Page 66 of Cowboy in Colorado

“I’ll need a photo for the ID tag—wait, I’ve got a still of him from an office camera. I can clean it up and use that.”

“You scare me, Bern.”

“You have no idea. The things that go bump in the night have nightmares about me.” He’s not kidding, either. “Okay, I’ll have a courier send this over.”

“You’re the best, Bernie.”

“Anything for you, kiddo.” Keys clack, and I hear his voice go as soft as his voice can get. “You know, I gotta say, I’m glad to see you finding something besides work. I was worried for a while you’d take after your old man a little too much, you know? I mean, your pops is a genius, but he paid a hell of a price for what he’s got. Money can only get you so much, you know?”

“I’m learning that, I think.”

“Good. Learn it young, girlie.” He hesitates, which isn’t like him. “You know, part of my job, which you may or may not know, is to vet everyone who enters Mr. B’s personal sphere.”

I sigh. “Yes, I know.” I can’t help but wonder what he’s found out about Will. “Meaning, you’ve dug into Will’s past.”

“Yes.”

“All I need to know is if there’s anything nefarious. Drugs, murder, rape, assault.”

“Nope. Clean as a whistle in that regard.”

“Then if there is anything else, please keep it to yourself.”

“He’s been a busy boy, that’s all I was gonna say. Guard your heart.”

“I’ve been a busy girl, Bern, and you know it, so you could very well say the same to him.”

“A fair point, I suppose.” He sighs. “All right, well, bye.”

“Bye.”

I hang up the receiver, and then my stomach growls, reminding me of the calories we’ve burned, and that I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and I imagine it’s been longer for Will. Another perk of being a Bellanger is having a personal chef on call twenty-four hours a day, in house. I’m not sure what kind of food Will eats, but I can probably guess, so I grab the phone again and make another call.

“Rachel,” I say, addressing the night chef when she answers. “I need food. A lot of it—a ridiculous, truly nonsensical amount of comfort food. Nothing healthy, just delicious, filling, thirteen hours in bed kind of food.”

Rachel, a young woman about my own age, just laughs. “I got you, Miss Brooklyn. Coming up. I’ll send up snacks to start you off while I get the main courses going.”

“You rock.”

“Yes, I do.” I hear the grin on her face. “I just got back from a week off, and I may or may not have spent three days in my boyfriend’s apartment, doing what I imagine is something very similar to what you’ve got going on.”

“Endless rounds of truly epic sex?”

She laughs. “I’m still walking sort of bowlegged.”

“I will be for days,” I say with a giggle. “Okay, snacks. Stat!”

I get back to the bedroom just as Will stirs, mumbling nonsense before blinking awake to peer at me blearily. “Who’re you talking to? What time’zit?”

“It’s four sixteen in the morning, and I was talking to Rachel, my night chef.”

“Your what, now?” He’s groggy, and comically grumpy.

“Night chef.”

“Whazzat?” He sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Sometimes, you use English words in ways I don’t understand.”

“A night chef,” I say, laughing. “Pretty self-explanatory. She’s a chef who works the night shift.”