Sweet Arrest Read online

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

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  Sweet Arrest

  Copyright © November 2008, Jordyn Tracey

  Cover art by Aidan Books © November 2008

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Aidan Books

  USA

  www.aidanbooks.com

  Chapter One

  A bakery was the last establishment she should own. A'isha glowered at her panty line, clearly visible through her jogging pants. A thong might have worked out better, except she had no wish to give herself a wedgie and her giggly butt needed the extra covering to hide the dimples.

  She slapped the offending round cheeks and drug in a resigned breath. The decision had been made months ago. With her new jogging outfit, designed in her favorite color—blue—she had no excuse not to get out on the trail through the park. Just after sunrise had to be early enough for no witnesses to her first lengthy exercise in three years.

  Popping a stick of sugarless gum in her mouth, she tucked her phone in her pocket and bound down the stairs of her family home. On the front steps of the row house, she placed her head phones on her head and set out.

  Twenty minutes into her walk-ten minutes, jog-for two, she was sweating, and her thigh muscles burned. At a curve in the trail, with a large bush obstructing the path ahead, she stopped. Her cell phone buzzed against her hip, and the vibration felt pretty good right about now. If only it were all over her stiff, painful muscles.

  She flipped the phone open and bent to remove her shoe lace from inside her sneaker. “Hello?"

  The hard body slammed into her, and her phone went flying. A'isha landed on her back with a man pinning her to the ground. She screamed, fighting for him to release her.

  "Hey, easy. I'm not the one who was bent in the middle of a blind spot.” His deep voice and bright blue eyes sent chills along her arms. “Now, if you'll give me a sec I can haul myself and you up. Okay? Please, don't scratch my eyes out.” His charming smile disarmed her.

  "Um, yes, of course. Sorry."

  His tanned skin glistened from his run. His tussled brown curls were in wet ringlets on his forehead. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt and biker shorts. When he hefted his body up off her, she spotted the bulge at his crotch and blushed. He followed her line of vision, knowing what she was looking at, and he winked.

  A'isha scooted away from him. He stood, reached down, and hooked his hands beneath her arms to hoist her to her feet. “There you go. Are you okay? No permanent damage?"

  "No, thank you. I-I have to go.” Not wanting him to see her ass, she offered a half smile and faced him while she shuffled sideways pretending such a move was natural. The amusement in his eyes told her he wasn't fooled, and probably that he thought she was an idiot.

  When Mr. Gorgeous was out of sight, A'isha straightened her walk, the jog dismissed. “How embarrassing.” He was probably bent over laughing his head off at her antics. She grunted, stomping along the path.

  "Excuse me."

  She stopped. Too late to turn now. She was facing away from him. On a tormented pivot, she glanced up to find his gaze where she least welcomed it. Her panties had ridden up despite being granny style, and her pants were too tight.

  "Yes?” When he didn't look up, she cleared her throat.

  "Oh, yeah.” He held up her cell phone. “You forgot this in the grass. It must have gone flying when we bumped, um...?"

  "A'isha."

  He nodded. “Pretty. Very pretty.” To her surprise, he wasn't commenting on her name. The man must have had a screw shaken loose in the fall. “I'm Connor. Nice to meet you.” Sparks ignited at his touch. His palm was rough but warm, engulfing hers.

  Their gazes locked. The park came to life around them—birds chirped, a dog barked, and someone's shoes slapped against the concrete.

  "You know, I—"

  "I have to go—” She was going to run away again, from a man, from an awkward situation, but she couldn't help herself. He was too sexy anyway. A man with a face like that and a body to match, wouldn't look at her twice. Except to return her cell phone. “Thank you. I have to go."

  She spun away, and this time jogged in the opposite direction than what she intended. Her car was parked at the south end of the park. She would have to circle around a least a mile to avoid him and get back. If her thighs had to spontaneously combust, oh well.

  * * * *

  By the time she reached the bakery, A'isha realized Cammie had not opened when she was supposed to, and she hadn't started the donuts that needed to be fresh that morning. Groaning, she let herself in and flipped the card to open on the door. Mr. Stanton, the old man who lived at the end of the block would be in less than an hour expecting his usual to be ready.

  A'isha flipped on all the lights, shoveled up the mail from the day before—delivered late—and scanned it between setting the coffee pot and pretending she was not on the edge of bankruptcy.

  "Bills and credit card applications. Just once, I'd like to see a check in here!” She threw the waste of good trees on the counter and slipped into her apron. Next, she washed her hands with the thoroughness a surgeon could admire then readied her stove and ingredients for the donuts.

  A flick of the switch on the radio to soft relaxing music and the scent of coffee in the air. That's how she liked it, would always start her day. The thought occurred to her that Cammie had been calling on her cell when she stopped on the walk. Yet, if she was calling out, it was still too late for A'isha to do something about it. “Spilled milk. Spilled milk.” She had many more issues to cry over than Cammie being late or Mr. Stanton not getting his breakfast.

  The bell over the door jingled, and Mr. Stanton's stooped figure shuffled in. His pleasure but toothy grin brightened her day a little. “Morning, A'isha, how is my beautiful flower?"

  "Good morning, Mr. Stanton. The usual?” She poured his coffee at the counter. Every day for two years they used the same greeting, and every day for twenty he had given the same compliment to her mother. Clearing her throat, she turned away to hide the mist in her eyes. Her mother was gone, but never forgotten. Purely Sweets had been her mother's baby. Now it was hers, and it tore her insides apart knowing she was losing it.

  "Yes, the usual, A'isha.” He glanced around. “Where's that apprentice of yours, in the back?"

  "Nope, missing in action.” She fished her cell from her bag. Sure enough, the call had come from Cammie. She sighed and put it back, not feeling like hearing the excuse this time. For a woman who claimed she wanted to be a pastry chef, she sure didn't take it seriously. A'isha didn't have the luxury of being picky though, having no formal tra
ining beyond her mother. Purely Sweets was small time. “I have to sneak in the back, if you don't mind, Mr. Stanton. Just help yourself to more of those donuts."

  He waved a wrinkly, liver-spotted hand. “Go on, dear, I will keep an eye on things."

  Blowing him a kiss, she turned and headed into the kitchen. She loved this part of her business, just ignoring the world and baking. Kneading dough, mixing ingredients, even as simple as beating eggs. The therapy in baking a banana bread was heavenly.

  At that time of the morning, for no reason, she was in the mood to make some Mississippi mud but had to settle for blackberry muffins. Flour, eggs, milk and sugar all on the table, she popped open the industrial sized refrigerator she adored and brought out her blackberries. The blackberry muffins were a mainstay, the cheap, warm pastry that her customers would snatch up by the dozens, feeling like they weren't being completely bad. She chuckled thinking of it. Later, those same conscientious women and some men would sneak back in to grab a slice or two of her apple pie with all-butter crust.

  A grunt escaped her. If she developed more low fat or low sugar recipes, maybe her rear wouldn't be so damn big. Thinking of her rear brought thoughts of Connor to mind. Oh he was hot. She had dated a white man a few years ago, but it had never gotten to anything physical. “But Connor ... Damn, that package was huge,” she mused.

  The door burst open. “A'isha, I'm so sorry for being late!” Cammie, with red hair flying every which way, and clothes rumpled as usual, stood unbuttoning layers of clothing. The woman could withstand high temperatures, and unlike anyone else, buried herself in warm clothing even in summer. A'isha imagined she wouldn't get warm enough now that the season was changing. “I called. Did you get my message?"

  A'isha didn't address the question. “You do realize how hard it's been lately, Cammie? I can't afford to lose one single order. Not one! And you decide for whatever reason to not open up on time, and to not tell me early enough for me to get in here and do it myself?"

  While she shifted out of her extra clothing, Cammie plodded over to the small TV mounted on the kitchen wall and flipped it on. A'isha cringed. The jarring voice of the newscaster invaded her sanctuary. “...police are looking for Selena Goode who was last seen..."

  "I'm sorry, A'isha.” Cammie caught her attention. “I had an appointment. It couldn't be avoided. I will stay late and prepare everything for tomorrow. And I'll come in early the rest of the week, give you a break. How's that?” Her puppy dog eyes were tempting.

  Slapping her hands on her hips, A'isha frowned. “Fine. But don't let me down, Cammie. My mom gave you a chance when you begged for it. You had no experience and no training. I kept you on, because you have real talent and a love of food like I do.” Just not the weight to go with it.

  The flash of resentment was not missed. “Thanks, A'isha. I won't let you down. I promise. Things are looking up for me anyway."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Oh nothing.” She shuffled out to the front at the sound of the bell.

  A'isha rolled her eyes. That woman would be the death of her. She hadn't been exaggerating. Cammie could bake, and she sometimes sprung out recipes for treats that had the customers smacking their lips for more. A'isha had done all she could not to demand Cammie stop for the jealousy burning in her heart. After all, the treats brought in extra money, and that meant more to pay bills. Yet, lately, Cammie couldn't be bothered to do anything beyond what was assigned to her.

  The phone rang. A'isha sighed and picked it up, forcing a smile. “Purely Sweets. This is A'isha. How can I help you?"

  "Ms. Greene, this is Tamara Lincoln at Town Bank."

  A'isha's heart rate kicked up a few notches. “Yes?"

  "I need you to come in to talk about your mortgage payment. I understand your difficulties, but we can only go so far on good faith,” the woman explained. “How does tomorrow at three sound?"

  Like it doesn't make any difference, because I don't have any money. She banged on the counter with her knuckles. “Oh someone's at the door, a delivery. Can I call you back and confirm? Thanks, Ms Lincoln.” She slammed the phone down with too much force.

  "What am I going to do?” She stood there, smelling her precious muffins burning, with tears in her eyes.

  * * * *

  A'isha forced herself to take each step after she had struggled from the car. Another morning of jogging, with no incidents this time. Her muscles cussed her out for what she had done to them. “It's for your own good,” she grumbled, knowing damn well she wouldn't keep this up if it didn't get a little easier.

  Approaching the shop, she noted the lights still off and the blinds down. "I'm going to come in every day this week," she mimicked Cammie. “I've been too lenient on her! Ma had a better handle.” Her shoulders slumped. Her mother had a better handle on everything, including the finances. If she lost this bakery...

  The bell didn't jingle when she opened the door. A'isha glanced up to find it missing, but the hook it had hung from for years was still there. She shut the door and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. “No, please not the electricity.” Searching her memory, she tried to recall whether she had sent the check off to the electric company. She had. Surely it hadn't bounced. Not that one at least.

  With her hands outstretched, she shuffled in the direction of the kitchen. The sun hadn't come up yet, and she recalled that she had taken the risk of jogging with only the street lights to illuminate her path—unsafe but necessary.

  Her foot bumped something, and when she tried to step sideways thinking Cammie had set a delivery box in the way, her foot slipped. Cursing her assistant for not cleaning up the mess she made, A'isha slammed down to the floor, banging her knee but cushioned by ... a body?

  She screamed.

  Too late, her fingers slipped into the same mess her foot had. Now she knew what it was. The coppery scent could not be mistaken. Blood. Nausea threatened. Just short of throwing a soiled hand over her mouth, she stopped and fought to get to her feet. Grasping a stool, she clamored around the counter and over to where the phone had been the night before. Of course, it wasn't there.

  Her legs were so shaky, it took a while to cross the narrow space between where she stood and the kitchen. At the toss of the switch just inside the doorway, the store brightened. Thankfully, the counter blocked her from seeing who was lying dead on her floor, but she did see the pool of blood thickening.

  In a daze, she turned her head to the wall where she had grasped her way to the kitchen door. A bloody print was smeared there. Her print. Darkness swirled, and her forehead knocked against the wall as she sank in slow motion.

  Someone banged on the door. An authoritative voice called, “Open up. Police."

  Before she could register how they knew without her calling, the officer outside the door tried the lock. She had a moment to consider if it was really the killer back to add her death to his crimes. But the man holding the badge and brandishing a gun was not the bad guy. He was Connor, the sexy man from the park.

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  Chapter Two

  Connor froze in the doorway. When he had gotten the anonymous call about hearing screams for help in the bakery on Curzon Avenue, he didn't know what he would find. He did not expect to find the body of a young woman with her throat slashed nor the very beautiful, very sexy woman he had landed on top of in the park the other day.

  For all intents and purposes, she looked guilty, covered in what he guessed was the victim's blood. But something in him wanted to believe she was pale and crying not from remorse at what she had done, but from the horror of what someone else had done and left for her to find.

  He stepped farther inside, his partner following with a curse falling from his lips. Right away, Carl called it in. Connor gestured to her. “Ms.... “He pretended not to remember her first name, but he did. A'isha. As sweet as she had looked in her tight jogging outfit. Damn, he loved a woman with extra softness to her curves. The moment his body h
ad connected with hers, he grew hard. He pushed those thoughts from his mind. He had work to do.

  "Can you come over here please?” He didn't holster his weapon. “Are you alone?"

  She nodded. He knew she was taller, so he thought she had been about to faint. Her soft brown skin seemed paler, and tears coated her cheeks. “Y-Yes, I guess,” she whispered.

  He clenched his jaw. “Carl, check it out.” As his partner disappeared in the back, Connor carefully picked his way around the body, trying to keep his contamination of the crime scene to a minimum. But A'isha would never have made it to him without assistance. He gently took he arm. “Come with me outside where we can talk."

  She sobbed. “Out there? They'll see me like this. I can't."

  "Then come with me over to that corner there.” He nodded with his head in the direction farthest from the body, where he could block her view of it. “Everything will be okay. Just come with me."

  Why did he say it like that?

  "Come with you? I'm being arrested? I didn't do it!” she screeched, setting his ears to ringing. She wiggled past him, her ass rubbing against his thigh. Connor bit down on an expletive when she jetted for the door. He put his gun away and took off after her.

  The woman could move in a panic. Half way down the block, he caught up with her and yanked her back into his arms. “A'isha, you need to calm down. I can't help you if you don't.” She continued to fight, clawing his arms with her nails. He growled, pinned her hands to her sides and shouted. “Stop it! I'm not going to hurt you! I'm not arresting you either ... at this time."

  Her shoulders shook. He spun her in his arms to face him, and those full lips looked ripe for kissing just inches away from his. She fit in his hold like no woman had. When he would have lost himself in a fantasy of kissing her, the stains on her clothes snapped him out of it. He stepped back, but watched her.

  "You're not going to run anymore, are you?” He narrowed a suspicious glare on her. She shook her head but didn't speak. The tremors continued, making her look like she was having mini-seizures. He hated himself for wanting nothing more than to comfort her. Get a grip, Connor. You don't know this woman. She could have murdered that young woman. He tugged his notebook from his pocket. “Now, do you know who the victim is back there in the bakery?"