Christmas in Paris (A Master Chefs Series Standalone Novel) Read online

  “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?”