. “Tripp’s not joining us?”

“He said he might, but he was still at the club when I spoke to him a few minutes ago. I think it’ll just be us today.”