This bitch is crazy. On the plus side, she’s giving me more excuses to stay in Lonesome with Wade, even though I don’t need them. I glance at the door to the hallway, hoping Mason will hear all the shouting and make an appearance.
I’m out of luck. Paula’s eyes dart around the kitchen. I know from experience this means she’s about to blow. She enjoys putting on a show, even if her target is the only one who will see it. “I haven’t seen Bob. I have no idea what you’re talking about. More importantly, I don’t care. You’re delusional. Get the fuck out of my restaurant or I’m calling the cops,” I yell, trying to draw Mason’s attention.
“I’m not losing Bob or my restaurant. I spent a lot of money to win them both. If you’re not going to lose gracefully, I’ll haveto teach you a lesson.” She grabs a knife from a block on the counter and steps towards me, stabbing it in front of her.
I’m not so pissed off that I forget to be cautious. She grabbed a fileting blade. I can see from the way she’s holding it that she doesn’t know how to use it. I can do things with that thing that she can’t begin to imagine. Unfortunately, she’s between me and the rest of my knives.
I am, however, within reach of my cast iron pans. I whip a dish towel around my arm and grab the handle of a medium sized skillet. I let Paula take two more steps. Then, after she extends her arm to jab at me, I swing hard. The weight of the pan means I hardly slow down after making impact. There’s a single clang when the pan hits the metal blade. Then the knife flies across the kitchen, bounces on the floor, and skids to a stop in the doorway. Right at Wade’s feet.
“Hi, Duck. I told you that the kitchen is mine.” I’m breathing hard, but with Paula disarmed and witnesses in the kitchen, I feel my heart rate start to drop.
“You broke my hand,” Paula screams.
When Wade crouches to pick up the knife, I yell at him to leave it. “It has her prints on it,” I say when he raises an eyebrow at me.
All of a sudden, the kitchen gets really crowded. Mason comes through the dining room doors. Wade steps fully inside with Bob on his heels. They’re followed by Tolk and a man in uniform that I’ve never seen before. And after that come Picnic and Marcus Melbourne. I take an appreciative moment to note that six of the seven men are hot enough to set off the fire alarms. Then I blink twice. “What the fuck is going on here, Duck?”
The man in uniform scoops the knife from the floor and carefully slides it into a plastic bag. “I’m Deputy Browning. Is there a problem here?”
“She attacked me!” Paula yells. “She threatened me. She’s sleeping with my husband.”
“She attacked me. She threatened me,” I say, dead calm instead of screaming my head off like Paula. “I’m sleeping withmyhusband.”
“Every night,” Wade adds. He comes down the other aisle past the ovens and slips one arm around my waist. He tugs the skillet from my hand and sets it on the counter, then takes my shaking fingers in his.
“Whose prints am I going to find on the knife?” Deputy Browning asks.
“Hers,” I say, as Paula yells, “I was protecting myself!”
Before I can say anything in my defence, Marcus steps forward. “I can’t speak for Melissa, but I don’t think Paula wants to press charges, do you,partner?” Paula’s eyes widen when she realizes the significance of his words. “In fact, I’m going to fly you and Bob and me all back to Chicago in my private jet. We can chat about your options once we’re aboard.”
“That’s very generous of you, Melbourne. It’ll give you time to discuss what changes you want made at Martinique,” Wade says. His grin is evil. I want to ask what he’s talking about, but he squeezes my hip in warning. “If you’re ever back this way, come by the bar and grill. I’ll make sure you get some of Melissa’s penne a la vodka on the house.”
Marcus grins back. “I’ll do that.”
Deputy Browning looks at the pale, silent faces of Bob and Paula, then at the four smiling bikers, and shakes his head. “I’m not getting involved. I’ll hold onto this knife until I get confirmation from all parties that it’s not evidence of anything.”
“That’s a really good fileting knife,” I protest.
“Let it go, Trouble. You’ll get it back.”
A minute later, I’m alone in the kitchen with Wade. “You volunteered me to make free meals?” I ask.
“I like the idea of having a billionaire on speed dial who will do anything for your pasta.”
I snicker. Then my adrenaline burst wears off. Wade pulls me closer, wrapping the sides of his cut around me when I start to shiver.
“What do you say? Want to hit the highway? The sun’s out.”
I tilt my head back to kiss him. Unlike when we’re in bed, he’s not demanding this time. He’s gentle with me. “Come on, big boy. Take me for a ride.”
“I’d love to.”
EPILOGUE
Two daysafter Melissa’s showdown with Paula, Melissa’s lawyer called. Paula had dropped all lawsuits against Melissa, and her name had been removed from all divorce documentation. Then, late last night, Melissa received word from a former coworker: Paula and Bob had announced that they’d sold their share of Martinique to Marcus Melbourne, leaving him with half ownership of the restaurant.
Good for them, not for us. Now, we’re out of time. I know a call from Melbourne is coming.
