Saving Scott (Kobo) (16 page)

“I have this
for getting things down from high shelves,” she said, more as a way of
announcing her presence than because Scott needed to know why she had a
stepstool. “I’m not sure it’s suited for trap doors in ceilings.”

His eyes
popped open, and he reached for the stool. After releasing the catch to unfold
it, he set it under the target. Without a word, as if he was ashamed she’d
caught him in a moment of weakness, he climbed onto the upper step and reached
for the ceiling.

With his
fingers inches from the door above, he froze. “Damn,” he muttered under his
breath. He shoved his hands in his pockets as if searching for something. “Gloves.
You have any?”

Ashley
smiled. “As a matter of fact, yes. Standard kitchen hygiene equipment.” She
dashed to the kitchen again, found the box, and brought the whole thing back.
She tore the box open and removed a pair. “I hope they’ll fit.”

“I’ll make
do.” He tugged one onto his left hand, then ran his fingertips along the edge
of the door. She imagined them—minus the latex, of course—stroking her neck.
Another thought to banish to the back burner. The way, way, back burner. Turned
all the way off.

“Can you
open it?” she asked.

He stepped
down. “You said you only leased the downstairs?”

She nodded. “That’s
right. Why?”

“Because we
don’t have the right to go up there without permission from the owner. You have
his name?”

She gave it
to him. “But I don’t have his number.”

“That’s
okay. I’ll let Kovak know. Let him take care of getting permission to search,
call in the techs.”

“You think
that’s how Felicity got into the shop?”

“It’s a
definite possibility, but no way to know until someone looks. And I’d rather
make sure we don’t disturb any potential evidence.”

“Like in
crime scene?” Visions of more yellow tape filled her brain. Her heart sank. “Am
I going to get kicked out of my bakery? Again?”

“I’m sure it’ll
be very short term.” Scott stroked her arm.

Okay, maybe
that back burner had been turned to simmer. Although his touch had her rapidly
approaching the melting point.

Scott pulled
out his cell phone. She couldn’t fail to notice that he manipulated the device
one-handed, leaving the other on her arm. He related what they’d found. “And
bring a ladder.” He slid the phone back into its clip.

“What now?”
she asked.

“We wait.”

“You mean I
can’t go up there and look? It’s attached to my bakery. I mean the trap door is
in the ceiling, and that’s on my side, so if I say it’s okay to look, why can’t
you?”

He shook his
head. “Legally, you don’t have the right to go up there, or give anyone else
permission to do so. Only the property owner can do that.”

She stared
at the ceiling, curiosity coursing through her. She wished she’d peeked before
she called him. It might not have been legal, but at least she’d know what was
there.

Scott’s
phone chirped. His grip on her arm tightened for a second. With the other hand,
he unclipped the phone and brought it to his ear without checking the display. “This
is Scott.” A pause. “Right. We’ll be here.” He put the phone away again. “Kovak
and Mike Connor should be here in about fifteen minutes. He’d like you to hang
around.”

“No problem.”
Since he still hadn’t removed his hand, she inched closer. Not even an inch,
really. Not even enough so he’d notice, she thought. But he did.

His hand
snaked around her waist and pulled her close. His other hand fingered a strand
of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. She gazed into his eyes, seeing her
desire reflected in his. His lips parted. His head tilted, already aligned as
he moved in. Slowly. Too slowly. She reached up, grabbed the back of his head
and yanked his lips against hers.

His lips
parted on a gasp. Surprise? Second thoughts? She didn’t care. Taking the
initiative, she probed with her tongue. Momentary panic threatened. What if he
didn’t respond? What if she was making a complete fool of herself? He lived
next door, for God’s sake. She’d never be able to face him. She’d have to move.
But before she could retreat, Scott’s tongue slid across hers. His
stubble-roughened jaw contrasted with the softness of his lips. His grip
tightened, drawing her closer.

And then, it
was no longer a case of who initiated what. It was the two of them. Together.
Equals.

Scott’s hand
moved upward, stroking her back. Massaging her neck. All the while, his tongue
explored her mouth. Like molten chocolate, she melted against him.

Her fingers
brushed across his hair. Soft, fuzzy. A fleeting memory of Flopsy, the stuffed
bunny she’d adored as a child wound through her thoughts. Along with a thought
that right now, other parts of him were definitely not something she’d call
Flopsy.

Scott’s leg
ached, his shoulder throbbed, but he’d collapse in a heap before he’d break the
connection with Ashley. This was more than a returning libido proving it hadn’t
disappeared for good. This was—Ashley. He caressed her back, letting the motion
ease the tension in his shoulder. He shifted his weight slightly, trying to
relieve some of the pressure on his sore thigh. All that did was create more
pressure on his hard-on, swapping one ache for another. But a more bearable
kind of ache.

He explored
her, tasted her, inhaled her scent. And she kissed him back. Did she ever. A
few brain cells told him Kovak and Connor would be arriving soon, and he really
ought to get things under control before they did. But Ashley’s fingers in his
hair sent tingles—did men get tingles?—down his spine.

Nothing
wrong with tingles, he decided. He was man enough to handle a tingle or two. Or
eleven thousand, if they came from Ashley.

A knock at
the front door registered. Reluctantly, he broke the connection. “That’s
probably Kovak.”

Ashley
stepped back and pushed her hair into place. Scott almost asked her to open the
door while he waited for things to settle. But a quick assessment of Ashley
squelched that idea. Her lips were swollen, her eyes bright. She looked like
she’d been doing exactly what she’d been doing. What they’d been doing.

Another
knock, louder. “Whelan?”

“That’s
Kovak, all right,” he murmured, gently running his index finger down her cheek.
He took a breath, hoping to ensure his voice wouldn’t sound like he’d been
doing what he’d been doing. “Hang on. Be right there.”

He strolled
to the door, forcing a neutral expression before opening it for Kovak, Conner,
and a stepladder. “Sorry. Was in the john.”

Kovak’s gaze
raked Scott from head to toe. Scott turned and strode toward the closet. “It’s
this way.”

Kovak
hoisted the ladder. Mike Connor matched Scott’s stride. A Nikon hung around the
tech’s neck, and he carried a kit identical to the ones the CSIs at County
used. Scott had toured Connor’s lab on his first day, and had been impressed
with what Pine Hills had available. Connor had explained that a citizen thought
their town ought to have something like what he’d seen on television.

“We might be
small, but that doesn’t mean we’re backward,” the old guy had said. And because
he had bucks and clout, the people had backed a small, but well-equipped lab.

Scott shook
his head. That would never happen at County.

When they
reached the closet, Kovak stopped. “Miss Eagan, can you tell me why you called
Scott?”

Scott
listened as Ashley repeated what she’d told him, pleased that her voice was
steady. She definitely made a credible witness.

“All right,”
Kovak said, slipping his notebook into his pocket and pulling out his gloves.
He stepped into the closet, looked at the ceiling, then folded the stepstool
and set it outside. “Too bad the big guy isn’t here. This would have been tall
enough for him.”

Scott helped
him set up the stepladder in the confined space. He held the metal rails steady
as Kovak ascended. Kovak shoved the door. It opened without a sound. Kovak
flipped on his flashlight. His head disappeared into the void.

“Connor.”
Kovak’s voice boomed down. “With me.” He crawled into the space.

Scott
stepped aside enough to allow Connor access to the ladder. Scott’s leg ached
watching the nimble tech practically fly up the steps, holding the camera
steady against his chest as he climbed.

Intermittent
flashes from Connor’s camera along with the distinctive shutter clicks became
the universe of the storage closet. Scott’s heart pounded, and his hands
clenched and unclenched on the ladder rails.

Ashley moved
closer, resting her hand over one of his. “Are you going up, too?”

Scott
gritted his teeth. Shook his head. “Not my job.”

She left her
hand where it was, her thumb rubbing tiny circles. “But you wish it was, don’t
you?”

He jerked
his hands away, shoved them in his pockets. “No. I’m over that.”

Her silence
said she’d heard the lie, even if it wasn’t the one she thought she’d heard.
Sweat trickled in his armpits, and he tried to control the hammering of his
heart. A vise gripped his chest, and he struggled to breathe.

He sidled
away from Ashley and leaned against the wall. The flashes and clicks were
farther apart now. Footfalls resounded from the ceiling, getting softer as they
moved away.

Apparently
oblivious to his condition, Ashley tilted her head back, gazing into the
darkness. “What are they doing up there?”

He sucked in
a breath, found his center. “Documenting the scene. They’ll take pictures of
everything. Then, if there’s anything that looks like evidence, they’ll collect
it. Connor will analyze what he can. Anything requiring tests he can’t do
locally will go to the county. Maybe the state. Depends on what they have.”

“Will it
delay my opening?”

“I can’t
promise, but I wouldn’t expect them to hold the scene more than a day, two at
the most.” Unless there was another body up there, but he hadn’t caught a whiff
of decomp when Kovak had opened the door.

Which
reminded him. “Have you heard from your contractor? He seems to have gone off
the grid.”

“Carl?” Her
brow wrinkled.

“Nobody’s
been able to reach him since they found the body.”

“You think
Carl
killed Felicity?”

“I don’t
think anything. He’d be a person of interest, although the disappearing act
moves him closer to suspect territory.”

“I can’t
imagine Carl killing anyone.” She frowned. “But—”

“But what?”

“Well, he
hasn’t called me today. But since there’s nothing going on, I didn’t think
anything of it. And then there’s Belinda.”

“Nesbitt?”
he asked. “What about her?”

“You know
her?”

“No, but
Kovak said she suggested the victim—Felicity—might have had a string of lovers.
Maybe Carl was one of them and things went south.”

“Carl’s
married. He has three kids. I can’t imagine—”

Scott shook
his head. “Being married with kids won’t keep him off a cop’s radar.”

Ashley
lowered her gaze. “Yeah. I get it.”

Something in
her tone said this one had hit close to home. He let it drop. Now wasn’t the
time for soul-baring moments.

The theme
from
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
whistled from the other room. Ashley
bolted. “That’s Carl.”

Scott
hobbled after her. Damn, he needed to get off his feet. And a hit of his meds
wouldn’t hurt. He fished in his pocket for his pill vial and dry swallowed the
other half dose.

Ashley had
the phone to her ear. Scott resisted the urge to grab it from her hand and
question the contractor himself.

“Carl,” she
said. “What’s up?”

Her face
registered shock. “I’m so sorry. Is he all right?”

After a
brief pause, her expression brightened. “That’s fantastic. Of course, I’ll be
here.”

Before Scott
could say anything, Ashley disconnected and set her phone beside her purse. She
dashed into her kitchen and grabbed a large manila envelope, dumping its
contents on the counter.

“What did he
say?” Scott asked, two steps behind her. “Where is he?”

***

As Ashley
dug through the paperwork looking for the receipt from the storage company, the
intensity of Scott’s questions ripped through her excitement. Of course. He was
intent on solving a case and had no vested interest in her business. Still
seeking the receipt she needed, she replied, “His father-in-law had a massive
heart attack. He went with his wife and kids to be there. Between being on
airplanes and in the hospital, he’s been out of communication.”

“I see,”
Scott said. “That’s too bad.”

His tone
belied the words. She set the mess of papers onto the counter. “It sounds more
like you don’t believe me.”

“I believe
that’s what he told you. I’m not sure I believe him, that’s all. I’m sure Kovak
will want to follow up.”

Ashley
ripped off a scrap of paper and scribbled Carl’s number on it. She shoved it in
Scott’s direction. “Here. Tell Detective Kovak to follow up to his heart’s
delight. But I think the last thing I’d want to deal with at a relative’s
bedside would be getting the third degree from some cop.”

He raised
one hand in submission. “Hey, don’t make me the bad guy here. Cops
automatically assume everyone is lying. It comes with the territory, and we
have to check out everything. I’m sure Kovak will do everything he can to avoid
upsetting your contractor.”

He stepped
closer, extended his upraised hand. “Truce?”

His gesture
reminded her she’d come across like a bitch. She chalked it up to stress and
lack of sleep. “I’m sorry. I’m kind of … close to the edge these days.”

“Understandable.
Now, if you don’t mind my asking, you seemed happy about something Carl said to
you. Will you share?”