Free Into the Crossfire by Lisa Marie Rice Page A

the top ten most
    expensive restaurants in San Diego, or one listed in the food guides, preferably
    one that had been recently reviewed by Lauren Spitz, the trendiest San Diego food
    guru, whose word was more authoritative than that of God.
    Men have very simple thought patterns. Nicole had learned that fact
    through long exposure to the gender.
    Sam Reston knew perfectly well that she had thought he was some kind of
    a low-level hired hand, one step up from a bum, where instead he was the
    proprietor of a successful company and probably earned ten or twenty times what
    she did.
    A normal guy would go all out to prove just how wrong she'd been about
    him and just how successful he was, how powerful. Rub it in. Make her suffer a
    little remorse for thinking badly of him.
    The easiest way to do that was to spend a lot of money on dinner, the more
    exclusive and expensive the restaurant, the better.
    But it looked like Sam Reston had hidden depths.
    The light kiss had shut her right up. She had no idea what to say. So she
    spent the car trip gratefully mulling over the fact that maybe Sam had engineered
    her an escape from Creepy and Creepier.
    There was silence in the car as they drove south, to an outlying part of town
    she'd never been to before. She looked around as Sam started slowing down. This
    was definitely not expensive restaurant territory.
    It was, however, a lively area, with a great deal of ethnic diversity, mostly
    Hispanic but with strong Asian flavors. Sam drove by taperias and taquerias and
    Vietnamese and Thai restaurants, finally pulling into the parking lot of a low,
    sprawling building surrounded by gardens. BALADI, announced a big billboard,
    and if that wasn't enough, there was a beautifully rendered cedar tree covering half
    the billboard.
    Nicole gave a delighted laugh. She turned to Sam as he parked the car in an
    overflowing lot. "Oh my God! A Lebanese restaurant! How on earth could you
    know I love Lebanese cooking?"
    His hard mouth turned up at her excitement. "I confess I checked your
    website. It said you spent some time in Beirut. No one can live in Lebanon and not
    love the food. I love it, too. This is one of the best Lebanese restaurants I've ever
    eaten at, so I hope you enjoy it."
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    He was a miracle worker. Already, her muscles were relaxing. However the
    night ended, she'd have had a fantastic meal and a rare evening dining out.
    It occurred to her that she really needed this evening. She hadn't eaten out
    in, what? Six months, maybe? No, more like seven months. And then it had been
    to an extremely boring restaurant with bland, forgettable food. She'd ignored her
    instincts and accepted a client's dinner invitation. His conversation had been
    blander and more tasteless even than the food. He'd been appalled at how ill her
    father was, though Pops hadn't even been fully confined to a wheelchair yet. It had
    been a disastrous evening and she hadn't been out since.
    No time. No money.
    Whatever company Sam Reston turned out to be, she was really looking
    forward to the meal.
    There was a long gravel walkway and he put a hand to her back as they
    walked up. She was actually grateful for that hand as her sandals had been chosen
    more for looks than function. The heat of his touch penetrated the material of her
    jacket and the dress.
    She looked around as they approached the entrance. The building wasn't
    luxurious, but looked well tended and friendly. The big picture windows showing
    happy-looking diners inside sparkled in the evening light. The decor was simple
    and functional, waiters bustling to and fro.
    The grounds were extensive. Off to the right she could see-"Oh my gosh. Are those tomato plants?" Row after row of perfectly spaced
    stakes with small green knobs hanging off the plants. And now that she looked
    more closely, she could see tiny, tender tufts of baby lettuce, brightly colored
    peppers, zucchini.
    Sam looked down at her. "The proprietor grows most of his own produce.
    He