But fuck. Just look at her! So amazingly beautiful, creating magic in the kitchen. Metal was right. She was magic herself. The way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she freaking breathed.

All the sounds in the room faded. He couldn’t hear Metal or Jacko or Isabel, he couldn’t hear the cooking sounds coming from the kitchen. It was like one of those movie scenes where the sound cuts out and everything goes into slo-mo.

And Isabel simply glowed, no other word for it.

Metal said something, and the sound of his voice came from very far away.

“What?” Joe said.

Metal frowned. Joe wasn’t known for being slow. “I said Isabel should continue her blog, it was fascinating.”

This time Joe frowned. “You had a blog?” he asked Isabel.

Caught off guard, her face froze. “Yes,” she mumbled. “It feels like a long time ago.”

“It was famous.” Metal forked up a bite of a chorizo omelet that was fluffy, incredibly light, amazingly tasty. “An old high school buddy of mine ended up a chef. When I went back home a couple of years ago, he showed it to me. The blog that day was part one of the history of bread and damned if it wasn’t interesting. I read the blog off and on ever since.” He pointed his fork at Isabel. “You really should continue it. It had a huge following.”

“How big a following?” Joe asked.

Isabel ducked her head, as if embarrassed. “A million and a half.”

Amillion and a half? “Journalists at the New York Times don’t have that many readers.”

Metal nodded. “If you were in any way interested in food, you read her blog.”

“What was it called?”

“Foodways.com.” Isabel sighed. “It’s gone now. I haven’t even looked at it since the Massacre.”

“When does the domain name expire?” Jacko spoke so seldom, everyone paid attention. Three pairs of eyes turned to him.

“Yeah.” Joe was intrigued. “If the domain name is still active you can continue. Just pick the blog up where you left off.”

“But—but, the readers are gone.”

Joe could tell the idea intrigued her, though. For a food blog to have that many readers meant that she had managed it really well. Must have worked at it hard. And she definitely knew her stuff. He attested to that every time he put a bite of her food in his mouth.

“Not necessarily, honey,” Joe said gently. She’d put down a platter of something warm and creamy that smelled like sin, and had placed a hand next to it. Joe took her hand, brought it to his mouth.

Metal and Jacko looked at each other. Let them look. They had their own goddamned women. Both of them beautiful and smart. And now by some wild chance—the gods playing dice with his life—he had his own beautiful, smart woman. Incredibly talented, too.

She was his. He didn’t mind who knew it.

“You can build a readership back up.”

“Yeah.” Isabel looked uncertain. “I suppose I could.”

Man, he was so freaking lucky. He had good friends who’d helped him put his life back together again. A good job waiting at the other end. Metal and Jacko had worked right along with the rehab doc and had spent countless hours with him in the gym. Joe had cursed them and called them sadists and they’d got him walking again at least three months earlier than the docs had predicted.

Who’d helped Isabel put her life back together again? No one, from what he could see. Her family wiped out, she’d moved across the country to get away from the fallout of the Massacre, and she’d been putting herself together completely on her own.

But she wasn’t on her own now. Besides the fact that she had him, Joe recognized the Senior’s appearance as a statement. You’re one of us, now.

Joe didn’t know if Isabel picked up on that, but he sure had. And he was relieved. As always, he had his team and now Isabel did, too.

The doorbell rang. Isabel rose, frowning. “Felicity and Lauren aren’t due to arrive until after four. Who could that be? I don’t know anyone else in town.”

Joe rose, too, wondering whether he should have his piece in his hand. Metal and Jacko had stopped eating and were rising, as well. Joe pushed the button at the side of the small monitor beside the front door and relaxed at what he saw.

Isabel rose on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “I don’t know that lady. She doesn’t look like a saleswoman, though.”

Fuck no.

“My other boss’s wife, Suzanne,” he whispered back and opened the door.

Suzanne Huntington, Midnight’s wife, swept in, cool and elegant as always, leaving behind a faint hint of expensive perfume, as always.

She was smiling as she held her hand out. “Isabel? My name is Suzanne Huntington and my husband is John Huntington. He works with Joe, Metal and Jacko.”

Isabel took her hand. “From what I understand, he’s their boss.”

“He is. Though as a company, there isn’t that much hierarchy. I wanted to join Felicity and Lauren this afternoon, but unfortunately I have a meeting I can’t put off. But I did want to swing around to invite you to an event we’re hosting very soon. A friend of mine is opening a big lodge in the foothills of Mount Hood. I designed the hotel and restaurant and a colleague designed the spa. We’re going to test-run it before the real inauguration in a month. We’re inviting everyone from the company and my coworkers, too. And their plus ones.”

That was going to be fun. Midnight’s company was made up of former SEALs. Plus Felicity and a few admin staff, but mainly SEALs. Suzanne was a gifted designer and her friends were all on the arty side. Real arty. It made for interesting mixes.

Suzanne caught Isabel’s other hand. “So...do you think you can make it?” She glanced at Joe. “You’re invited, too, by the way.”

Gee thanks, Joe thought wryly. But he was pleased. He didn’t care if she was the one invited and he was the plus one. It was going to be a great day. He put his arm around Isabel, though, just to make sure Suzanne remembered him.

Isabel smiled. “That sounds great. We’re just finishing up lunch, Suzanne. You’re welcome to join us. You might know that Joe, Metal and Jacko have helped me, um, make the house more secure.”

“I wish I could stay.” Suzanne’s beautiful face tightened. “And yes, I heard you had a Peeping Tom. This should keep any Peeping Toms away.”

Wow. Women really did have some sort of underground intel network that put the CIA to shame.

Isabel smiled. “We’re about to have coffee. Can you join us for that?”

Suzanne hesitated, checked her watch, finally sighed. “Oh, I would love to! But I’m going to be late for my appointment as it is.”

“Biscotti,” Isabel said coaxingly. “My special recipe.”

Suzanne closed her eyes briefly. “Don’t tempt me. But I’ll take a rain check, if I may.”

“Anytime,” Isabel said simply and they smiled at each other.

Suzanne Huntington was the classiest woman Joe had ever seen. There was just something about her that couldn’t be explained and couldn’t be quantified and yet was absolutely real. She was, as usual, dressed in an elegant tailored suit in a light color—she had an endless stock of them—and she looked like a million dollars. Not a hair out of place.

Isabel’s hair was mussed, she was dressed in a track suit, she had a touch of flour on her cheek, and she looked like a million dollars, too. They both had looks that had nothing to do with makeup or clothes or a hair salon. They were naturally beautiful and naturally classy.

Suzanne smiled. “The invitation to the lodge is real but I’ve also come to ask a favor and I have nothing to bribe you with.”

Isabel tilted her head in confusion. “Bribe me? Everyone has been so kind, you certainly don’t have to bribe me for a favor. I’ll do anything I can.”

“Good.” Suzanne was holding a pair of soft purple leather gloves and she slapped them against her other hand. “So. My friend who is setting up this resort lodge on Mount Hood was supposed to have a chef from San Francisco arriving but he broke a leg. So she has a kitchen staff that is very competent but no one to plan out a menu. I’m wondering—”