Saving Scott (Kobo) (25 page)

He couldn’t
tell which of the moans and groans came from him, which came from her. “Ashley.”
He struggled for control, feeling it slip away. “God, Ashley.” His hips
pistoned faster, and she clamped around him, matching his pace, taking it even
higher.

When she
cried out, he followed her into that glorious place where nothing else existed.
It was exquisite. For the first time since before the incident, he felt like
himself.

He cradled
her against him, not wanting to sever the bond. Not wanting anything but right
now to last forever. Something in the back of his fuzzy brain said he’d never
felt a moment like this before—a moment he’d wanted to last forever. He’d have
to deal with that another time. He drifted, floated, and was vaguely aware of
Ashley snuggling alongside him.

He woke a
short while later to use the bathroom. When he went back into the bedroom,
Ashley had turned on the bedside lamp and picked up the clock. In the brief
time he’d been gone, she’d put on a nightshirt.

“I guess I
should leave,” he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

She gave him
a quizzical stare. “Why? I was going to ask you what time I should set the
alarm for. So you won’t be late to work.” She waited, smiling.

He did a
quick calculation. Five-thirty? No, he could skip the Jacuzzi—a hot shower
would suffice. Hell, he could hobble into the office for one morning. “Six?”

She fiddled
with the clock while he climbed into bed beside her. She smiled and kissed his
cheek. “Be right back. I need to put some things away in the kitchen.”

He closed
his eyes, listening to normal kitchen sounds and allowing himself to think of
simple domesticity. He was dimly aware of Ashley’s return, and her cuddling up
beside him. Without the nightshirt. He spooned her into him, and she clasped
the hand he draped over her.

Falling
asleep with a soft body by his side. This was another side of domesticity he
could get used to. Not that he’d never fallen asleep beside a soft, female body
before, but there was something different about Ashley. Rather than ponder it,
he allowed himself to drift.

The
nightmare sucked him into its depths. Different this time. He was still a
hostage, still helpless. Still trying to convince his captors to release
everyone else. Begging them not to harm them, accepting another beating. But
this time, when the haze cleared, it was Ashley on the bloody floor, staring at
him with lifeless eyes.

Something
rested on his shoulder. He flailed out, trying to deflect the inevitable blow.

“Scott.
Scott, wake up. It’s me. Ashley.”

He sat bolt
upright. A faint click, then sudden brightness blinded him. He covered his
eyes.

Ashley stood
at the bedside, one hand on the lamp and the other holding a bottle of water.
She extended the bottle. He took it, mortified that his hand shook, that she’d
caught him in a nightmare. “Light,” he croaked. “Off.”

Three quick
clicks, and darkness surrounded him. Although he wasn’t particularly fond of
the dark lately, it beat having Ashley staring at him.

He downed
half the water, letting the cool liquid calm him. Okay, not calm, but calmer.
Maybe. Sweat filmed his body, and he suppressed a shiver when Ashley lifted the
covers to climb into bed. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I need a
shower. Go back to sleep.”

Ashley said
something about clean towels.

Ignoring the
pain in his leg, he limped to the bathroom and shut the door. He stood under
the hot spray until his breathing returned to normal and the demons left his
mind. Stepping out of the shower, he tried to remember what Ashley had said
about towels. Given there weren’t many places in the bathroom for storage, he
started with the under-sink cabinet. A stack of fluffy brown towels waited. He
wrapped one around himself, wondering if he could retrieve his clothes and go
home without waking her.

Crap. Why
had he thought he’d sleep through the night? He hadn’t had a solid night’s
sleep since he’d stopped taking those nice little pills the doctors had given
him in the hospital.

Because he
hadn’t thought about it. Period. He’d been sated with Ashley and all his pathetic
brain could handle was how good she felt lying beside him. How good
he
felt lying beside her.

He
visualized Ashley taking his clothes off, picturing where they lay in the room.
He finished drying off, then shut off the bathroom light and eased the door
open.

Ashley sat
up in bed, reading. The sheet covered her, but the nightgown lying on the floor
beside the bed told him what she wore—or didn’t—underneath.

***

Ignore,
confront, or try to be supportive? Ashley hadn’t decided how to deal with Scott
before he finished in the bathroom. From the way he stood there, frozen,
clutching a towel around his hips, she didn’t think he was ready for the
confrontational approach.

Men. Was he
afraid he’d look weak if he admitted he’d had what was obviously a terrifying
nightmare? Did he not trust her enough to share? Then again, they’d only known
each other a few days, and despite the connection she’d felt, maybe to him, she
was no more than another sexual encounter.

No, she told
herself. If that was the case, he’d have gone home. They’d clicked, and she
knew he felt it, too. She’d try something between ignore and support, she
decided.

She set the
book on the nightstand and smiled at him. “Come to bed. And lose the towel.”

He
hesitated. She waited. Had she gone too far? Before she could say anything
else, thank goodness, he sat on the edge of the bed next to her, but still
wearing the towel. Not looking at her. “I should go home,” he said, his voice
husky.

But he hadn’t
gone. He’d chosen to sit beside her.

“I thought we
went through that. The alarm is set.” She put her hand on his shoulder, warm
from his shower. “I’d like it if you stayed. To sleep, if that’s what you want.”

Should she
have said that? Would he think she was implying he couldn’t perform again?
Damn, she didn’t know how to read men. Or talk to them. Barry had always made
her feel that her opinions weren’t worth hearing, in the bedroom or out, and
she obviously couldn’t read him, or she’d have known what a cheat he was long
before she walked in on him.

“I mean, we’re
both tired, and we have to get up early.” She paused, touched his jaw, rough
with shadows of stubble. “I’d … I’d like you to hold me.” When he didn’t
respond, she played her last card. “You promised me tonight.”

“Ashley …”
His voice cracked. Without another word, he circled the bed, dropped the towel,
and crawled in.

She scooted
backward until she made contact. Her back to his front. He drew her closer, his
deep sigh warming her neck, his arm warming the rest of her. Content that he’d
stayed, apparently trusting that she wouldn’t demand explanations, she decided
she’d made the right decision. For now, anyway. She lay there, absorbing his
warmth, listening to his breathing even out. When she was sure he slept, she
allowed herself to relax enough to follow him down.

The alarm
shattered the silence. Ashley slapped at the clock, finally connecting with the
off button. Beside her, Scott groaned.

“I’ll make
coffee,” she said. “Want some eggs?”

He groaned
again. Or was it a grunt?

“You okay?”
she asked.

Another
grunt. “I’m up.”

She bit back
the retort that he hadn’t moved and was far from up. Instead, she grabbed her
robe and went to the powder room off the living room to take care of morning
essentials. She finished, then tiptoed toward the bedroom, listening to make
sure Scott was really up.

Hisses and
groans came from behind the partially open door. Feet shuffled across the
floor, accompanied by more hisses and groans. Fighting the temptation to offer
help, Ashley went back to the kitchen and put the coffee on to brew. She knew
Scott had to be at work at seven, but there should be enough time for him to
eat a proper breakfast. While the bacon sizzled in the pan, she wondered if she
should make sure he was all right.

Seconds
later, Scott limped into the kitchen, wearing his trousers, and carrying the
rest of his clothes. She flipped open the egg carton. “How do you like your
eggs?”

“Scrambled—at
least that’s the only way I can get them to come out right. But I need to
change.” He avoided eye contact when he spoke, but not before she saw pain
etched in his face.

Men. She’d
give him a pass this time. She had too much on her own plate, and it wasn’t
bacon and eggs. “They should be done when you get back.”

He paused,
as if he were going to say something, but merely nodded before leaving.

Men.

When the
bacon was done, she drained it on a paper-towel lined platter and slipped it
into the oven to stay warm, then cracked the eggs into a bowl and whisked them
with a little cream. She set two places at the counter and poured two glasses
of orange juice.

When she
heard the knock at the door, she cranked up the heat under the frying pan. “It’s
open.”

Scott
stormed into the kitchen, a scowl on his face. “Don’t you know enough to keep
your door locked? I could have been anybody.”

Ashley
almost dropped the bowl of eggs. The look on Scott’s face—a blend of pain and
anger—held her retort at bay. “Sorry. I didn’t think—”

His
expression softened. “Don’t do it again, okay?”

She served
breakfast, received a polite, “Thanks, you shouldn’t have,” and they ate in
silence. Scott scraped the last of his eggs onto his fork, then carried his
dishes to the dishwasher.

“Sorry to
eat and run,” he said. “Have to get to the station.”

She watched
him leave. Eat and limp was more like it. But his mood had shifted, and she
thought there was more behind it than his injury and an unlocked door.

Morning
after regrets? She stomped to the living room and threw the deadbolt.

Scott nodded
to Doranna on his way to the detectives’ office. Detweiler’s call this morning
had come right before Scott headed back to Ashley’s. Since Detweiler had said
it wasn’t an emergency, only another lead, Scott had taken advantage of her hot
breakfast. A breakfast that sat heavy in his stomach as he wondered what had
sent up Detweiler’s red flag.

The office
door stood open, but Scott tapped before stepping inside. Kovak, looking more
rested than the last time Scott had seen him, and Detweiler, looking far less
so, lifted their heads from papers spread out on a desk. Detweiler hid a yawn
behind his hand.

Taking a
seat, Scott waited. Let them speak first. No point of jumping to Ashley’s
defense until he knew what this was all about. Less chance of inserting his
foot into his mouth.

Detweiler
motioned to the papers. “I stopped by the victim’s tea shop first thing this
morning. Found this in her desk drawer.”

Scott
struggled to his feet—skipping the Jacuzzi this morning was taking its toll,
and the pain meds hadn’t kicked in yet—and dragged his chair closer to the
desk. He stared at the pages, photocopies of what appeared to be diary entries,
written in an angry scrawl. He skimmed through them.

How dare
she come here and compete with me!

Those
idiots can’t do anything right.

Nothing
stops that bitch!

She saw
me. Can’t risk that she noticed.

Just wait
for her stupid bakeoff. She’ll regret it.

The copied
pages were numbered, but there were no dates on the entries themselves. “These
in chronological order?” he asked, to confirm.

Detweiler
nodded. “Unless she’s a total nutcase and writes on random pages. The entire
journal is in evidence. I copied the relevant entries.”

“There’s
nothing specifically naming Ashley or her shop,” Scott said.

“The whole
thing is written in that same style. No names, no paragraphs of prose. Nothing
but cryptic notes,” Detweiler said.

“That entry
about the bakeoff points to Ashley.” Kovak slipped another paper toward Scott. “And
this should clinch it.”

It was one
of Ashley’s bakeoff flyers with a thick, black X across it.

“I found
more of them, torn into pieces, in the trash at her store,” Detweiler said.

“Didn’t
Ashley say the victim refused to participate?” Scott asked. “Where did she get
the flyers?”

“I thought
we should speak with Miss Eagan again,” Detweiler said. “Kovak’s going to her
place.”

Scott couldn’t
help but notice that Kovak had deferred to Detweiler, apparently accepting his
partner as lead in the case. Then again, they’d been working as a team for
years, Kovak had said, and maybe this was the way they worked. As long as they
continued to share information with him, their investigative style wasn’t his
concern.

“And the
victim’s assistant. Paige Haeber,” Scott added. He’d listened to the recording,
and the woman had been fairly close-mouthed, but a second interview, with more
specific questions might reveal things she’d kept to herself the first time.

“I’m going
to take that one,” Detweiler said. “Maybe a change of face will open her up.”

Scott
gathered the pages in front of him into a neat stack. “Anything on the cocoa?”

“The packet
in the gift basket came back clean,” Kovak said. “Of course, if there was some
new exotic poison in there, it wouldn’t show, but Connor ran the basics
including the drug from the victim.”

“But there’s
still something hinky about Belinda Nesbitt,” Detweiler said. “See what you can
dig up without paper.”

Was
Detweiler trying to keep him away from Ashley by assigning him to Belinda
Nesbitt? However, he agreed to the task, knowing that if he protested,
Detweiler would tell him there was a conflict of interest, and might keep him
out of the loop altogether.