pointed to the far end of the long attic office. He stepped around her and she rushed downstairs.
The high pitch of excited female voices drifted up from the restaurant. He grabbed the broom and hesitated, trying to calm the adrenaline rush. Couldn’t help reacting the way he did. He’d been a few seconds too late and his partner died because of it. Luke wouldn’t make that mistake again, especially not with a complete innocent like Krista.
With a deep breath, Luke got the broom and began sweeping up the mess. Shards of china, loose tea and a few candy wrappers.
He eyed the dead mouse. A few inches away he spotted a white scrap of paper folded a few times. He grabbed a pair of latex gloves used by the kitchen staff and opened the note.
Welcome Home, Pretty Lady.
“Great,” Luke muttered. He had to assume this was a threat, right? A dead mouse in a teapot. So Garcia’s man had been here in the shop?
“That’s too close.” It’s not like the quaint tea shop would have video surveillance. He’d have to do it the old-fashioned way and check the locks for signs of tampering.
He took his time cleaning up, giving Krista space. She needed to recover from the sight of the dead mouse, and a man pointing a gun at her. But he wasn’t going far. When the chief stopped by Luke would hand off the note and have him send it in for prints.
It seemed tame for a drug lord’s henchman. Subtlety wasn’t their style. They were more direct, more in-your-face vicious.
Now you get to watch him die.
Garcia’s words slashed through Luke’s chest like a knife. His best friend, the only guy in the world who both understood and accepted Luke for who he was, broken parts and all, died right in front of Luke. And he was unable to do a thing about it.
Luke shoved back the memory and the pain. Stuffing the note into a plastic baggie and then into his pocket, he headed downstairs to call in this development.
If only he knew what it meant.
Thank goodness Krista was feeling more like herself halfway through the lunch rush. She thought her nerves would never stop skittering.
First a break-in, then a dead mouse, then Luke aiming a gun directly at her chest.
She reminded herself that that was normal behavior for a man like Luke, but still, the image was not easy to shake. Pulling a gun because she’d found a dead mouse was definitely overkill. Then again, he didn’t know what had made her scream.
“Table four needs more cream and jam,” Tori Sass said, breezing into the kitchen with a handful of plates.
“Right up.” Krista squirted sweetened whipped cream onto a plate and spooned a dollop of jam beside it. Some liked their scones extra sweet. She wondered how Agent McIntyre liked his.
No, he’d probably never tried a scone. He seemed more the doughnut type of guy.
Why was she thinking about him again? She was tired, that’s all. Tired and frightened out of her right mind between the mouse and firearm.
She’d never forget the look on his face when he’d swung around and pointed it at her. He looked powerful and determined.
And maybe a little frightened. Was that possible?
Sure, even in his line of work a person felt fear, she reminded herself.
“How’s the order for table seven?” Tatum Sass asked.
“Almost there.” Krista refocused on the tea sandwiches in front of her and arranged red rose petals in between them.
Make them feel special, Mom had taught her. It was Krista’s role to give local women a place to gather, share dreams, hopes and fears, in a safe environment.
Yet Krista wasn’t feeling safe right now. Between the jet lag, lack of sleep and this morning’s excitement, she was exhausted and more than a little off kilter.
“You look tired,” Tatum said, waiting for her order.
“Thanks, now I feel so much better,” Krista joked.
“Why don’t you take a break? This is the last food order.”
Krista nodded. “I’ll be out back.”
She untied her apron and flung it over the hook. She could use a few minutes of fresh air. Luckily, it was unseasonably warm for a November day in Michigan, so she grabbed a sweater and stepped outside.
And spotted Luke trimming back the rose bushes. She’d meant to do that before her trip, before the fall hit. But she’d run out of time, what with the Sass girls starting up community college and having limited availability.
As Luke tended to the rose bush, she remarked how normal he looked, like a regular guy. Not like a violent man who packed a gun against his ribcage.
With seemingly gentle fingers, Luke snipped the rose stem with some kind of knife. A pocket knife.
“Hey, I’ve got pruning shears,” she said.
He turned to her and she could have sworn she read regret in his eyes, probably because he’d scared the wits out of her earlier.
“Hang on,” she said. She went back inside, dug into the white china cabinet and found the shears. As she opened the door to go back out, she nearly ran into him.
She didn’t expect him to be so close. Nor did she expect her heart to skip a few beats. And not out of fear.
She handed him the shears. “Thanks.”
“It’s the least I can do considering I scared the—” he paused “—you know.”
“Have you been out there all afternoon?”
“Pretty much.”
“Did you get lunch?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll make you a sandwich.” She motioned him into the shop, but he hesitated.
“Come on, it’s safe,” she joked.
He followed her inside and washed his hands.
“Turkey okay?” she asked, putting on gloves.
“You even guessed my favorite sandwich? How do you do that?” He settled at a table in the back.
“Everyone likes turkey.” She pulled out bread, lettuce and tomatoes.
Tori came into the back with a tray of plates. She slid them by the sink and turned to Krista. “Who’s the guy?”
“A friend of Chief Cunningham,” Luke said.
Krista kept working on the sandwich. She couldn’t blame Luke for acting the way he did this morning. It was his job to suspect danger around every corner.
And that suspicion might keep her safe.
Tatum joined her sister in the kitchen.
“Chief Cunningham’s friend,” Tori explained to her sister.
Tatum walked over to the Luke and shook his hand. “I’m Tatum and this is Tori.”
“Tori, can you start on the dishes?” Krista asked. “I’m not sure I’ve got the energy.”
“Sure.”
Krista finished making Luke’s sandwich, garnished the plate with a pickle and a few olives and put a mini scoop of fruit salad in a dish. She placed it in front of him.
“How much?” he said.
“On the house.”
He glanced into her eyes. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Krista asked.
“It’s freeloading. Let me at least do the dishes