Page 25 of So Bleak

“Damn it, no!”

Marcus’s tone was plaintive now, almost a whine. Faith imagined he’d never been told what to do before. He was used to getting his way and couldn’t accept that he wasn’t in control of this situation.

“This is my restaurant!” he shouted petulantly. “You all have no respect! You have no respect for me, you have no respect for my food, you have no—”

Michael moved like a blur. Before Marcus could react, he had slapped the knife out of the chef’s grip and spun him around.

Marcus shrieked and struggled, and Katie screamed, “No! Please don’t hurt him!”

Faith turned to Katie, keeping her handgun on Marcus, and shouted, “Katie! Leave this kitchen now, or you’re under arrest for obstruction of justice!”

Katie burst into tears and retreated to the back of the kitchen. She didn’t leave the room, but Faith decided that was close enough and turned her attention back to Marcus.

Michael had him wrapped up and cuffed now. The chef was shaking with fury, but he wasn’t trying to fight him anymore, so that was a positive.

Michael turned to Faith and sighed with exasperation. “All right. We can go now.” He turned back to their suspect. “Are you going to behave? Or do I need to have Turk make you incapable of misbehaving?”

Marcus sighed. His head slumped forward, and when he spoke, his voice was far more subdued. “I’ll behave.”

“Good boy.”

Michael led Marcus out of the kitchen. Katie grabbed him briefly and tried to protest, but when Faith glared at her, she released him and sank to her knees, weeping as the agents left with the man who she was clearly enamored with.

God, what did women see in these assholes?

The diners exclaimed in shock as they led Marcus toward the door. “Wonderful,” Marcus muttered. “There goes my restaurant. Just when I was getting it back on track.”

“There’s a lesson in this,” Michael said drily. “Maybe you’ll figure it out one day.”

They put him in the car, and Turk jumped inside and glared at him. Marcus returned Turk's glare, but his body language showed he was cowed by the dog whatever he might pretend.

Faith got into the backseat across from Marcus, just in case. Michael hopped in the driver's seat, and they left A Taste of Versailles behind.

Faith felt a little guilty at feeling excited by the interaction they’d just had, but Marcus sure acted like a murderer. She hoped they would confirm it soon and wrap this case up before anyone else had to get hurt.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Marcus was far calmer when they reached the precinct. Faith was still avoiding the Field Office, so they took the chef to a local police precinct. Faith was nearly as famous with the Philadelphia PD as she was with the FBI, but she was also friends with the agents at the Philadelphia Field Office, so they felt more comfortable interrupting her during work than the officers here did.

Still, the stairs grated on her as she waited for the precinct to give them an interrogation room. Did they have nothing better to do than gawk? West was arrested four months ago. The rest of it was courtroom bullshit. There were bigger fish to fry.

After what seemed like an eternity, an officer gestured for them to follow him down the hallway. The three agents and their suspect shuffled through the narrow corridor until they reached the room. The officer smiled at Faith and extended a hand. “I just wanted to say good work with West. My wife and I sleep a lot easier at night knowing that fucker’s behind bars.”

“Actually, it was two PD officers who arrested him,” Faith said, “but thank you.”

She shook the hand briefly, then walked into the room before the officer could say anything else. Michael led Marcus in, and Turk brought up the rear, glaring at Marcus like he desperately hoped the man would try something.

Marcus was smart enough not to do that and allowed himself to be cuffed to the chair. He kept his eyes averted as Michael crossed the room and stood with his arms folded over his chest. At six-foot-one and two hundred ten pounds of mostly solid muscle, Michael was actually shorter than Marcus by a couple of inches but at least thirty pounds heavier. And he had just beaten Marcus in a physical altercation.

So, Marcus was appropriately cowed when Faith began questioning him. “We’ll start with an easy one. Will the CSI team we sent to your restaurant find any trace of the poison that killed Eleanor Crestwood and Harold Grimes?”

Marcus started. “You sent CSIs to my restaurant?”

“Yep,” Michael replied. “They texted me five minutes ago to let me know they arrived.”

Marcus leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “Don’t you need a warrant for that?”

“Or probable cause,” Faith replied. “We have both of our victims in your restaurant within a week of their death, and both of them had some pretty crappy things to say about your food.”

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