Criminal Confections by Colette London

Author:Colette London [London, Colette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2014-12-27T05:00:00+00:00

I might not have been ready to leave Maison Lemaître after my room was looted, but I was ready to unwind with that warm chocolate-fondue body wrap I mentioned before. Especially after Danny sternly marched me down to see the resort’s on-call physician to have my head examined (let’s just skip the obvious joke here), only to learn I had a concussion. It was supposed to clear up with rest and time. In the meantime, I’d been told I could expect headaches (check), dizziness (not anymore, thanks), trouble sleeping (I hoped not), mood swings (what else is new?), and, uh, one more thing. What was it? Oh yeah. Memory problems.

Double check mark on that one, as it turned out. I still couldn’t remember . . . something about what had happened right before I’d been hit. The doctor had warned me to guard against repeated concussions. I’d let him know I’d do my best not to get walloped by surprise anytime soon, then I’d beat it out of there with Danny in tow, frowning at me. It had become his new default. But I guessed a guy didn’t get to be a professional security expert without being able to foresee every possible (grim) scenario. I figured Danny was probably preoccupied with thinking up ways I might wind up dead. It was possible I’d scared even him. It couldn’t have been fun for him, I knew, to have found me that way. He must have thought, for a second, that I was dead, too.

Not that Danny would admit as much. He was way too tough for that. So, with the doctor’s visit duly completed, I decided to . . . Wait, where am I? (Just kidding. You’ve gotta laugh, right?)

I was still scared, but I wasn’t scared away, if you catch my drift. It would take more than messing up my stuff—as unsettling as that had been—to make me abandon ship and leave.

On the plus side, it was unlikely my room had been searched at random. That meant I had something someone wanted. Since I’d taken only Adrienne’s notebook, Rex’s portfolio, the (maybe lethal) nutraceutical chocolate samples, and the tiny Baggie of anhydrous caffeine Adrienne and I had used, I figured that meant there was more going on with someone at Lemaître than I knew.

Christian wanted Adrienne’s notebook. So did whoever she’d been conspiring with. Rex wanted his portfolio. So might one of his competitors—because, after all, Melt had made a name for itself by becoming San Francisco’s “modern” chocolatier, right about the time that Christian had taken control of Lemaître. In a business like mine, intel is always valuable. Then there were the caffeinated chocolate samples . . . but I didn’t know who’d want them. A die-hard chocolate fanatic, maybe? A hungry housekeeper?

Neither of those categories of people would ransack my room and then bludgeon me to get away with truffles—especially not when there were chocolate samples at every retreat session and more chocolates being given away (like my delicious frappe) on the resort’s grounds.

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