Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love) (27 page)

She groaned.
“Any chance you can get my real phone away from him before he tosses that too?
If we can save one, I can port over the numbers. If I lose them both, I’ll have
to re-enter a thousand numbers by hand.”

“I’ll handle
this,” Dr. Lenard promised and left the room.

The nurse
stared at Pascal and Carrie. “Do either of you know why the doctor called me
in?”

In unison,
they shook their heads.

Looking upward
and growling at the ceiling, she stormed from the room, leaving Pascal and
Carrie alone.

Pascal sat
down on the side of her bed. “Off the record, why do you work for him?”

Carrie
grimaced. “Because underneath all the blustering are hints of an astoundingly
good and kind man. I blame his father for most of his bad personality traits.
And his other bad ones are because he came into this world with too much
money.”

His jaw
clenched during her explanation.“He treats you like shit.”

“You saw him
at his worst.”

Pascal sighed
heavily, clearly disappointed by her defense of Trent. “I saw him put his hands
on you in a threatening manner and you showed no surprise, so I’m thinking his
abusive nature didn’t just sprout from the events of tonight.”

Outraged
Pascal had gotten such an idea in his head, she responded with vigor, “No! I
didn’t flinch because I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. He grabbed my sweatshirt, not
me. While that particular garment has reason to fear him, I don’t.”

“You’re saying
he’s never once hurt you in any way?”

“He used to
hurt my feelings by threatening to fire me. But he stopped threatening my
job…until this week, when he actually did fire me. But he took it back.”

“So you don’t
call smashing you into a car a physical attack?”

Her brow
furrowed as she tried to remember when she got smashed. “Oh, you mean when he
saved me from being crushed by a falling cabinet? No, I considered saving my
life a heroic action.” She tried to keep her response polite, but honest to
God! To accuse Trent of abuse when he kept her from being crushed to death was
absurd.

Officer Pascal
sighed with frustration.

“Trent is a
better man than he seems.”

Evidently
growing weary of hearing nice things about Trent, Pascal changed the topic.
“Where’d you meet the tall and short guys who got the turtles away from Jack?”

Carrie livened
up and told him all about the comedic magicians. “You should see their show.
You’ll laugh from start to finish.”

He rubbed the
back of his neck then smiled. “Any chance you’d go with me?”

His questioned
shocked her. Did Detective Pascal just ask her out on a date? How weird. “You
should ask someone with a social life. Trent and I have to do a complete
makeover on the staff. We’ll work every waking hour for months.”

He stood and
shrugged as if it no big deal. “Well, don’t forget to eat along the way.” He
then smiled. “It’s been my pleasure not to arrest you twice in two days.”

Trent burst
into the room and threw her phone on the bed. “This is your phone. Where’s
mine?”

Pascal shook
his head and walked out of the room.

“Don’t you
ever throw my phone at me again!” she snapped. “You could have hurt me.”

“Did I?” His
brow furrowed as he uncovered her feet and bare legs and examined them.

She couldn’t
stay mad at him when he grew concerned for her welfare. “No, I just said you
could have.”

He sat on the
bed. “Do you have my phone?”

“I did until
you plucked it from my unconscious body and threw it out of Detective Pascal’s
car.”

He grimaced,
then glared at her. “Wait. You clearly weren’t unconscious or you wouldn’t know
what I did. Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Stop trying
to shift the blame, this one has your name all over it. Detective Pascal told
me what you did.”

“And you
believed him, without checking with me first?” Trent demanded, his outrage
coming across loud and clear.

“Yes, I did,”
she replied without apology

“Why?”

She rolled her
eyes at his stupid perseverance in this matter. “Because it sounded too crazy
for a police detective to make up.”

His eyes
narrowed. “Do you have something going on with Officer Packrat?”

In a fury, she
threw her phone at him. “Go buy a new phone and ask the guy to port the numbers
from mine. I need rest. You’ve driven me to the fainting edge.”

“
I
have? My employees, perhaps, and certainly the mafia chef Mars employed
has…Which reminds me. I want you to approve all of Mars’ future hires. He’s an
excellent butler, but his ability to hire employees seems iffy.”

This time she
threw her pillow. “You are outrageously unfair. Now give me my pillow and phone
back.”

“So I don’t
have to buy a phone?”

“I’ll order it
and have it delivered tomorrow morning, then I’ll port the numbers. You should
have a phone by the time you stop by to take me to work.”

His voice filled
with pent-up anger. “Where are you staying, if not with me?”

“I’m staying
here. I am dehydrated, under-fed, exhausted, and stressed. Dr. Lenard wants to
ensure I get a good night’s sleep.”

“Why can’t you
recuperate in my bed?” he asked.

“The mafia
chef remains on the loose. Detective Pascal advised me to stay far away from
your penthouse. I evidently used a half million dollars of a new designer drug
to make my turtles.”

Trent rubbed
his temples. Never a good sign. “I have two questions. What exactly are these
turtles you keep talking about, and why didn’t the cop mention the danger to
me?”

“Turtles, at
least my gram’s, are made with a brazil nut for the head, a big walnut for the
body and pecan halves for the legs. Then they’re covered with caramel and
chocolate.”

He sat on the
edge of her bed with a wistful look on his face. “That’s sounds really good.”

She nodded
then sensed where his mind headed. “I am never making them again, so don’t ask.”

A definite
pout formed on his lips. “And my last question?”

“I suspect
Detective Pascal did warn you, but you ignored him. Although, since you
wouldn’t allow him to search the kitchen, he might have purposely forgotten.”

Trent huffed.
“My lawyer has me well trained. Which reminds me, your phone doesn’t have his
number so I couldn’t call and save you from the attempted murder charge.”

“Good, because
I’m not charged with anything.”

His eyes
narrowed again. “You’re having an affair with Packrat, aren’t you?”

Sick of him
assuming she was the whore of Babylon, she glared at him in return.“It’s Pascal
and no! I just cooperate when the police ask me questions.”

He snorted. “Not
me. I don’t answer questions and I never allow searches. Whereas you probably
told him every last detail of your day.”

“Pretty much.”

“Idiot,” he
muttered.

“May I have my
pillow and phone please?”

He raised his
right eyebrow in suspicion. “Swear you aren’t going to throw them at me again,
because I’ve got to tell you, I’ve had it with employees throwing things today.
Mars lobbed a crystal vase at me while his turtle took him back to Iraq.”

“Is the vase
okay?”

“Here!” He
thrust the pillow and phone at her. “I’m going to wander the streets all night
like a homeless person because a mafia chef will kill me if I go home. And don’t
think he won’t! He’ll try to force me to tell him who took his chocolate and
I’ll give up my life before I reveal your name and whereabouts. And I won’t
even have a phone to call 911 when I take a wrong turn and end up on the
frightening short cut Sam took the other day.”

She took the
phone and pillow then snared his hand before he could wander off to his
horrible fate. “You’ll make a terrible homeless person.”

Trent
shrugged.

“You aren’t
even dressed properly,” she added.

“Maybe I’ll
borrow your clothes.”

She laughed
aloud at the image of six-foot Trent in her size 0 sweatshirt and pants. “Maybe
you could stay here and be my substitute teddy bear. I’d sleep much better
then. That is, if the hospital will allow it.”

“I’m a major
contributor to this hospital,” he reminded her as he tossed his shoes, pants,
and shirt into a pile of the floor.

“Unless you
really do want to resemble a homeless banker, you need to pick your clothes up
and find a hanger in the closet.”

He did as she
asked without a single complaint.

Bare-chested,
wearing boxers and looking incredibly scrumptious, he climbed into her bed. She
forgave him for all the aggravating things he’d said during the day, since she
hadn’t been at her best either. Truth was, she looked forward to spooning with Trent.
She needed something good to erase all the horrors of her day.

Before she
succumbed to sleep, she called and ordered his new phone. She made it the same
as hers, but asked for the color silver.

When she
turned out the light, he pulled her tight against him and sighed with
contentment. “What if I don’t like the color silver?”

“Then we’ll
switch phones.”

“I’m very glad
I arrived in time to save you this morning.”

“Me too.” With
that happy thought, she fell into a restful peace.

Sam cursed
when once again the phone rang while he and Dawn made love.

“It’s one in
the morning. Is there no time you aren’t at the beck and call of Master Trent?”
She didn’t even try to hide her annoyance.

“Let me make
sure it’s the asshole and not—”

“Carrie?”

“Mars,” he
snapped. At first, he’d thought her jealousy of Carrie amusing, but not at one
in the morning. If Carrie called at such an hour, she’d have a life and death
situation.

He grabbed the
phone from the bed table, where he’d wisely placed it, since Joey had orders to
call him if Mars turned for the worse.

The caller ID
said Pascal. “Mars okay?” he asked as he pulled out of Dawn and rolled to his
back.

“He continues
his battle against insurgents. I want the bastard behind the doctored
chocolate. We may be able to catch him before he leaves the country, but I need
your help.”

“Anything.”
Sam sat up and pulled on his pants.

“According to
Carrie, Ivan took the day off.”

“How would she
know?”

“Mars told her
when he caught her cooking in the kitchen.”

“Makes sense.
Otherwise, Ivan would have chopped Carrie into little pieces. He’s a scary dude.”

“Russian mafia,
to be precise. If I can arrest this guy, my career will brighten further.”

“How can I
help?”

Sam leaned over
to kiss Dawn but she rolled to her side.

He sighed and
stroked her hair then left her apartment. “Talk to me.”

Joey sighed.
“I’ve got a search warrant, but no one’s home to receive it.”

“Where’s
Master Trent?” he asked as he quick-stepped the stairs.

“Not sure. I’m
guessing Long Island. I told him it wouldn’t be safe to stay in the penthouse,
but honestly, I didn’t think he heard a word I said.”

Sam would bet
money on it. “Where’s Carrie?” He left the apartment and headed to the limo.

“In the
hospital. The doctor kept her overnight.”

Now he felt
like a jerk for demanding she remove his number from her phone “What’s wrong
with her?”

“Exhaustion,
stress, lack of sustenance.”

At least he
hadn’t abandoned her entirely. He’d driven slowly behind her as her odd entourage
of besotted men saw her safely home. After Carrie had gone inside, he’d
returned to Dawn, hoping to make up for their prior interruption.

“You’re right
about not messing with your employees. I think my best barmaid will soon
leave.”

“What’d you do?”
Joey asked in his not-again voice.

“Answered this
phone call.” He climbed into the limo and pulled out. “You still haven’t told
me what you want me to do.”

“Return to the
penthouse and receive the search warrant.”

“I’m on my
way. Are you planning to hang out and wait for Ivan after you’ve collected any
evidence?”

“That would
exceed the parameters of the warrant. So this search will take a really long
time.”

“Got any
backup?”

“Officer
Jenson will assist in the search, but then I intend to send her home.”

Sam focused in
on the key word. “
Her
? Describe her?”

“Oh you know,
typical cop. Blue suit that makes you look heavy at the hips due to all the
crap you have to carry. Black clunky shoes, bought for comfort, but don’t come
close to a good pair of sneakers. Red hair pulled back in a pony tail or bun so
she looks more like the guys.”

“Sounds like
we should send her home.”

“Intense green
eyes always searching her environment. Straight nose spattered with freckles.
High cheekbones that don’t require makeup to stand out. Firm chin that juts out
when she’s taking shit from the guys. An athlete’s body capable of outrunning
most criminals and tossing them to the ground.

“Ah shit!” Sam
honked a pedestrian out of his way.

“What?”

“You’re
breaking your own rule. You’re falling for a policeman…woman.”

“Major
difference there, bud.”

“I meant
policewoman.”

“Not talking
about your gender confusion. I meant our situations. Dawn works for you. Jenson
doesn’t work for me. She has a whole different chain of command.”

“It’s still
shitting in your sandbox.”

“Well, my
sandbox doesn’t have much going on right now so don’t worry about it. I did ask
Carrie out tonight, but she turned me down.”

“Carrie? Why
would you even go there?”

“Because I
like her. She’s amazingly understanding.”

“Oh, so when I
liked her, I had some sick obsession with Master Trent’s toys, but when you
like her it’s because she’s really nice.”

“Yeah, you
summed it up well.”

“Jerk. I hope
you had the sense not to do it front of Master Trent, because he’s crazy possessive
over his toy.”

“I noticed,
but you never mentioned he’s abusive to her.”

Sam choked. “Carrie?
He treats her like his prized possession. He’d never hurt her.”

“My eyes saw
different. She’s in a verbally and physically abusive relationship.”

“Well, we’re
just going to have to agree to disagree. In fact, you’re wrong about many
things. She’s not particularly good-natured either. However, when she smiles,
it does feel like candy to the soul.”

“I’ll agree
with the last part.

Sam pulled
into the penthouse parking lot. “I’m headed up now and will be home in five.”

“Great. By the
way, does the penthouse have a back entrance?”

“Servants
enter through the front lobby? My God man, have you lost your mind? We
nameless, faceless workers of the rich enter through the far left-hand corner
elevator in the parking lot. It’s labeled ‘deliveries,’ so no proper person
might wander inside by mistake.”

“So Ivan will
come up the back way?”

“Yep. And
phones don’t work here so—”

Sam’s phone
declared itself out-of-service. He closed his cell and shook his head. Phones
worked just fine in the proper elevators, but not in this clunky servants’
crate, which crawled upward at one inch a minute, determined to make the poor
and downtrodden late to the job they desperately need to keep.

Leaving the
crate, he hurried to the back entrance where he had to use both a security card
and a physical key in a dead bolt. Upon entering, he turned and secured the
lock, hearing the click as the security bolt fell into place. However, the
click that echoed it sounded all too familiar and had nothing to do with a
door.

He slowly
raised his hands. “Take my money. I’m not going to fight you over it.”

“I don’t want
your money. I want my chocolate bars,” a man with a familiar Russian accent
replied.

“Ivan?” He
lowered his hands and faced the chef. “Damn man, you scared me half to death!”

“You
will
be
dead if you don’t return my chocolate.”