“Eye gouging?”
“Attempted eye gouging,” she corrected with a shrug. “It was the class right before lunch and like you said, ‘hangry’ is a real thing. So is it appropriate for me to ask why you’re in jail?”
He was pretty sure “appropriate” wasn’t something that concerned her too much.
“Happy to tell you if you hand over one of those muffins.”
“Do you mean these freshly baked, Rainier cherry buckwheat scones with lemon-cardamom icing?”
She lifted a cardboard bakery container to the bars to give him a look. The aroma made his head spin. Spice and citrus and sugar.
“Please God, yes,” he said fervently. “Those.”
“Perhaps you’d like some coffee with them too?” A metal thermos appeared on the other side of her face. Her sunny smile, combined with the promise of breakfast, made his mood lighten for the first time since the sergeant had knocked on his rental car window.
“You have no idea.” His mouth was watering so much he could barely get the words out. “I have some money in my wallet. It’s somewhere out there, wherever they put personal items. You know what would be even better? If you could find the key and let me out. That way I can get some cash for you. And Maya won’t be quite so angry when she discovers that I’m in jail.”
She pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling, as if thinking over his proposal. “So let me get this straight. You want me to feed you breakfast, let you out of jail, and piss off my best friend by giving away her coffee?”
He snorted. Maybe she wasn’t quite as flaky as he’d imagined. “Is that a no?”
“I’ll think about it.” She winked at him. “What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll tell you all about the dire acts that put me behind bars.”
“Or…just spitballing…I could wait for Maya to show up and she could tell me.”
“Yes, but you know how police blotters are, they’re very dry and boring. I can tell you the inside story. All the juicy gory details.”
“Gory? Is there blood involved? I’m not good with blood. That’s why I picked baking instead of—”
“Medicine?”
“Fishing.” She frowned at him. “Okay, how about this? Maya never eats more than half a scone anyway because she gets so busy. I’ll give you a nice big chunk of this scone if you tell me what a well-dressed, probably good-looking-when-not-so-tired stranger is doing in our humble little jail.”
Probably good-looking. Not the most flattering description, but at least she was still talking.
“Throw in a sip of coffee and you have a deal.”
“I can do better than that.” She disappeared, taking her scones and coffee with her. He wanted to cry like a baby, watching them go.
In a minute, she came back with a paper cup of extremely dark coffee. She passed it through the bars to him. He took a whiff and made a face. “This is what’s in that thermos?”
“Oh no, this is the station coffee, they must have made it last night.”
“Good God.” He sloshed it in the cup, where it left a poisonous-looking residue on the sides.
“Yeah. That’s why I bring Maya my coffee when I want to butter her up.” She flaunted the thermos at him, and he choked back a tormented growl. “But jailbirds can’t be choosers. Here.” She broke off a piece of scone and passed it through the bars. “This’ll help it go down.”
He set the coffee aside and devoured the scone in two bites. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted, hands down.
“Well?” She waited expectantly. “Juicy details please. As agreed.”
“All right. I hacked into the police department computer system to find out more about the case Maya hired me for. Sergeant Santa got pinged that someone was on the network and decided I should contemplate my evil deeds during a quiet night in lockup.”
She frowned. “That’s it? Hacking? Not even the axe kind of hacking?”
“Not juicy enough for you? Sorry.” The incredible cherry buckwheat concoction had hit his bloodstream, making him feel much more like a regular human. “I completely agree. They should only arrest people for more exciting crimes. So maybe you could find the keys to this place and—“
“What was the case?”
“Excuse me?”
“The case Maya hired you for?”
“I probably shouldn’t talk about that. Maybe it’s supposed to be confidential.”
“Is it about S.G.? Spruce Grouse?”
He looked at her with surprise. Either it was already common knowledge or she wasn’t a bad detective herself.
“I can see by your eyebrows that it is.”
He forced his eyebrows back down to their normal position. “No comment.”
She tapped her fingers on the thermos, barely paying attention to him anymore. “If she hired you to help with that case, something must be wrong, because she’s been knee deep in that one for a while. What kind of help does she need? Who are you, anyway?”
“Okay, you can stop with the interrogation shit, Jess.” The bakery girl’s face disappeared, replaced by Maya Badger’s. She frowned at him, the light sliding off her rich dark skin. “Ethan James? What the hell are you doing in there?”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been wondering all night. Just so you know, I charge overtime for jail time.”
A frown dented her forehead. “Did I say this was a paid job? You hung up before we got a chance to discuss it.”
He sighed. Perfect end to a perfect night.
At least he’d gotten half of a perfect scone out of it.
Chapter Two
Jessica Dixon stepped back as Maya unlocked the door of the jail cell. The man inside it—Ethan James—came limping out. Had he sustained an injury while being arrested in the parking lot? Maybe hacking was just as violent a crime as it sounded.
Ethan had wide shoulders, quiet hazel eyes, long legs encased in blue jeans. Wherever he came from, some stylist had done excellent work on his hair. Even after a night in jail, he looked good; he even smelled good, with some kind of clean citrus aftershave. Definitely different from the rough-edged guys she’d grown up with in Alaska.
And yet, she got the sense that he was pretty tough under that nicely groomed exterior. Something about his features intrigued her, as if he was a lot more than he appeared at first. Above all things, she trusted her intuition; it was probably the only thing that hadn’t let her down at some point. Her intuition told her that Ethan James wasn’t someone to mess with, and that there was a lot going on under his easy-on-the-eyes facade.
The way Maya treated him—with an unusual degree of respect—reinforced that impression.
“Let me guess,” she told the man behind the bars. “You arrived here early and my sergeant got a little overeager last night.”
“Don’t blame him. I was crossing a line, I admit. I wanted to get a jump on the research.”
“Shit.” Maya set her hands on her hips. “I’m going to look like a hypocrite if I go easy on you.”
Jessica waved the thermos of coffee and the box of scones at her. “Maya, I need to talk to you.”
“Can we do it later, Jess? I have a problem on my hands.”
She had a problem too; why else would she be here this early with coffee and bribery scones? “Okay sure, we can talk about my thing later. One crisis at a time, or so they say. Seems to me they always come in clusters.”
Ethan shot her a vaguely amused glance. She got the impression that he didn’t take her very seriously, as if she was a pesky little sister.
She didn’t like that thought at all. She wasn’t anyone’s little sister, and just because she was a little offbeat didn’t mean that she wasn’t worthy of respect.
Or did it?
Lately she’d been wondering about that very question.
She realized that both Maya and Ethan were looking at her. “What? Did I miss something?”
“You said you were leaving. That we’re going to talk about your thin
g later.” In her police chief uniform, Maya always looked so stern, even though Jess knew better. Maya was the kind of friend you could always count on—well, except if she was busy with an unexpected perp.
“If this is about S.G., I don’t mind sticking around. I could probably be helpful.”
Ethan’s half-smile felt wholly condescending. “Those scones are sure helpful, I’ll say that. Any chance you can rustle up a few more of those?”
A flash of anger swept through her. Just because she made sweets for a living and liked to smile didn’t mean she was a dimwit he could order around.
“Sure thing, jailbird. I live to feed breakfast to inmates. They’re so sexy, it’s the lure of the forbidden and all that. Maybe I’ll write you letters while you’re serving your time, and then we can get married and have conjugal visits and—“
“Jessica.” Maya could barely keep herself from laughing. “Take it easy on him. Ethan came up here from Los Angeles at my request. I have to deal with this situation before it gets even more awkward. But I’m grateful for the breakfast and we’ll definitely address your problem as soon as I’m done here. I’ll call you, okay? Are we good?”
As police chief, Maya knew how to manage a situation. Jessica wasn’t used to being “a situation,” but she could read the anxiety in her friend’s posture. Right now, Maya needed her to leave, and so she’d do just that—but for her own reasons. Not because Mr. Bigshot from LA wanted another scone.
“We’re good,” she assured Maya, while casting a scathing glance at Ethan James. “No sharing my Guatemalan Organic Roast with the inmates, though.”
Petty words to leave with, but she didn’t take them back. She didn’t appreciate being patronized, even by an attractive stranger.
Especially by an attractive stranger.
Even after she’d ridden her bike back to the Sweet Harbor Bakery and B&B and gone back to work in the kitchen, Jessica’s irritation didn’t fade. She rolled out the lunchtime biscuits with twice the force she usually used, nearly bending her favorite cookie cutter in the process. It wasn’t just Ethan she was mad at; they didn’t know each other, after all. He could be forgiven for dismissing her with a smile and a light word about scones.
Could be forgiven, but might not be, depending on what he did next.
No, this wasn’t about Ethan-the-handsome-jailbird. This was about her. Just because she’d been running Sweet Harbor since her mother had dumped it on her didn’t mean she couldn’t do other things. Just because she’d skipped college to take over the bakery didn’t mean she didn’t have a brain. Just because she’d never even left Alaska didn’t mean she was trapped in her comfort zone of muffins and room rentals.
Or did it?
Lately, she’d been wondering if all of those things were true. Ethan James, whoever he was, had hit a sore spot.
She busied herself with making biscuits until she noticed that Sergeant Hollister was at the display case. Ethan had referred to a “Sergeant Santa,” and he was the only one who fit that description.
With a glance at Nia, the blue-haired, nose-ringed server, she took over at the cash register.
“Good morning, Sergeant. Why are you trying to pay, you silly goose? You know all the Lost Harbor police caffeinate for free here.”
He covered up a yawn with the crook of his arm. “Seems like that’s only when you’re around.”
“Oh, well, the others forget sometimes.” She waved off his money. “Hey, heard you had a busy night last night.”
“Sure did. Following the new chief’s orders. Doin’ my duty.”
Poor Maya. Taking over a department of ornery old dudes was no picnic. Jessica admired her for shaking things up. If only she could do the same.
“We all appreciate everything you’re doing to keep the town safe.” She batted her eyelashes at him, knowing he was no match for her smile when she unleashed it. “Is it true you arrested a violent felon in the parking lot?”
“Nah, I wouldn’t go that far. He came easily enough. Didn’t have to fire my weapon, but I was ready.”
“I just bet you were.” Maya had told her that the Lost Harbor police rarely even drew their weapons. It just didn’t come up very often. “He would have been no match for you, I’m sure.”
He puffed up his chest. “Of course not. We’re a small town, but we can hold our own. No hotshot PI’s gonna get the best of me.”
Oh ho. Ethan James was a private investigator. Very intriguing. She smiled again at the sergeant and patted his arm. “You should go get some sleep. Those overnight shifts must be killer.”
“Thanks, dear. You’re gonna forget I just told you that about our perp, aren’t you?”
“Sure thing, Sergeant. You know me. Silent as a cheesecake.” She winked at him. “I know it’s supposed to be ‘silent as a grave,’ but that’s just too morbid for me. Cheesecakes are equally silent, at least I’ve never known one to say a word.”
He chuckled as he picked up his coffee. “Always nice to see you, Kiddo. Brightens the day. Say hello to your mom.”
“Will do.” Her smile dimmed as he left the bakery.
What was the point in passing along his greeting? Her mom wouldn’t even remember him. It was ten years since they’d dated, and she had a new husband now. He was the worst of the lot.
She went back to her biscuits and saw that they had risen enough to be slid into the big commercial oven. When her mother had started Sweet Harbor Bakery over twenty years ago, she’d done all the baking in a tiny propane unit in an RV. As soon as she’d started turning a profit, she’d invested in a real commercial oven. But old framed photos of the original Sweet Harbor kitchen still adorned the wall. The infamous yellow RV with its cheerful curtains and abundant production of muffins and sweet rolls for the local fishermen was iconic.
The photo with Jessica as a little girl poking her head out of the window to take someone’s order had even made it into a national magazine article about quirky offbeat eateries.
Yup, that was Sweet Harbor Bakery. Quirky and offbeat. Just like Jessica herself—at least according to everyone in town.
What would it take to shake that label? What would it take to inspire someone like Ethan James to look at her with something other than mild amusement?
She sighed, stirring a puff of flour into the air. Why should she care what Ethan James thought of her? He could “rustle up some scones” and shove them where the sun don’t shine, as far as she was concerned.
She had much, much bigger things to worry about. Like the certified letter from her mother sitting unopened on her office desk. Her mother’s new husband, Gary—she always mentally drew out the name in a sarcastic tone—had big plans for Sweet Harbor Bakery and B&B. He was pulling out all the stops to get her to sell.
That was why she’d rushed over to the police station with panic scones. She needed to talk this over with someone. It was such a big decision and she hated making important decisions. Little everyday decisions were no problem, but the big life-changing ones were her Achilles heel. Her fatal flaw. And Maya was so good at them.
The water pipes clanged, meaning someone had just turned on the shower upstairs. That reminded her that she had to fix the hot water heater today. Her B&B guests could handle some minor Alaska-style inconveniences, but not a lack of hot showers.
She left the biscuits for Nia to finish and hurried off to gather up her plumbing tools. Lost Harbor had very few plumbers, so she’d learned to handle such things herself. Besides, she’d much rather play plumber than make a decision. No contest.
Chapter Three
Ethan only had time for a quick meeting with Maya before things got busy at the Lost Harbor police station. They squeezed in apologies on both sides and set an appointment for later that day.
“I have some homework for you before then,” Maya told him as she turned on her computer. “Just give me a second to print my notes.”
“Sounds good. It might have to wait until after a shower and a nap, though.�
��
“Do I have to apologize again?” she asked wryly.
“No need,” he assured her. She’d dropped the charges, and that was more than enough for him.
“The thing about this case,” Maya explained as she tapped on her files, “it’s not in my jurisdiction. Lost Souls Wilderness is a mix of state and federal land, and since we don’t know exactly where S.G. was found, I can’t say which. I know for sure it isn’t Lost Harbor PD territory. So for me to work on it, I have to do it on my own time, after hours.”
“Which probably doesn’t leave you much time at all.”
She crossed over to the printer on the other side of the room. “Exactly. That’s why I thought of you. Padric Jeffers vouches for you, and so does Darius Boone. I was pretty excited when you agreed to come up.”
“My pleasure. It’s always a good change of pace from California. It came at a good moment.”
Part of him wanted to ask about her friend, Jessica with the divine scones. Before his near-death experience—and before Charley—he might have tried to see her again, because she was appealing and might be fun to pass some time with while he was in Lost Harbor.
But now, he was engaged. No more flirting for him.
“Any big news in your life?” she asked as they watched the printer spit out pages.
“Well, I did get engaged since the last time I was here.”
“Congratulations.”
He grunted. He still wasn’t used to the idea of being engaged. For long stretches of time, he forgot about it.
She eyed him sideways. “Where’s that disgustingly besotted look I usually see when couples get engaged?”
He rolled his shoulders, still getting the kinks out from his night in jail. “It’s not that kind of engagement.”
“You’re not engaged to be married? You got some other kind of engagement down there in the Lower Forty-eight? We’re always behind the times up here.”
“No no, we’re getting married. It’s just not, you know, the sappy kind of engagement. Romantic. All that shit. It’s the practical kind.”
Love at First Light (Lost Harbor, Alaska Book 6) Page 2
