From Scratch (11 page)

“Riley,” the voice was gruff.

Sean grinned at his partner's tone. “Taylor.”

“Hey, man, how's the party planning going? Guess you suburb yokels have all the free time in the world to pick out plates and pastries. The rumors are true, small town cops are just girls who shave.”

“Listen here, old man, I'm the one doing you a favor to keep your butt from getting all toasty in the fire when Shelia finds out you were really supposed to pull this whole thing together. Your wife would never have forgiven you if you stole the opportunity from her to get all dressed up. And the FOP will be singing your praises, all because I kept you from burning and saved the day.” Sean leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet on top of the desk.

“Don't you mean Jane Barrett? And it isn't exactly a success yet, or don't you remember a few of your other exploits? Need I remind you of a certain drug bust that went south when you found out you had an FBI informant locked up with a Ten-Most-Wanted? Wouldn't want to see you crash and burn like that, my friend.”

“Hrmph,” Sean cleared his throat and sat up. “I didn't call to talk about the party. I need a favor.” He could hear Chuck's chair scrape the floor.

“What do you need?”

“I've got a rental car parked in town, and I'm fairly certain the person who rented it used a fake ID.” He passed on the information in Sissy's log and his own observations. Sean scrubbed his face. “I know it might seem minor, but with the explosion at the station something doesn't feel right about it. I'm probably making it a much bigger deal than what it is, but I like my little community quiet. I don't want anything messing it up.”

“I'll run the background on the driver's license and the tags. You might want to call the rental place at Dulles and see what info they have on the renter.”

“Thanks, ‘Dad.' I already have a call in to the manager.”

“Hey, it's been a long time since you've done any real police work. You may have lost your touch, what with all the party planning and quiet streets you've been dealing with,” Chuck snorted.

“I don't mind being thought of as a yokel. But, it doesn't mean I work like one. This is a sleepy town and I want it to stay that way. Goodnight, Chuck.” Sean hung up the phone and returned to his online search.

The pounding on the front door drew his attention away from the computer. The plywood made a less than ideal window to the main entrance. Rising, he blanked his screen and then ambled to the door.

Shadowed in the front entry's burned-out security light, another thing on Alvin's to-do list, he couldn't make out who was on the other side of the frosted glass. He yanked the door open to Maggie McKitrick.

Her cheeks were tinged pink and her chin had a tiny smudge of chocolate screaming at him to wipe clean. He motioned for her to enter. “What brings you by the station at this hour?”

“I was locking up and saw your light. I thought maybe you didn't get any dinner. I brought you a sandwich and some chips. I didn't have any soda, but figured you might have something here. But I wasn't sure and so I didn't bring a beverage. I guess I should have.” She bit her bottom lip. Her nervousness was endearing. Her cheeks seemed to bloom a deeper shade of pink while she spoke. He could get used to a nervous Maggie, except maybe when she pulled a knife on him.

“Is there just one sandwich, or did you make enough for two?”

“Well, I didn't like to think of you eating alone, so there might be a couple sandwiches in the bag. But if you are hungry I have food at home and can leave you to your work.”

Resting his hip against Alvin's desk, he looked into the open bag. “Although I am sure I could eat both of these sandwiches, I would much prefer to share them with you. Do you mind making do with my desk for a picnic table?”

“As long as you don't mind. I wouldn't want to get in your way. Or keep you here any later.”

She moved toward his office and he caught the aroma of chocolate that she wore like the finest perfume. She wasn't just beautiful, she was delectable. He shook his head.
We're working towards friends here Taylor, just friends.
He motioned for her to sit in the chair opposite his desk as he slid into his own chair. He opened the bag and pulled out the two sandwiches and potato chips.

“This one is chicken salad. It has nuts, so if you are allergic…” She said pointing to the sandwich closest to her.

“Not allergic.”

She reached for the second sandwich package. “This one is ham and Swiss with some apple chutney. They're both on potato bread. It's a new recipe. I'm thinking about carrying bread. Not quite sure if it's a good idea.” Her voice had a slight quiver.

“Apple chutney? Potato bread? Chicken salad with nuts? What happened to a little yellow mustard on white bread with a couple pieces of ham and cheese in between? You know this is Gibson's Run, Ohio, right?” He smirked.

“Yes, I know this is Gibson's Run. I do live here. But just because this is a small town in the ‘Heart of it All,' doesn't mean you can't try something a little unique.” She mirrored his crossed arms and let out a sigh. “And who thinks nuts in chicken salad are exotic?”

“I didn't say exotic.” He chuckled.

“Well, regardless. You need to broaden your horizons beyond mustard and white bread. There's a whole foodie world out there just waiting to be nibbled on.” She thrust a half of the chicken salad sandwich within centimeters of his face.

He took a bite, brushing her fingers with his lips. The combination of flavors burst through. He could taste basil and a hint of garlic, softened by the juicy grapes and sweet pecans. The combination was held together by a rich dressing that was creamy, but not heavy. Maggie had created a taste of heaven in between the softest pieces of bread he had eaten since his mother was alive.

~*~

His eyes closed as he devoured the monster-sized bite from the half sandwich she held. Small murmurs of pleasure escaped his lips.

Her fingers tingled from where his lips had touched her. She was paralyzed by the wave of desire-laden guilt rolling to her toes. She lowered her hand to the desk, the half-eaten sandwich barely in her grasp.

He seemed to be enjoying the salad. His eyes remained shut and his mouth stretched into a soft smile as he chewed.

She was thankful for the relief from his intense scrutiny. She had been a bundle of nerves when she crossed the street. Jane and Millie convinced her that Sean wasn't eating properly, that he was consumed with discovering who broke into the station, and would forget to feed himself. When she lowered the front shade for the night and saw the light in his office still burning, she decided she owed him more than a simple apology for nearly slitting his belly. Within twenty minutes, she had bread sliced, dressing mixed with chopped chicken, and warmed chutney all packaged nicely. Crossing the street, her stomach began to question her spontaneous decision.

And now, staring at the slight dusting of five-o'clock shadow on his square jaw, reeling from the barest touch of his lips to her skin, she wasn't sure spontaneity was wise. Where had the impulse come from? She wasn't exactly a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of woman. She was strategic and planned. She was thoughtful and organized. She knew escape routes and tactical maneuvers. Uncle Jack had taught her well. When was the last time she had done something—anything—on a whim?

Sam. Ten years ago. Sam Riegle, the red-shirt junior running back for the University of Maryland, with his sweet Southern drawl and knack for showing up at her dorm at two in the morning to go for a coffee or on a moonlit stroll through campus. He was joy-filled and ruggedly handsome with his over-long brown hair and his deep-set, gray-green eyes. He'd made her laugh until her sides hurt. He'd enjoyed the simple pleasure of holding hands while walking to class and watching an old horror movie in a dark room. He was what every girl wished for in a first love and more than anyone could have created in her imagination. Her stomach twisted as the echo of what might have been floated through her mind. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple.

“Earth to Maggie.” Sean's voice broke through, zooming her back to the present.

“I'm sorry. What were you saying?” She shoved down the overwhelming desire to drown in the welcoming warmth of his chocolate-brown eyes.

“I was saying that you may have turned me into a foodie.” He grabbed the half-eaten sandwich from her hand and took another generous bite. “This chicken salad is the best thing I have eaten in more weeks than I can count.”

Her heart warmed as he devoured the food. Maybe spontaneous wasn't such a bad idea. She slid the remaining half of the sandwich in front of him, shifting the untouched ham and Swiss to her side of the desk. “I'm glad you like it.” She lifted the sandwich to her mouth. Before she could take a bite, his hand touched hers.

“What, no sharing?”

The slight challenge in his face caused the tension to drain from her body, slamming the door to her memories. Possibilities filled her heart. “Well, I guess since you asked so nicely.”

He chomped a quarter of the half in one bite. His eyes fluttered shut again while the groans of pleasure escaped his lips. “Wow…”

Slouching in her chair, she munched on plain, salted potato chips and enjoyed the show.

His complete surrender to the pleasure of eating melted more of the ice protecting her heart. Anyone who became swept away in her food couldn't possibly be too much of a distraction.

She crunched on a chip.

Maybe this one impulsive dinner wasn't a bad idea.

9

“So there is Mr. McArthur banging on his front door at two o'clock in the morning in nothing but blue and white polka-dot boxer shorts and black socks.” Sean's eyes twinkled as he turned to lock the door of the station.

Laughter bubbled in Maggie as the image of the balding, slightly overweight, high school band teacher took center stage in her mind. “What did he do?”

Zipping his jacket, he took the canvas bag from Maggie's hands and slung it over his shoulder as they began walking along the sidewalk. “We approached him from behind and he called out over his shoulder, ‘Sean, this isn't any of your concern. Wanda's fallen off the wagon again.' And he starts banging on the door, screaming for Wanda to open up.”

“So you just left him there?”

“Nope, we cuffed him and brought him down to the station for drunk and disorderly. Seems Wanda wasn't the only one whose wagon had tipped over. It was all cleared up in the morning, no formal charges or anything. But now when we get a call after midnight, I call it a WandaMac and generally send Alvin over to check it out.”

“That doesn't seem very fair to make Alvin do all of the night calls.”

He looked down into her upturned face and grinned. “Well, it doesn't seem very fair that Alvin sleeps through most of his shifts, either, but life isn't always fair, is it?”

She nodded her head and tugged her coat tighter. The chill seeped in through the opening, nipping at her neck. She'd looked all over her apartment for her favorite blue scarf—one of the only gifts from her parents that she'd kept—but it was missing. She probably left it at church on Sunday. It wasn't like her to be so forgetful, but with the events of the past few weeks her mind was stretched thin.

“Cold?”

She lifted her gaze to Sean and shook her head slowly. “Just a little. I wish I wasn't so absentminded. I couldn't find my scarf. It wasn't with my coat where it normally is. Who knew the temperature would drop so quickly.”

“Welcome to Ohio. Our weather is nothing if not inconsistent.” His head tilted slightly. “Are you missing anything else? You know, from the break-in?”

A chill raced up Maggie's spine. Swallowing against the lump in her throat that formed as quickly as instant oatmeal, she shook her head. “I don't think it's missing. I probably just left it at church.” She flashed him a grin and was thankful for the darkness that hid her growing fear. “Nothing's missing, but I'll keep a look out.” Burrowing her hands into her pockets, she shifted her attention to the small pool of water at the base of the elaborate fountain gracing the center of town.

Water rarely flowed from its spigots, and the exterior needed a good scrub against the mildew that had wall-papered itself over the ornate structure, but people loved the old thing, even placing the structure on the flag designed for the town's sesquicentennial celebration last month. She withdrew a penny, kissed Abe Lincoln's face, and tossed the coin into the dank water with a plunk.

“Did you make a wish, Miss Maggie?”

At this particular moment, she desperately wished she could chuck the pieces of her past and her mounting anxieties into the shallow water along with her one-cent piece. To not allow a missing scarf send chills of fear through her body or to not greet a simple friend's visit with a knife wielded in terror. If only it was as easy as tossing a coin in a fountain to rid herself of the ugliness of her past. “Even if I made a wish, I couldn't tell you. Wouldn't come true, would it?”

“No, I guess not.”

She enjoyed the casual silence that lingered between them, creating a private cocoon against her worries, allowing her to just be in the moment.

Then Sean cleared his throat. “So, this morning when I stopped by your kitchen…” He leaned his hip against the wrought iron fence surrounding the fountain.

Her stomach rolled into her heart and she waited for the rest of the question. What would she say?
I thought you were a psychopath stalker who was released from prison. I'm sorry. We cool now?
Nope. They certainly wouldn't be cool if she dropped her past with a splat in his lap.

Her past held consequences well beyond the answers to deceptively simple questions. Knowing her past, he would no longer be safe. He would end up like Sam, or worse. And Sean would just be the start. She had to keep her new friends and her new town safe. She needed another solution, another story. Think.