Chapter 10
"State of the art kitchen," said Vilet, crossing his wrists behind him as his eyes surveyed the double Dacor ovens and six-burner Wolf stove.
"For the nineties." I examined the toaster oven with a missing handle and a layer of grease inside an inch thick. Considering the lifetime supply of hot-pockets and mini pizzas in the freezer, the team obviously had no concept of nutritional content.
Vilet remained in the doorway, either keeping a smart distance from the woman who'd repeatedly tried to assault him and now stood near a knife block, or just giving me space to examine the room's contents to my satisfaction. Such as the near-empty cupboards and drawers, the half-stocked refrigerator. For a full team of monster-sized appetites, there wasn't much food to go around. Except condiments. I pulled out four different bottles of the same mustard.
I shut the fridge door. "So what's my food budget?"
"How well can you cook?"
Good question; I felt a bit rusty. "Better than the last blonde, but I might be short a few countries. How about I shoot for something between caviar canapés and these Mac-n-cheese boxes?" I held one over the garbage bin.
He smiled and bowed his head. Out with the old preservatives, in with the new upscale gastronomy. My shift to caretaker mode felt surreal, and though my motivation included a little more freedom and a lot more Sam, I didn't fool myself into thinking I'd be considered or treated as a member of the team. Our arrangement was pure and simple blackmail. On Vilet's part.
He gestured to the ceiling. "Security cameras in the corners, guards down the hall. So you're perfectly safe here, despite the lack of escort. You may already know that we keep this facility in semi-lockdown at all times to avoid intruders."
"Not all intruders, obviously." I came up from the lower pantry shelf with a bag of rice through which a small creature, who will not be named, chewed a thumb-sized hole. "I believe this suspect stands about five inches tall and goes by the code name 'Mickey'."
Agent Vilet harrumphed, clearly vexed to have vermin problems indoors. "We can't call in exterminators, unfortunately, due to security protocols. I'll have Roy arrange to intercept our trespasser."
"Don't bother. Just pick up some poison and I'll set the traps myself."
One of his thin eyebrows rose. He must have thought me a real push-over for animals.
"We're not talking about killing Bambi here, and I didn't say I'd cleanup the bodies. You can assign Roy that privilege."
At that point, Roy had entered the room, stopped to hear the conversation and did a double take when he saw me at the kitchen island holding up a bag of leaking rice like the head of Medusa. He looked to Vilet for a pause.
"Yes, Agent, was there something you needed?" Vilet waited, sliding his hands into his pockets.
"Nothing, Boss." Roy hurried past, stealing a sideways glance at me.
"As head chef, I believe I get to assign whatever task I deem appropriate to volunteers." Better ask now, while the old man was in a good mood, I mused.
Vilet turned to follow Roy. "Within reason, Miss Larson. Everything within reason."
***
Eleven-forty a.m. the next morning and I paced my room. This wait was not within reason. Sunrise had come and gone, meals made and eaten, dishes tarnished and scrubbed spotless again, and still no Sam. I'd cleaned shelves, planned meals, assessed ingredients, made grocery lists. Hell, I'd spent most of last night after dinner reorganizing the cupboards and pantry in alphabetical order simply because as long as I worked in the kitchen, I didn't mope in my bedroom waiting for Romeo. In other words, I'd become ridiculous.
