Sweet Arrest (4 page)

"H-Hated?” Spots danced before A'isha's eyes. The clang of a prison door closing must be the product of her over-stimulated imagination.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Connor dropped into his desk chair and ran his hands through his hair. A pulse beat a tattoo at his left temple, and he searched his drawers for something to relieve the pain. While opening the Excedrin Migraine, he considered whether he had become addicted or if it was possible. He popped them on a daily basis trying to head off headaches. Half the time it worked; half it didn't. But he downed them anyway.

Carl sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his hands in his lap. The man was young and had little experience, but Connor respected his ability, his instincts for the job. He had bucked being paired with him, but it had turned out the chief was right. They did work well together.

"So what do you think?” Carl said.

Connor grumbled, pinched his nose, and tried to banish the image of A'isha in his mind. “I think there's more to Ms. A'isha Greene than we first suspected. I'd like to get a full background check on her and the victim. Find out why Ms. Clark was so unhappy. Her mother was sketchy, and I can't be sure she wasn't just looking for someone to pin the blame on. Any prints from the weapon?"

Carl shook his head. “Not a one. Whoever did this wore gloves or wiped the knife down. Might also be worth checking into its maker. The design is unique."

That statement surprised Connor. “You don't think it was Ms. Greene?” He hated the hope that rose in him. Chanting “be objective” hadn't worked on him thus far.

His partner pulled out his notes. “Well, I like to reserve judgment, but I don't know. I get the feeling like you that there's more going on here. With her, yes, but I'm hesitant to believe she did it."

"With one look?” Connor frowned. “You saw her half a minute."

"Yeah, before you whisked her out of there. Wanna comment?"

"No.” Connor stood up to get some water from the fountain. Carl followed. “You weren't attracted to her, were you?"

Carl snorted. “Why because I'm black? No, she's not my type."

Connor bit back the retort he intended to that statement, but he was pretty sure Carl saw it in his eyes. He shrugged. If Carl couldn't see what a sexy woman A'isha was, then he was an idiot. Remembering the woman Carl had brought to the Christmas party last year made him realize the man was right. A'isha wasn't his type. That woman had been rail thin, beautiful, but too little on her bones. Not Connor's idea of perfect at all.

"Did the lab come back with anything useful? Any prints in the store?” Connor poured himself a cup of coffee, knowing it was two or three hours old. He hadn't slept more than two hours the night before, which was how he always was when starting a new case. After a couple weeks, he would fall into a groove, and sleep would return. Until then, he would be a bear to work with. His coworkers knew the drill.

Carl laughed at the face he made upon sampling the coffee. Mud, pure and simple. “Plenty of prints. It's a bakery.” He held up his hands. “Before you demand to know why I'm not on it, I do have one of the guys checking the prints against the central database. Any matches, he'll call us.” Carl fell silent and seemed hesitant.

"What? Spit it out!"

"Her alibi. You don't believe it, do you?"

Connor frowned down at the Styrofoam cup in his hand. He had two real mugs in the bottom of his desk, given to him by Sergeant O'Hara, but he had no wish to encourage her. More often than not, her eyes were on his ass, and sometimes he wondered if he needed to demand she back off. O'Hara was pretty with that rich fiery red hair and rounded figure, but her pushy ways turned him off. Besides, he had no interest in dating a cop. They ran in his family, and enough was enough.

"No, actually, I don't believe it. But I'm going to let it stand for now until we have more, like a motive. I'm about to run over to the shop and have a look around again before I give her the go ahead to open it up.” He tossed the cup in the trash. “Coming?"

"Nah, I need to follow these leads. I'll let you know if I find out anything and add it to my report tonight before I knock off for the day."

"All right. Later.” Connor checked his weapon out of habit and strolled to the exit. He had intended to turn his vehicle in for servicing, but it would have to wait another day.
No rest for the weary.

Connor had to park on a side street almost a block away from the bakery as the area was crowded this time of day. He strode along taking in the surroundings, the neighbors, trying to determine if anyone had undue interest in the bakery. Everyone seemed to be going about their business. Beyond a curious glance or two at the police tape hanging from the doorknob, there didn't seem—

The tape might have been broken by a passing teen wanting to make trouble, but hopefully that same person had not also let themselves in. The front door stood slightly ajar. Connor approached with caution. Inside, he didn't see anyone right away, and he closed the door securely behind him.

Something smashed in the kitchen. He drew his weapon. “Hello?” The back door was barred with a deadbolt lock requiring a key, so he knew whoever was in here had to come past him. They would not do so without hitting the floor first.

Inching closer to the counter and the kitchen door beyond, he glanced at a box on the counter that hadn't been there on his last visit. He peered inside. Mail, some with a past due stamp on the outside of the envelope. Possible motive? He moved on.

The door creaked when he shoved it, and he paused again, adrenaline pumping high octane through his veins. He caught a whiff of honeysuckle and baby powder and crinkled his nose. No other sound reached him.

Without warning the door slammed into his chin and knocked him off balance. His weapon went flying, but before he could lose his footing, he grabbed onto the counter and clipped the person rushing him. The wind whooshed from his lungs at the impact with the ground, and a soft body landed on top of his.

When the stars cleared from his vision at the hit, he recognized A'isha but pretended he didn't. He flipped her and rolled until he was on top of her. Pinning her hands above her head made her breasts push into his chest. He grew stiff between her legs in less than a second.

"Please, Detective, don't,” she gasped. “I thought you were the killer. I was trying to defend myself."

"You shouldn't have been in here,” he growled. His gaze fell on the paper in her hands. “Getting rid of evidence?"

"N-No, of course not. I just—” She blew out a breath. “Detective, as pleasurable as having you on top of me is, I'd just as soon get off this floor!"

His flushed but hauled himself off of her and reached down to help her up. This time, he made no move to cover his swollen dick. She liked the feel of him on her? Let her look. And she did. He had thought she was a shy thing, but there was more to A'isha than met the eye. Not the least bit put off by her statement, he moved in close to her to breathe in her delicious scent.

She stared up at him. “Detective?” Her lips were ripe for kissing. Just one taste. No one would have to know. He could be professional from here on out. He could ... Tipping her chin higher, he covered her mouth with hunger that scorched his mind. Nothing was as important as sticking his tongue in to sample her sweetness.

Her moans did him in. He slid his hand down to her neck and pressed his body along hers with her back to the counter. With one thigh, he parted hers and ran his other hand down to her ass. He squeezed, and she whimpered. Just a little more, a little longer. Showering kisses along the side of her face, he nipped her soft skin, sucked at it and pressed harder. His shaft raged to get inside her. He fought to keep from yanking her dress up to satisfy his suspicion that she was wet between her legs. He wanted to taste there too. All night, inhaling her essence and feasting to his heart's content.

Suspect.

The word exploded into his mind. He drew back, releasing her. Distance between them was the best thing right now. He walked around the counter to where she had left the box, glimpsing again the overdue bills. A'isha was having money troubles. He should be trying to discover how that might tie in to her assistance's murder, but he didn't want to think of her being guilty.

A look over his shoulder revealed her panting and straightening her clothes. Satisfaction rose inside him. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her, had enjoyed his touch, his kiss. He had been with a black woman only once in his life, and the experience hadn't been pleasant. But that had to do with the woman rather than the color of her skin. A person's race made no never mind to him, but his experience hadn't varied much from Caucasian women.

"I apologize,” he began. “That was very unprofessional of me. It won't happen again.” The look of disappointment on her face almost made him cross to her and take her in his arms again. Just as she had shown spunk a moment ago, she could be playing him now. What better way to throw a man off your trail than to seduce him. Boy, could she seduce him with hips like hers. He wanted to hang onto them and ride to his heart's content.

Clearing his throat, he turned away and picked up one of the letters in the box. The envelope said Air Mail. He guessed it was from her brother. She snatched it from his fingers. “That's mine. You have no right to go through my things."

He puffed up, getting on his high horse to stare her down. “Might I remind you, Ms. Greene, that this is an official investigation?"

"I know what it is!” she snapped. “You've been sure to remind me every time I've spoken to you. I'm sure kissing me was not a part of that, and neither is my correspondence."

He faced her fully. “Did I hear a threatening tone in your voice?"

She seemed to consider that a moment, and then her shoulders slumped. “No, it wasn't. I wanted that kiss as much as you did, and I was responsible for it happening just the same."

She would have said more, but her cell phone rang, and she turned away to answer. He began sifting through her box, if for nothing else than to see if an address might catch his eye. With half an ear, he listened to her conversation.

"Hello?” Her voice dropped lower. “John? All right. Yes, but do we have to go out every night? I have to—Okay ... I said okay! Eight. I'll be ready."

When she hung up, Connor raised his brows. “Problem?"

She rolled her eyes. “Nothing I can't handle, thank you very much.” She slid the box off the counter after dropping the rest of her letters into it. “If there's nothing else, I'm leaving.” He watched her walk to the door, making no move to help her open it, but she stopped and turned back. “I almost forgot.” She dropped the box. “I think someone was in here before me."

He went on the alert. “Why?"

"Because someone has tried to get into my personal closet.” She passed into the kitchen with him close behind.

"How do you know?” He scanned the area and stopped on the second of two doors which she stood before holding a heavy duty lock. He crossed to join her and eased the lock from her fingers with the tips of his. Concentrating to block the sensations passing through him at their contact, he examined the lock. “Looks like someone has been working at it, trying to pick it. I can get the guys to lift prints. I'll check with my partner to be sure they didn't already see this.” He tried the doorknob. “What's in here, and why the special lock?"

She grinned proudly, her chest swelling. “My mother's prized recipes. She kept them tucked away, because she felt someone might want to steal them. Her baked goods were insanely addictive. I can't come close even with access to her secrets.” She gasped. “Do you think someone was trying to get to the recipes, and Cammie caught them? Maybe that's why they killed her?"

He took in the serious expression on her face. She believed that nonsense she had just spouted. This was no million dollar establishment with clients the world over. This was strictly mom and pop. The woman's livelihood, yes, but nothing more. “I doubt it."

Her face fell. “Oh ... I had hoped to have this solved quickly. I'm in sort of a hurry."

"You'll be cleared when the fingerprints are drawn from this lock. In fact, if you slip it off, I can take it into the office now. After that, the cleaning crew comes, and you're clear.” He smirked. “Unless you meant something else?” He thought of John, the opportunistic new boyfriend. Hopefully, Ms. Greene had more sense than to sleep with him to keep his support. Jealousy rose in him at that thought.

She seemed about to tell him where he could stuff his assumptions, but changed her mind. Instead, she offered a tight smile. “I can't give it to you now. I don't have another lock."

He crossed his arms. “You don't honestly believe someone wants to steal old cake recipes, do you?"

"Prove they don't!"

A chuckle rumbled up in his chest. He held out his hand, palm up. “Keys."

"What?"

"Your keys.” He wiggled his fingers. “I will not take the lock off until you bring me another lock, but neither will I allow you back in here until it's clear. So, you can give me the keys to this place, and gather your things. We're leaving."

Slapping her hands on her hips, she bellowed, “You have no right—"

"We've been over that, and I affirmed that I do.” He took her by the arm and shuffled her toward the kitchen door. “Let's go."

[Back to Table of Contents]

A'isha scowled at her reflection in the mirror. Detective Connor Pierce was hot, and that set up some intense fantasies in her mind of doing much more, but his ordering her around had to go. For all she knew, he had settled on blaming her for the murder, and only needed the motive to push for an arrest warrant. She'd seen the cop shows on TV and knew that all he had to do was threaten John, and he would cave. Then she'd be in hot water. No, this investigation was up to her. Except for the fact that she had no leads and no access to whatever the police had access to. She couldn't run prints as Connor had said or force people to talk to her.