Her Sexiest Surprise

“So, how about we go over your duties, huh? Over cappuccinos? Yes?” She turned to a gleaming metal appliance on the counter. “Can you work this monster? Enzo got it at a closeout from a restaurant supplier. Him and his deals.” She rolled her eyes in affectionate annoyance.

“I’ll try.” The thing looked like it could make bread, create a nuclear bomb and steam shirts all at once.

“The instructions.” Natalie presented her with a thick booklet. Luckily, there was a quick-start page and before long Chloe had cappuccinos steaming, nachos bubbling and was mixing V8 with seltzer and Tabasco for a zingy drink with lots of the vitamins Ronnie needed.

When she carried the tray of refreshments into the playroom, she found Ronnie and Sal madly working controllers from the sofa. Slouched on a love seat and recliner were two malevolent-looking guys in black silk shirts. One was clicking out a text message on his phone, the other studied a folded newspaper. Probably figuring the spread on upcoming games, since he didn’t look like the crossword type. Maybe that wasn’t fair—she tried to give people the benefit of the doubt—but she got a bad vibe from Sal’s friends.

Sal noticed Chloe. “Hit Pause, my friend,” he said to Ronnie. “Let’s see what the pretty lady has for our repast.”

“Repast? What the f’s that?” the guy with the paper said.

“Chloe, Mr. Ignorant is Carlo and that’s Leo over there. Chloe’s Mickey Baxter’s kid.”

“Ah,” both men said, then exchanged looks.

Chloe nodded at the two men, then noticed that the game Ronnie was playing was a car race, at least, not death and destruction, except then she watched a character climb out of a car with a machine gun and blast a Hummer to smithereens before Ronnie froze the action.

“What have we here?” Sal said, pretending to look at the food she’d bent to show them while staring at her breasts.

She described the snacks, then waved her hand before his eyes. He grinned, caught, then grabbed nachos.

Ronnie did, too. He chewed and swallowed, then tossed off a “Good,” before resuming his game.

“I’d love you to cook up something special for me,” Sal said to her.

“I’m the Sylvestris’ cook.”

“Perfect. I’m a Sylvestri.”

She just looked at him.

“Give it up, Sal,” Carlo said. “She’s not interested.”

“Never say never, right, babe?”

Please don’t wink, she thought, her eyes watering from his cologne.

Sal winked.

“Let Natalie know if there’s something you’d like,” she said wearily. Being genial with the guy might help her father.

“She’s warming up,” he said to Carlo, triumphant as a kid. “I can’t wait for the next family dinner.”

“Me, either,” she said, gritting her teeth. As she left, she heard them mutter, then laugh. Something lascivious, no doubt.

Back in the kitchen, she and Natalie sipped cappuccino and Natalie talked through the schedule. “Breakfast is at eight. You can count on me and Enzo. The kids should eat, too, but the crucial thing is them getting to the bus at eight-thirty.”

“They have trouble making the bus?”

“Are you kidding? They have trouble waking up, let alone making it to the bus or breakfast. Delores just shouted up the stairs like that would do it.” Natalie rolled her eyes.

“So you want me to…?” Drag them downstairs?

“Take any measures necessary,” she said. “Whatever it takes. Completely your call.”

They talked next about menus. The family mostly ate Italian, but Natalie urged her to be creative. Chloe couldn’t wait to try her own riffs on Italian dishes, working in the family’s nutritional needs and preferences at the same time.

There was to be a big family dinner on her second day of work. And Enzo’s birthday was next week. She would prepare a traditional family meal, followed by a party. She couldn’t wait to work up the menus. Soon, she had pages of notes and a partial shopping list.

“Now the housework,” Natalie said. “Just the light stuff—laundry, dust and vacuum, clean the bathrooms. We have people for the heavy stuff—the marble floors, the windows and whatever you don’t want to do. The kids should pick up their own rooms. Delores despaired and did it herself, but you’re so good with people, maybe you can motivate them?”

“I’ll talk to them, Natalie, but—”

“I know, I know. We’re the parents. Your job is to cook our socks off. The rest is gravy. Get it? Gravy?” She glanced at her watch. “I should walk you through the house, but I’ve got a tennis game.” She smiled, then hugged Chloe hard. “I have such a good feeling about you being here.”

“Me, too.” Chloe’s heart felt like it would burst with happiness. She would do all she could for these dear people, who were paving the way to her dream. All she needed was Riley to come through for her father. One last flare-up to fix, and she’d finally be able to live the life she wanted.

4

ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, when Riley went to the station to check Michael Baxter’s criminal record, he was dismayed to hear his squad mate Max’s whistle moving down the row of detective cubicles. Damn. Not wanting to have to explain what he was up to, he’d hoped for the usual weekend quiet.

“What are you doing here?” Max asked. “I thought you were sleeping all weekend.”

“Woke up. Got bored.” Riley had almost not come, since Idle had seemed under the weather. The dog had a hot nose, no appetite and remained in bed instead of trotting after Riley around the house. It had crossed his mind the dog just missed Chloe. Riley kind of did, too.

“What about you?” he said, to shift focus. “You worked as hard as I did.” They paired up on a lot of cases, both feeling the drive to push for the last clue, make one last canvas, one more attempt to reach a missing witness, even when the lieutenant blasted them for too much overtime.

“Just finishing up some DRs and supplementals.”

“You’re doing reports? On a Saturday? Without the lieutenant ragging on you? Come on.”

“Okay, okay. Susan bitched me out for not doing anything around the house. So I told her I had paperwork and left.”

“You are purely whipped, man,” he said.

“You’ll see. Wait’ll you get married.”

“Like I’ll ever do that.”

“Sure you will. What about Marie? She’s into you.”

“That was just sex.” He shrugged.

“Sex…yeah, I remember sex. Back when I got some.”

“Come on. Susan’s good to you.” He wanted Max to stay happy—he was one of the few cops Riley knew with a good marriage. Lots were divorced, a few were on shaky ground on the home front, and the single ones were like him: no plans to change status.

“So, who’s Michael Baxter?” Max looked over his shoulder at the terminal where Riley was checking records.