Saving Scott (Kobo) (35 page)

She waited,
her brown eyes filled with concern. He picked up his glass, avoiding her gaze
by staring into its depths again. “I told them for every hostage they let go, I’d
let them whack at me.”

“Whack at
you? My God, Scott, you make it sound like they slapped you with a flyswatter.”

He realized
he was rubbing his collarbone. “These guys were ready to explode. They needed
an outlet, and some whacking beat getting shot. Nobody else seemed to want to
volunteer. I said the creeps were stupid. They thought if they didn’t kill me,
they’d be okay. And they took some perverse pleasure in whacking a cop.”

“Rina. What
happened to her? How did she die?”

He swallowed
the rest of his drink. If nothing else, he’d sleep well tonight. “She had to
play hero. Rammed her chair into the back of one of the creeps. Sent him over
the edge. He shot her.” Blurred or not, the image of Rina on that bank floor
turned his stomach.

He
shuddered, remembering how, after that, they’d forced him into a supply closet.
In the dark. The panic came back. The way he’d felt when he’d heard a shot from
the bank. Wondering if they’d killed someone else. Wondering if they’d really
released someone before each beating. All he could do was try not to piss
himself. And wait for everything to hit the fan, wait to be rescued.

Even now,
even though his brain knew he was safe, even with Ashley’s hand on him, he was
in that closet. The combination of fury and helplessness threatened to
overwhelm him.

He could
sense the closet door opening. The sick laughter. Someone coming in. Kicking
him in the ribs. Pistol whipping him. Smashing his leg with something that felt
more like a crowbar than a baseball bat, neither of which would have been
something he’d expect to find in a bank. But who knew what employees kept in
their offices?

Fighting the
panic attack, he got up. Wobbled. Ashley stood and grabbed his arm.

“I’m okay,”
he choked out on a sob. He was
not
going to break down. Not in front of
Ashley. “I need some sleep. You can go. Get ready for tomorrow. Your big day.”

She snaked
her arm around his waist. Kissed him gently on the cheek. “Let me help you to
the bedroom. I’ll feel better.”

He absorbed
the comfort of her touch as she guided him to bed. But that’s all he could
accept from her. “Go,” he said. “I don’t need you—don’t want you here. Not now.”

“Scott—”

“No. Get the
hell out of here.” His words caught, and he dug down to his toenails for
control. “I’m not some baby you need to coddle. Leave me the hell alone.”

Lying on his
bed, he stared at the ceiling, listening to her go, waiting to hear the front
door close before allowing grief to overwhelm him.

Given the
hectic atmosphere of the bakeoff, Ashley managed to keep her mind off of Scott.
Which was a good thing, because every time he sneaked into her thoughts, her
heart squeezed, and only partly because of what he’d been through. True, it was
horrible. But that he’d finally been able to talk about it made her want to
stop everything and wrap him in a huge hug. Which would undoubtedly mark the
end of any hope of a relationship.

Relationship?
He’d chased her out last night. Because he still couldn’t admit he
had
feelings, much less show them. Damn, she’d been through that with Barry.
Giving. Never getting. Men. Been there, done that.

No more thinking
about Scott. Nice neighbor. Period. Her relationship now was with Confections
by Ashley.

She fielded
another contestant’s request for permission to use ingredients from Ashley’s
pantry.

“Sorry,”
Ashley said. “To be fair, everyone has to provide their own ingredients. That’s
clearly stated in the rules. However, if you have time, you can go get what you
need.”

“Can someone
else bring it?” The contestant—Ashley read her name tag—Natalie, was close to
tears. “I
know
I had pecans in my bag. But I can’t find them.” Her eyes
narrowed, and she gave a steely stare across the crowded kitchen. “Unless
someone
took them.”

“Did you
label them? That was part of the rules, too.”

“Yes. I
followed the rules. I checked and double-checked everything before I left home.
I used a bright pink marker. Nobody should have confused mine with theirs.”

Ashley
turned to her new hire, Holly, whose cheerful smile was fading. And this was
only the second wave of contestants. “Holly, can you do a discreet check to
make sure Natalie’s pecans haven’t been misplaced, please?”

While Holly
went hunting pecans, Ashley agreed that if Natalie had someone bring in
replacement pecans, she’d allow it. Placated, Natalie went back to her station.

“Found ‘em,”
Holly said, waving a package of chopped pecans, clearly labeled with Natalie’s
name in hot pink.

Ashley noted
that Holly hadn’t pointed out that she’d found them two stations away. She sent
Holly a silent message to keep an eye on that particular contestant. A pudgy
redhead, whose name escaped her. Ashley attributed her inability to remember
names to lack of sleep—which she attributed to her evening with Scott, whom she
didn’t want to think of right now. This bakeoff had to be her first concern,
and building a client base was a big part of it. She roamed the room, reading
name tags and connecting them to faces, committing them to memory, as she
checked on each contestant.

Her timer
dinged. “Thirty minutes, everyone,” she said. Pans clattered, mixers whined,
and contestants spoke to their creations, coaxing them to behave.

Ashley took
pride in seeing her bakery being used, and the chocolate aroma that permeated
the space had her stomach growling. She’d skipped breakfast to get here on
time.

She wandered
toward Holly. “Keep an eye on things for a minute. I need some coffee.”

In her
office, she poured another cup of the Irish Cream coffee Lorna had given her
and inhaled the rich aroma. After stirring in a hearty dose of cream and sugar,
she found a Power Bar tucked away in her desk drawer and ripped open the
wrapper. As she enjoyed the rich coffee and snack, she allowed herself a few
seconds to hope Lorna had found refuge somewhere.

From the
doorway, she could see the redhead—Gemma—frowning and dabbing at her forehead
with a side towel. In between dabs, she and Natalie were exchanging dagger-like
glances.

Ashley
worried that her contestants were taking things too seriously—this wasn’t the
Pillsbury Bakeoff, after all. A spot on her menu wasn’t
that
big a deal,
no matter how much Ashley wished otherwise. She was one tiny shop in one tiny
town.

She stepped
back into the kitchen and clapped her hands. “Twenty minutes, everyone. And
remember, this is supposed to be fun. After all, we’re working with chocolate.
One of life’s most glorious creations. How about some smiles! Let’s not forget
the real winner here. The Pine Hills Women’s Center.”

Almost
immediately, there was a noticeable lift of spirits, and Ashley’s smile
followed right behind. Three more sessions to go. She’d have to give that pep
talk first thing for the rest of the day.

At
four-thirty, the next-to-last group was cleaning their stations. The committee
trickled in. Maggie, bless her heart, took charge of confirming everyone knew
what she was supposed to be doing. Ashley worked with Penny’s husband and the
math club students, making sure they understood the ticket system.

“We know
what to do,” one solemn-faced boy said. He pointed to tally sheets. “We mark
down every time we sell a ticket. And we give a red ticket for tasting, and
everyone who comes in gets a blue ticket for a door prize. We’ve practiced and
everything.”

“Don’t
forget.” Another boy pointed to a decorated basket. “We keep half the blue
tickets in here.”

“For the
drawing,” a girl said. “Mr. Foxworth said one of us might get to pick tickets.”

Ashley
smiled. “We have lots of prizes, so I’m sure you’ll all get a chance to draw
winners.”

Another
youngster peered at her through shaggy bangs. “Mr. Foxworth said we might get
to taste some of the brownies, too.”

Ashley
laughed. She reached for the roll of red tickets and tore off one for each
child. “You sure can.”

Penny’s
husband extended his hand. “Vaughn Foxworth, at your service.” The man had a
twinkle in his eye and a delightful British accent. “Leave it to the Math Club.”
He turned to the group and lifted his hand like a conductor waving a baton.

“There are
no problems we can’t solve,” the kids recited in unison, beaming.

Still
smiling, Ashley left Vaughn to his charges and surveyed the room. As expected,
Maggie was bustling about, checking things off in her notebook. Ashley joined
her. “Looks fantastic. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you coming up
with this plan.”

“Don’t thank
me,” Maggie said. “I was the catalyst, that’s all.”

Ashley gave
her a quick squeeze. “Next group is coming in.” The last group. Thank goodness.
“I need to get back to the kitchen.”

Ashley
herded the final four contestants to their stations. By now, she had her spiel
down, and the energy vibes she got from the group as they took their places and
started cooking gave her a welcome boost.

When most of
the contestants’ entries were baking, Maggie tiptoed in. “We’re all set.
Thought you might want to take a look,” she whispered, as if she was afraid
speaking aloud might cause a cooking disaster.

“Of course.”
Ashley signaled Holly that she’d be gone for a minute and followed Maggie
toward the front of the house. “I’ll be right there. First, I need to brew some
coffee for everyone. Make sure you let all the volunteers know they can help
themselves.” She set off toward the commercial machine behind the counter. No
Irish Cream, though. That was her special treat. For the bakeoff, she chose a
Guatemalan. After starting the brewing process, she took a deep breath and
looked over the front of the house. A picture to document the moment, she
thought. She regretted not having her real camera. At least she had her cell
phone.

As she
fished through her purse for the device, she wondered where Elaine was. Her
photo job was yesterday, she’d said. Ashley tried to remember if she’d asked
her to arrive early, or just shoot the event itself. Maggie would know. Ashley
snapped a few pictures, wishing she’d thought to do it all day. The pictures
wouldn’t be great, but they’d work for a website.

Next time,
she’d remember.

Next
time? Slow down.

She found
Maggie, who consulted her notebook. “Elaine’s scheduled to arrive at
six-thirty.” Ashley automatically checked her watch. Six-fifteen.

“I’m going
to give her a call,” Ashley said. “Make sure everything’s okay.” She got the
studio’s voicemail. Of course. She’d be closed. Probably on her way. But
butterflies fluttered in her belly.

“Do you have
a home number for Elaine?” Ashley asked Maggie. “Or her cell?”

Maggie
consulted her notebook. “Try this.” She showed Ashley the number.

Voicemail
there, too. Even though Elaine wasn’t late, the butterflies threatened to break
the sound barrier. Everything else was in place. “Do we know anyone else who
has a camera? In case Elaine got delayed?”

When Porky
the Reporter showed up at the door, a camera around his neck, Ashley didn’t
know whether she should be relieved or worried.

***

Scott’s name
came at him from a distance. He blinked the world into focus. “Sorry. What?”

Kovak shook
his head. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.
Bad night is all.” Although he’d slept round the clock, he still felt groggy.
His own fault, having that cognac on top of the meds.

This
morning, he’d insisted on being in on the investigation, even though he wasn’t
supposed to be working on a Saturday. He wasn’t going to report any hours, and
he’d managed to convince Detweiler and Kovak that he wasn’t really here, in
case the Chief took exception to his presence on a case.

“I said, you
think we’ve covered everything?” Kovak said.

Scott took
another look around the bungalow. Connor and his camera had come and gone.
Scott tried to concentrate. And even as he stood in the middle of a scene
supposedly looking for clues, his mind insisted on going back to that day at
the bank. To last night. To Ashley’s sympathy. To the heartless way he’d sent
her away. To blubbering like a three-year-old as he thought of Rina. To
wondering if he had the balls to face Ashley again. “Fuck.”

Detweiler
spun around. “Find something?”

“No, just a
random expletive,” Scott said.

Get your
ass in the game.

As he
thought, he spoke aloud. Hearing his own words kept him from drifting. “No
female accoutrements in the bathroom. No women’s clothes in the closet. Or the
hamper. Or the dresser drawers. No pictures of a happy couple on the mantle.
You sure the landlord said this guy was married?”

Both
detectives looked at him. Small wonder, since Scott had been standing right
beside them when the landlord told them. He shook his head, trying to clear it.
“I meant
still
married,” he said, by way of covering his brain lapse.

“I’m not
getting bachelor vibes,” Detweiler said.

“Plenty of
pizza and beer in the fridge,” Kovak said.

Scott picked
up the television remote and turned on the set. He thumbed through the
channels.

“Are we
boring you?” Kovak asked.

Scott
ignored them, moving through the programmed channels. “I’m thinking she left,
probably not that long ago.”

Detweiler
stood beside him, watching the channels flip by. “I get it. Makes sense. Lots
of chick channels. Sarah reprogrammed my remote within a week of moving in. If
this guy watches much television—”