Bennett eats up the ground behind him and I’m forced to abandon the telephone and all the messages that wait. “Who’s Spencer?”
“Our tech guy,” Bennett answers without looking back.
A long hallway, carpeted in grey with more grey walls, comes to an abrupt end. Bennett steps inside the dark room. When I follow him to the right, the glow of a dozen monitors pierces my gaze, making the room not so dark after all.
“Spencer, this is Anessa. Anessa, Spencer, our tech guy.” Ridge’s introduction isn’t any better than what Bennett explained a few seconds ago.
“Hey,” a guy sitting with his back to us says but doesn’t turn around to make eye contact. “Cameras are up and running at all entry points.”
The monitor screen in front of him flashes and a new image flickers on the screen. One I recognize.
“That’s my bakery.”
The image is a little grainy but the front of my store is easy to recognize even with the pixilation. The front door is closed, but a small group of men loiter around the broken front window. I step forward, my finger outstretched, but stop before making contact with the screen. I don’t want to leave prints on someone else’s glass. “What are they doing?”
Bennett slides up next to me, resting his hand in the small of my back, the skin underneath warming immediately. “Mack is bringing over a few pieces of plywood from the hardware store. They’ll cover the broken window until you get new glass ordered.”
“Oh, that’s nice of them.” I stop before adding a comment about how they don’t need to do that.
I’ve only known Bennett a short time, but I already know arguing would do no good. If he says they are boarding up my window, then that’s what they’re doing. Nothing I say would change his mind. Plus, I do need help. The last time I had to use a power tool, Katy made Ridge’s brother steal it from Mack’s garage. And her plan only went downhill from there.
The image switches again, now to the view of my back door leading to the bakery from the parking lot.
“Wow, two cameras. You’ll see everything.” I stand still, watching a small chipmunk dart back and forth in front of the large green dumpster along the brick wall.
“Yeah, two,” Ridge says turning from the display. “Let’s let Spencer work his magic and go to my office.”
He ushers us from the room, closing the door behind him. Thankfully his office isn’t far, only two doors to the left. I plop down in the first available seat, one right in front of his massive desk. It’s an exact double to the one in the lobby. The entire office matches the rest of the place. Grey. Planned. Clean. Boring.
But it’s safe. No one would dare break one of Ridge’s windows. Both men take seats in the large office as well—Ridge behind the huge desk and Bennett in a chair beside me. He scooches his chair a few inches closer. Any other time the move would make me ecstatic, but right now, in the safety of Ridge’s office my emotions start to seep out. I bite my tongue to stop any tears from forming. Yet, it does no good for the weariness that settles into my bones.
Ridge’s desk is empty. Not a computer monitor, phone, or piece of paper lies on top. He kicks his feet up on top of the desk and leans back in his black rolly chair. “Kevin, the man who used to rent your bakery is a known associate of the Zanetti family.”
Bennett leans forward in his chair. “You’re saying the mob is in on this? For sure?”
Ridge shakes his head. “I don’t know. Kevin’s drug career was small time until he got in bad with a runner out of Whitecap. I had no idea his name was on the lease. The building was vacant for a while before Anessa showed up. I’d assumed it had gone unrented, but Pierce said the contract only ran out earlier this year.”
“Why did Kevin need a place with an industrial kitchen?”
“He was baking, if you know what I mean.” Ridge tilts his head in Bennett’s direction and gives him a slight nod. Bennett returns the look, I’m assuming indicating he does know what Ridge means. I’m the only one in the room clueless.
“I think it’s safe to say the Zanettis are looking for Kevin and want their $230,000 back.”
I gasp. “That’s how much money was in my wall?”
Ridge nods once. “And there’s no way it belonged to Kevin.”
“The Zanettis have been running drugs through New York for years, but it’s always been minor league. Too much family squabbling. Weed, maybe a bit of cocaine. Are you saying they’ve switched to production and the hard stuff?”
“Zanetti has been consolidating.”
“Wait!” I cut Ridge off and lean forward almost falling off my chair. “Are you saying this Kevin guy was making drugs in my kitchen?” That has to be some kind of safety violation. Definitely unsanitary.
“I didn’t suspect it until now. I can’t believe Frankie Zanetti had one of his guys cooking drugs so close to my base. You know he’s doing it as a big fuck you to me after we picked up his cousin for that warrant.”
“Yeah, and now he’s swept Anessa up in it.”
“Trust me, I know. My girlfriend works in that bakery too. It could have just as easily been Tabitha there when Mad Dog stopped by.”
“Who is Frankie Zanetti?” I ask. Unable to follow the guys’ back and forth about New York gangs.
Bennett twist in my direction as he answers. “Frankie is the head of the Zanetti household. One of the leading mob families out of New York.”
My nose crinkles up. “I thought the mob was dead?”
Ridge laughs, slapping the top of his desk. “The mob isn’t dead. They’ve just gotten smarter. Between PR firms and reality TV shows, they’re better at blending in.”
“You arrest one and there’s five guys ready to take his place. Frankie gets away with what he does because he’s amassed an army ready to take the fall for him.”
“The good news is,” Ridge drops his feet from the top of the desk and I let out a sigh, excited there’s finally some good news, “we don’t think you are in any danger, but…”
Why is there always a but?
“Until I get the money situation taken care of and find Kevin, it’s not safe for you at the apartment.”
“I can’t go to my apartment? What about the bakery?” I ask. Where will I sleep? How will I bake stuff? What clothes will I wear? Everything I own is in those two floors of living and working space.
Bennett leans closer and sets his hands on the edge of my chair—all indicators I’m taking as warning I’m about to hear bad news. “We need to make sure they aren’t planning to come back first. Then we’ll work on getting the bakery open again.”
“They’re going to come back?” My head swims, unable to process any more information from today. Money, bikers, and a shooting? It’s all too much.
Ridge clamors around in a drawer on the side of his desk. “I’d like you to go to a safe house.”
“No way!” Bennett practically jumps up out of his seat and tension fills the room for some unknown reason. “Absolutely not.”
I clutch the side of my chair, my fingers pressing into the grey fabric until it hurts. Bennett doesn’t move from his poised position, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice as he leans against Ridge’s desk.
Ridge doesn’t seem the least bit affected, but my heart hammers away in my chest. I’ve probably taken five years off the ticker today.
He smiles in my direction, dropping a Manila folder on top of his desk. “Then your house will be – “
“No,” Bennett replies before Ridge finishes the sentence.
The two men share a look, one I’m not entirely sure the meaning of. The silent stare down continues as the seconds tick by.
It’s been a stressful day and my emotions are a little out of whack. It’s the single excuse I have to explain why it hurts so much to have Bennett not want me at his house. The disappointment stings, like small pin pricks straight to my chest.
I shooed Tabitha off the other day when she mentioned Bennett being attracted to me, but there’s alway
s been a part in the back of my head that found it exciting. Hopeful.
Sure, I’m not ready for a relationship right now. But what woman wouldn’t get excited thinking someone as sweet and hot as Bennett likes them? From the way the silence drags on, Tabitha and I obviously got it wrong. I’d rather stay at the safe house than allow Ridge to bully Bennett into taking me home with him. Besides a safe house sounds at least…safe.
“That’s okay, Bennett. I’ll go to the safe house.”
He swings his gaze in my direction. “You don’t understand.” His stare turns to Ridge. “It’s not a good idea. It’s too soon.”
Ridge shrugs. “It’s a small town, Bennett. Everyone’s secrets come out eventually.”
Bennett sighs.
Well that’s reassuring.
“It’s a couple of days. Frankie doesn’t even know who she is, so no one will be in any danger.”
**
Bennett flips his blinker on and turns left. The black paved driveway is long and curves a little before coming to a stop at a two-car garage attached to a white sided two-story home complete with manicured yard. It is picture-perfect for a town like Pelican Bay.
“Wait.”
His words stall my hand reaching for the door handle. “Your house is gorgeous,” I say to fill the silence.
He looks out the front window surveying his yard. “Thanks, I bought it not too long ago when I decided to stick around.”
“Well it’s gorgeous. And thanks for letting me stay here until Ridge says it’s safe at the bakery.” I rush to fill the truck cabin with more than silence when Bennett doesn’t pick up the slack. I don’t know what’s going on, but as the seconds tick away my stomach tightens more and more. If we were closer to the water, I’d suggest we play the Jaws theme song to set the mood.
My hand is once again on the handle when he says. “There’s something you need to know.”
As far as I’m concerned, he can tell me whatever this is once we’re inside. I open the car door and jump out of Bennett’s truck, needing anything to get away for a minute. The air in the truck was stifling and the air out here is refreshing. With a huge breath of it in my lungs I turn to the front door of his two-story colonial house as the front door swings open.
A small child, no older than five or six, runs out the open doorway and jumps down all the steps of the porch. His dark brown hair, cut short and swept to one side, sways in the wind as he runs. With his arms outstretched, he approaches the other side of the vehicle not stopping when he yells, “Daddy, you’re home.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bennett Walker has a son.
A real live son.
One who looks exactly like him. From his brown hair to his bright green eyes, right down to the way his cheeks fold up when he smiles.
Wow.
The small child takes a flying leap and lands directly in Bennett’s arms. Bennett, with his arms wrapped around the small person, the two of them whispering back and forth to one another, takes a few strides toward the house. When he realizes I’m not following, he stops, turns back, and tilts his head toward the front porch.
That’s all it takes.
One quick head flick and I follow Bennett to the white front porch surrounding the spectacular home. With each step, more and more of the information Bennett shared about himself the last few days falls into place.
I figured maybe he needed to get back to the states because his mother was sick. Or maybe a brother. I never guessed a child. Children normally come with a wife. Or at least a girlfriend. Now I fully understand why Bennett fought with Ridge over me staying here. I’ve been flirting with this man for weeks and now I’m about to meet his wife.
I’m pond scum.
I’m lower than pond scum.
I’m whatever pond scum eats.
We walk up the four steps to the front door and somehow I manage not to turn around and run the other way. Although the thought does cross my mind exactly four thousand and eighty-two times.
Past the front door we stop in a large comfortable living room. A blue overstuffed couch sits directly in the middle in front of a TV. A box of crayons and blank papers are scattered around on a coffee table with Disney Junior playing in the background. I wouldn’t know it was Disney Junior, but at precisely the right time the giant logo complete with Mickey ears fills the screen. A catchy tune I remember from my youth blasts from the speakers.
Bennett sets the young boy — who I’m holding out hope might be his nephew, even if he did call him Daddy — on the couch and watches with his hands on his hips as a little boy goes back to coloring.
At no point does anyone stop to explain the small child’s presence in Bennett’s home.
Maybe I hit my head and this is all a dream. Maybe a bullet hit me after all and I’m dead.
Most of my dreams starring Bennett end with him getting naked. I narrow my eyes and stare at the two of them super hard for a good four seconds, but Bennett is definitely wearing the standard Pelican Bay Security black polo shirt. Tucked into his jeans, the fabric is pulled tightly against his chest creating a nice little outline of his pecs and arms.
“Well, come on. Dolores is probably waiting in the kitchen.” Not taking time to look back, Bennett meanders off to the other side of the living room.
Who the hell is Dolores? My stomach flutters. If it is his skinny, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, big-boobed, wife I’m going to turn around, leave through their back door, and walk myself home. Any place will be safer than me in a kitchen with Bennett and his wife.
“You made it home. It’s about time. I was about to take Liam back with me. You know how Mr. Harvey feels about dinner not being on the table on time.” The stern, no-nonsense voice floats out of the kitchen and lands on my shoes like a heavy brick.
Bennett stops walking a few feet into the kitchen, which leaves me standing in the weird space between both rooms. I peek my head around the corner to get a look inside his kitchen. On one side of the tiny little island stands a short, plump white-haired lady with wide thick glasses perched on her nose.
Probably not a wife.
The tension that had been building in my bones lessens at the realization. I’m quite sure Tabitha would have told me about Bennett having a wife. Although, I also would have expected her to tell me about him having a son. And since that wasn’t the case, I’m not really sure what to expect. I’ll remain hopefully optimistic.
“Ah, I see why you’re late.” She doesn’t spare me more than a second glance before she turns and opens the fridge, pulling out a large glass casserole dish, the top covered with aluminum.
Bennett teeters back and forth on his feet, nervous like I’ve never seen him before. “It’s not like that.”
Dolores waves a hand in our direction steadily making her way to the white back door. “Tell me about it later. Oven is heated. Directions written on top.”
She gives another halfhearted wave and then the door closes behind her before I get a chance to say two words. Or hell, even one word.
I’m still waiting for someone to explain the kid in the living room.
The whole damn day is starting to weigh on me. I’m tired. And even though my body is so exhausted I can barely keep myself up on two feet, my brain is running a mile a minute. I need to get to the bakery and prep for tomorrow’s breakfast orders, but without a window and the bakery being considered a crime scene there’s no chance of that happening. Instead I’m stuck here at Bennett’s house with him, a child — one I presume is his — and a cranky old woman, who might be his nanny or worse, his mom.
“You should sit down. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
I don’t argue with Bennett’s direction because he’s right. I need something to occupy my mind so I don’t drive myself crazy analyzing everything that’s happened today.
Once my butt is firmly planted on one of the tall stools placed in front of the island, Bennett finds his way to the middle of the kitchen. There are a few scatte
red napkins and paper plates on the island surface, so I busy myself stacking them nicely.
Bennett opens countless cupboard doors and drawers like he’s looking for dishes but doesn’t know where they are in his own house. Finally, a good three minutes after I’ve finished stacking all the items into neat piles, he’s assembled a huge array of pots, pans, and utensils along one side of his counter.
He works in silence as I count the little black specks in his counter top. Bennett slides a casserole dish along the counter. It matches the one Delores took from the refrigerator with aluminum foil covering the top. He reads directions hastily scratched on top in permanent black marker and then tears the foil off. With a bang, the oven door is dropped down and he slides the casserole dish in only to quickly close the door and set a timer all in under thirty seconds. It’s a bit impressive considering a few minutes ago I worried he didn’t know where he kept his pots.
He reaches behind him to grab a pan when I finally can’t hold in my question any longer. “So, you have a son?”
He chuckles, but not in a funny way. “Oh, you noticed, huh?”
“It was hard to miss.”
Bennett releases a large sigh. From the freezer he grabs a bag of veggies and tosses them on the counter.
“Liam’s mother and I had an on-again, off-again fling. I wasn’t in the states much, but when I was she was always around. It was never serious and I knew as soon as I went back on a mission she found someone else.”
I cringe as Bennett slops at least a quarter of a cup of olive oil in a pan he places on top of the stove. My face isn’t just about the misuse of oil but the start of his story. I’m not sure I want to hear the rest of the details.
He turns on the burner and keeps talking. “Liam wasn’t planned, but he happened over a particularly large stretch of leave, so there is no doubt in my mind he’s mine. I also never doubted I wanted to be in his life.”
He increases the heat on the stove when the oil doesn’t heat up right away — because he used so much of it. “Gina, his mother, wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship with a navy man.” He tears open a bag of mixed vegetables and dumps them in the pan. Oil splatters out around the edges and sticks to his stove top. “Understandably, she wanted someone around more, but she never denied my desire to see Liam when I was in town.”
FUTURE RISK Page 5