Page 55 of Cornered

Donovan had never believed it was possible to feel his blood pressure rise. Until today. He was pretty sure he was approaching stroke levels. Only the obvious proof that Cassie had walked away unscathed from the encounter kept him in his seat.

She carried on, seemingly oblivious to the mental, emotional, and physical distress her story was causing him. “WhenI asked him what had put a twist in his toque, he told me the guest took two bites of the second dessert before declaring himself too full to eat any more. Then Amos waved the knife around, a bit too close to my jacket for my liking and went off. He ranted about the guests and the kitchen and my handling of the entire situation.”

She paused, her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure how to explain it. Even while he was spewing about everything wrong in our kitchen, it still wasn’t clear if he was angryatme orforme.”

Donovan took a swig of water from the bottle on the table and was pleased to see that his hands weren’t shaking in rage. “Cassie. The knife pointed at your chest probably should have clued you in on that.”

“He didn’t attack me with it.”

“No? Were you afraid?”

She dropped her gaze.

That was all the answer he needed. “Terrorizing someone with a weapon is aggravated assault. No physical harm is required. You could have him arrested for that.”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t want him arrested. He was angry. He’d had a long night. He was tired and frustrated, and that particular guest was loud and drunk and completely out of line.”

“None of that gives him the right to come at you with a knife!” Donovan wasn’t sure when he’d stood up, or when he’d leaned toward her. But Cassie didn’t flinch from his nearly shouted response.

“I know that! But it isn’t my kitchen.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m filling in. I’m in charge of the food, not the staff.”

“I doubt Bronwyn would see it that way.”

Cassie flopped into her chair. “I’ve handled far worse and lived to tell about it.”

This was a thread Donovan desperately wanted to pull. But he knew from past experience that it wouldn’t get him anywhere but annoyed and frustrated. Cassie had a story. But she hadn’t confided in him while they’d been dating. She certainly wouldn’t confide in him now.

“Bottom line—Amos has been a problem from the first day I came in. But like I said, I don’t see him destroying the kitchen.”

SIX

“CASSIE.” DONOVAN’S VOICEwas calm. Too calm. She braced herself for whatever was coming next. “Why didn’t you confront him? Why didn’t you tell anyone? If this guy’s unstable, you’re putting yourself and the entire kitchen staff at risk. Maybe even your guests.”

“I have reasons. Good ones.”

“Care to share?”

She couldn’t tell him. It was too embarrassing. And they didn’t have time to discuss it now anyway. “It isn’t relevant.”

“I’m going to have to disagree with you.”

“It’s a free country.” Great. Now she was spouting junior-high-quality insults. No. She’d been more articulate in junior high. She fought the panic creeping through her at the memories the events of this morning had pulled front and center.

She stopped those thoughts and focused on what Donovan wanted to know. “There have been ... other incidents. Things messed up in the kitchen. Small nuisances. I didn’t think they were anything more than petty annoyances. But now?”

“Could Amos have been responsible for all of it?”

“No. Sometimes it happened before Amos arrived. Once itwas when he was gone. And once he was the one who found the mess. Amos doesn’t like messes. At all.”

Donovan tapped his pen. “Would you please tell me exactly what’s happened?”

“It’s small stuff. So very small.”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine.” She counted on her fingers. “First, one of my paring knives disappeared.”

Cassie could see by the look on Donovan’s face that he understood. They’d talked about it before. A chef’s knives were sacrosanct. No one touched the chef’s knives without permission.

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