Saving Scott (Kobo) (37 page)

Ashley felt
herself being lowered to the ground. Asphalt. She was in an alley. Not far from
a Dumpster, she assumed from the stench of garbage. But where? How long had
they been driving? Was she in Pine Hills, or somewhere else? The lone street
light seemed miles away.

“How? Why? Felicity?
Elaine?” Ashley formed the words carefully, forcing them past her thick tongue.

“Sure, why
not? It’s not like you’re going to tell anyone. Thad had a key to your bakery.
The contractor had given him one so he could get in early to fix some
electrical work he’d purposely screwed up—for that bitch—and he never gave it
back. It wasn’t hard to arrange a meet between him and Felicity. I sent her an
e-mail from his phone telling her he wanted to meet there. Then I texted him
from my disposable cell phone that she wanted to discuss one more sabotage job.
I waited until they were both there. I went in, and said I knew everything. But
we should be able to discuss it like rational adults, over hot chocolate.

“I left
Felicity, but got Thad into his truck and drove him to a vacant lot and waited
until he was out of it. I took his wallet, phone, and then drove his truck to
Salem. I spent the night in that parking lot, freezing my ass off in the truck.
Next morning, I caught a bus back to Pine Hills.”

Ashley tried
to process the information. Lorna was a killer. Apparently a cold-blooded
killer. “Elaine?”

“Another one
of Thad’s conquests. She was thrilled I’d volunteered to fetch and carry for
her on a last-minute photo shoot. Of course, there was no shoot in Bend, and
she never got there. She had a weakness for cocoa, too, it seemed.”

Ashley’s
heart thudded. Poor Elaine. She had just started to like working with the
woman. “But if Thad was dead … why kill Elaine? He couldn’t cheat on you
anymore.” Drugs or no drugs, Lorna’s laugh sent icicles down Ashley’s spine.

“You don’t
get it. Thad was
mine
. Anyone who cheated with him has to be punished.”

“But … I … never
…” The world faded. She fought the overwhelming fatigue sucking her into its
depths. She had to stay awake. To stay alive. To tell Scott—no, not Scott. Her
brain wasn’t that addled yet. Detective Kovak and Randy. Dare she close her
eyes, pretend she was asleep? Long enough for Lorna to leave. Lorna wasn’t
going to stick around to make sure she was dead, was she?

***

Scott lugged
his television set down the hall to his apartment. If he was going to be
spending his nights alone—and it most definitely looked like he was—he might as
well be able to catch a few games. Maybe watch a movie. Maybe not, as he
remembered the night he and Ashley had almost watched one at her place.

As he
connected the television and recorder box, he wondered how her bakeoff was
going. He hadn’t heard her come back. He’d almost gone to the bakery. To watch.
To see how things went. Not to talk to her. Not because he still felt something
ring in his chest when he saw her. Or thought of her.

Maybe in a
few weeks—or months—he’d be able to look at her without remembering what an
asshole he was. Maybe he’d find the right words and they could start again.

But he knew
she’d never accept him until he got over the aftereffects of the robbery.
Talking to her hadn’t been a catharsis as much as an exercise in humiliation.

Get over
yourself. You’re a coward, like you were at the bank. A total fuckup.

Because he’d
downplayed everything when he’d recounted it for Ashley. Ignored the
debilitating fear, the total helplessness he’d felt. The fear that still had
him waking up in a cold sweat. There was no way he could consider a
relationship. Who’d be able to put up with someone consumed by fear? He couldn’t
deal with it, how could he expect someone else to?

Regroup.
Move forward. Forget the damn past.

From now on,
he’d focus on the work. He’d go in, do his job, go home. Leave the station,
leave the job behind until the next day. The way he had tonight. Kovak and
Detweiler were doing the detective thing. He’d simply packed up and gone home.
Hell, he wasn’t even supposed to have been there today to begin with.

He’d been a
fool to accept the job at Pine Hills. Thinking he needed to be on the job.
Monday, he’d make it clear he was strictly civilian. No consorting with the
sworn officers.

But could
he? Should he be working there at all? Maybe it was time to think about a totally
unrelated line of work. Truly sever connections with his past.

He checked
the time. Almost ten. Maybe he could catch the tail end of the bakeoff. Show
his support.

Shut up.
You want to see her.

Just see
her. Just pop in. Just for a minute. Heck, maybe she and her friends were out
celebrating. He wouldn’t believe they’d be drowning sorrows. She’d worked so
hard, overcome so much. It
had
to have been a success.

Fuck.
He grabbed his keys and his jacket. He’d already proven he was a jerk. How much
worse could it be if he groveled, too?

Approaching
the bakery, he could see the lights were still on. His heart pumped. She was
there. He almost turned around.

Coward,
coward, coward.

He slowed as
he passed the bakery. The shop was empty. So, the event was over. Which meant
Ashley was likely in there alone. Again, the temptation to go home almost
overwhelmed him.

Before he
could change his mind, he swung around to the rear parking lot. Ashley’s car
was there, the sole car in the lot. He parked next to it, inhaled, counted to
ten, then exhaled.

Forcing
himself to keep breathing, he practiced saying, “I’m sorry. I’m a jerk,” as he
made his way to the back door. Which was ajar. His heart thumped, but for a
totally new reason.

Damn.

Relax
.
She was probably carrying things to and from her car. He’d arrived between
trips. His gut said otherwise.

All he could
see was Ashley lying dead on the floor. Like Felicity Markham. Like Rina. He
blinked the images away, but couldn’t do anything about the sweat filming his
body or the blood pounding in his ears.

Was she even
in there? If he called Detweiler or Kovak and there was nothing wrong, he’d
feel like an idiot. Without a weapon, he didn’t want to open the door. But what
if Ashley was inside? What if something had happened? Waiting for backup might
be too late. Backup? What the hell was he thinking? He was a civilian.
Civilians didn’t call for backup.

Crap. He
stepped out of the doorway and flattened himself against the wall. “Ashley?” he
called, keeping his tone relaxed. Friendly. Just someone dropping by.

Silence.
Fuck. He went to his car, grabbed the tire iron from the trunk and went back to
the door. She might be in the bathroom. How would he explain holding a tire
iron?

This is
why you can’t be a cop anymore. You’re overthinking everything. Do your job.

Which, as
the private citizen he was, would be to call the police and report the unlocked
door and his concern. They’d send a patrol officer over.

Hell, he
could have been in and out in the time he’d spent debating the options with
himself. He yanked the door open, tire iron lifted. “Ashley! Are you in here?”

Again,
silence greeted him. The aroma of chocolate filled his nostrils. No blood. No
decomp.

So where was
she? He called out again. More silence. He stepped inside, through the small
mudroom, through the kitchen. Nothing out of place. No body on the floor.
Nothing but crumbs and crumpled napkins. Her office door was open. And her
purse lay on her desk.

His heart
rate kicked into overdrive. He called Dispatch. A uniform would be there within
five minutes. He called Kovak. And Detweiler. Scott backed out of the bakery.
And waited. Helplessness washed over him. Threatened to pull him under. Red and
blue lights flashed in the distance.

He clawed
his way back from the depths of his despair. He’d been a cop for over ten
years. One lousy day wasn’t going to destroy everything he’d learned. He
scrubbed a hand across his face and stared Brody straight in the eye when the
officer exited his patrol car.

And Brody,
thank God, gave no indication this was a waste of his time. “Dispatch said you
found an unlocked door.”

The young
officer’s face showed apprehension. Probably remembering what he’d found the
last time he’d been to the bakery. No time for that now. Scott reported to
Brody the same way he’d done countless times when he’d been a patrol officer,
describing what he’d found. As Scott spoke, Brody’s control slipped into place.

“No woman
leaves her purse behind. Not willingly,” Scott said.

“I’ll check.”
Brody disappeared inside the bakery. Scott tried to distance himself. This was
another case. One of hundreds he’d investigated.

None of
those, however, involved someone he loved.

And where
the hell had that come from? He’d known her a week. He didn’t fall in love, and
when he did,
if
he did, it would take a lot longer than a week.

So why did
he feel like puking? Like his life would be over if something had happened to
Ashley?

“No sign of
foul play.”

Scott
snapped to reality at Brody’s words. “That’s her car.” He pointed. “Wherever
she is, she’s with someone else. And I doubt very much she left willingly. Let
me see her purse.”

Brody
hesitated. “Part of the scene. I can’t move it. Not until the detectives get
here.”

“You have a
camera, don’t you? Shoot it
in situ
first. I’ll take the blame.”

Brody left
and came back wearing gloves and carrying Ashley’s purse. Without comment, he
handed Scott a second pair of gloves. Scott snapped them on, less efficiently
than usual. If Brody noticed Scott’s hands trembling, he had the decency not to
say so.

“Damn,”
Scott said when he looked inside. “Her phone is here. So much for tracking her.”

A car
wheeled into the lot, pulling up beside the men. Kovak got out, and Scott
filled him in.

“That her
purse?” Kovak asked.

“Yes,” Scott
said. “It was on her desk in her office.” When Kovak lifted his eyebrows in
Brody’s direction, Scott defended the officer’s actions. “I asked for it. Brody
took pictures before he brought it out.”

“Anything
helpful?” Kovak asked.

Scott shook
his head. “Like a note saying, ‘I’m at the Wagon Wheel having drinks with
friends?’ No, looks like ordinary female stuff.”

Kovak pulled
on a pair of gloves and took the purse to look for himself. Scott got the
feeling his own privacy was being violated. He shook it off.

When
Detweiler arrived, he went straight to the back door of That Special Something
and unlocked it. Scott and Kovak exchanged a puzzled look, then followed.
Detweiler was inside the shop’s office, pressing buttons on a DVR box. “Security
camera. After Sarah had trouble, I insisted she install one. If we’re lucky,
whoever took Ashley didn’t know it was there. It’s got a fairly wide-angle
lens, so it should pick up the area outside the bakery.”

Kovak
clapped Scott on the shoulder. “Someone grabbed Sarah. He knows what you’re
going through. We’ll get her back.”

Knows
what I’m going through? I don’t even know what
I’m
going through where
Ashley’s concerned.

He focused
his attention on the small monitor as Randy reversed the recording until a car
pulled into the lot and parked next to Ashley’s. A figure, female from the
looks of it, dressed in black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt got out of
the car. Randy slowed the recording and they watched her move, head lowered,
toward the back door of the bakery, but she went out of frame before she got
there.

“Fast
forward,” Scott said, restraining the urge to shove Detweiler out of the way
and take over the machine. He stared at the monitor, afraid to blink.

“There,”
Kovak said. “She’s coming out. With someone else.”

“Ashley,”
Scott said. The first woman was supporting her. Ashley’s gait was irregular,
but to Scott’s relief, she was walking. They watched another minute, until the
car drove away. Scott squinted at the timer on the monitor, then at the clock. “That
was twenty minutes ago. Can you get a plate on the car?”

“Not here,
not with this machine,” Detweiler said. “But we should be able to zoom in and
enhance the image back at the lab.”

Scott was
halfway to his car before Detweiler said anything else.

***

Ashley
struggled to clear her head. She had to get rid of Lorna. Once she was gone,
Ashley could figure out how to escape. Get help. Do something. She’d had a lot
of the drugged coffee, but spread out over several hours, diluted with the
cream and sugar she added, it shouldn’t be so bad. Should it?

My God, what
if she’d regifted Lorna’s coffee herself? Or shared it? Or served it to
customers? Lorna was truly sick if she’d risk a random poisoning.

Ashley
refused to think of that. Or Felicity. Or Thad. Or Elaine. Or anyone else Lorna
thought Thad had slept with. Right now, she was all she had, and she wasn’t
going to die. Her first priority was staying awake. Whether it would make a
difference in the long run was another question. One she couldn’t deal with
now.

Forcing her
brain to stay alert, she feigned sleep. Eyes shut. Breathe. Slowly. In, out.
In, out. Don’t fall asleep. Stay alert. Think about something. Anything.

Step by
step, she ran through a recipe. Finding each ingredient. Setting it on the
counter. Repeating until each component was lined up. Then, measure. Slice.
Chop. Sift. Put each container away. Crack the eggs. Separate them. Make sure
there’s no yolk in the white. Put the whites in the mixer.