A Cookbook Conspiracy Read Online Free Page B

investigative services and security to wealthy
     individuals and organizations all over the world. His personal expertise was arts
     and antiquities.
    “I’m not surprised to hear he was threatened,” I said. “He’s so unpleasant.”
    The elevator came to a shuddering stop on our floor, and Derek led the way back to
     our apartment. “Cromwell was one of those idiotic clients who demanded the highest
     level of protection, then never followed a single bit of advice, thereby putting my
     entire crew in danger.”
    “He was actually receiving death threats?”
    “That’s what he claimed, but we never saw any proof. After a few weeks, we canceled
     the job. It was much ado about nothing.”
    “He probably did it for publicity.”
    “He also reneged on the bill,” Derek added casually. “So I’ll be interested to see
     how much money he’s poured into this new restaurant.”
    “Wow. Along with everything else, he’s a con artist.”
    “He is exactly that.” He poured the last of the wine into our glasses and handed me
     mine. “I’m concerned about Savannah’s friendship with him.”
    “I am, too.” I took a sip. “Still can’t believe she’s giving him back this priceless
     book. He doesn’t deserve it. But she doesn’t see it that way.”
    Briefly, I filled him in on Savannah’s Le Cordon Bleu years in Paris, including my
     visit and my run-in with Baxter.
    Derek was not amused. “For you to work on this book just so Savannah can give it back
     to him seems a supreme waste of your talents.”
    “I don’t mind doing the work, but the thought of her giving it back to Baxter is so
     annoying, I can barely stand it.”
    “You never know,” he said, as he rinsed our empty wineglasses and put them in the
     dishwasher. “Perhaps something will occur that will change Savannah’s mind.”
    “Or maybe Baxter Cromwell will refuse to take it from her.” With a sigh, I switched
     off the lights and we headed for the bedroom. “If only.”
    *   *   *
    T he enticing scent of coffee pulled me out of a deep sleep. I’d had the strangest dream,
     so I remained under the covers, very still, while I verified that I was in my own
     house and not in a nightmare high school. I hated nightmare high school dreams. They
     always ended the same way: naked test taking and teachers turning into giant lizards.
     Why?
    Shaking off the dream, I threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. After washing
     my face and brushing my teeth, I raced out to the kitchen, hoping Derek hadn’t left
     for work yet. I found him at the stove, where he was flipping several pieces of bacon.
    “Oh, thank you, God,” I whispered.
    He turned. “Call me Derek.”
    “Ha ha. But since you made bacon, I’ll call you anything you want me to.” I wrapped
     my arms around his waist and just held on to him for a moment.
Right here
, I thought.
Everything is right here.
    “You were dead to the world when I got up,” he said. “I thought you might sleep a
     while longer.”
    “Then you shouldn’t have made coffee. It woke me up.”
    “Ah, my mistake.” He rubbed my back, moving his hands slowly up and down my spine.
     Then he patted my butt. “Get yourself a cup, then, and go sit down. Breakfast will
     be ready in five minutes.”
    But he didn’t let go and it was good to know he seemed to need the connection as much
     as I did. It was sort of like breathing. For a moment we simply existed together,
     drawing strength and sustenance from the contact. Soft light filtered in through the
     kitchen window as time drifted by.
    He kissed the top of my head. “Go sit now or we’ll have burned bacon.”
    “Can’t have that,” I murmured, but succumbed to one more heated kiss. And now my thoughts
     were so scattered that I had to take a minute to remember what it was I should be
     doing. As Derek moved over to the stove, I glanced around the room. Ah, plates. Plates
     would be useful. I reached into the cupboard for two of them