Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 Karen Whiddon (best fiction books to read TXT) 📖

“Thanks.”

A quick wink was her parting gesture before she disappeared into the kitchen and he began the hardest part of the entire plan: the waiting.

* * *

The kitchen’s high noise level startled Dominique after the quiet of the corridor. The doors she’d entered through must have some kind of noise buffering. Pots and pans clanged and voices rose over the cacophony as a woman she assumed was the head chef issued rapid-fire directions to her sous-chef and other workers. They were at the far end of the large space, underneath a humongous rack of cookware, and hadn’t noticed her yet. Scents of sautéing vegetables and butter hung heavy, and like the decibels, the temperature of the room was higher than in the corridor, making her perspire as if it was a summer day and not early spring in Northern Michigan.

Several other workers were scattered at various workstations, including two women who were fussing over the wedding cake, adding last-minute decorations. Blanchard was reportedly the dishwasher, and she saw one man working at the large stainless steel machine, pulling out clean dishes and stacking them on serving carts, then pushing the carts into a precise line closer to the long, spotless island where all manners of chopping, tossing and mixing were going on.

She sucked in a deep breath and headed for him. Her phone felt heavy in the pocket she’d cut a hole in and wired the microphone through. The device was taped inside the dress’s bodice. Since it was white, it was practically invisible against the padded fabric. As she approached the dishwasher, the man she hoped was Blanchard, the noise quieted a bit, urging her to move faster. The last thing she wanted was the full attention of everyone present—Blanchard would never talk to her then.

“Excuse me, are you Johnny Blanchard?”

The man twisted so quickly to face her that he dropped the stack of white porcelain plates he’d been holding. As the sounds of ceramic crashing against the hard, tiled floor echoed around them, he stared at Dominique with eyes widened in shock. His skin visibly paled as his lips trembled.

“Who are you?” His voice shook.

“Mr. Blanchard?” She needed him to verify before she continued.

He looked away toward the chef’s table, and gave a quick wave. “Sorry, I’ll get it cleaned up. No worries, we have lots more dishes.”

“Johnny?” She was sure this was her man, as his unique voice matched the phone calls.

“Yes, it’s me. Johnny Blanchard. Who are you?”

“Dominique de la Vega. Grave Gulch Gazette.” She added the last in case she’d scared his memory away.

She shrugged, looking down at the wedding dress. “I’m sorry for the surprise but I had to make sure this wasn’t a setup.”

“Sure, I get it, but I can’t break away right now.” He walked over to where a broom and dustpan hung on a far wall and brought it back. “And now I have this mess to clean up.”

She wasn’t going to apologize for his skittishness. “We can do the interview right here as you work, if that’s okay with you. Everyone here will think I’m the bride, checking in on things, right? Why don’t you take me over to the cake after you’re done sweeping? Pretend to help me get a peek at it.”

“I think it’s best we don’t talk right here.” He was so shaky as he swept up the broken dishes that her hackles went up.

“Why is that?”

“I’m due for a break now, anyway. We can go for a smoke and I’ll tell you all you want to know.”

“Mind if I wait here with you?”

“I guess not.” His frown contradicted the words but she knew that she had to keep pressing him. She’d lost interviews before because of nervous sources who’d changed their minds at the last minute. The stakes were too high to lose Johnny Blanchard, now that they had him. “You’re welcome to go wait for me on the loading platform. Door’s over there. But I can’t tell you anything, not anymore. If you’re smart, you’ll get out of here.” He pointed to the exit.

“You can tell me everything I need to know now. Did you lie on the witness stand for the Jimenez cartel? Did Pablo Jimenez pay you to perjure yourself?”

He stared at her with wild-looking eyes for a solid second before his gaze scuttled away.

“Not here. Outside.”

She and Stanton had anticipated this, and she knew she’d be safe on the platform as the DEA agent was nearby. Troy and the other officers had also surrounded the resort at critical points. Stanton would hear this exchange and have everyone move to the best vantage. But he’d told her to always give it five minutes whenever she could, to ensure the agents and officers were in place.

“Okay, I’ll go out there, but since I don’t have a coat, please hurry. We’ll have to make the interview a quick one.” Hopefully this would encourage him to spill it all. Less time to consider his words.

“Go ahead, I’ll be right there.” He nodded at the door as he carried a dustpan full of porcelain pieces to a large trash receptacle.

She stepped around the remaining mess and smiled at the gawking cooks and cake decorators as she made her best attempt at being the happy, about-to-be-married bride. It was surprisingly easy, acting the part.

Because you know it’s not all an act.

Yeah, she wished it was really happening for her. With Stanton. And as soon as this was behind them, they’d talk. He’d said it, and she wanted to.

As she stepped outside, the early spring wind hit her skin first, followed by the scent of Lake Michigan. The pale blue sky made the water appear like a sapphire, broken only by white caps frothed up by the high winds. Her voluminous skirt felt like a scrap of fabric for all the protection it offered against the weather. She ignored her shivers and spoke aloud, knowing Stanton could hear her and would relay all to the others.

“I’m on the loading