Free Her Mother's Killer by Melissa Schroeder Page B

the constant thwack, thwack  disrupted the cozy feeling.
    “Doesn’t sound like it.”
    She kept pounding away.
    “Thea!”
    She looked up at him, irritation burning in her green eyes. “What?”
    “Tell me.”
    She blew out a breath. “Antonio is fantastic, but he is also loaded with old money. Mom and Dad have a very profitable olive business in Italy, and well, he doesn’t need the work. I trained him myself, so I know he’s good, but Jason pissed him off. He quit without notice.”
    “And he thought you could do what?”
    “Call Antonio and get him back. Antonio hates Jason.”
    “I have a feeling Antonio and I would get along.”
    Her lips curved. “You just might. Let me get this finished then we can talk about those,” she said, indicating the letters.
    Because he knew there was more to the story, he’d wanted to press her, needed to know why her former chef hated her ex, but she wouldn’t tell him, not yet. He watched her, enjoying the way she moved about the kitchen, humming under her breath—which he was sure she didn’t realize she was doing—as she cooked their meal. Even now as she breaded the chicken and tossed it into the olive oil, his mouth watered, for the woman and her cooking.
    With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the letters and pushed aside any thoughts of devouring his reluctant hostess.
    * * * *
    Thea took a sip of wine as she watched Duncan take another helping of her chicken parmesan.
    “That money Jed put out for that fancy culinary school was totally worth it.”
    She smiled. “That’s actually one of my mother’s recipes.”
    “Your husband must be fat.”
    “Ex-husband and no. Jason never really ate my food that much.”
    He’d been slurping up some pasta when she said it and he stopped in mid-slurp, his eyes widened in disbelief. He sucked the rest of the spaghetti into his mouth. Then he wiped his mouth. “What the hell is wrong with him?”
    Thea shrugged. “He’d eat some of my steak recipes, and a few other  normal  recipes, anything  ethnic , wasn’t his bag.”
    “And he thinks to run your old restaurant?”
    “Yeah. And he is welcome to it. I was ready to get rid of it, leave Atlanta. I needed to come home.”
    Understanding filled his gaze. It was then she remembered his return to Crocker, the shootout and his hospitalization.
    “So, when he said he wanted it, I gave it to him.” She shrugged. “I think more than anything he wanted to piss me off.”
    He nodded. “Jed said something like that. Has your ex been calling a lot?”
    Frowning, she said, “No. I don’t know the last time I talked to him. It was before I left though.”
    “I need you to be honest with me…and yourself.” She nodded. “Do you think he has anything to do with this?” She opened her mouth but he raised a hand. “No, think. He was living in your house where you were storing the letters.”
    “No.”
    “But he had access, and now he’s calling here.”
    “Why? What reason would he have?”
    “He wants you back.”
    She laughed bitterly. “No. It isn’t that.”
    Needing something to keep her hands busy, she picked up her dish and went to clean it off. She couldn’t face him and tell him about the train wreck of her marriage. Talking about it didn’t hurt her as it once did, now it shamed her that she had been such an idiot.
    “Our divorce decree said irreconcilable differences, but there was more to it than that. Jason…had a thing for blondes, especially those with particular assets.” Knowing she was being a coward, she turned to face him. His expression was blank. “That was his alibi the night I got run off the road. He was with one of his girlfriends.”
    “Thea…I didn’t know, Jed didn’t say anything.”
    “Jed doesn’t know all of it. There are some things a sister doesn’t want to tell her brother. Especially one trained to kill.”
    “That I understand, but…still, do you think he’s behind it? Even the worst cop would want to