Chapter 4: The Man Who Should Have Taken the Station
By the time Ronan and Tessa reached the kitchen, it was past midnight and the room felt like a held breath.
Fletcher was standing near the prep counter with his arms crossed and his face the color of old paper.
Two of Ronan's security team were moving through the space in a way that made the remaining kitchen staff press themselves against the far wall.
On the counter, inside a clear evidence bag, sat a small glass vial.
Empty.
Ronan looked at it without touching it.
"Where was it?"
One of the security men answered.
"Inside the consommé tureen.
Wedged under the lip of the lid.
It had already been opened."
"The consommé that was plated for me."
"Yes, sir."
Fletcher's voice came out thin.
"The dish Tessa cooked never went near that tureen.
She used the cast-iron pot from storage.
The consommé was already plated and waiting on the pass before she started."
Ronan turned to look at him.
"Who had access to the pass tonight?"
"The whole kitchen.
But—" Fletcher stopped.
"Say it."
"Danny Price was on the pass for the first two hours of prep.
He was the one who plated the consommé.
He told me Voss had approved the seasoning before he collapsed."
"Voss collapsed before the seasoning was finished.
You told me that yourself."
Fletcher's mouth opened.
Then closed.
"I—yes.
Yes, I did."
Ronan walked to the center of the kitchen.
The staff watched him the way people watch something they cannot predict.
"Where is Danny Price now?"
Briggs answered from the doorway.
"His locker is cleared out.
His car is gone from the staff lot.
We have people looking."
Tessa was standing near the service window, the same place she had stood six hours earlier with a tray of wineglasses.
She was watching the vial in the evidence bag.
"He moved toward the stove," she said.
Everyone looked at her.
"When Fletcher asked for a volunteer.
Danny Price was already moving toward the main stove before anyone else reacted.
I stepped in front of him." She looked at Ronan.
"I didn't know why at the time.
It felt wrong.
I thought it was just instinct."
Ronan held her gaze for a moment.
Then he looked at Briggs.
"Pull his employment file.
Find out who recommended him for the position."
Briggs nodded and stepped out.
Marisol Vega was still in the kitchen.
She had not left with the others.
She was standing near the dishwashing station with a damp cloth in her hands, and she looked like someone who had something to say and was deciding whether to say it.
Tessa noticed.
"Marisol."
The woman looked up.
"You know something."
Marisol's eyes moved to Ronan.
Then back to Tessa.
"I don't want trouble," she said quietly.
"You're not in trouble," Tessa said.
"Tell me."
Marisol set the cloth down.
"Two weeks ago.
I was taking out the recycling, late, after close.
Danny was outside by the loading dock.
He was on his phone.
He didn't see me." She paused.
"He said a name.
I heard it clearly because he said it twice."
The kitchen was absolutely still.
"What name?" Ronan asked.
Marisol looked at him steadily.
"Voss.
He said, 'Voss, it's done.
He'll never know it was us.'"
Fletcher made a sound like he'd been winded.
Ronan's expression did not change.
But something behind his eyes did.
"Victor Voss," he said.
Not a question.
Not surprise.
Something colder than either.
"He's in the hospital," Fletcher said quickly.
"He collapsed—"
"He was taken to Mercy General," Briggs said from the doorway.
He had returned faster than expected.
His phone was in his hand.
"I just spoke to the attending.
Voss presented with symptoms consistent with acute stress and mild sedation.
Not a cardiac event.
Not a stroke." He paused.
"The attending said it looked like someone who had taken something to make themselves appear ill."
The fluorescent light above the prep counter hummed.
Tessa thought about the moment Voss had collapsed.
The timing of it.
Fifty-three minutes before Ronan was due to sit down.
Enough time for the kitchen to fall into chaos.
Enough time for Danny Price to take the station.
Enough time for whatever was in that vial to reach the table before anyone thought to question it.
"He staged it," she said.
Nobody disagreed.
Ronan picked up his phone.
He made one call.
It lasted four seconds.
"Find Gerald Voss," he said.
"And find out if Victor Voss has spoken to him in the last seventy-two hours."
He ended the call.
Then he looked at Tessa with an expression she hadn't seen from him yet.
Not cold.
Not calculating.
Something closer to afraid.
"Gerald Voss has been trying to get to me for fourteen years," he said quietly.
"Every chef who left this restaurant.
Every security breach.
Every attempt to get someone into my private kitchen." He looked at the empty bowl still sitting on the pass where it had been returned.
"Tonight was the closest he's ever come."
"But it didn't work," Tessa said.
"Because you cooked instead of Price." He looked at her.
"Which means Gerald Voss is going to find out very quickly that his plan failed.
And when he does—"
His phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His face went completely still.
He answered it.
May you like
A voice on the other end said three words loud enough for Tessa to hear them from where she stood.
*"She's been taken."*
