FUTURE RISK Page 2

  “Well, somebody get him on the phone and get his ass down here,” Ridge demands, not giving the direction to any one particular person, but we all jump.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Katy clears her throat for at least the sixth time in the last twenty minutes and looks at me, widening her eyes. Clearly she’s trying to tell me something.

  What that something is, I have no idea.

  I stop by the walk-in freezer with my hand on the door. “Would anyone like some cookies?”

  Bennett and Ridge were huddled together in the corner of the kitchen speaking in low voices two seconds ago, but now both turn with similar questioning looks. Hasn’t anyone heard of cookies making everyone feel better? It worked in the Matrix movies.

  “No, we’re good in the cookie department.” Bennett looks me up and down like he’s checking for a second head.

  “I could go for a cookie.” Tabitha steps around the prep table headed for the large walk-in refrigerator where I keep racks of extra desserts.

  “No cookies,” Ridge says a little louder than necessary. “We don’t know what the situation is yet. There could be evidence in there.”

  Tabitha stops long enough to give him an are-you-serious look. “Ridge, I’ve been in the freezer a hundred thousand times. Trust me. There is no cash in there.”

  “Tabitha, this is serious.”

  “I know. That’s why we ended up telling you.”

  “You mean you considered not telling us?” Ridge’s eyebrows turn up and he even takes a step back.

  In truth we didn’t have time to decide if we were telling or weren’t telling. And while I’m thinking on the matter it’s odd no one has called the police. Isn’t this something they should be involved in? Don’t get me wrong, Ridge is all bad ass and everything, but discovering piles of money is kind of a police matter. Isn’t it?

  “Do you think we should call the police?” I ask. Someone needs to.

  Ridge shakes his head like he can’t believe he’s lost control of the situation, but he answers anyway, “We’ll call the police once we know what we’re dealing with.”

  We know exactly what we’re dealing with—a lot of money and a wall.

  The bell at the front of the shop dings and Katy closes her mouth. It’s probably a good thing. As each second ticked by, the tension grew while we waited for Pierce to show up.

  The kitchen is stifling, but not from a hot stove. Someone is bound to snap sooner or later.

  “Hello. Anyone here?” a male voice calls from the front of the bakery. There is too much excitement going on back here for any of us to watch the front of the store.

  “Back here, Dumbass,” Katy yells at Pierce.

  He walks through the double doors, the only person so far who hasn’t come through as if he’s Clint Eastwood “Well look at this. There’s trouble in Pelican Bay and Katy Kadish is involved. Hard to believe,” he says with dry sarcasm.

  Katy scoffs. “Why does everyone think I’m involved?”

  “Do you know there’s a stack of cash on your table?” Pierce asks, his dirty blond hair gelled back perfectly as always. “I thought you needed a few more days to get me the rent?”

  “You cut her slack on her rent?” Katy asks almost cutting him off.

  “She said she needed a few extra days.” He shrugs.

  Bennett stands beside me while I do my best to inspect every far and away corner of the bakery. “Are you having money problems? Do you need help?”

  “No, I’m not having money problems. I switched banks and there’s a three-day lock on transfer funds. It’s no big deal.”

  He shakes his head twice, my answer barely passing. “Okay, but if you’re short call me.”

  “Uh-huh.” Tabitha shakes her head, her eyes wide, giving me a quiet look. This one I’m able to read instantly, but I refuse to view it as evidence Bennett likes me. He’s being helpful, that’s all.

  “Is any one of you going tell me about the money?” Thank God at least Pierce can keep his eye on the prize.

  Katy, standing next to Pierce, reaches over and pushes on his shoulder. He teeters for a second. “Of course you care about the money.”

  “Anessa found the money hidden behind the stove. Do you have any idea where it came from?” Ridge throws a stack of soggy bills at Pierce.

  He catches it, holding the mushy mess away from his body. “No, why would I?”

  “You own this place. Who used to rent it?”

  He hesitates. “You’re not going to like my answer.” Pierce lobs the stack of bills back at Ridge.

  “That’s what I figured. Who?”

  “Kevin Chambers.”

  From the way Ridge and Katy both suck in a breath, I’m guessing they really do not like Pierce’s answer.

  Tabitha leans on the counter. “We don’t like Kevin?”

  “You rented out a building to Anessa that a known drug dealer rented before her?”

  Pierce shrugs and finally turns his attention to me. “She’s cute. Of course I rented to her.” Katy grunts at his answer, but Pierce keeps on talking. “And besides the man was convicted of a drug charge not the building. I don’t discriminate when it comes to rent checks.”

  “And what do you think he was doing in the building?” Katy asks tapping on the counter. If her eyes had lasers Pierce would be flayed right now.

  “There is absolutely no evidence anything of a drug nature went on while he used this building as a storefront. You don’t burn the whole orchard down because it produced one bad apple.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she responds.

  Ridge steps between the two of them. “He was convicted of running drugs across the border. Where do you think he stored them?”

  “Did you read the police report? He had two storage units in Whitecap. Why would I assume he did something here? Plausible deniability.”

  Katy leans over and hits Pierce in the shoulder with enough force we hear the impact. He only rolls his eyes and rubs the area mockingly. “So you risk my best friend’s life to make a few more dollars?”

  “What do you mean, risk her life? She’s fine.” Pointing to the money he finishes, “richer for it actually.”

  “I thought you said nothing ever happens here?” I ask the room at large. This Kevin guy definitely sounds like something happened here.

  Pelican Bay is not the quiet, sleepy seaside town I was promised.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “How long do you have to stay here?” I ask Bennett as he pushes my brand-new stove into place. The delivery guys dropped it off a few minutes after Ridge and everyone else left, roughly an hour ago. Thankfully, Ridge took the money with him so I was spared more questions.

  Bennett uses his hip to push the stove the final inch, which should be impossible for an industrial stove but he acts as if it’s simple. “What? Don’t you enjoy having me around to help?”

  Do I? That’s the problem. I like having Bennett around here way more than I should. His strong biceps, the way he bites the corner of his lips together when in thought, the way he stood by me protectively during the whole money thing. If I was a cartoon heroine, this is the point when I start swooning. Which means it’s also the time he needs to get out.

  It’s hot enough in my kitchen. I don’t need to add fantasies of Bennett to the oven.

  “Of course I like having you around,” I lie. Or don’t lie… I’m still not quite sure how I actually feel. “I just don’t want to keep you from big bad security guy stuff.”

  Bennett laughs. “This is big bad security guy stuff.”

  “Aren’t there like bombs to diffuse or damsels in distress to save?”

  Bennett opens the large freezer door, leaving three fingerprints on my perfectly polished stainless steel, and peeks his head in. There are definitely no robbers in the freezer, but getting to stare at Bennett’s ass makes me okay with the fact he’s raising the temperature of my frozen goods above the suggested level.

  He doesn’t answer until the freezer door is closed and he’s left another smudge mark on the front. “Anessa, you are my damsel in distress.”

  Oh, I’m distressed all right, but not for the reasons he thinks. How can I clean off the prints without him realizing what I’m doing?

  “Do you have any more of those cookies?”

  “Of course, I have the best cookies.” Oh. My. God. That is not what I meant. “I mean baked goods are my specialty. There are a lot of ways I can get you excited.”

  Bennett doesn’t move. He’s stopped with his hand on the freezer door as he stares, waiting for me to catch up.

  I eventually do.

  When what I’ve said hits me, my mouth drops open. “I mean…wow…um.” I am making this so much worse. “What kind are you looking for?”

  Way to throw it together there at the end, Nessa.

  Bennett steps away from the freezer and I grab the edge of my table—the metal cool against my sweaty palms—so I don’t run over there and clean the door as soon as he’s not looking. I must not let him know I’m crazy yet.

  “Those ones with the little red pieces and the white chocolate in them?” he asks.

  “Of course, the cranberry sugar cookies. They’re one of my favorites too. The recipe comes from my great-grandmother although I’ve made a few improvements.” Shut up. Shut up. Bennett does not care about your stupid cookie recipe, Anessa.

  I busy myself by pulling out a preloaded rack of cookies and sliding them into the new oven. Screw waiting for it to warm. I need the activity to keep my hands busy. If not, I’ll be wiping down the freezer doors or running my hands down his arms. Who knew I’m one of those girls who find arms sexy?

  Although, I have always had a thing for Vin Diesel and the way he fills out a T-shirt. Maybe this makes a little more sense after all.

  “If you don’t already have some made, don’t worry about it,” Bennett says, as he invades my space right next to the oven.

  I slam the oven door shut, lost in my thoughts of Vin Diesel and Bennett’s arms. If I was one of those girls with sex appeal, I’d have a witty comment to make right now. But I have so few moves I can’t even dance the Macarena.

  At some point in a past life I’ve screwed up and God is now taking it out on me by making me stupid while the cute guy is here. He couldn’t be fifty pounds overweight and balding.

  “Did you hear me?” he asks. “You shouldn’t make new ones.”

  Didn’t I answer the question? Focus, Nessa! “It’s fine. Time to test out the new oven anyway. I’d love for you to be my maiden voyage.”

  Did I just make a virgin joke? Could this get any worse?

  “You haven’t plugged it in yet.”

  “Huh?”

  “The stove. Do you want me to plug it in?” He holds up a thick black cord, definitely not plugged in.

  “Uh. Yes. Right. Thanks.”

  A bead of sweat drops off my face. I need to get out of this kitchen. It’s too hot. I’m losing my ability to rationally think. He bends over, plugging the cord into the wall, and I stare at his ass. It’s not every day there’s a hot former SEAL crawling around on my floor. Bennett’s been stopping by the bakery every day for the last few weeks along with Ridge and a few other guys. The two of us have never shared more than a few simple sentences back and forth over my counter. This is too much. I’m minutes from overheating.

  “Did you hear the door? I think I heard the door?” I mumble doing my best not to run out of the kitchen. I make it to freedom with a quick pace.

  For some reason — probably God’s continued punishment — Bennett follows right behind me. “Isn’t there a bell on the door?”

  Oh for freak’s sake. “Sometimes…it sticks.”

  “Really? I’ll have Mack bring a new one later today.”

  Why God? Why? Mack is the owner of the hardware store in town. The hot owner of the hardware store. The ladies love to wander in and talk about him every day. The bakery is their next stop after they peruse his shelves. And the ladies in this town have an unnatural requirement for home improvement items.

  Plus, Bennett makes it sound like he’s here to stay for a year. Ridge told him to “look the place over” and trust me when I say Bennett has been very thorough.

  “Is that a blueberry muffin?” he asks, his finger touching the clear glass at the back of my display counter.

  The blueberry sold out during the morning rush. “No, it’s bran.”

  He pulls his fingers away like the muffin burned him. “No wonder you have so many left.”

  I crinkle my nose at his comment, even though he has a point. For a town full of old people, they do not care about getting their daily fiber intake.

  “I’m out of blueberry. They sell fast every morning.” In fact, so well tomorrow’s plan is to scrap the bran muffins and make extra blueberry.

  “That’s okay. You can save me one tomorrow morning.”

  Tomorrow morning?

  “You think you’ll take that long? Isn’t Ridge walking the money to the police station and filling out a report?”

  Bennett laughs so hard my cheeks turn pink. I feel stupid, like I’m missing some joke. He takes a seat at one of mismatched chairs on the other side the bakery. Tabitha, Katy, and I painted all the chairs in the bakery a few months ago, but the teal color on this particular one has started to rub in certain areas. They will need another coat soon. Maybe a sealer.

  When he sees I’m not laughing along with him, Bennett does a few fake coughs and settles down. “Yeah, Ridge doesn’t work that way.”

  “What way?”

  “Once he takes on a case he sees it through to the end.”

  My heart continues to beat at a high enough rate it can’t be good for my health. When did this become a case? That can’t be a good sign. The whole situation is out of control.

  My mouth hangs open ready to ask Bennett for the definition of “case,” but the phone on the wall to my right rings. It’s an old phone, one of those with a rotary dial on the front. The lime green color faded in some spots, but it functions and came with the place, so I’m not complaining.

  “Pelican Bay Bakery,” I answer with the generic greeting Tabitha and I came up with. I need to name this place or else the lackluster calling will stick.

  There’s static on the other end of the line, like someone brushed across the receiver with a piece of clothing. “What happened to Kevin?”

  Well this can’t be good. “He doesn’t rent the place anymore.”

  “What do you mean he doesn’t rent the place anymore?”

  I stare in Bennett’s direction with huge wide eyes, but it doesn’t get his attention. He watches a slow trickle of people meandering down Main Street. “I mean, he moved.”

  Even with my raised voice Bennett doesn’t glance in my direction.

  “What where did he move to?” The voice raises in irritation.

  I slowly and quietly slide open the display case door and grab a bran muffin. Using an overhand toss I perfected in high school softball, I lob the muffin at Bennett’s head. It makes contact, bounces off the top of his ear and lands on the floor. Bennett jumps up and the teal chair falls to the floor behind him with a clatter that echoes through the empty store front.

  “I don’t know where Kevin moved to. I’m not his mother.” Those words get Bennett’s attention and he’s standing next to me in less than a second.

  The voice on the other end swears a few times. “Listen here, you little bitch. You better find me Kevin or else we’ll have problems.” Like I don’t have enough problems right now.

  Who the hell does this guy think he is? Bennett holds out his hands indicating he wants me to give him the phone, but there’s a fat chance of that happening. I slam the phone down on the wall box and give Bennett a satisfied smile. There’s nothing better than the feeling you get from hanging up on someone.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” Bennett demands.

  My bravado runs away with an exhaled breath. It’s going to be a long day.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The phone rings.

  “Don’t answer it,” Bennett hollers from the kitchen.

  I shake my head and pass over Pearl’s chocolate blueberry muffin. I couldn’t sleep last night so I came down and played for a few hours. Some people stress eat. I stress bake. And after 2 a.m. there’s no telling what will come out of my oven. There are perks and problems to living above a bakery.

  “Don’t shake your head like you don’t enjoy having a handsome guy like Bennett in the back of your kitchen,” Pearl clucks at me a few times while she takes her seat, balancing the muffin on a dainty plate.

  Bennett bumps me on his way through the metal doors in an effort to get the phone before it quits ringing. “The Bakery.”

  Pearl has a point. Bennett’s answered my phone for the past two days even though I haven’t had any new threatening calls. The first twenty-four hours having him constantly in my space had my nerves unraveling, but we found our groove working together. It’s nice to have someone around for the heavy lifting and when Tabitha isn’t here to man the front counter.

  “She’s open until six tonight.” Bennett hangs up the phone and then scribbles a few words on the notepad hanging on the wall next to it.

  From the way he goes back to his work in the kitchen, a sly smirky little grin on his face, I don’t waste any time before I read his note. The small scratch pad and pen were intended as a way to jot down phone orders, but they’ve quickly become Bennett and Tabitha’s personal suggestion box.

  Mainly for inappropriate bakery names. They’re all horrible and get worse by the day.

  Bennett’s suggestions from earlier is scratched off on the top of the pad. For some reason I’m not inclined to name the place Cream Pie Sweets or My Baked Goods. The last I’m sure is a comment on my meltdown from a few days ago.

  The latest suggestion is no better. There are no plans to name this place Flour Power. Although it is the least objectionable name offered by anyone so far.

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