by Mia Dymond
She moved her gaze around the area one last time, both relieved and nervous about the quiet atmosphere, while she wiped her sweaty palms on her shorts. Enough stalling. The baker stood only about twenty five yards away; the safety of the red and white canopy over the back door beckoned.
Uneasiness climbed her vertebrae as she forced her feet in motion and she covered the first few yards, almost ready to crown herself insane. The sedan had parked a respectable distance away and no one burst from inside with guns-a-blazing. Still, her gut screamed trouble and Casey had practically engraved the words on her brain: Always follow your gut.
Annessa groaned and picked up her pace, relieved when she passed a large, disgusting trash dumpster behind the florist, buzzing with flies and a few very large bumblebees. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder while her feet carried her forward. I’m still alone.
Lost in the eager desire to reach the bakery, she realized too late that all kinds of objects littered the alley – she had only half a second to throw out her hands before she hit the ground, her forehead bouncing off the dirt and gravel. Stunned but still very aware of her goal, she took a cursory look at the brick under her left foot before she scrambled to stand and forced her feet to move. A loud buzz tickled her left ear just before she felt pain in her left biceps. Damn bee.
Still in motion, she glanced at her arm, intent on yanking a stinger free. Instead, she discovered the flesh had been torn and blood rushed toward her fingers.
Okay, so the insect missed her – the brick had obviously been larger than she thought.
She pressed her free hand against the oozing wound and closed the distance to Sweet Treats in a full sprint. Screw control.
Without a second look over her shoulder, she jammed the key into the lock, entered through the back door, and programmed the alarm to screech if anyone attempted to enter the store.
No way in hell would she let them find her here.
Annessa stepped to the sink, grabbed a handful of paper towels from a nearby dispenser, wiped the gash in her arm, and then frowned as blood continued to ooze. If possible, her heart began to beat even harder and threatened to exit her chest. No matter how hard she tried, it would be impossible to keep this a secret. She’d have to leave the bakery.
With lead feet, she went to the front of the store and gazed out the front windows. Tourists and locals alike walked the sidewalk. Familiar cars ambled by. No sight of the brown sedan.
She glanced back at her arm and groaned at the nice baby pink color of the paper towels. With no other choice, she disarmed the protective siren, opened the door, and then re-set the silent watch dog. She left the bakery and headed across the street to the one person she hoped to hell could keep a secret.
Annessa opened the door of Verity’s clinic, relieved when she found the waiting room empty.
“Verity?”
She closed the door and tried to ignore the trail of blood making its way from beneath the paper towels and toward her elbow. Unfortunately, the steady stream of fluid forced her to pull a handful of tissues from a box on the reception counter and smash them against the wound while she hoped she could convince Verity it was just a scratch.
She cursed under her breath as blood seeped through the tissues. This wouldn’t be easy, especially when she was sure someone held a hot iron against her arm. She knew the other woman all too well. Verity was a bloodhound – if she even suspected foul play, she’d call for back-up. Or worse, take matters into her own hands.
“Looks painful.”
Annessa shrieked and spun around so quickly she lost her balance and stumbled against the counter, scraping her injured arm in the process.
“Oh, ow!”
“Annessa, stand still.” Verity’s calm voice of reason soothed her panic as the other woman tugged the tissues from the wound. “What happened?”
“I fell in the alley.”
“Up.” Verity lifted Annessa’s hand over her head. “Less blood,” she explained while she led the way to an exam room. “Sit.”
Annessa barely had time to climb up onto the paper-covered exam table before Verity descended on her with cold wet cotton balls.
“Geez, Verity,” she hissed as the doctor swabbed the wound.
“It’s full of dirt.”
“You could’ve warned me,” she mumbled.
“Sorry.” Verity squeezed the wound several times and Annessa wasn’t entirely convinced she was sincere in her apology. “I’m going to have to stitch this.”
Annessa swallowed hard. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. What cut you?”
“I don’t know for sure. Probably a rock or something metal.”
“Try again.”
“Huh? I really don’t know, Verity, I was too distracted by the blood.”
Verity loaded a syringe with clear liquid then gave it a thump. “Take a deep breath.”
Annessa inhaled just as Verity jabbed the needle into her skin. Within seconds the pain became a dull ache.
Verity drew back the needle and tossed it onto a nearby tray. “I can’t say for sure, but I’d say you’ve been shot, Annessa.”
“What? No I haven’t, I tripped over a brick and fell. I was just outside the back door of the bakery.”
Verity ripped open a package then removed something that resembled a fishing hook, complete with the line attached. “The edges of this wound resemble a burn.”
Suddenly, Annessa wasn’t in the mood to argue. Somehow deep down she knew bees didn’t buzz quite as loud as the one that whizzed past her ear. A low moan left her throat while her head swam and polka dots danced in her vision.
“Lie back.” Verity propped the back end of the table into a makeshift chair then loaded another syringe. “This will help you relax.”
This time, Annessa didn’t even wince when the needle invaded her skin.
“Now, I want the whole story.” Verity garnished the hook and began to sew.
“You gave me truth serum, didn’t you?”
Verity giggled and took another stitch. “Start talking.”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“Technically, I’m supposed to report a bullet wound.”
A little more relaxed, Annessa still wasn’t prepared to give in. “Then, I don’t remember. I think I hit my head too.”
“You did.” Verity reached with her free hand to move the hair back from Annessa’s forehead. “The lump is pretty impressive but not enough to cause memory loss.”
“Promise, Verity.”
“Fine, I promise.” She returned her concentration to stitching. “Besides, you’re my patient – I’m sworn to secrecy by law.”
“Is the bullet in my arm?”
“No, my best guess is that it grazed your arm just enough to leave a wound to stitch. Were you running?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Someone is following me but I swear I didn’t see anyone.”
Verity poked the needle through another piece of skin then pulled the line taut while the whole sordid story left Annessa’s mouth. By the time she’d finished, Verity tied the last suture and taped a piece of gauze over the wound.
“Why haven’t you told Casey?”
“Because I’m still not sure I’m in trouble.”
“Really? Even after this?”
“Okay, if I really have a bullet wound like you insist, I might reconsider.”
“If?”
“No offense, Verity, but I didn’t see anyone else in the alley and I didn’t hear any sound close to a gunshot.” Except for that annoying buzz in my ear. She ignored that possibility and continued. “All I know for sure is that I tripped on a brick and fell.”
Verity reached into a cabinet and then handed her a package. “Take one tablet every four hours. If your pain worsens or you see signs of infection, come see me. I’ll keep your secret – for now.”
“Thank you. I don’t want to worry my family. Van’s got enough to worry about a
nd Travis would go ballistic.”
“What about Casey?”
“Don’t even go there, Verity. You know as well as I do that he’d lock me up.”
“You’re right.” Verity released a hard sigh. “Just please be careful, Annessa, and promise me you’ll tell Casey if anything else freaky happens.”
“I promise.”
CHAPTER THREE
Later that evening, Annessa sat on the sofa in the middle of her childhood living room with her arm throbbing and wondered where in the world things had gone so terribly wrong. She was a wedding planner, for Pete’s sake. Not exactly a dangerous occupation.
Until last week.
She tossed her head back against the sofa cushions and squeezed her eyes closed while she twisted the bracelet on her wrist round and round. She needed a game plan. A very good, very quick one.
First things first. She should call her boss. The poor woman was probably frantic right about now. Granted, Dorie Palmer had a flair for exaggeration but she always seemed sincere. Annessa opened her eyes and glanced at the cordless phone on the coffee table. Not an option.
Her cell phone came to mind next and she quickly dispelled that notion also. Cell phones sent signals that could easily be tracked. She only carried it now for the address book.
She rubbed both hands down her face. Maybe she should just bite the bullet and find Casey. No doubt the man would kick some major ass on her behalf.
No. Not until she had no other choice.
She stood and headed to the front door, determined to get to the bottom of things herself. She stopped only to shove a vial of pepper spray, a roll of quarters, and her cell phone deep in her pocket before she punched the lock on the door and slammed it behind her.
Ten minutes later, she stood in front of an honest-to-God payphone at a real-live-full-service-gas-station and fed quarters into the hungry slot. Thank Jesus for small towns.
She tapped one toe, dialed Los Angeles, and waited for her boss to answer. Anxiety muddled her brain until she heard the other woman’s voice.
“Dorie, hi, it’s Annessa.”
“Annessa! Where are you? I’ve been worried sick!”
“Yeah, so sorry to run out on you like that. I had to leave town for some family business.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes, please don’t worry, I just might be gone awhile.” Hopefully not permanently.
“No worries. Take your time. I can call in the reserves if I need to.”
“Thanks, Dorie.”
“Oh, the Marcelli family asked for you. They were extremely pleased with the wedding. I gave Mr. Marcelli your cell number.”
The phone fell from Annessa’s grasp while her heart plummeted. Oh, God. She grabbed the phone cord, lifted the receiver back to her ear, and lied through her teeth. “Um, actually I don’t have my cell with me. I left it in my apartment.”
“Oh, well that explains why he was concerned he couldn’t reach you. When should I tell him to expect your call?”
“Give me at least a couple weeks. I should be back in Los Angeles by then.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, thanks again, Dorie. I’ll see you when I get back.”
Annessa slammed down the phone. Damn, damn, damn, just … damn! Her head ached all over again and a shudder crossed her spine.
Normally in a crisis such as this, she would run right into the arms of Casey McIntyre and stick out her tongue at the trouble that attempted to attack her. Without fail, he would welcome her into the depths, wrap her with his big, strapping muscled biceps, kiss the top of her head and chase away the evil.
She released a hard sigh and squared her shoulders. Not this time. She glanced across the street, her gaze bouncing from McGill’s on the corner to Sue’s Diner, a couple of buildings down the block. Alcohol or pie. She groaned and headed toward Sue’s – only because alcohol would most definitely bring Casey.
She pushed open the door, the bell overhead announcing her entrance. A petite blonde, not much taller than herself, almost skipped from the opposite end.
“Hi! How many, honey?”
Annessa fought a threatened eye roll. “Just me.”
“Have a seat anywhere.” The waitress waved a hand in the air. “Not much activity right now.”
Annessa barely had time to cram herself into a corner booth when the woman was back, a glass of water and a roll of silverware in hand. “I’ve been meaning to stop in and introduce myself.”
Annessa swallowed hard, not quite sure how to respond. She didn’t recognize the woman in front of her and crossed her fingers and toes the lack of recognition was mutual. Luckily, she didn’t get a chance to speak.
“I’m Cindy Perry. I just moved to Seaside last month and the whole town brags on your baking.” Cindy folded her arms across her chest. “And let me tell ya, your pies sell here like hotcakes.”
Annessa almost fainted with relief. This woman, who talked ninety miles to nothing, had mistaken her for Vanessa. Thank God for small favors. Maybe lying low wouldn’t be so hard after all.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Annessa pushed her hair behind her ears and pushed herself into the very corner of the booth, as if she could hide in the shadows.
“What a lovely bracelet!”
She glanced at her wrist and watched the diamonds twinkle in the light. “Thank you.”
“Can I get you a menu?”
“No thanks, Cindy.” Her mouth watered at the thought of Vanessa’s baking. “I think I’ll just have a piece of cherry pie.”
“Ice cream?”
“Of course. Vanilla, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Annessa took advantage of the small reprieve to look around the diner. Besides the two men who sat at a table across the room, the diner was empty. Suspicion invaded her brain. Tourists? Neither wore shorts or swim trunks, the usual attire of summer visitors to Seaside, nor did they appear red from lounging in the sun. She sunk lower in the booth and gave herself a mental shake. What did she expect? Armani suits and gold pinkie rings? She released a hard breath at her ridiculous thoughts and wiped a hand across her forehead. Cindy probably ran everyone off with her gift of gab. Obviously the woman was starved for attention.
Sure enough, the chatterbox returned at lightning speed and set the pie in front of her. Annessa thought she was home free – the pie would soothe her nerves and give her time to think – until the waitress slipped in the seat opposite her.
She fought the urge to spear her with a fork.
“Are you related to Travis Dupree?”
She nodded. “Yes, he’s my brother.”
“Definite eye candy.” Cindy’s eyes sparkled. “In fact, the whole Fire Department seems to be pretty sweet.”
Annessa gave her a grin as she loaded her fork with a bite of dessert. “Seaside’s finest.”
“What about Sheriff McIntyre?”
Annessa stopped her fork halfway to her mouth. If she lowered it probably half an inch, she’d have perfect aim at a spot right between Cindy’s eyes. “I’m not related to him.” Thank God and my mother.
“He and Travis seem to be close.”
“Best friends since almost birth.” Her mouth watered as she opened and placed a piece of the crumbly crust on her tongue.
“Is he involved?”
Her nerves jumped beneath her skin. Something told her she and Cindy would not be BFFs. Slowly, she chewed and swallowed.
“Yes,” she lied.
The other woman sighed. “Too bad.”
Annessa silently giggled like a two year old. Being bad was so much fun. Maybe now jabberjaws would back off.
Unfortunately, Cindy continued to chatter like a magpie while Annessa shoveled the remaining dessert into her mouth. By the time she cleaned her plate, her head spun – from sugar overload or Cindy’s gift of gab, she didn’t know. Suddenly she wished she’d opted for McGill’s.
Although she knew it was rude
, she finally interrupted when Cindy paused to take a breath. “Sorry, but I need to get home.” She scooted across the seat and then stood. “I’ve got to bake for tomorrow.” Might as well throw that in for good measure.
“I totally understand.” Cindy stood from the booth.
“Can you just add that to my tab?”
The other woman blinked twice and then frowned. “Your tab?”
Annessa swallowed hard. Uh-oh. Obviously, that was a completely stupid request. She painted on a big, cheesy smile and giggled. “I’m kidding!”
“Oh!” Cindy chimed in with her own giggle. “Sue would kill me if I charged you for anything!”
“It was really nice to meet you,” she said as she headed to the door. “Drop by the bakery anytime. I could tell you several interesting stories about the Fire Department and Sheriff McIntyre.”
Annessa chuckled under her breath as she stepped outside. Let Vanessa deal with her.
***
“Why the hell are we packed in this hallway like a couple of sardines?”
“Shut up,” he growled as he frantically searched his pockets.
“You left the pack in the car.” The other man leaned against the door to the john and frowned. “This is bullshit. Let’s just grab her. She just confirmed she has the package.”
“Okay smartass, what about the waitress?”
“Always room for one more.”
“No way. I didn’t bring a roll of duct tape and that broad talks too damn much.”
His partner’s face reddened. “So what now? It’s risky hanging out here. Do you think she made us? She seems interested we’re missing from the table.”
“Nah, she’s just nervous. Now shut your pie-hole before someone hears us.”
“Look, if we screw this up, it’s both our asses.”
“Don’t blow a gasket.” Damn, he needed a cigarette. “She looks like she’s ready to bolt. We’ll follow until she’s alone.”