Saving Scott (Kobo) (30 page)

“Makes
sense,” Ashley said. “But what does her being gay—and there’s really no proof
that she is—have to do with Felicity’s death?”

“Maybe
nothing. But we’ll check it out. If Felicity knew Belinda’s secret, Belinda
might have wanted to make sure she didn’t tell anyone.”

Draining her
cognac and seeing Scott’s empty glass, Ashley wished she’d brought the bottle
over. As an excuse to stay longer, not because she wanted to get drunk on
booze. She felt another kind of intoxication whenever Scott was near. And near
he was, sitting beside her, thigh to thigh, his arm wrapped around her again.

His hand
kneaded her shoulder, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks. Did he think she’d
come over for sex? That was the trouble with trying to have a male friend. They
were still men. A foreign species to her.

“I’d better
get going,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you up. I know you have an early
day tomorrow, and I have a million things to do, too.”

“I
understand,” he said. His voice was rough, gravelly. Barely audible. “But I’d
like it very much if you’d stay.”

His eyes
were pleading, not lustful. As if he needed her.
Her
, not her body. Did
it have something to do with what he’d told her? About what had happened to him?
Although he’d tried to be flippant about it, she’d heard the pain behind his
words. She sighed. “All right.”

He didn’t
move other than to hold her tighter. But to her, it was as if he’d said, “Thank
you.”

She supposed
that was something else about men. They could never admit to being vulnerable.
A lesson she intended to teach him. But slowly. She knew that much.

Lying in
Scott’s bed, staring into the darkness, Ashley listened to his even breathing.
His lovemaking—because she was sure there was more to it than sex—had started
out gently. Caring. Then it had escalated until she thought Scott was proving
something. To her, to himself—she couldn’t tell. Only that it seemed his very
life depended on being together.

She snuggled
closer to him, almost afraid to sleep. What if he had another nightmare? But
didn’t the fact that he’d invited her to stay mean he had opened himself up
that little bit? Add that to the little bit he’d shared before, and maybe the
crack in that armor he surrounded himself with would get big enough to let her
see inside. And maybe, someday, big enough to let him out.

Too much
thinking. She was sated, exhausted, and next to a man’s warm, solid body. She
allowed herself to relax.

Daylight
crept through the gaps in the curtains when she opened her eyes. Scott was
propped on an elbow, watching her. He ran a fingertip down her nose.

“Time to
make the donuts,” he said with a grin.

Donuts? She
didn’t offer donuts at the bakery. It took a moment for his words to register.
She looked at the clock. Five-thirty. “How about cereal?” she mumbled.

“You can
borrow my robe,” he said. “On a hook in the bathroom.”

What she
wanted was to sleep another hour, then a long, hot shower. In her own
apartment. But Scott’s lazy grin and half-lidded eyes had her heart thumping,
thoughts of showers abandoned. She ran her hands along his torso, to his waist
and beyond. “Are you saying you want me out of your bed right now? Because I’m
getting a different message from down here. Or is ‘making the donuts’ some cop
euphemism I’m unfamiliar with?”

He chuckled,
then sobered. “Mornings are tough on me, Ash. But if you don’t mind—”

She didn’t
wait for him to finish, merely rolled over and straddled him. “I don’t mind at
all.”

At the
island counter, wrapped in Scott’s robe, Ashley sipped coffee and waited for
Scott to finish in the shower. She’d contemplated going home, but then she’d
have to deal with coming back—or not—both of which had a strange feel. She’d
spent the night, and once she walked out his door, the encounter would be over.
At least she thought that was the rule.

With Barry,
she’d be expected to stay and fix him breakfast if they were at his place. At
hers, however, he was always gone before morning.

And why was
she thinking about Barry at all? After a few nights with Scott, she had no more
doubts. She knew she’d made the right decision leaving Barry. She drew a huge,
thick, black box in her brain, surrounding the area where memories of Barry
resided.

Scott limped
into the kitchen, but the pain that had etched his face earlier was gone. The
lines around his eyes were smile lines now. His gaze ran over her. He nodded
and flashed that grin again. “Looks better on you, I think.”

As if. Two
of her would fit inside it. Or was it the way it hung open at the top that he
appreciated? “Coffee’s ready.”

He poured a
cup and drank it leaning against the counter, still eyeing her.

She cupped
her mug in her hands, avoiding his gaze. “Does it hurt to sit?”

The
appreciative look faded. “Stiff in the mornings.”

She giggled.
“I noticed.”

He actually
turned red. “I was referring to my leg.”

“Okay, that
too, then.”

His smile
returned. “I usually sit in the Jacuzzi before work.”

“I’m sorry—I
shouldn’t have—you would have had time—”

“Hey, no
apologies. I’m happy to trade being sore for … making donuts.”

She burst
out laughing, glad she didn’t have a mouthful of coffee. “So it
is
a cop
euphemism.”

He crossed
to her and kissed her cheek. “Nope. But it’ll be ours.”

She reached
up and stroked his jaw. “I should go. I’ll be at the bakery all day. I hope you’ll
come to the bakeoff Saturday night.”

“Wouldn’t
miss it.”

Ashley
basked in the warm glow of the simple exchange as she gathered her clothes.

“You can
return the robe next time,” Scott said, as if he sensed her reluctance to put
her well-used, unshowered body into yesterday’s garments.

Next
time.

She stood,
and he walked her to the door, opening it for her. Before she stepped into the
hallway, he gripped her arm, spun her around and kissed her, shooting pleasure
all the way down to her toes. She didn’t think she’d ever become immune to
Scott’s kisses.

When they
broke apart, he cupped her face and whispered into her ear. “Macquarie.” He
spelled it. “Google it.”

Stopped at a
red light, Scott drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, asking himself
again why he’d given Ashley the key to his secret. He never talked about it. He’d
given the department shrink just enough to get cleared for duty. And yet he’d
thrown the door wide open for Ashley. Maybe not wide open—but he figured she
was clever enough to follow the clue he’d given her. And why had he been so
cryptic?

Because
you’re a damn coward.

To take his
mind off the inevitable confrontation, he reviewed the events of the previous
night.

Mrs.
Osterlund had called the station, complaining about the dogs again. Dispatch
had sent Animal Control. The officer had arrived, found two large dogs of mixed
breed in a vacant lot about half a mile from Mrs. Osterlund’s property. The
dogs were clearly strays. And clearly experienced in evading capture.

However, the
officer was equally experienced, and had snared one of the dogs. When she
noticed blood on his muzzle, her first thought was that he’d killed a squirrel.
Then she’d smelled the decomp.

Her initial
reaction was that perhaps the dogs had killed something larger—she said deer
occasionally wandered through the undeveloped areas outside Pine Hills and it
wouldn’t be the first time one had wandered through a more populated area.

However, her
first concern was the dogs, which she managed to corral and secure in her
vehicle. Once she did that, she checked to see if her hunch about the deer had
been right.

When she
discovered the deer was in fact a mutilated human body, she called it in.

Scott had
taken her statement at the scene, and had a brief chat with Charlotte Russell,
the M.E.

“Second body
in less than a week, Whelan?” she’d said. “You bringing your big city crime
into Pine Hills? Maybe you should have retired outright. I don’t need the extra
work.”

“I think it’s
the big guy,” Kovak said. “Last time he was out of town, we had a homicide.”

“Let’s not
jump to conclusions,” Charlotte said. “I’ll have to get him on the table before
I can give you cause of death.”

“Time of
death?” Detweiler asked.

“I’d say we’re
looking at a couple of days ago.” She smiled. “I’m a
real
medical
examiner. I don’t play one on TV. I’ll give you my findings, but it’s not going
to be immediate—maybe not until next week. I’ll give you a heads up before I
cut.”

Although
Charlotte had joked with Scott and the detectives, as always, when it came time
to deal with the body, she treated it with respect. After she made her
preliminary exam, she had her techs load it for transport. “I’ll be in touch,”
she said, and strode toward her vehicle.

Scott turned
to Detweiler. “So, we’ve got a white male, best guess is somewhere between
twenty and forty. Nothing remarkable about his clothing, although it was torn
and covered with blood. Jeans, plaid flannel shirt over a white tee. Work
boots. No watch, wallet or cash on the victim. No wedding ring. Robbery gone
bad?”

“It’s on my
list of hypotheses.”

Kovak and
Detweiler discussed what they needed from the scene with the crime scene techs.
Scott offered his opinions, Kovak went to knock on doors, and Detweiler
dismissed Scott.

“You can go,”
Detweiler had said. “Unless you think I’m missing something. I’m going to stay
with the techs a while. I’ll set the tape and get a couple uniforms to secure
the scene. After that, I’ll help Kovak with door knocking. Maybe we’ll get
lucky and find someone who saw something.” He swiped a hand across his jaw. “Then
we’ll have to figure out if what they saw has any basis in reality.”

“Hear you on
that one. Sure you don’t want help?”

“Not
tonight. I’d rather pick your brain, and it’ll probably be fresher after a night’s
sleep.”

Scott hadn’t
argued, although he did stick around long enough to help set the tape. Without
an ID on their victim, they didn’t have a likely place to start.

When Ashley
had come over, he’d avoided bringing up the discovery of the body. Somehow,
talking about a mutilated body didn’t make for idle conversation unless you
were talking to another cop. Leaving his laptop open had been a stupid mistake,
but once Ashley saw his searches, there was no point in trying to pretend they
were something else. And bouncing things off her had led to a lightbulb moment
in the Markham case.

He didn’t
owe her anything. He never talked about his work. So why had he told her to
Google Macquarie? She wasn’t stupid. She’d find it.

Pulling into
the station, Scott left being a civilian behind. He paused at reception, where
Doranna was reassuring someone that he or she had nothing to worry about. She
hung up. “Heard you’re back on detective duty. They’ve commandeered the break
room again. Go on back. I’ve got it covered up here.”

The phone
rang again. “I take it word is out.” Scott said.

She rolled
her eyes. “Two bodies in a week? Yeah, it’s been deemed newsworthy.”

Scott still
hadn’t bothered moving his television set from his old apartment. He could
imagine what the newscasters were saying—probably something including “the once
peaceful town of Pine Hills—” He wondered if Ashley had seen the news this
morning. And what he’d say if she asked him why he hadn’t mentioned it last
night.

“Good luck,”
he said, both to Doranna and himself.

Scott found
Detweiler in the break room standing in front of a white board. He’d done the
basics with timeline and a photo of their victim, but there wasn’t much more.

Detweiler
turned. “Good thing these boards are two-sided. But if we get another
unexplained death anytime soon, the department’s going to have to spring for a
second one.”

“You get any
indication it’s a homicide?”

Detweiler
shook his head. “No, still covering all the bases.”

Scott sat on
the edge of the table. “Charlotte come up with anything yet? An ID would be
nice.”

“No hits on
the prints—what there were of them. I’d have to agree with the doc that the
body had probably been there for a couple of days. Between the dogs and the
bugs—”

Kovak came
in carrying a cardboard tray with three lattes. He set it on the table beside
Scott, took a cup for himself, and paced the room. “Don’t remind me. I’ll be
dreaming about creepy crawlers for days. Makes my skin itch just thinking about
it.”

“Don’t knock
the creepy crawlies,” Scott said to Kovak. “They’re markers for time of death.”

Kovak made a
face. “What they can do for the case, and what they do to me are two different
ballgames. I still can’t watch the bug scene in that Indiana Jones movie.”

Detweiler
grinned. “Back on task, gentlemen. Kovak?”

“Not much.
Howard Vossler”—Kovak turned to Scott—”Damn reporter showed up at my door this
morning. Pre-coffee. Thank goodness he’s with the local paper, and not the
television vultures. Brody’s out at the crime scene keeping them at bay.”

After observing
the thorough way Detweiler had directed the crime scene techs to work the
scene, Scott doubted there was any usable evidence left in the lot, but unlike
Ashley’s almost barren bakery, there still could be a clue or two in the
clutter out there. Keeping the scene secure until they knew what direction they
should be looking made sense. Nothing like a bunch of film crew people
traipsing all over the place for no better reason than to have a “real crime
scene” as the background for their reporters. Hell, they could find another
vacant lot to film from, and the public wouldn’t know the difference.