Christmas in Paris (A Master Chefs Series Standalone Novel) (2 page)

Chapter 1

November 13, 2015

Errol King

An hour earlier from his call to Leopold Lee

After
a long flight from Hong Kong, Errol King looked forward to seeing his wife, to
holding her, making love to her.  He’d been away from Taryn for weeks and he
had the evening all planned out; he would surprise his expectant wife with a
dozen red roses and a bottle of her favorite non-alcoholic champagne then he’d
give her the sexy lingerie he’d bought her only to then enjoy tearing it off
her.

Though
her belly had been growing bigger and bigger with their awaited first child, he’d
never found her more attractive now and had been hungering for her.  The last
few weeks had been hectic and exhausting.  He’d been in Hong Kong helping his
partner and dear friend Leo, open his restaurant, and when the young
billionaire heir had been called to Hollywood to film his latest action movie,
Errol had stayed on to help train the new staff and make sure the Oyster House ran
smoothly.

Now,
he was in desperate need of a few intimate moments with the woman he loved, the
woman he hungered for.

But
as he pulled into the parking garage of his luxurious Parisian penthouse, and
parked the car, he suddenly remembered that his mother-in-law had come into
town to be at Taryn’s side during the last month of her pregnancy.

“Damn,”
he hissed. 

With
her daughter soon to give birth, Samantha had insisted she fly in from New York
to help bring her first grandchild into the world, and while Errol had
certainly appreciated knowing she was there during his absence, he now hoped
she was off on some shopping spree or having dinner with new friends she might
have made in Paris.  It was a wonderfully beautiful evening to be out.

While
he held a grain of hope, the thought of his mother-in-law still doused Errol’s
ardor somewhat, Well, he thought, if she was there, he’d have to be content
with just squeezing his wife in his arms and holding off any more amorous
endeavors until a little later.

Grinning
and crossing his fingers, he grabbed the red roses and champagne and boarded
his private elevator.  On the ride up, he tried to calm his arousal for Taryn.
He wanted Taryn now, all her warmth and sensuality, all her kisses and
caresses. His body missed hers, and had a mind of its own.

“Behave
yourself,” he muttered to himself as he arrived at his penthouse. The doors
opened.  “
Mon amour
,” he called out.  “I’m home.”

“Errol,”
Sam said as she rushed to him.  “For heaven’s sake, I’ve been trying to reach
you.”

Not
quite the welcome he’d been expecting.  Sam’s panic was effective in completely
cooling his arousal.  His gut turned, but he remained calm.  “What’s going on? 
Where’s Taryn?”

“Errol,
I’ve been going crazy.  The police can’t seem to help. And you know how awful
my French is.  Maybe they just don’t understand when I try to talk to them, and
I don’t understand them in return, but I’m going out of my mind with worry.”

“Sam,
please, calm down.  Where did Taryn go?  Why bring the police into this?”

“Yesterday
she couldn’t stop talking about how she wanted a last hoorah.  She wanted to go
out and have a good time before the baby came.  She mentioned dinner at a posh
restaurant and a night on the town… as much as a nearly nine month pregnant
woman can go on the town.  This afternoon she said she was going out with a
friend, someone from the institute…a Harry or Henri something, but with
everything that’s happened…  I don’t know what to think.  With all the
shootings and…”

“Sam. 
Sam.  Calm down.  You’re not making any sense.  She’s meeting a friend? And what
are you talking about with shootings?”

“Didn’t
you hear, Errol?  Paris is under attack.  Dozens are dead at the Bataclan, some
were shot while dining in a restaurant and bombs went off at the Stade de
France.  It’s awful.  Just awful.”

He
went numb and his gut threatened to evacuate its content.  His pilot had
mentioned a shooting and tight security at the airport, but nothing more.  So
eager to simply see Taryn, he’d neglected to ask for more information.  Even as
he’d noticed the eerie silence on some Paris streets, his mind had been solely
on seeing Taryn.

“Who
did she leave with?”

He
rang Taryn’s phone, but she didn’t answer.  In frustration, he tossed his phone
on the sofa, feeling increasingly sick.

Wringing
her hands, Sam looked up in the air, searching her memory.  “I don’t know.  I
don’t remember.  Someone from the institute, but I don’t remember the name
exactly. Harry, Henry,… or maybe Perry.”

“Someone
from the institute,” he muttered to himself as he paced the room.  But who? 
Errol grabbed his phone and called the police, but with the city in chaos, he
couldn’t even get through.  Overcome with fear, he sat down and put his head in
his hands.  “This is nuts.  What do I do?  What do I do?”

“As
afraid as I am for her, Errol, I know that you have to be strong, for all of
us.  We can’t all collapse under the fear.  Taryn’s a smart woman.  She won’t
put herself in harm’s way.”

“You’re
right.”  He looked at her and grounded himself.  He had to remain rational, for
all of them.  “Okay, I’ll see who’s heard from her.”  He called everyone he
could think of from the Culinary Institute.  Every call proved futile.  He
tried the studio where his cooking show was taped; still nothing about Taryn.

“Is
everyone okay?” he asked Benoit, a devoted crew member.

“Francois
was at Eagles of Metal Death concert, but his girlfriend said he made it out
okay.  Of course, he’s shaken up, as you can imagine.”

“Of
course.”

“It’s
horrible, Errol.  I’ve never seen anything like this.”  Benoit’s voice cracked
up.  “My God.  What is the world coming to?”

“Stay
strong, Benoit, and France will get through this.  We’ll get through this.”

“I
know,” he said with a sniffle.  “I know.  I’m trying, but man…”

“I
know how you feel, believe me.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s
good to know you guys are all okay.  Stay safe.”

“We
will.  Good luck finding Taryn.  I’ll let you know if I hear anything on this
end.”

Once
again Errol thanked him then turned a dismal gaze to Sam.

“Did
Taryn say anything about going to a concert?  There was an American band
playing in town.”

“No. 
She was vague about where she was going.  Just dinner and then… out.”

He
tried her phone again, and when she didn’t pick up, he left her a text begging
her to just let him know she was all right.  After a moment’s thought he made a
decision.  “I’m going to go down to the
Bataclan
to see if I can’t find
out anything.”

“I’ll
go with you.”  Sam immediately popped out of her seat and reached for her purse
and sweater.

“No,”
he said brusquely then softened his tone.  “Sorry about that, Sam. It’s too
dangerous. I didn’t mean to be so rough.  I’m a little on edge.”

“Of
course.  Aren’t we all?”

“I
think you should stay here in case Taryn comes back or calls.  There’s a chance
she just got caught up in the mass of people trying to get home.  Maybe she
lost her phone in the process, and that’s why she’s not answering. I’ll try
everything to find out where she is.”

“Right. 
You’re right.  We have to stay positive, Errol.  She’s out there… somewhere. I
just know you’ll find her.”

Nodding,
he pocketed his cell phone, grabbed his car keys and headed out. Driving
through the streets of Paris was suddenly like driving through a war zone in a
foreign country.  Either the streets were silent and bare, or they were crowded
with police officers.   Getting to the
Bataclan
proved almost impossible
and he had to content himself with parking his car a few blocks away and
walking the rest.  But as he tried to get closer still, he came to a barricade
and the police held him back.

“My
wife might be in there,” he shouted.  Then he noticed the heavy artillery. 
This was even more serious than he’d imagined, and there was no telling when
it’d be safe enough to get closer. 

He
grabbed the arm of a passer-by, but he was shrugged off as the young woman
scurried away.  He tried again with a young man who told him to check with the
nearby hospital; a photo of Taryn could help with the search.

Reluctantly,
he turned and headed back.  He tried to stop more people on the street and show
them pictures of Taryn on his phone, but most of them just ran past him, eager
to get away, eager to get home.  The few that bothered to stop and look at the
picture simply shook their heads in sorrow before telling him a few other
places he could look into and wishing him good luck in his search.

Feeling
increasingly discouraged, he headed back to his car.  The streets had a ghostly
feel to them, and the sense seemed to intensify with every passing minute.  His
gut reflected the mood.

In
the distance, shots rang out, startling him, and sending the people around him
into a panic.  They ran off as a flow of people came from the direction of the
shots.  Chaos reigned as people ran for their lives.  Errol followed the flow
without even realizing where he was going.  Only after a few blocks away did
the rush of people slow down as many entered their homes.

“Estelle,
entre tout de suite
,” a man called from an upstairs window.  “Inside,
right now.”

Wanting
to scream in fear and frustration, Errol stopped as the remains of the crowd
dispersed.  In the chaos, he’d run past his car.

“Damn
it,” he muttered.  If he’d returned to Paris just a day earlier, he would have
been with Taryn.  Either he would have kept her safely inside, or he would be
out there, wherever she was, with her, holding and protecting her.

He
raked his fingers through his hair for the hundredth time, certain he’d go bald
if he didn’t stop, but his frustration over Taryn’s sudden disappearance gnawed
at him and turned him inside out.  The fear was almost paralyzing. 

His
phone rang.  “Taryn,” he shouted into the phone, desperate to hear her voice.

“Hey,
bro,” Bobby’s familiar voice said with sickening happiness.  “Sorry to
disappoint you.  It’s just your brother-in-law.”

“Hey,”
Errol said simply.  He wanted to sound just as cheery and chipper as Taryn’s
little brother, but simply couldn’t.

“I’ve
been trying to get a hold of Taryn.  She asked me to come to Paris for the
holidays, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it.  Things have been crazy
here in New York.  But you know what it’s like, right… running a restaurant? 
Every other minute you have to make a decision.  I’ve got a good staff at Sam’s,
but I swear, they can’t make it through the day without asking me about
something or other.  I’d really love to be there when this baby pops, but…
well.  Is she with you?”

“No.”

The
line was silent for a long tense moment.

“Errol? 
What’s going on?”

“Things
aren’t good here.”

“Oh,
yeah, there’s been a lot of talk on the news about a bomb threat or something
in Paris, but…  you guys… I mean, Taryn and Mom are all right, aren’t they?”

“It’s
more than just a threat, Bobby.

“But…”

“Your
mother’s safe at my place.”

“And
Taryn?”

“I
don’t know,” Errol finally admitted, his throat constricting with fear and pain. 
He fought the tears that crept to his eyes.  He was going to break down… he
could just feel it.

“Please,
tell me you’re kidding.  Errol…  Man, come on. Tell me this is a sick joke.”

“You
know me better than that,” he growled.  “I wouldn’t kid about something like
this.”

“That’s
what I was afraid you’d say.  Shit.”

“Don’t
worry, Bobby. I’ll find her.  I’ll tear this town apart if I have to, but I’ll
find her.”

“I
want to be there to help.”

“You’ve
got things to take care of.  You just said so yourself.  Besides, there’s no
point…”

“You’re
not going to talk me out of this, Errol.  I’m canceling everything here and
taking the first flight out.”

“Bobby,
there’s not much you can do.”

“Hey,
this is my sister we’re talking about.  You think I’m going to just sit tight
and wait for news.  Besides, you were there for me when everything went down
with Lilly.  I want to be there for you, too… and my mom.  I can’t believe this
is happening.”

“Neither
can I.”  Numb and on the verge of tears, Errol ended the call and quickly
placed another one.  He suddenly felt an overwhelming need to surround himself
with people he trusted; people he could count on. His friend was an excellent
tracker with an uncanny sense for finding people, although you’d never expect
it from a good-looking billionaire heir and action star. He made a call to his
friend.

“Leo.”

Chapter 2

Taryn Cummings
King

Earlier that Day

Taryn
smiled as Henri sat down beside her, a huge bag of popcorn in his hands.  “You
sure know how to treat a pregnant woman.  I can’t seem to get enough snack
foods; peanuts, chips, pretzels.  If it’s salty and crunchy, I’ll eat it, lots
of it.  She took a fistful of popcorn and tossed a few into her mouth.  “Mmm. 
Good.  Nothing like good snack food, a cold drink and a friendly game of
soccer.”

“You
mean foot,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.  “A game of football.”

She
nodded as she grabbed another fistful of popcorn.  “Right.  Your football is
our soccer.  So then what do you call regular football?”

He
smiled while his eyes clearly mocked her.  “You mean American football?”

“Yeah.”

“We
call it American football.”

“Oh.”

The
game started and Taryn tried to follow the ball as it zigzagged across the
field with the help of a dozen or so pairs of feet.

“I
don’t know how they can manage to run along with a ball like that. I’d be
tripping all over myself.”

“They’ve
had years of practice.”  He glanced down at her swollen belly.  “And they don’t
have something like that in the way.”

Taryn
grinned and rubbed her belly.  “I have to say, Henri, I’m really glad you took
time out from your hectic schedule to humor an old, married, pregnant lady by
taking her out on the town.  This is really great.”

“Yeah,
you really are old, aren’t you?” Henri said with a teasing grin.  “You’re what,
four… five years older than me, tops. And still the most beautiful woman here.”

“You
know what I mean.  I’m big and clunky and slow and…”

“Don’t
forget moody.”

“Yeah,
really moody.  Some days I can barely stand to be with myself.”

“You
haven’t been too bad so far.”

“Gee,
thanks.”  Taryn put her hand on his knee.  “And, really, thank you for bringing
me here.”

“Well,
I have to admit.  My intention might not be as noble as it seems.”

Taryn
gasped and feigned extreme surprise.  “You don’t say.”

“You
knew?”

“You
seemed a little too eager to see me when I called you.  Here I was thinking I’d
have to drag you out, but you jumped at the chance like a puppy on a bone. 
Like previously stated; I’m pregnant and married.  There’s really no reason for
a young and handsome guy like yourself to be so excited at the prospect of
going out with me.”

He
laughed.  “You’re beautiful, Taryn, especially when you’re pregnant. Your hair
is shinier and fuller, your skin is glowing, and you seem so happy.”

She
smiled.  “I wanted to bask in the illusion.  I mean it’s not everyday that a
young single man like yourself is actually interested in taking me out.”

“You
forget Taryn, how I once had the biggest crush on you during culinary school.
But Chef Errol King won you over, leaving behind a broken heart. I just it
could be worse. Losing out to a celebrity heartthrob like Errol King was almost
expected. I had no chance.”

Taryn
laughed. “Henri, I had no idea your feelings were so strong.”

Henri
patted Taryn’s shoulder, “It’s my fault, Taryn. I should’ve went after you
stronger, but the past is the past. I’m glad you consider me an old friend
now.”

Taryn
blushed, but smiled.  It was good to see Henri again. He was one of her first
friends in France when she came out to study at the International Culinary
Institute where she ended up with Henri in Errol King’s class. Errol King not
only was a passionate teacher and chef, but sex on legs hot as a lover. As much
as she resisted him, she couldn’t in the end. She craved him beyond reason so
much so she almost lost her mind. But now everything was right between them and
she was expecting his child.

She
smiled happily at Henri. “So out with it; what’s on your mind?”  She grabbed
the last few crumbs of popcorn from the bottom of the bag.

“Well,
you know how I appreciate Errol as a chef and professor.”

“And
you were one of his favorite students.  Right from the beginning he knew you
had talent; true vision. I was actually a little jealous at first.  You were
throwing things together that no one else dared, and you had an unbelievable
knack for picking up new techniques.  You definitely brought a country flair to
your cuisine, all while being refined.”

“I’m
happy to hear that.  I’m thinking of opening my own restaurant.”

“Oh,
Henri.  Really?  I’m so happy for you.”

“So
you think it’d be a good idea?”

“I
think it’s a great idea, and I’m sure you’ll be a great success.  Why the
worry?  I thought you were more confident than that.”

He
shrugged.  “I want to open it in Paris.”

“As
you should.  Like I said, you have such a deliciously rustic style.  I can
easily imagine how you could bring fresh food from your family farm, add your
culinary flair and serve Parisians something they haven’t tried before.”

“But
I was planning to serve a few of the dishes Errol taught us.  I wouldn’t want
to step on his toes or anything, but…”

Taryn
waved his worries away.  “Just make sure you put your own special stamp on the
recipes and I’m sure Errol will be thrilled.  He’s always proud of his students
who go on to such great things, and it doesn’t get much better than running a
restaurant.”

“Good. 
I’m happy to hear that.  I have so much respect for Errol and I wouldn’t want
him to think that I was stealing his ideas.”

“He
won’t.” Taryn slapped his knee.  “Anything else?”

“Just
that I’ve been dying to see a game for months.  Germany versus France.  It’s
going to be a good game.”

Taryn
laughed.  “You’ve been away from Paris too long, my friend.”

“And
it’s wonderful to be back.”

Grinning,
he turned his attention back to the game.  “Did you hear that?” he said as he
turned a worried frown to her.

“No. 
What?”

He
shook his head and shrugged.  “I guess it was nothing.”

Then
Taryn heard a muffled boom and felt a light vibration under her feet.  “You
mean that?” she said.

“Fireworks?”
he said, unconvinced.

“I
guess.”  But even as she said the words, she had noticed but disregarded the
strange halting of some of the players on the field.

The
stadium slowly but surely filled with tension and confusion, even a hushed
sense of panic.

“Something’s
going on,” Taryn whispered.

“I
think you’re right.”

Here
and there people stood and headed out, while the game came to a complete stop. 
As a general sense of panic took over, spectators flooded the field.

“Let’s
get out of here.”

Suddenly
panicked as people around them stood and hurried past them, Taryn was acutely
aware of her inability to move as swiftly as she would have liked. 

“Come
on,” Henri urged.  “We’ll take it nice and slow.  Don’t worry.  We’ll get out
of here.”

As
she and Henri followed the crowd, she repeatedly stumbled and slowed Henri
down.  Her swollen legs didn’t cooperate and her feet were already sore from
being squeezed into shoes that had become too tight this last week.

“Take
it easy,” Henri reassured her.

Amidst
the chaos, they crowded into a corridor and the pace finally slowed down enough
to allow Taryn to follow along.  Murmured speculation, information and
misinformation surrounded them.

“
Une
bombe
?” a man said.  “
Suicide
.”

“A
bomb.” another whispered.  “Or gunshot?”

“I
thought it was fireworks.”

“
Non,
deux bombes
.”

It
became clear a bomb had gone off, but no one knew where, or if there could be
other bombs, but instead of yielding to hysteria, the flow of people grew
eerily silent and calm.  Then, one voice started to sing;

Allons
enfants de la Patrie

Le
jour de gloire est arrive.

It
took a few lines before Taryn recognized
La Marseillaise
, the French
national anthem.  Soon everyone joined in and the slow procession took strength
from the softly murmured words.

Taryn
found her heart rhythm slowing despite the fear.  A soothing calm enveloped her
and she felt strangely at peace.

As
they reached the outer doors, a firm hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to the
right.  For a brief moment she followed along, assuming the grip was from Henri,
but after cutting through the crowd she looked up to see an older man with
thick white hair.

“
Vite,
vite.  Par ici
,” he said.  “We must hurry.”

“No. 
Wait.  I’m with a friend.”  She tried to pull back, but was in no condition to
fight him.

“We
must get out of here.”  For such an old man, he had a vice grip on her arm and
wouldn’t let go.

“But…”
she protested as she looked over her shoulder trying desperately to see Henri. 
“Henri! Henri!” He was lost in the thick crowd, despite his six foot plus
frame.

Out
on the street, the old man accelerated forcing Taryn to trot behind him as best
as she could.

“
Ma
fille
… my daughter lives just around the corner.  Quick. 
Vite, vite
.” 
He turned into an alleyway and stopped at a small wooden door that seemed to
have been there since the days of Marie Antoinette.  Barely five and a half
feet high and narrower than usual, she wondered if any man could make it
through.

The
old man knocked; three quick raps, two slow ones, another three in quick
succession and then a jingle of the old doorknob.

A
pleasant looking women in her late thirties opened the door and peeked out. 
“Papa,
mais que fait tu dehors
?”

The
old man pushed Taryn inside.

The
strong aroma of buttery croissants and fresh baguettes filled the small room.

“Please,”
Taryn said to the man.  “I can’t stay here.  My friend is back there.  I have
to find him.”

“Please,
madame.  You carry a precious bundle.  You must think of your safety.  Don’t
you realize what’s happening out there? Paris is under attack. You must find
shelter.”

The
young woman brought a cup of hot coffee to Taryn and quickly cut her a thick
slice of bread and slathered it with rich butter.

“You
are so white,” the young woman said.  “You should eat.”

“I’m
just out of breath.  I’m not really in any condition to be running through
Paris.  I’m also worried about my friend.  Why did you pull me away from him?”

The
old man looked at her with tears in his eyes.  “I did not see anyone next to
you. You must have been separated when I saw you. God help him.  If he is a
strong, young man he’ll be all right.”

“But
the threat was in the stadium,” Taryn argued.  “We’re safe out here.”  She
glanced at them.  “Aren’t we?”

The
older man and young woman exchanged glances.

“What’s
going on?” Taryn said.  She suddenly realized she didn’t have her purse.  “Oh,
my God.  I don’t even have my phone.  I need to contact my family, my friend.”

Once
more father and daughter exchanged glances.

“Will
you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Le
Stade de France was not the only target,” the young woman said.

“Target? 
What are you saying?”

“Several
have been shot at le Bataclan.  Last I heard thirty were dead, but the number
keeps rising. We don’t know when it will stop.”

Taryn
looked from the young woman to the older man and suddenly felt the urge to
throw up.  It was all so surreal.

“More
have been shot at a Cambodian restaurant,” the old man added.

“Paris
is under attack.”  The young woman seemed calm except for the light tremble of
her hand as she cut another slice of bread.

The
notion seemed so absurd. “But… No.  That can’t be.  You have to be wrong.”

The
young woman turned up the volume of the radio just as it once again announced
the death toll; forty-three.

“Oh,
my God,” Taryn whispered.  “Oh, my God.”  Clutching her chest, she reached for
the nearby chair.

“So
you see,” the old man said in a cool, calm voice.  “The streets are not safe
for anyone, much less a woman with child.”

Crying,
Taryn collapsed into the chair, but it wasn’t enough to keep her from blacking
out.

Chapter 3

Errol

Errol
finally made it back to his car and checked his phone to see if he’d received a
call or text.  In all the noise and confusion, he might have missed a call.  So
nervous was he to get a message from Taryn or Sam that he fumbled with the phone,
dropping it twice before getting a firm grip on it and checking his messages.

Nothing.

His
heart sank.  More than anything he’d wished Taryn had made it home, and was now
safe and sound.  At the very least, he would have been satisfied if she’d
called home to reassure her mother that she was okay.

On
the hope that Sam simply hadn’t been able to reach him, he called home. “Anything?”
he said simply, unable to submit to the obligations of polite conversation.

“Sorry,
Errol,” she said just as simply. “No word from this end.  And I guess this
means you didn’t find out anything on your end either.”

“The
streets of Paris are barely recognizable.  They’re either bare, silent, deadly,
eerie silence, or they’re crowded with police officers and reporters from
around the world.”

“It’s
all over the news everywhere.  Three friends from back home have called to see
if we’re all right.  The coverage is constant.”