Two Chef!

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Kate still wasn’t sure how it had happened, but she had a meal to produce for eight of the world’s leaders and she didn’t have time to think about it.

The sous-chef de cuisine had panicked and run, shattering his hip when a Secret Service agent hit him with a linebacker tackle that drove him into a granite archway at the kitchen’s exit. Kate had initially wondered if it was a case of the sous chef murdering the chef de cuisine for advancement. Between cries of pain, the man kept babbling about never taking the job last week if he knew it would kill him.

Okay, new and panicky.

Whatever his issue, the kitchen had fallen into immediate disarray.

Her call for their attention had worked, and as suddenly as that, she was in charge.

The saucier, master of the cook top, knew little of what the rôtisseur had in his ovens and fryers, and even less about the delicacies created by the top-level pâtissier hovering over each strawberry and flutter of powdered sugar.

As odd as it seemed, Kate knew more about all of their jobs than anyone else did, even though they’d been working side-by-side for months or longer and she’d climbed off the helicopter less than twenty minutes ago.

Kate dropped Rikka into food prep and pulled the fish cutter up to help on the line. Rikka’s last all-consuming passion prior to television camera work was making herself a premier sushi and sashimi chef, so the fish would present no problems there. Kate promoted the saucier to sous-chef and then called for everyone in the kitchen to stop. She waited until she had their full attention.

“Every sauce, fruit, vegetable that Vivienne ate, but none of you tasted, throw it out now.”

“No!”

Kate looked up at the commanding voice, “Terry! Thank god!”

Terrance Tyrell was exactly the person she wanted to see at this moment, all six-foot-one of him. He was the baddest and handsomest member of the Secret Service she’d ever met. Get him out of the suit and into a floppy hat and he’d make a more than fair Indiana Jones.

He was also the one who’d made the ill-advised decision four years earlier to recruit Kate from the counterfeiting division over to the Protection Detail side of the Service. A decision that had cost the country a newly elected Vice President.

“Hey, stranger. Long time. You in charge all of a sudden?”

Her shrug gained his smile. It was brief but she appreciated it nonetheless amidst the looming chaos.

“I want,” Terry turned to face the other cooks, “every item that you don’t trust per Kate’s instructions to be preserved. Agents will come around and label the container and note the exact location of each questionable item before it is sent for testing.”

“I—” Rikka started.

“Who are you?” Terry spun to face her.

Rikka immediately went toe-to-toe with him even though he was a foot taller. Before Rikka could start in on Terry—a battle in which Kate would not be placing any bets in favor of the United States Secret Service—Kate pulled her back.

“Terry, this is my right hand, Rikka Albert. I wouldn’t suggest messing with her.” It seemed only fair to give him warning, not that anyone who looked at her small Asian friend with long dark hair and angry green eyes was going to heed the warning. Rikka appeared cute and pixie-like; which was right on both accounts—especially her contrary and mischievous parts.

Kate could see him preparing to ignore her warning. He’d learn soon enough.

Terry just grunted in that manly, I’m-still-the-one-in-charge way that she’d always found so cute. Calling the Number Two man on the President’s Protection Detail cute rested oddly on his broad shoulders, but she liked the way it fit.

“Rikka?” Kate prompted her to say whatever had started her speaking.

“No, I’m not gonna help Mr. Tall-and-nasty. And he’d better call me Erika. Or better yet, Ms. Albert or I won’t even deign to notice him.”

Terry glared down at her and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“He’s rude. Why should I help Mr. Muckety-muck?”

He opened his mouth but Kate cut him off.

“Because if things go like last time, he’s probably our best chance for staying alive through this one.”

Terry’s eyes widened somewhat at that, “What last t—”

“I already texted Sam,” Rikka rolled right over him. “He’s on his way.”

Kate figured it would take him most of a day to get here. Good. She couldn’t deal with any of that at the moment. Sam might be Rikka’s boyfriend. And he had helped Kate with the North Koreans. However, he’d still never forgiven Kate for the assassination of the newly elected Vice President while she’d been heading up his Protection Detail. She’d taken down the shooter and she’d resigned despite being exonerated of any errors.

Still Sam wasn’t satisfied.

Every attempt to talk to him about it had met with his silent stonewall until Kate had subsided. It was either that or beat the crap out of him. They had both been “out” for three years, except for her it was after five years in the Secret Service and for him it had been a dozen in Marine Force Recon.

She’d decided that backing off in this one case was probably a healthy dose of self-preservation. Never really her specialty. And she wasn’t going to put Rikka in the middle of it either. No time for that now anyway.

She had an entire kitchen packed with staff and agents waiting on their tête-à-tête. It was time to get the lead out.

“I told Paul to pick him up,” Rikka continued.

That reduced their arrival from a day to eight hours, still okay. Then she pictured the silent Sam Fierro and her never silent twin brother together on their small private jet—that was never around when Kate needed it. Maybe she should buy a second one for her own use. Again, maybe later.

Sam was going to murder Paul before they ever landed in the U.K. Now if she could just decide if that was a good thing or—

“Who are Sam and—”

“Later, Terry,” Rikka was obviously having fun teasing the Secret Service agent. “What you want to know even though you don’t think you do—but I’m gonna tell you anyway because Kate is a way nicer person than you are—is that I filmed Vivienne’s final fifteen minutes. Didn’t miss a gesture. Every dish she tasted and what she said about it.” She tapped the camera once again resting on the counter beside her.

“Really? Excellent.” He reached for the camera and she slapped his hand so fast he had no chance of avoiding the hit.

“Sorry, Terry,” Kate apologized, she wasn’t sorry at all but it was the only way to not laugh at him. “Forgot to warn you. She’s quick. Her whole nervous system is wired faster than most humans, including yours.” Kate had proven many times in the Secret Service gym that she too was one of the very few people faster than Terry Tyrell, and even she was no contest against Rikka.

“You touch my camera and break something, Mr. Secret Service, that’s gonna cost you about eighty grand USD. Do you have that much in your wallet? Hell, I can always hack your bank account, but I doubt if you have that much. You look like a fifteen thousand in savings kind of guy.”

“Eighteen,” he ground out then clamped down on his tongue.

“Tell you what, Mr. Secret Service Man. This camera records at 4:2:2, full raster, 10-bit, 1080 at 24p. If you can tell me what that means, maybe I’ll let you touch it. Come on, even one of those?”

Terry growled once, planted a hand atop Rikka’s head and straightened his arm to keep her outside kicking range as he took the camera. She swung at his arm, but jerked back her hand and hissed in pain as she thudded against the drop knife that Kate knew he kept sheathed up the sleeve of his charcoal gray suit jacket. Not quite regulation, but no protectee ever complained about having an over-armed Service agent at their side.

Terry released her with a slight shove back that seated Rikka abruptly on a kitchen stool.

“Later, Kate. Some of the old crew are along for the ride on this one, they’ll be glad to see you. A pleasure, Ms. Albert.” Then he strode down the length of the silent kitchen carrying the camera.

“He’s pretty,” Rikka was looking at her sideways.

“I’ve known him since forever.”

“What does that have to do with it, Kate? You’ve been at loose ends ever since Chicago Harold started getting down on his pastry chef.”

“Don’t remind me.” Actually, she’d become bored with him anyway. He had a neediness that required his woman to be nearby all the time. First off, different cities. Second, not her style in the first place. Still, he’d been fun and…

“His loss, honey. And Mr. Agent Man is pretty.”

“Let’s get to work, Rikka.”

They turned to figure out how to salvage the meal.

Kate cast one last look after Terry as he exited the far end of the kitchen. He wasn’t pretty. He was gorgeous in every way a man should be.

And married. Which surprisingly, kind of sucked.