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106
BECCA
MY THROAT FELT LIKE IT was squeezing shut. Provost Allen! I kept my eyes down but felt almost light-headed with shock. What in the almighty hell was he doing here? Shit, shit, shit. He’d recognize me, almost certainly. His presence here lowered my probability of success to practically zero. I needed a new plan, fast. I had to get out of here.
“Psst,” I said to the server next to me, a guy in a black suit. “I’m feeling sick.”
“Too bad,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “Shut up and serve.”
You butthole. “You don’t understand,” I whispered. “It’s… it’s, you know, a woman thing.”
He shrugged.
Provost Allen was shaking the President’s hand.
“Look,” I said more firmly. “Aunt Flo has arrived. I am surfing the crimson wave. My visitor came. This is a code red. So I can shut up and serve with blood running down my legs, or you can cover me for two seconds while I go take care of business!”
“Go, go, go!” he said out of the side of his mouth, looking grossed out. “I’ll cover for you. But
hurry up and get back here.”
I slipped out into the hallway, trying to think. Provost Allen! It felt like two or three lifetimes ago since I’d last seen him. God, what an ass! Then I had an awful thought: Nate! Did the Provost know that Nate was here? Had Nate contacted him? Had this all been a huge set-up?
One way to find out. I raced to the cavernous, steamy kitchen and grabbed the first person I saw.
“Where’s Nate?” I asked urgently.
The girl, her face red with heat, frowned at me. “Who?”
“Nate! The dishwasher!” I almost shook her, and she got angry.
“We have four dishwashers!”
“Uh… the tall, good-looking one?”
The girl glanced around. “He’s not here.”
I let her go and rushed back out into the hallway. Shit, Nate, where are you? Had he left or been taken by force? Had he joined his father?
“Well, hello, there,” a low voice said, so close to my ear that I jumped. As my brain registered that it was the repulsive Kirt, he grabbed my arms hard and yanked me backward into a room.
Oh, like I need this now, I thought grimly, my fury igniting. I spun easily out of his arms but he moved in again, pinning me against a long table.
“Bad touch!” I snarled, smacking his hands away. Kirt just grinned, gripped my hands behind my back and tried to kiss my neck. I gave a quick glance around—this was a walk-in pantry, so there were about five hundred things I could use as weapons.
“I’m going to scream!” I said, trying to free myself. Jeez, this loser was strong, and my hands felt crushed between me and the table.
“No one will hear you,” he assured me with a smile. “Not with all the commotion in the kitchen. Now, quit pretending you don’t want me. I’m Kirt Unser—I could do a lot for you.”
“I’m going to do a lot to you,” I promised. “Like break your nose and a couple of ribs.”
He grossly stuck his tongue in my ear and thrust his hips at me—which was when he felt the long carving knife in my skirt, hidden by my apron. His eyes widened and he let go of me.
“What are you up to, bitch?” he asked. He didn’t even sound scared, just curious.
I made a snap decision. “Kiss this,” I said, and grabbed a cast-iron frying pan. He shot his arm up but I loosened my arc so it missed his face but cracked against the side of his head. It felled him like a tree, and he collapsed to the slate floor.
I looked around quickly. His blood was already spreading across the floor. Huffing and puffing a bit, I dragged him beneath a large worktable and rolled him against the wall. He was still breathing and bleeding like a stuck pig. I grabbed some ten-pound cans of lard and weighed him down. Then I rolled several bushels of potatoes and onions against him, followed by burlap sacks of coffee beans, rice, green peas, and tea leaves. They’d be good for absorbing blood.
