Boiling Point (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 2) Read online

  So he had wormed his way into the Prescott household, presumably to investigate or spy on the inhabitants. According to Lyman, Marian was the one who had hired Nick as a chauffeur, and it was hard to believe she had any motive other than to keep her husband safe. So who might have an ulterior motive for wanting to plant someone on the inside? Victor Watanabe and Ichiro Electronics? Or maybe some other outside party with an interest in GRAMPA?

  The following morning, Zoë continued to ponder the possibilities while she showered and dressed. She was pleased to discover that whatever else he might be, Nick was a good field medic. Her ankle barely squawked when she tested her full weight on it. She wouldn’t need the extra support of her sneakers, but high-heeled boots were probably out of the question. Instead, she slipped on a pair of adorable red ballet flats to go with her black leggings and red-and-white-striped sweater.

  Her soft steps reverberated through the silent house as she descended the stairs. The Prescotts must still be in bed. She paused on the landing and glanced out the window, across the paved courtyard, at the garage. The shades were drawn on the second story windows. She’d better disarm the security system before Nick came looking for breakfast and set off the alarm.

  A tiny voice in the back of her head warned, he might be dangerous, but she dismissed it. His behavior and attitude might be inappropriately assertive for a chauffeur, but they were not surprising for a police officer. And she didn’t sense he posed any threat to Marian. He was always polite and solicitous in her presence. She would keep a close watch on him, but Zoë couldn’t imagine Nick harming Marian in any way, and Marian’s safety was her main concern.

  She flipped on the overhead light in the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, hoping she’d overlooked something edible. She found a partial quart of orange juice that didn’t smell too sour and a half gallon of milk that had expired the day before. After a good long sniff, she decided the milk was probably okay for this morning. She located the remnants of a loaf of whole wheat bread behind a half-empty jar of kosher dills then stopped when her fingertips brushed against something long and flat.

  Could it be? She stroked the smooth Styrofoam surface. It had to be. She shoved the remaining odds and ends aside and broke into a gleeful little dance when she extracted an untouched carton of eggs. She was saved! If there was one thing growing up on a farm had taught her, it was how to cook eggs.

  “Do you always get this excited about eggs?”

  She spun, and the carton slipped from her fingers. Her chest tightened as the yellow foam container hit the floor and popped open. Eggs bounced out and hit the black and white tiles, some breaking instantly and others wobbling a few feet away to die. One bold escapee made it all the way under the kitchen table.

  Deep male laughter broke through her horror.

  He was laughing. The idiot was laughing!

  She marched to the sink, grabbed a roll of paper towels, and threw it straight at Nick’s face with the velocity of a minor league pitcher.

  “Hey!” he protested, raising his arms to fend off the missile.

  “You will clean up that mess,” she said between clenched teeth. “Then you will drive to the convenience store and buy another dozen eggs. You will be back here by seven-thirty.”

  His cheeks flushed a dull red. “Now wait a—”

  She held up a hand to stop his words. “No excuses. No complaints.” She glanced at the old-fashioned clock above the sink. “You have half an hour. Get going.”

  He jerked a couple of paper towels from the roll. “You’re awfully bossy for a cook.”

  “Hah! I’m a pussycat. Have you ever seen Gordon Ramsey?”

  Nick muttered something unintelligible but squatted and began wiping up the broken eggs. Five minutes later the floor was clean.

  When he left the kitchen without a word, Zoë called out after him, “And pick up a fresh loaf of bread while you’re at it.”

  Chalking one up for her side, she got out the bowls and pans she needed, set the table for breakfast, and started the coffee.

  Twenty minutes later Nick marched into the kitchen and set the grocery bag on the counter as gently if it contained nitroglycerine. “I hope whatever you plan to do with these is worth the trip. The roads iced up overnight, and I was lucky not to end up in a ditch.”

  She reached into the bag and pulled out a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread. “It’ll be better than the dry cereal you would have gotten if you hadn’t made the trip. Besides, a little ice shouldn’t be much of a challenge for a professional driver.”

  Before he could respond, Marian wandered into the room wearing fluffy slippers and a pink robe that struggled to cover her belly. “Mmm, that coffee smells delicious. The doctor says I can only have one cup a day, so I have to make it count.”

  Lyman followed her, dressed in gray trousers and a dark blue sweater with leather elbow patches. “I’ll have some, too.”

  Zoë herded them toward the table, ignoring Nick. “Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring you each a cup. Would you like scrambled eggs or French toast?”

  Nick plopped down in the same spot he’d occupied the evening before.

  Marian closed her eyes and smiled. “That sounds like heaven. I don’t think I can choose.” Her smile faded as she opened her eyes. “But I’m sure there’s not enough—”

  “We have plenty,” Zoë assured her. “Nick kindly went out early and bought fresh eggs and bread.” She glanced at him and bit back a smile. There was nothing kind about his expression.

  Lyman gave Nick a nod of approval. “That was very thoughtful of you, Dominic.”

  “No problem.” His reply might have been directed to Lyman, but his gaze never left Zoë.

  She tried to decide if he was being surly or pouting, but his mood didn’t matter. Either way, she refused to indulge his childish behavior. Breaking eye contact, she turned to the Prescotts. “Why don’t I make a big platter of eggs and another of French toast? Then everyone can have whatever they want.”

  “Excellent idea,” Lyman said.

  While the others sipped their coffee and chatted at the table, Zoë whipped eggs and milk with a fork then soaked bread slices and melted butter in a big skillet. She might not know how to make Oscar’s Buckwheat, or whatever it was Nick had referred to last night, but even her mother would admit she made darned good scrambled eggs and French toast.

  As she flipped the toast, she had a sudden thought that sent her into five minutes of blind panic. She had completely forgotten syrup. There was none in the pantry, and she didn’t remember seeing any in the refrigerator. And who wanted plain French toast? Blech.

  What else might work? Fresh fruit? None. Powdered sugar? Of course not. Cinnamon? Too much to hope for. There must be something. Improvise.

  When she pulled open the refrigerator door again and scanned the meager contents, her gaze settled on a half-empty jar of raspberry jam. She said a little prayer as she cranked off the stuck-on lid and peered inside, but her hopes sank when she saw the crusty sugar crystals on top. Still, it was her best option.

  She set the jar in a small pot of water on the stove and turned up the heat. Now would be a good time to have three arms, she thought as she stirred the jam and tended the eggs and toast. The jam slowly began to melt, and the sugar crystals dissolved until it formed a nice, thick syrup. She gave the spoon a quick lick. Not bad. It wasn’t maple, but it would do.

  She set the platters on the table, topped up everyone’s coffee, and collapsed into her chair. Tiny beads of moisture dampened her hairline, and her ankle had begun to ache again. Cooking was harder work than she’d expected. How had her mother managed to serve three meals a day to a family of eight and make it look easy? Zoë wished she’d paid closer attention instead of running off after her brothers every chance she got.

  None of her previous assignments with Phoenix, Ltd. had required such a demanding cover. She had mainly assisted her boss or other agents and provided back-up. The longest role
she’d had to play was a couple of hours as a Wal-Mart stock girl. That’s one reason she’d been so excited about this job. It offered the first opportunity to run her own operation and make decisions in the field. It also offered the first opportunity to screw up big time. For years, she’d ignored her mother’s warnings about the dangers of being impulsive—spontaneity was too much fun. But now she was beginning to wonder if she should have taken a little longer to think this one through before jumping in with both feet.

  Marian swirled the last bit of bread in the last drop of syrup on her plate. “I can’t remember French toast tasting this good.”

  “And I believe I’ll have another spoonful of those eggs.” Lyman reached for the platter.

  Their enjoyment of her simple offerings boosted Zoë’s outlook. With a little luck she might pull this assignment off yet.

  Nick didn’t offer any compliments, but he didn’t complain, and not a single crumb remained on either platter by the time she cleared the table.

  While Zoë tidied the kitchen, Marian went upstairs to get ready for their shopping expedition. She was so excited one would have thought they were going to a Hollywood premiere instead of the grocery store. Zoë had a twinge of misgiving as they approached her Mini Cooper. She loved the compact car, but she wasn’t eight months pregnant.

  “Would you rather take another car?” she asked as Marian eased her bulk into the passenger seat.

  Marian jerked the seat belt across her belly and clicked it into place. “Oh, no. I’ve always wanted to ride in one of these. ”

  When they reached the iron gates at the end of the driveway, Marian pulled a garage door-style opener from her purse and pushed the button. The gates swung open. After the car drove through, she pushed it again, and they closed on command.

  “I love doing that.” She returned the opener to her purse. “Growing up, I never dreamed I’d live in a place with a big gate like a palace.”

  Zoë checked for traffic then turned left onto the deserted road. “It is a beautiful house. Are you originally from this area?”

  “I was born in Chicago and lived in the city until I married Lyman.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “I’ve been a bank branch manager for the past few years, and Lyman was one of my customers.” Marian frowned at her cast. “I hadn’t planned to start my maternity leave for a couple more weeks, but I can’t get any of my work clothes on over this thing, and my computer skills have been reduced to a laughable, one-handed hunt-and-peck”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you break your arm?”

  Marian shook her head with a rueful smile. “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I slipped in a puddle of melted ice cream at my own baby shower.”

  Zoë shot her a quick glance. “Ice cream?”

  She nodded. “Um, hmm. My co-workers threw me a party in the break room after hours, and Charlene in Accounting brought an ice cream cake. We were playing some silly game where the others tried to guess my circumference—if you can believe it—and a piece of the cake somehow ended up on the floor. I guess I wasn’t paying attention, but I stepped on it, and down I went, like an elephant on roller skates.”

  “At least you can laugh now. It must have been frightening at the time.”

  “It was certainly startling. At least the baby wasn’t hurt.”

  “I’m not surprised Lyman is so protective of you. Your accident must have scared him to death.”

  “I’m sure it did, but he’s always been that way.” Marian turned to Zoë. “I know we must seem like an odd couple—everyone says that—but Lyman’s the sweetest man I’ve ever met.”

  Zoë smiled. “It’s obvious he adores you.”

  Marian settled back against the seat. “He treats me like a princess—sometimes a little too much like one. He’s always worried something is going to happen to me.”

  “Some men can be overprotective.”

  “I think he worries about Jimmy.”

  Zoë shot her a quick glance. “Jimmy?”

  “My ex-husband.”

  Oh.

  “We got married right after I graduated from high school and he finished the police academy.”

  Zoë stopped at a light then turned right onto a broad commercial street. “So he’s a police officer?”

  “Not anymore.” Marian stared out the window at the damp gray skies and scarf-wrapped pedestrians going about their business. “Lyman is convinced he’s a threat, but I’ve known Jimmy since we were kids. He would never do anything to hurt me.”

  “I’m sure your husband’s just concerned about you.”

  “I know, but sometimes I wish he’d relax. I’m not a child, and I can make decisions for myself.”

  Marian clearly needed a friend to confide in, and under different circumstances, Zoë would have been happy to oblige. She enjoyed the woman’s enthusiasm and normally upbeat outlook. As it was, she had no business interfering in her client’s marriage.

  She spotted the upscale supermarket she’d found online and signaled a turn into the parking lot. “Here we are. Are you ready to see how much damage we can do?”

  Marian gave her an impish smile. “More than ready.”

  An hour later, Zoë wondered how seventeen bags of groceries were going to fit into the Mini. As soon as they’d entered the store, Marian had started pointing out items that caught her eye. Zoë piled them in the cart, adding the items from her list. She swallowed hard when the cashier rang up the total, but at least they had enough staples for the next couple of weeks, as well as a few fun splurges for Marian.

  Two cheerful bag boys pushed the loaded carts to the car, and Zoë watched in awe as they lowered the back seats and tucked every last bag into the back of the Mini as if they did it every day. Of course, they probably did. When she tried to tip them, they refused and hustled back inside.

  As Zoë started the car, Marian reached behind the seat and pulled a box of imported dried figs from one of the bags. “You must be a bad influence on me. I never bought things like this when I shopped on my own.” She tore open the paper wrapping. “And since I broke my arm and Lyman wrecked his car, we’ve been using a delivery service.”

  “I’m sure Nick would have been glad to drive you.” That is supposed to be his job, after all.

  Marian hesitated before popping a fig into her mouth. “Mmm. This is delicious.”

  Zoë looked both ways then eased out of the parking lot, half expecting her car to bottom out from the extra weight. “Have you finished shopping for the baby?”

  “Between my job and Lyman spending every waking minute working on his robot, there hasn’t been much time. I ended up ordering almost everything online.” Marian half-turned. “Would you like to see the nursery when we get home?”

  “I’d love to. Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?”

  Marian shook her head. “We want it to be a surprise.”

  “What about the ultrasound?”

  “We asked the technician to hide the telltale parts.”

  Zoë glanced in the rearview mirror and tapped the steering wheel with one forefinger. Marian’s pleasure over their trip to the grocery store had sparked an idea. “If you still need any baby items, we could plan an outing to a fancy baby shop downtown and go out to lunch.”

  “That would be awesome, but I don’t know what Lyman would say. He likes me to stick close to the house.”

  Zoë squared her shoulders. “You leave Lyman to me.” He might worry about his wife’s safety if she went out alone, but he couldn’t complain if she were accompanied by an armed bodyguard.

  Marian was still happily planning their trip to the baby shop when they pulled up to the gate at Strathmoor. She retrieved the opener from her purse, pushed the button, and the gates slowly swung open.

  As she drove through, Zoë noticed a big black Lexus with dark-tinted windows parked in front of the house and frowned. Lyman had promised to call the security company this morning, but it was unlikel
y the vehicle belonged to them.

  “Do you recognize that car?” she asked.

  Marian’s lips tightened. “I’m afraid so.”

  Chapter Five

  “That’s Victor Watanabe’s car.” Marian’s frown deepened. “I had hoped he wouldn’t come back. Lyman will be upset.”

  Zoë wanted to check the man out, but that could wait. She pulled around to the courtyard and parked near the back door. She was out of the car, with her hand on the passenger side door handle, by the time Marian had unbuckled her seat belt and gathered her purse.

  Zoë reached in to help her out. “When we get inside, why don’t you lie down and rest a little? Nick can help me with the groceries.”

  Marian tightened her grip on Zoë’s hand and heaved herself out of the low-slung car. “I hate to admit it, but that’s not a bad idea. The doctor wants me to put my feet up several times a day to help with the swelling. We can look at the nursery this afternoon.”

  As they walked through the foyer, Zoë noticed the door to Lyman’s office was closed. Raised voices emanated from within. She waited while Marian made her way up the stairs then went in search of Nick.

  She found him kneeling in the side hallway, around the corner from the door to Lyman’s office. As soon as she approached, he scrambled to his feet.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  He held a screwdriver in one hand and a pair of needle-nosed pliers in the other. “Fixing that outlet.” He pointed the pliers at an electrical outlet in the wide wooden baseboard.

  “It looks fine to me.”

  He raised one thick, dark brow. “And you’re an electrical expert?”

  “I know enough to know you have to take the switch plate off to do any work.”

  He slipped the tools into his shirt pocket. “I just finished.”

  Zoë took a step closer and lowered her voice. “Are you sure you weren’t lurking out here to eavesdrop?”