FUTURE RISK Page 3

  With a sigh and an eye roll, I tear off the piece of paper and crumble it up before tossing it in the trash. I push open one of the swinging kitchen doors with my butt. “How’s the sandwich?”

  Bennett’s jaw works up and down as he chews faster and swallows with a gulp. “One of the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “It’s a simple turkey and cheese.” Baking is my specialty, but it took a week before I realized if I wanted any sales after one o’clock I needed regular food too. Items people could grab and go.

  Thankfully, years of working at the small diner in my hometown in Washington state provided the skills I needed in a regular kitchen. Customers won’t get anything fancy, but the cold cut sandwiches and side salads work to keep customers in throughout the day. At least until we close around six.

  Bennett crushes up the sandwich wrapper and tosses it in the large black trashcan at the end of my prep table. “Growing up I was the definition of a latchkey kid. A single working mother with three boys to feed meant a lot of takeout. Anything prepared in the kitchen and not from a box tastes good.”

  “Your mother raised three boys by herself?” The little tidbit about Bennett entices me to walk farther into the kitchen.

  “Yup, Dad left when I was six. As the youngest, by the time I finished high school Mom was worn out and there was no money for college. It’s why I joined the military.”

  “How many years were you in?” Bennett has been around the last two days but he hasn’t been overly talkative. At least not about himself.

  He turns around and leans back against the large metal table like he’s settling in for a conversation. “Two tours and I met Ridge somewhere in the middle of it all.”

  His eyes lose focus as he talks, staring at the corner of the room. It’s not the look of a man who is conflicted about his time, but more of one who looks back at it longingly.

  “Why did you leave?”

  Bennett sighs. “I would have stayed, but shit happens. And I needed to be here.”

  We both pause and I prepare to ask for more information, but he cuts me off. “It’s better I’m here.”

  His response doesn’t answer any of the burning questions I have. “Did it get to be too much?”

  He thinks for a moment while staring at my wall. “Not really, but when you’re overseas for such long periods you see a lot of buddies come and go. All the guys around me moved on with their lives, married, families. I had responsibilities, and people needed me back in the states. So here I am.”

  “Did you grow up in Pelican Bay?” I ask because I can’t stop myself. I need to know more about Bennett. Everything.

  This time Bennett full out laughs as he pushes off the counter, a muscle bulging when he grips the edge. Not that I notice or anything. “Here? No. Mom raised us outside Orlando.”

  “Oh! Did you go to Disney often?” I always wanted to go to Disney in California, but my family didn’t have the extra money.

  “No, remember, single mother. No help.”

  My expression falls. “Sorry. I never went either even though Anaheim, California, was a drivable distance.” A fact I pointed out often.

  “I came to Pelican Bay because Ridge talked endlessly during his last year of service about moving back to his hometown and starting a security firm. He had all these grand plans and spoke so fondly of the place and what a great area it was to grow up in. I stopped by to see him after I got out and haven’t left.”

  “Even after you were beat up saving Tabitha?”

  Bennett grimaces. “I did not get beat up.

  “I don’t think anyone blames you.” While the experience was traumatic for Tabitha, I’ve never once heard her say a bad word about Bennett.

  “She doesn’t need to. I do.”

  “Well you should stop. Tabitha would be pissed if she knew you were upset.”

  Bennett turns, his gaze leveled in my direction. “I will not make the same mistakes with you.”

  For a moment his words stall my breath. There’s a chance I’ll end up like Tabitha? Beat up and in the hospital? There are no crazy ex-boyfriends in my past, but now images of Kevin pop up in my head. I’ve never seen him but in my vision he has a large fat head with two devil horns sticking out the sides. He could easily become the stuff of nightmares.

  “Don’t freak out. You’re safe,” Bennett murmurs, his hand in the air like he wants to come for me but isn’t sure. My insides freeze expectantly, but he doesn’t budge. “Why did you end up in Pelican Bay?”

  Now I’m the one who sighs. “My story is the complete opposite. Happily married parents with the whole two-point-five kids and a white picket fence.”

  “It sounds perfect.”

  “Many situations look perfect from the outside. But when you get closer, the glass is all smudged and the truth comes out. My mom’s biggest dream for all of us was to get married and have kids. In her opinion it’s wrong to want more than a husband to look after you.”

  “I take it moving to the East coast and opening a bakery was not an approved plan?”

  I snort. “She told me the guest room is always available when I come to my senses and decide to marry a nice local boy.” I use air quotes around “local boy” because I hadn’t found any of those before I left, but that wouldn’t matter to her. She pushed my brother into marrying the neighbor girl he had a play wedding with in preschool. “Worst case scenario I could go to college and get a degree in an acceptable field.”

  “Doctor, lawyer, maybe an accountant?” Bennett ticks most of my mother’s list off on his fingers while I nod at each. “Yes.” He bites the side of his lips. “You’re definitely not an accountant.”

  “Accountants aren’t allowed so much color.” It wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t pink. “I enrolled in the business program at the local community college to keep her happy but quickly flunked out. I had more fun working my part-time job at this little diner in town. It was full of truckers and other riffraff. A rather tough crowd, but I loved it.”

  “So you left the truckers, moved to Pelican Bay, and painted everything pink to get back at your parents?”

  “No.” Nothing in life is so simple. “I wanted to strike out on my own. See what I could do without their help.” Granted I probably didn’t need to move across the country. “I could have stayed local, but the rent here was cheap. I jumped on the chance when my realtor mentioned it in passing.”

  “Yes, now we know why the rent was so cheap. I’m starting to believe all the crap Katy spouts off about Pierce.”

  “She definitely doesn’t —” The bell stationed above the bakery entrance rings, reminding me Pearl is here and there’s a business to run. “Be right back.”

  Even though I’m perfectly capable of running the front end by myself, for some reason Bennett follows hot on my tail. I make it to the double swinging doors with him right behind me, but his steps are waylaid with the ringing from his back pocket.

  “Did someone come in?” I ask Pearl at the front counter after seeing she’s the only one in the store. I hope I didn’t miss a customer while standing in the back talking. I need every $1 cookie sale I can get.

  “No, just Mr. Ashwood stopping in to wave like he’s worried I forgot he’s still alive.” She laughs about her husband, but the two of them are adorable.

  I hope to one day find a Roland Ashwood of my own. Minus the long grey hair and hippie outfits. He wears more tie-dye than any normal person should in the twenty-first century. Probably more than anyone should have in the sixties.

  “He’s checking to make sure you haven’t run off with a younger man.”

  Pearl laughs, her head thrown back in abandon and the end of her long grey braid smacking the back of the chair. “I know too many of his secrets for him to let me run off with the pool boy.”

  She laughs again but abruptly cuts off when the bell above the door jingles. It’s safe to say one of my favorite parts of living in Pelican Bay is its eclectic make-up of residents. As the city grows and expands, a new and younger generation of people mix in with the older crowd. It’s a fascinating thing to see the two interact from my side of the counter.

  All that said, my new customer is one unlike anyone I’ve encountered in town before.

  His jeans are such a dark black I’m pretty sure they’re leather. The rest of his outfit conveys the same message. A short-sleeve white shirt stretched tightly against his chest is partially covered up with a sleeveless leather vest. If the tattoos running up and down his arms and over his neck weren’t enough, the patches of varying shapes and sizes sewn to the front of his vest finish the story.

  A biker has entered the building.

  Now I have some experience with bikers. They stopped into the diner back in Washington from time to time. Rough-and-tumble, they usually look ready to be thrown in the back of the cop car, but once you get to know them most are okay guys.

  Most of them.

  Not all of them.

  And from the scowl on this guy’s face I’m not ready to stick him in the kitten department yet.

  “You run this place?” he asks stopping halfway to the front counter.

  I cross my arms so my stance matches his. “Yup.”

  “Jeremy Hayes, don’t you scare Anessa. She makes me brownies.” Pearl’s expression is fierce like she’s willing to jump up and defend me if I need it.

  Jeremy cocks an eyebrow at me. “Are these brownies special?”

  With narrowed eyes I reply, “No.”

  “Then it doesn’t much do me any good.” He levels his attention on Pearl. “And they call me Mad Dog now.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Pearl counters. “I’ve known you since you were in diapers. Don’t think because you joined a little gang with your friends that I’ve forgotten.”

  I smash the back of my lips together to stop myself from laughing. Tough biker guys definitely don’t enjoy being laughed at.

  “Can I get you something?” I ask in an attempt to figure out why he’s here. I’m not normally one to judge, but the man looks out of place amidst my bright pink décor. Plus I can’t imagine Bennett will react well to this situation when he comes out from the back.

  Mad Dog approaches my counter and leans on the top, his elbow leaving prints on the glass. That’s annoying. “We heard you have a little money problem.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head back to Pearl.

  “Me? Not at all.”

  “Not what the boss heard. He sent me here to take it off your hands.”

  I’m sure he did. “Why? Does the money belong to him?”

  It’s a tough game I’m playing, but the guy’s demeanor is starting to wear on me. It doesn’t help that Pearl chooses this moment to get up and leave her stuff on the table while visiting the bathroom.

  If I were smart, I’d shut up. But the sooner we figure out the answer to my money problem, the sooner Bennett can leave. And I can go back to fantasies of him being around rather than actually having him around. I’m much cooler in my fantasies.

  “This isn’t something you want to get wrapped up in, Missy.” His eyes narrow as he leans farther into the glass.

  Okay, now he’s starting to become a little scary. It’s the leather and foreboding expression. This guy definitely isn’t a kitten, regardless of Pearl’s belief.

  “Listen up. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it ends now. This is not a situation you’ll be happy to find yourself in the middle of. Got me?” He’s so close his breath—a minty flavor—tickles my nose, but I refuse to lean back.

  The metal swing of the door bottom against the tile catches my attention and I turn my head in time to catch Bennet as he walks through.

  “What the f—”

  His question is cut off by a ping. And then another. Like someone is throwing little rocks at my front window.

  Until it explodes.

  “Get down!” Bennett throws himself on top of me, and together we fall to the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes. My elbow smacks the hard tile, jarring the bone but stopping my head before it strikes the floor.

  From our position behind the counter, I can’t see any of the action, but the sounds of glass raining on the floor and then a continued series of pops rings in my ears. Bennett positions his arm around my head in slow motion. The entire room freezes until I swear I’m able to make out each individual piece of glass making contact with the hard floor and bouncing off in the distance.

  And then just as quickly it all stops. The bakery is an eerie quiet except for the sound of my heart thumping against my ribcage.

  “Are you okay?” Bennett slides off me, reaching behind him and pulling out a black gun. It’s smaller than I expect a gun to be…and plastic. Nothing like the weapons you see on TV. “Stay down.” He pushes my shoulder to reinforce his point.

  Time speeds up. Like someone hit fast-forward on the movie of our life. Bennett is gone before I argue. He jumps over the flat part of my counter and I lose sight of his body.

  “Fuck,” he yells. “Anessa, get me some towels!”

  His current command conflicts with the whole “stay put” he told me a few seconds before.

  Confused and not wanting to end up broken like my window I crawl to the back on my hands and knees, not standing until I’m completely in the kitchen. There’s a small hole in the right side of one swinging door that wasn’t there earlier. Everything is exactly as I left it, but I can’t remember where I keep my towels.

  Where do I keep my towels? My mind races and I can’t get a single thought to take hold. The large glass window of my bakery lies in shards of glass on the floor. And the longer the last few minutes have time to sit in my head, the more I’m sure they didn’t use rocks to break it.

  I’m pretty sure those were bullets.

  Someone shot out my bakery window.

  Someone put a hole in my kitchen door.

  Someone shot at me.

  Bennett grabs on to my shoulders shaking me a fraction in his haste. “Anessa, I get you’re scared, but I need you to find some towels. Mad Dog was hit.”

  Mad Dog was hit? With what?

  I stare in his eyes, not seeing, as Bennett continues to shake me. Until I look down and see his hands aren’t touching my body. I’m doing the shaking on my own.

  “Anessa, towels?” he asks again, his face the only thing visible.

  My mind snaps into focus. Right, towels. “In the cupboard next to the sink.” I push past Bennett on unsteady feet.

  I grab one towel off the top and turn back.

  “We’ll need more.” Bennett takes an armful, clearing the shelf.

  I follow him out of the kitchen, but my feet stop and refuse to go past the counter on the other side. Not after what I see. Now I understand why Bennett said we needed them all.

  “What happened?” Pearl asks as she kneels over Mad Dog’s body on the floor.

  Bennett slides to his knees next to the shot biker. “Pearl, call 911.” He doesn’t answer her question or wait to see if she goes for the phone but instead rips open the white T-shirt covering Mad Dog’s body.

  His eyes are closed, but blood pours from his chest where two small holes pucker the skin.

  Oh my god.

  The knee of my jeans soaks up blood as I take a position on the other side of the fallen body.

  “Hold this.” Bennett pushes my useless hands over the pile of towels he’s placed on Mad Dog’s chest. “Where’s the plastic wrap?”

  I barely hear his question over Pearl yelling on the phone about an ambulance. “The counter.”

  The stack of white towels I firmly press against Mad Dog’s chest turn a bright shade of red and become soggy as they soak up more and more of his blood. I press harder. My hands get wet and my knee slips over the tile as I reposition myself.

  “He’s bleeding,” I yell to Bennett. But when I look up, he isn’t on the other side of Mad Dog’s body like he should be.

  My heart rate picks up as my fingers change color from the liquid pooling around them. When Bennett was here, I thought I had the situation under control. But now I can’t see him, and I’m not sure what I should do.

  There’s so much blood.

  It flows down Mad Dog’s chest and pools on the floor before my jeans soak it up.

  Finally, my savior — I feel exactly like the damsel in distress he called me earlier — leaps from over the counter. He falls back in his knees next to Mad Dog and pulls a large sheet of plastic wrap away from the roll.

  “Grab the towels,” he says moving my hands out of the way.

  With the loss of pressure, Mad Dog’s chest turns a brighter shade of red and I turn away, unable to handle the sight. This can’t be good. Bennett leans over the body blocking my view further. My heart continues to thump against my chest at a frenzied rate. Restless and not sure what to do, I stand and wipe my wet hands against my pink apron.

  “Where is the ambulance?” I yell to Pearl when her jagged movements and flailing hand motions grab my attention.

  “On their way.”

  “It’s like half a mile down the road. What is taking so long?” I ask, but she’s already returned her attention to the phone.

  The door behind me slams open, the bell giving one sharp clang. Two people, a man and woman, race onto the scene. Bennett steps away from the body giving directions and pointing back and forth. The scene blurs as the three of them yell nonsense words to one another. Terminology maybe I’d understand if I was a Grey’s Anatomy addict, but I’ve never had the stomach for anything dealing with the hospital. Bile rises in my throat and I look away.

  Someone wheels in a stretcher and the yelling continues to grow in volume. Or maybe my ears start working again. One paramedic lists off a bunch of numbers, which must make sense to the others in the room. Mad Dog is lifted on the stretcher, a slew of cords dangling from various points on his body.

  “Who will ride to the hospital with him?” a tall paramedic with blond hair asks the room at large.

  I step in their direction not putting any thought into my answer. “I will.”

  “Not unless I’m going too.” Bennett steps closer, blocking my way out the door.

  “Only room for one,” the blond replies, using a hand to hold open the door. They walk out with me following behind.

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