Saving Scott (Kobo) (18 page)

Scott shook
his head. “Sorry. For whatever reason, Kovak wants me with you.”

“So you
are
my babysitter. But why? Why are you stuck here watching over me? Does Kovak
really think I’m going to mess up his investigation if I’m left unattended?”

“I think he’s
trying to keep control of more loose threads than he’s comfortable with.” As
soon as Scott uttered the words, he regretted them. Must be the meds. Kovak was
a good detective. A little out of his league, perhaps, but he hadn’t done
anything stupid.

Ashley
turned those chocolate-brown eyes to his. “So, tell me, Mr. Detective. If this
were your case, what would you be doing?”

***

Ashley
watched as Scott’s expression shut her out. His eyes grew cold, his brow
furrowed. This wasn’t what she’d come to think of as his cop mode. This was
total withdrawal. She stepped away. “Um … I’ll go get the coffee. It should be
ready.” And if it wasn’t, she could wait. Whatever she’d said, she’d clearly
upset Scott.

She
retreated into her tiny office space off the kitchen, where she had her desk
and the coffeemaker she’d set up for the crew. She’d found the workers arrived
earlier if they didn’t stop for coffee before getting here. She took one of the
Styrofoam cups from the stack—not eco-friendly, she knew, but she wasn’t going
to deal with collecting and washing mugs until she was operational. The crew
hadn’t seemed to grasp the concept of reusing the cups. They simply left them
lying around wherever they finished, and she imagined they’d do the same with
ceramic ones.

She tapped
her foot as the machine gave its final gurgles. Once it finished its last
sputters, she poured the aromatic brew into the cup and brought it to Scott. He
opened his eyes at her approach and accepted the cup. Did his fingers spend a
few seconds more than they needed to when he did? Maybe he’d gotten over his
brooding.

“Not joining
me?” he asked.

“Too wired.”
If ever there was a time for one of Maggie’s soothing brews, it was now. So
what if Scott was upset. She needed to know what was going on, and she’d risk
triggering his mood. She lowered herself to the floor beside his chair and
leaned against the wall, folding her hands behind her head. “So, Mr.
Babysitter. Tell me that story.”

This time,
he didn’t seem upset. His posture did that cop switch thing. Back straighter,
shoulders set. Expression unreadable. When he spoke, it was as if he was
reading a report.

“The first
forty-eight hours of a case are critical. And crazy. There’s a victim, and we
have to look for motive, means, and opportunity to figure out who might have
wanted her dead, and how and when they might have killed her. We’ll look at
immediate family first. Then expand outward. Since, at the outset, there are so
many possibilities, it’s vital to make sure nobody slips through the cracks.

“Right now,
Connor will be handling evidence analysis. It’s not like on television—he can’t
do it all himself, but he’ll make sure the right experts look at the right
pieces. Kovak will be trying not to go crazy while they wait for results.”

“Waiting
sucks,” Ashley said, checking the time yet again. When was that inspector going
to show up?

“Kovak will
be busy, though, trying to locate people. Figure out who might be a suspect,
and who can give him those pieces of information that tie things together. At
the beginning every person leads to more people, and it can seem overwhelming.”

“I guess I
can see why Kovak seems stressed.” She thought for a moment. “Do you think
Belinda is a suspect? I mean, she
does
have access to the upstairs. If
this was your case, would you be grilling her?”

Scott
chuckled. “Grilling? That’s a bit strong. But, yeah, Kovak’s got it right. I’d
be following up with her, and her employees.” He paused, as if thinking. “Do
you know the rest of her staff?”

Ashley
chewed her lip. “Not really. Only to say hello when I went into the store. Hers
is a new shop, less than a year old. She’s working to establish herself.” Like
me, she thought. “I don’t think she has more than a couple of assistants, and
they’re probably part time.”

Scott pulled
out a notebook, much like the one Kovak had used. She wondered if Scott had
used that very one when he was a cop. Most likely not. He probably had to turn
it in or something. She realized her mind was wandering, and she snapped her
attention back to Scott’s words.

“You know
their names?” Scott asked.

“Wouldn’t
Kovak have them?”

“Probably,
but as long as we’re playing detective, why not cover all the bases?”

Playing. So
this was a game to him. She’d play along, because it was very real to her.
Ashley gave him the names. “I hope Kovak eliminates me first, because
everything is riding on my grand opening bakeoff.” She popped to her feet. “Speaking
of which, I assume it’s all right to use my phone to check emails.”

“Works for
me,” Scott said.

Ashley
strode to the counter where she’d left her phone. She hiked herself up onto the
stainless steel counter and ran through her messages, immediately deleting
anything from a reporter. After reading the rest, for the first time in days,
she allowed herself to hope. All twenty of her slots were filled, and she
notified the remaining three that they’d be on a wait list. Had things finally
turned around?

Don’t
think about it. You’ll jinx it.

A knock at
the front door sent her heart drumming. She slid from her perch. Scott rose
from his chair. Finger-combing her hair, she crossed the bakery, Scott close at
her heels. On the other side of the glass stood a tall, slender man holding a
clipboard. He wore cream-colored coveralls, a baseball cap, and a nonchalant
expression.

“Pine Hills
Building Inspector,” he said, handing her his card. “Should take me about half
an hour.” With that, he unwrapped a stick of gum, folded it, stuck it in his
mouth and started poking a gadget into her electrical outlets.

Ashley
crossed mental fingers that Carl’s electrician had fixed whatever outlets he’d
said were the wrong kind. Heck, she double-crossed those mental fingers hoping
Carl’s Klutz Brigade had fixed everything. It all looked good to her, but what
did she know?

The
inspector moved slowly around the space, humming some tune she didn’t
recognize, and snapping his gum. Every now and then he’d nod, or shake his
head, and write something on his clipboard. Her mouth grew dry. She followed
him, several paces behind, trying to figure out what he was doing while not
interfering.

Scott
touched her elbow. “Let him work,” he said quietly.

The
inspector’s half an hour dragged closer to the hour mark, by which time Ashley’s
stomach was knotted tighter than her macramé plant holders, and she was afraid
she might be sick.

Finally, he
tucked his pen into his pocket. “All done. I’ll file the report.”

“And?”
Ashley asked, the words barely making it past her parched mouth.

“And you’re
good to go.” He tapped his fingers to the brim of his cap. “Have a good
evening.”

Tempted to
throw her arms around the inspector, Ashley struggled to compose herself, to
appear as though she’d had no doubts the job would pass. “Thanks. Thanks so
much. You, too.”

She closed
the door behind him. And threw her arms around Scott. “It’s done. We passed. We
should…we should…I don’t know what. We should…celebrate.”

She realized
she’d said
we
. Surely the other merchants, the ones who’d supported her
through the drawn-out construction process, would be more likely candidates for
a celebration. But she wanted to share her joy with Scott. Whose arms had
wrapped around her and whose hands were caressing her back.

“Hey, it’s
okay,” he murmured.

Only then
did she realize she was crying. Spots danced in front of her eyes. Her knees
threatened to give way. Scott’s caresses turned to a supporting arm helping her
to the chair.

She wiped
her eyes and sniffed. “Well, now I feel really stupid.” She managed a weak
smile. “At least I didn’t pass out.”

Scott
grinned. “It’s always worst when it’s over. Adrenaline overload, then it stops
and you crash.”

“You sound
like you’ve had experience.”

“More than I
care to remember.” His smile disappeared. “And, I’m afraid that celebration
will have to wait. We have to go to the station.”

Wishing he
hadn’t been the one to douse Ashley’s spirits, Scott went to the coffeemaker
and poured a cup for the road. He shut the machine off, taking his time before
facing her.

She stood in
the doorway, apparently not as dejected as he’d expected. “Will you follow me
to the station, or do we have to ride together?” she asked. “I promise not to …
what do you call it when a suspect runs away?”

“Rabbit,”
Scott said, suppressing a smile.

“Rabbit.
Okay. If I swear I won’t rabbit, may I please drive to the station in my own
car? That way nobody has to bring me back here.”

Scott was
tempted to refuse her request, for the simple reason that he wanted to spend
those extra few minutes with her sitting beside him. Tempted, but he saw no
reason not to trust her. If Kovak really wanted her sequestered, he’d have
dragged her to the station, inspector or no inspector. “That will be fine.”

Ashley
gathered her purse, her phone, and crammed the stack of papers back into the
envelope. He gave her his best reassuring cop smile. The one that put victims
at ease, let them know he was on their side, that he’d make things right.

“Ready, I
guess.” Her voice trembled.

So much for
the smile. He must have lost his touch. Something about Ashley erased years of
professional experience.

You’re a
cop, damn it.

He tried
again, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “You’ll be fine.”

“What should
I say?”

With that,
he knew he wasn’t going to leave her alone with Kovak. No matter if he had no
reason to think the detective was going to do anything to railroad Ashley. He’d
been a cop long enough to know people often said things they shouldn’t when
faced with interrogation techniques. The room, designed to make them
uncomfortable, the cop moving into their personal space. It’s what he did, and
although he liked to think he didn’t use those techniques on the innocent, cops
didn’t really know someone was innocent until they found the one who was
guilty. The logical, cop side of his brain said she was innocent, but he couldn’t
leave her alone. It was either him or a lawyer, and for now, he trusted himself
more than a lawyer he didn’t know.

Scott rested
his hand on the small of Ashley’s back as he walked her to her car. “I’m sure
this won’t take long.” He smiled. “And then, if you’re still up for it, we can
celebrate. I’ll pick up a bottle of champagne.”

She settled
into the driver’s seat and closed the door, but she didn’t start the car. He
waited. She buzzed down the window. “I think I’d like that. But I’ve already
got a bottle in the fridge, so no need for you to get one. Around eight? That
is, assuming Detective Kovak doesn’t lock me up.”

“No chance
of that.” He leaned his head into the open window and brushed his lips across
hers.

Christ,
what are you thinking?

He drew
back. “I’ll be right behind you.”

On the short
drive to the station, Scott pushed thoughts of Ashley the neighbor into the far
recesses of his mind. Or as far as he could push them.

You’re
either a cop or her friend. Not both. Not yet.

Then again,
he wasn’t a cop, although he wasn’t sure a cop could ever
not
be a cop,
regardless of his employment status.

He pulled
the
not yet
to the forefront. She’d be off Kovak’s radar soon enough,
and they’d find whoever killed the victim, and—and what? He’d never thought
about anything permanent before. Was he thinking about it now?

Of course
not. Just his re-emerging libido.

You’re
going to have to come up with something better than that pretty damn soon.

Scott parked
next to Ashley and opened her door for her. Her fears seemed to be gone, or at
least under control, and she gave him a genuine smile. “Southern gentleman or
babysitter?”

“Friend,” he
said. “Neighbor.”

She climbed
out of the car. “All right, neighbor-friend. Let’s get this over with.”

Less than an
hour later, after sending a smiling and relieved Ashley off, Scott trudged back
to the war room. Kovak stood at the white board and drew a large X through
Ashley’s name.

“I’ve
ordered pizza,” Kovak said. “There will be plenty, if you want to stay. You’re
way past off the clock.”

“Pizza
sounds good. Beats my cooking.” Scott rubbed his neck. “What did you get from
Belinda Nesbitt?”

“Sweet,
cooperative, and charming as hell.”

“But she’s
lying.”

“Yeah, but I
can’t figure out about what. For all I know, it’s totally unrelated to the
case. You know how some people get when the cops ask them anything.”

People being
questioned immediately went on the defensive, assuming the cops knew their deepest,
darkest secrets. Even if they didn’t have any. For all Scott knew, Belinda
could be hiding the fact that she had her fingers in the till, or took home
some of the items she should be selling.

“How do she
and the victim connect? Shared a boyfriend? Jealousy?”

Kovak
stepped to the white board and wrote Belinda’s name. “She said she didn’t know
the names of any of them, but she thought she saw the victim in the company of
a variety of”—Kovak made air quotes with his fingers—”sleazy, scruffy, unsavory
sorts.”