Weakest Lynx by Fiona Quinn

Author:Fiona Quinn [Quinn, Fiona]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Contemporary, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Metaphysical, Metaphysical & Visionary, Mystery & Suspense, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Paranormal, Psychics, Romance, Romantic Suspense, Supernatural, Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense
ISBN: 9781508998952
Amazon: B00T9T6U98
Barnesnoble: B00T9T6U98
Goodreads: 25382657
Publisher: Kindle Press
Published: 2015-03-31T22:00:00+00:00

Deep and Jack showed up at seven, everyone gathered for breakfast. Randy brought me a cup of Orange Zinger tea. There were scrambled eggs and salsa to wrap in whole-wheat tortillas. A fruit salad of berries, kiwi, and papaya filled a bowl on the table. It all tasted good, fresh, and wholesome. After the green Jell-O hospital diet, I was ravenous.

I caught Striker’s eye. “Did the guys find the flash drive last night?”

“Right where you said it would be.” He smiled back at me.

“Do I win a prize?”

That brought up a flicker of a memory. Striker stared hard at me; I could see him flipping through his mental files. How did I know how he got his call name? How did I know he was a SEAL? How did I know he drank peppermint tea after dinner? Where had he heard a voice saying a similar phrase? He was coming up with nothing. He shook his head. “Do you know me?”

“How would I know you?” I used a Spyder technique. If you answer a question with a deflecting question or statement, you didn’t have to give an actual answer.

“Detective Murphy said you were psychic, and I think I’m beginning to believe him. Yes, you’ve won yourself a prize.” He reached into the buffet and pulled out my laptop.

I clapped my hands. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You already know we can’t allow you to have an internet connection—I’ve disabled your computer. But I thought there might be something on here to help pass the time.”

“Yes. I have some papers to write for school, and when I’m done with that, I’m working on a project about my Kitchen Grandmothers.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s a Kitchen Grandmother?” Striker asked, lacing his fingers behind his head.

“These six beautiful older women lived in my apartment building during my teens. They took me under their wings at the end of my mom’s terminal illness. Each grandmother came from a different culture, and they shared their families, their talents, and their recipes with me. I was surrounded with so much kindness and so much wisdom; I really wanted to capture that somewhere. You know, my favorite recipes and their stories. Maybe I can turn it into a book someday.”

“Now I understand what you meant yesterday when you said you cook Mediterranean on Monday.”

“Yes, Jadda taught me on Mondays. ‘Jadda’ means grandmother in Turkish. She’s married to a Moroccan man.”

“Then I’ll look forward to dinner tonight. Randy’s your watchdog.” Striker stood and stretched, his muscles flexing under his Iniquus compression shirt. “It can get pretty boring here in the house. Let me know if you to think of anything we can bring in to help you stay occupied. Make a list. Don’t worry about inconveniencing us. If you’re busy, the confinement is easier on everyone. Cabin fever is never pretty.”

I nodded. “Axel brought me some nail stuff. I think I’ll give myself a manicure this morning and cook, if that’s all right.”

“If you make a list of ingredients you want on hand, we’ll make sure to get those for you.

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