Sweet Arrest (3 page)

"Yes, you're right. Please ask me what you want. I have to reiterate that I did not do this, despite how it looked. Please Officer Connor, find the person who killed my assistant."

"
Detective
Pierce,” he corrected. “Trust me, I will find the one responsible. And when I do, I will do all I can to assist the D.A. in throwing him
or her
into prison for the rest of his life."

If he thought he would intimidate her into admitting guilt, he was mistaken. Her beautiful lips tightened. A glint of determination came into her eyes, and she said, soft but firmly, “I will do all I can to help you, but I am not guilty, and I won't be railroaded into taking the blame so you can look good in front of your superiors."

He grinned, this time succeeding in throwing her off. If he didn't know better, he'd say she found him attractive. She caught her breath and stared down at his hard-on he'd forgotten to keep covered. Then again, she could be shocked that he could be aroused in the midst of a situation such as this.

"Agreed, Ms. Greene. Shall we continue?"

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He was too sexy for words. Even when he tried his damndest to intimidate her, capturing her with steel in his blue eyes, she was drawn to him. But she knew the trouble she was in, and the only reason he hadn't hauled her ass into jail already, she figured, was that he was attracted to her. Who'd a thunk a man like him would be turned on by her? And he
was
turned on, if that rock his pants swallowed was any indication.

What was she doing thinking about that when she should be focusing on whether this man intended to pin the murder on her. This was bad, really bad. “I reiterate, Detective Pierce, I didn't do this. I found Cammie as she was.” Her voice grew thick, and she swallowed several times, fighting for calm.

"Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt her? Did she have a fight with her boyfriend?"

She passed a hand over her forehead thinking. “I'm not sure Cammie even had a boyfriend. She was attending the community college, and other than a pile of books, she didn't bring anyone by the shop."

"Did the two of you have a falling out?"

Her throat went dry. She hesitated.

"You might as well share everything with me, because I will discover all in time. I always do."

Surging to her feet, she rubbed her hands down her pants legs. Some self-conscious reminder told her not to turn her most hated body part to him as she paced over to the window, but she was too preoccupied. Flicking at the curtain she needed to take down and wash, she said, “Are you always this confident or is it just to scare me?"

She glanced around to find him tapping his notebook on his knee. He leaned back, this time not hiding his arousal.
Strange, why would a man like him want me? Surely, the police department isn't using that technique to get guilty women to talk!

His cell rang, and he excused himself to answer. While he spoke, she examined his lips. Curved and sensual, they'd be nice to kiss. He reached in a pocket of his shirt causing his biceps to flex. She licked her lips.
Damn
. Hard muscle, tanned skin, coal black hair that looked like it hadn't been combed ever.

And his scent. When was the last time she had had a man in the house? Detective Pierce's natural male essence pervaded the room just as his physical presence did. The ache of loneliness bit at her. Ever since her mother died, keeping the bakery afloat had dominated her life. She wondered when it would all end, or for that matter where. The thought that it could be in prison hit her with a force that knocked her to her knees.

Off in the distance beyond the pounding of her heart, the snap of the cop's cell phone closing reached her. No word passed her lips. No moan. She half expected him to come over and comfort her. That's what men did, but he didn't come. Her gaze remained locked on the faded worn carpet beneath her fingers.

"Ms. Greene, where were you between seven last night and one in the morning?"

She didn't answer.

His feet came into her line of vision. With no show of kindness or interest in her beyond his job, he yanked her up to face him. “Ms. Greene? Did you hear me?"

"I was ... I was..."

He waited, his countenance forbidding.

"The man outside,” she croaked.

His brows shot down low over his eyes. “Yes?"

"I was with him last night. We watched a movie.” She nodded toward the only indulgence she allowed herself, her collection of five hundred DVD movies. “He left really late."

He stared until she shifted under his scrutiny. He didn't believe her. How could she lie? But what else was she going to do? She needed time to sort out what was happening. She had no alibi. What was she thinking?

"The man from outside?” he finally said. A flip through his notebook with too much drama set her teeth on edge. “Ah, yes. John. The one who said he thought you would give him a try."

She was going to throw up. With any luck, the acid from her stomach would eat away his good looks and make him a lonely ugly man the rest of his life.
Get a grip, A'isha
.

"Don't move.” He pointed his pen at her and left the room. The slam of the front door a second later made her jump. Chewing off her thumb nail, she crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the coffee table, facing her collection. Would he ask what they watched? Or would John even get that she needed him as an alibi?

Regret sapped her of energy. If John did stand in, then what? He might want to go out with her, but she didn't feel the same shortness of breath and tingles in her nether regions when
he
stared at her ass or boobs. Panic rose in her chest, squeezing her heart. Tears clouded her vision.

She jumped to her feet and ran up the steps to land on her knees at the base of the toilet. Not having eaten that morning, she dry hacked, a sensation like rubber bands around her head weakening her further.

"Mr. Stanton's probably there, wondering where I am, why the bakery's not open.” She stood wiping her mouth and then washed at the sink, brushing her teeth. Bending to swallow down some water to ease the ache in her throat, she didn't realize he had stepped into the bathroom until she stood up and caught his reflection in the mirror.

He was too close, or her bathroom was too small. The heat of his body set her aflame. She had no business whatsoever of wanting him. And for all she knew he was ready to slap the cuffs on.
Please, don't let me throw up in front of him.
Her head dropped, too heavy to hold up, her chin digging into her chest.
Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry!

"He collaborates your story, Ms. Greene, but if I confirm that you lied—and I know you're both lying—I
will
arrest you."

"I had no reason to hurt Cammie!” she screamed. “Why don't you get out of my house, and go find the real killer?” She turned to confront him, a mistake. In the limited space, her hip brushed his groin. Electricity threatened to send her back down to her knees, not a good place considering she would be level with his dick. When she caught herself by the edge of the sink, she could almost read his lightning fast mind coming to the same conclusion. He didn't seem displeased with the prospect.

He produced a card from his wallet. “Here's my card. Call me if you have anything to add to what you've told me. And I will be calling
when
I have more questions.” He nodded and was gone.

A'isha didn't move. The horror of the situation she was in paralyzed her. Maybe she should call a lawyer. Mentally, she searched her house for the yellow pages and then slumped against the wall. Her credit cards were maxed out, her bank account held about eleven dollars, and if the police didn't clear her immediately to reopen her bakery, she couldn't even make her mortgage payment.

"What am I going to do?” She trod into her bedroom and picked up the phone while squinting at Detective Pierce's card. She just needed to ask a question. His voice wasn't that sexy and deep. “Detective Connor? It's me, A—"

"A'isha.” He cleared his throat. “Ms. Greene. Yes?"

She stared at the floor. At least here in her room, the carpet was nice, a deep purple frieze. Except that it required a matt under her computer chair. Indentions in that caused her to roll where she didn't want to roll when she sat at the desk. She shook her head, snapping her mind back to the detective. “I was wondering if or when my shop would be allowed to open again. I can't afford to be closed for any length of time."

He sighed. “It may take a couple days at least. We need to be sure we have collected all evidence. After that, you will have to hire someone to come out and clean up. A crime scene isn't something for the average person to handle."

"Oh."

His tone softened. “Listen, take this number down. Tell the guy who answers I sent you. He will get you done quickly. I will expedite things on my end and get him the proper release to do clean up. That should get you back in there in about two days. Will that help?"

She sniffled. “Yes, thank you so much. I know you should remain neutral on this, but you can't begin to know how much this means to me.” She scribbled down the number he recited.

"Good. I will be in touch.” The line went dead. She frowned, and just when she was tossing the phone on the bed, the doorbell rang.

"Who could that be?” Her throat closed as she descended the stairs. He certainly didn't waste any time. John's head was visible through the lace curtains at the small window in the door. She had neglected to pull the shade there. Steeling herself, she opened the door. “Hello, John."

"Hey, baby.” He grinned, revealing slightly yellowed teeth and stepped past her without giving her the chance or the choice to invite him in. “I can't believe my good fortune today. But then again.” He tapped his temples with his fingertips. “I always stay positive, and know that my time's coming. Girl, I been fantasizing about spending time with you."

She cringed. “And you feel like you have the chance now that I'm obligated to you, is that it? Lying to the police about being with me last night?"

His heated gaze spanned her body from top to bottom and back again. Nostrils flared and a smirk on his face, he shook his head. “I might not have been here last night, but I could be tonight."

"I-I...” She sagged against the door she had neglected to close. The lock pressed painfully into her back, but she didn't move. “You think I should sleep with you to be my alibi."

He walked up on her, towering slightly. In some corner of her mind, she noted that where John looked awkward at somewhere around six-five, with little muscle tone, Detective Pierce was just as tall and built to make a woman wet just looking at him. A'isha just cleared his chin.

John dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder, one that slid lower to the beginning swell of her breast. Her heart hammered, and her mouth dried in an instant.

"I want you,” he told her, caressing where his hand lay and blowing a warm breath in her hair. “I want to bend you over a chair and bang that ass until we're both sore, but I'm not going to force you. I don't want some snotty, crying woman. I want you screaming my name and begging me for more. For now, I'll settle for a date."

"Okay. I can do that.” She shivered at the image he drew of her bent over a chair. Tolerating him for a few dates was no big deal. She had every intention of helping Detective Pierce with his investigation to wrap this thing up. If he had more suspects, stronger ones, then maybe it wouldn't matter if he knew the truth about her being alone. In a way, she was glad he didn't believe her, although it wasn't likely he would ask her out. “When do you want to do this, John?"

"Tonight. Eight o'clock. We can go to dinner.” He backed off, moving to push the screen door open. “Oh and wear something low cut so I can enjoy the view."

What happened to the man who turned her off but was at least respectful? Give him a little leverage, and he was just as much of an ass as anyone else. She slammed the door. With the rest of the day free, she would spend it trying to find out just what Ms. Cammie was up to that she had been missing so much time from work. Maybe she did have a boyfriend and they'd had a falling out.

Her physical files were in a dresser drawer in her room, copies of the originals at work and duplicates of what she had stored on both CD and her computer's hard drive. Not that she was so efficient, but more like paranoid something would go wrong and she wouldn't have records to prove something. “Yeah, like prove my innocence."

After warming a slice of pumpkin mascarpone pie and adding a scoop of vanilla ice cream to the bowl, she carried her comfort food up to her office and began her search. Cammie's file didn't have much in it beyond her application for employment and her tax forms. Her mother used to keep dossiers on customers and anyone who worked for her, personal information she had picked up over time to make their visits to Purely Sweets a positive one. A'isha was under no illusions that she didn't have the touch her mother had.

Her lips parted on a small “pah” sound. Soon she was crying again. “I'm so sorry, Ma. I've ruined your business. I don't know why you bothered to leave it to me. I can't handle anything. Everything I touch fails. Every trick I've tried just falls flat. Please, don't look down on me from heaven and see the mess I've made."

For a few minutes, she indulged herself in self-pity, until she ran out of tears and had gone through the half-empty box of tissues she kept on the top of her computer terminal. After gathering them all, she deposited them into the trashcan with a mental note to empty it. Returning to her files, she picked up the phone and dialed Cammie's home.

When no one answered after six rings, she was about to hang up. A woman with a thick voice like she had something caught in her throat or a stopped up nose answered. “Hello?"

"Um, hi, this is A'isha Greene, owner of the Purely Sweets bakery on Curzon, where Cammie worked?” She couldn't believe she had never called Cammie's home or knew whether she lived at home with her parents or on her own.

"Yes, I know who you are.” Had the woman's voice turned bitter? “This is Cammie's mother. I can't talk now. The police are here.” Her voice broke. She cried openly for a few minutes, and A'isha wondered if she should just offer her condolences and leave it at that. They knew better how to conduct an investigation around a person's emotional trauma. Then again, Detective Pierce had only been kind during the initial shock. After that he had turned cold. She was amazed he relented enough to help her when she called back. Cammie's mother continued. “I've just finished telling the detectives how Cammie hated working for you, how she couldn't wait to get out of there!"