Easing her way in, Sara nodded as if this was to be expected' He must have forgotten, Mr. - " She looked at the maintenance man. " I'm sorry, I missed catching your name. "

He ran a coa.r.s.e thumb beneath the suspender of his bib bed overall. "I didn't throw it." He paused, eyeing her. Sara out waited him. "Sam,"

he mumbled. "My name's Sam."

"Sam," she repeated, her generous mouth spreading into a wide smile.

A beat later Sam closed the door behind them and followed her into the restaurant.

Chapter 3.

The two aspirin he had taken just before leaving his house definitely weren't doing the trick, Nik thought, disgruntled More than that, they were making things worse. Instead of taking the edge off the pain that was pulsating in his neck like the rhythm section of a rock band, they were slowly, methodically, burning their way through his esophagus , creating a hole in his stomach.

At least, it felt that way.

The pain didn't put Nik in the best of moods as he pulled his '78 Mustang into the parking lot in front of Sinclair's. His disposition would have been judged surly in comparison to a wounded bear's.

Served him right for trying to stay up while his whole body begged him to go to bed. He'd fallen asleep in his recliner again last night, poring over his notes for the new recipe he was working on. A meal had to be ch.o.r.eographed just so, both for taste and appearance. Nik spent hours choosing and discarding different arrangements, searching for the perfect marriage of ingredients with the right visual complement of main course with side dishes.

There was a time he'd stayed up all hours trying to trim pennies from budgets that were already cleaved to the bone, in order to keep the restaurant running a little longer, until it turned a profit. Now budget worries were essentially a thing of the past, yet there always seemed to be something that kept him up at night.

Both Jennifer and Julia had been pleading with him to stop doing the actual cooking and just concern himself with the creative end of running the restaurant, but it was hard for him to let go. Hard to let go of any of it. He knew he had a very real need to feel in control of it all. It was difficult to break old patterns, even in the face of prosperity.

Nik shut off the engine. Ma.s.saging the back of his neck, he rotated it slowly, desperately attempting to alleviate the stiffness. It clung like a suction cup to a smooth gla.s.s surface

He sighed, getting out of the car. Eventually the pain would taper off. What he needed right now, he decided as he walked toward the restaurant, was something in his stomach to coat it. The aspirin felt as if they were well on their way to burning a hole straight down to his toes.

It was tantamount to the old, closing-of-the-barn-door after the-horse-had-run-off theory, he thought sarcastically But eating something certainly couldn't hurt any more right now than this miserable burning sensation going through him, and maybe it would help.

Slipping his key into the lock, Nik opened the large oak front door.

Once inside he closed the door softly behind him. He felt the peace embrace him immediately.

The dim lighting cast shadows all around him, reinforcing the hushed silence. He could hear himself breathe here. Even the hum of the refrigerator wasn't audible. It was almost like a cathedral, he mused.

In a way, maybe it was, to him. He'd done a lot of praying here, a lot of invoking of heavenly intervention to keep the bill collectors at bay and to spread the word through satisfied restaurant critics.

His prayers had worked.

Time to get the cathedral up and running, Nik thought, pocketing his key.

He didn't bother turning on any more lights. He could easily maneuver his way around in the dark. Every inch of Sinclair's was familiar to him. With long, sure strides he made his way to the kitchen. If he didn't eat something soon to-quell this fiery stomach he didn't know if he could concentrate on his work.

It was dim in the kitchen, as well.

Nik stopped when he heard a noise coming from the walkin refrigerator.

Frowning, he flipped on the switch. There wasn't supposed to be anyone here except Sam. It wasn't like the maintenance man to just help himself to anything. It wasn't that Nik minded if the man fixed a meal when he came in early. It was just that he knew that Sam was a stickler about not taking what wasn't his. That meant that someone else was in the kitchen.

The door to the walk-in hung open like the mouth of a steely cave. From his vantage point, the first thing Nik saw as he approached was a very well-rounded, jean-clad posterior The owner of said anatomy was bending over, examining the contents of one of the large metal pots that were kept stored there.

Nik glanced at his watch. It was too early for her to be here. He winced as the movement sent another arrow of pain shooting through his shoulder blades. "Change your schedule, Harri? "

Sara dropped the huge flat lid onto the pot and swung around. She'd been so engrossed in her explorations that she hadn't heard Nik approaching. Quick to recover, she gave Nik an intrigued smile.

"Harry? I look like Harry to you?" She glanced around at her posterior. "I must need more exercise than I thought."

It was her. The accountant. Sara. Nik was reminded of the pain in his stomach and neck simultaneously.

"From this angle you look just like Harri." He saw the dubious look rise in Sara's eyes as she followed him out of the refrigerator.

"Harriet Sugarman," he clarified. "The woman who comes here to collect the restaurant's leftovers every morning ."

Stopping at the pantry, he bent and opened the lower drawer. He dragged out an unopened two-foot-long loaf of white bread, laid it on the counter and expertly cracked it in half as if it was a mere egg.

The white wrapper on both sides tore easily. Nik extracted two slices from the middle, then moved the loaf aside.

Sara stared, fascinated by the size of the loaf. She nodded toward the refrigerator. By her own cursory inventory, she had seen that there were a great many leftovers stored there. "Isn't that an awful lot of food for just one woman?"

Nik took a bite out of the bread before answering, feeling as if he was making an offering before a fire G.o.d. He managed a smile, thinking of Harriet and the work she did. " " Harriet has a large family. " That was the way she regarded anyone in need, as her brother or sister, Nik thought. There was a lot to be said for that sort of generosity. He did his own small part by throwing open his kitchen to her. He hated seeing food wasted.

Sara opened her mouth, but Nik wasn't in the mood to answer more questions. "Actually, she collects food from local restaurants and supermarkets to take up to the homeless mission in Orange. She's usually here at nine." He took another bite of the bread for good measure and debated making a sandwich. "I should have realized you weren't her."

For one thing, from that angle Harriet didn't look nearly as firm as Sara appeared to be, but he decided against making the comparison out loud.

Nik glanced at his watch. It was only a few minutes past eight. "What are you doing here so early, anyway? You don't have to be here before ten."

He sounded as if he was annoyed with her, she thought. He was acting like someone who'd caught a poacher on his land. She wondered if he actually regarded this as his little kingdom.

Nik had surprised her before she'd had a chance to fix anything. Now Sara helped herself to a slice of bread, then proceeded to tear little holes out of the middle as she ate.

"I thought I'd get an early start. Okay with you?" She raised large brown eyes to his face, waiting.

He shrugged. " " Fine with me. " Nik watched as Sara wadded up the small pieces and popped them into her mouth. It was almost sacrilegious. He resisted the temptation to take the bread out of her hand. " "Who taught you how to eat? A sparrow? "

She popped another pi ere into her mouth before answering , then raised her chin, as if daring him to take a swipe. Her eyes laughed at his seriousness. "Big Bird, why?"

He moved the loaf back onto the butcher-block top. It hit the row of toasters, rattling them. "You can't savor it if you eat like that."

Sara stared at the slice in her hand. By now it was only a crusty frame surrounding a white-rimmed hole. "This is white bread, not escargot." As if to reinforce her point she held the bread up, dangling it before him.

This time Nik did take it from her, and then tossed the crust into the garbage. "Doesn't matter. All food should be enjoyed, or what's the point?"

Her slender shoulders rose and then fell in a careless shrug. She wondered if Brom had neglected to tell her that his brother-in-law was some sort of a fanatic.

"I don't know: She'd never been much for frequenting fancy restaurants and stuffing herself on rich, overpriced food. Sandwiches and Twinkies were fine with her, washed down with soda pop. " Fuel? Survival? "

Nik didn't care for either of the two choices she offered. The sigh he emitted hissed through his teeth as his hand clamped down on her wrist when she reached for another slice of bread. Their eyes held for a minute, hers defiant and amused as she waited.

"Have you had breakfast yet?"

"No, that's what I thought I was doing now." Her eyes indicated the imprisoned hand. When he followed her gaze, she wiggled the slice of bread she was still holding. " " You can take it out of my pay. "