Busted: Promise Harbor, Book 3 (14 page)

Creak.

Her eyes flew open, but she didn’t bother to move an inch. “Another felony to add to the list, I see.”

Lounging against the doorframe, Jackson propped one arm overhead, a key in his hand. “Coach still hides his spare key under the mat. Didn’t think people still did that.”

“So you decided to let yourself in?”

“Well, I knocked first.” He crossed to the radio on the ledge by the window, and turned the volume down. “Guess you didn’t hear me. Funny how that works.” His gaze roamed the bubbles barely hiding her from view.

She resisted the urge to sink lower in the tub. Barely.

“Plus,” he continued, “I had hoped to catch you in the shower. This is actually much better.” He grinned.

“Out.”

Grabbing a chair, he turned it around backward and straddled it. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Do the words time and place mean anything to you?”

His only response was a lazy once-over, his attention lingering just a beat longer at where her breasts were buried in bubbles.

“You need to go.” It was a pointless demand, and she knew it. Everything about the plain white T-shirt, faded jeans—the knees almost worn out—and the arms crossed over the top of the chair said,
When I’m good and ready
.

“We need to stay together.”

“No.”

“It’s a mutually beneficial situation.”

Hayley snorted.

“Just while I’m still in Promise Harbor.”

“Absolutely not.” When his gaze fell to her chest, she realized she’d risen a few inches above the bubbles. She slid back down, sloshing water over the edge of the tub. “No,” she repeated, more firmly this time. God, she had enough on her plate without throwing a fake boyfriend into the mix.

“Would you reconsider if I told you two women harassed me on the way over this morning?”

“That’s just awful,” she said in mock sympathy. She looked over the side of the tub in search of a towel.

“C’mon, Hayls. You owe me after last night.”

“Shit. I really did fry a few of your brain cells, didn’t I?”

“Are you going to make me beg?”

Her cell phone rang, saving her from answering Jackson. Unfortunately for her, there was a hockey-pro-turned-pain-in-the-ass in the way.

He nodded to the phone. “Want me to hand that to you?”

“Please.”

“No problem.” He grabbed the phone and offered it, withdrawing it the second she reached for it. “Have lunch with me.”

“Can’t.” Even though it was Sunday, she had a lot to do.

“Work.” Jackson read the screen on her phone.

She shrugged. “I’ll call them back.”

The phone continued to ring in his hand. “Could be important. Didn’t you say something about already being on your captain’s shit list?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Just lunch. That’s it.” He waved the phone at her.

Sticking to the promise she’d made herself not to get roped into anything she didn’t have time for, Hayley put an end to Jackson’s negotiations.

She stood up, water sliding down her body and taking with it the protective camouflage of bubbles. She had both the towel and her phone in her hand by the time Jackson managed to get his jaw off the floor.

Cell phone clutched between her teeth, she left the bathroom, wrapping the towel around herself as she went. With her back to him, she didn’t need to worry about him noticing the flush of red heating her face.

“Detective Stone,” she answered, tucking the phone to her ear. She kept her bedroom door ajar, listening as Jackson’s steps thunked down the stairs. Instead of stopping at the front door, though, he walked deeper into the house.

Of course it wouldn’t have been that easy to send him on his way.

“We’ve got a missing bridesmaid, Hayley.” Mabel Standish, dispatcher, sounded almost giddy at the news.

“What bridesmaid?”

“Sophie Brewster’s girl, Greta. Seems she vanished like the bride. Sophie asked specifically for you.”

Hayley thought of the work that needed to be done around the house, and inwardly groaned. So much for a day off.

“Tell her I’ll be by to talk to her as soon as I can get there.”

“No problem.”

Hanging up, Hayley tossed her phone on the bed and got dressed. Her hair was still damp when she ran her comb through it and tugged it back into a ponytail. Once she’d finished getting ready, she jogged down the stairs, stopping at the bottom to put on her shoes.

Perched on a stool at the covered island, Jackson glanced her way when she walked into the kitchen.

“Still here?”

“Wanted to see which superhero T-shirt was on the agenda for today.”

She glanced down at the plain red one she wore. “The disappointment must be crushing.”

He laughed and stood, but she skirted the end of the island in case he had plans to corner her again. Too easily she recalled every tantalizing moment of how things had played out last night, and while she could admit part of her wanted to pick things up right where they left off, she knew better.

Knew that even pretending to date Jackson for another day would come back to bite her in the butt. Look at where that complication had landed her yesterday. As incredible as that kiss had been, she didn’t have time to deal with more Jackson chaos, and she really didn’t want any more pictures of them circulating.

Plus work, renovations and Gramps were enough to worry about without contemplating the fallout of a fake relationship. Jackson would leave town and she’d be stuck dealing with the questions and speculations. Not to mention what impact it would have on her job. Crush or not, getting any more involved with Jackson just wasn’t worth it. Right?

“Would you mind if I grabbed my old stick out of the shed before I take off?”

“Now you’re asking?”

All he offered was a lazy smile that succeeded in warming her insides more than the tub had.

“Check the den. Gramps kept the important stuff close.” She turned to go, then paused. “He’s really proud of you, you know.”

He nodded, his face somber. She thought he was going to say something, but he fiddled with the cans of paint on the island instead.

“You can leave the key on the counter when you let yourself out,” she added. She could do without any more surprise visits.

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Whatever you say, Detective.”

Sophie Brewster’s beautifully landscaped home was as no-nonsense and straightforward as the woman herself. Hayley couldn’t remember how long ago her husband had died, but her friendship with Allie’s mom had brought Josh and Allie’s families together from the start.

It was Allie’s father, Owen, who let Hayley into the Brewster home and motioned for her to follow him.

Keeping her voice lowered so as not to upset Josh’s mom, she asked if he’d heard from Allie. When he shook his head, Hayley promised herself that if she didn’t hear from Gavin today, she’d be calling the police station closest to his home in Alaska. She’d beg them to check Gavin’s place if she had to.

Sophie Brewster stood at the window in the large front room. Worried blue eyes met Hayley’s as she walked into the room—eyes that had once excelled at silencing an entire classroom in under two-point-two seconds. Mrs. Brewster hadn’t taken crap from anyone, and every student at Promise Harbor High had known it.

Allie’s father, Mr. Ralston, on the other hand, had been the most likable teacher at school, even when he’d pushed students to run more laps, jump higher or yell louder than the visiting team at a game.

He and Mrs. Brewster had always been friends as far as Hayley knew, but had grown much closer when Allie’s mom had died. Losing her best friend had stolen some of the fire from Mrs. Brewster’s eyes.

The marriage between Josh and Allie had undoubtedly started to fill some of the holes left by the death of their loved one, and Hayley could only imagine that the disaster yesterday had hurt both of them.

Keeping her chin up when all three of them knew Gavin’s appearance at the wedding had changed everything was much harder than she expected.

Mrs. Brewster gestured for her to take a seat and filled her in Greta’s disappearance with. She made a few notes, waiting until Mrs. Brewster finished before asking any questions.

“Let me see if I’ve got this right. Greta drove off after the wedding.” She paused, half expecting one of them to blame Gavin for bursting into the church. “She sent you a text that said, ‘I’m all right, don’t worry.’ And you haven’t heard from her since. Is that the gist of it?” She glanced from Mrs. Brewster to Mr. Ralston.

“Yes,” he answered.

Unfortunately it wasn’t much. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see anything here I can act on. There’s really no evidence of foul play. Is there any particular reason you’re concerned aside from not hearing more from her?”

“She left all her things here,” Mrs. Brewster hurried to add. “She left wearing that ridiculous bridesmaid outfit, with nothing else except her purse.”

Hayley nodded. “I can see how that would be worrying. But…” She paused, not wanting to give the two of them another reason to be disappointed.

“But,” Mrs. Brewster prompted, plenty of fire still left in her.

“But Greta was always sort of impulsive. As I recall.” Memories of Josh’s younger sister were vague at best, but she could have sworn Greta had disappeared once or twice when they were teenagers, only to turn up unharmed. “Couldn’t it be she just decided to go visit someone? Or take a couple days to decompress?”

Mrs. Brewster frowned and turned away.

“She just got divorced,” Mr. Ralston put in. “She didn’t tell Sophie.”

A fact Mrs. Brewster didn’t appear to appreciate, and after the wedding fail yesterday, finding out her daughter was keeping something from her wouldn’t have helped any.

Mrs. Brewster’s disapproving looks were legendary, and had undoubtedly kept more than a few students in line over the years. Would they have kept Greta from confiding in her mother about any plans after the wedding?

Careful not to make any assumptions about the nature of Mrs. Brewster’s and Greta’s relationship, Hayley closed her notebook. “Well, that could be a reason for her to want to take some time off to think, couldn’t it? I mean, if I were to come up with a reason for her to take off, having her marriage break up would be a good one.”

Regardless of their relationship, Mrs. Brewster was worried about her daughter, worried enough she’d asked specifically for Hayley, knowing how close she was to the man who’d ruined Josh’s wedding day.

“That’s true, but she could also have had an accident. Or worse. I just want to make sure she’s all right.” Mrs. Brewster’s voice wavered.

“I understand. Has Greta’s ex-husband heard from her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Is there any reason to believe it was a bad breakup?”

“If you’re implying that he could be involved in her disappearance—”

“I’m just trying to cover all the bases, Mrs. Brewster. If you’ll give me his name and number, I can give him a call and see if there are any other places Greta might have gone that he knows of.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Brewster wrote the information down and handed it to Hayley.

“In the meantime I’ll check the accident reports and do a little calling around to make sure no unidentified accident victims have shown up at any of the hospitals in the area.” She offered a reassuring smile. “For what it’s worth, we probably would have heard about anything like that by now. That fact that we haven’t is really good news.”

Mrs. Brewster wasn’t impressed by that, and Hayley sensed her former teacher might already regret that she’d asked for her help.

“That’s good,” Mr. Ralston put in, trying to smooth over the rising tension. “That’s great. Thank you.”

“I’ll let you know what I find out.” She stood. “If you should hear anything from Greta…”

“I’ll certainly call you.” Mrs. Brewster offered a tight smile. “Thanks.”

“I’ll let myself out.”

Surprised she made it to the door without either of them asking if she knew where Gavin was, Hayley stepped out into the sunlight. In the brief time she’d been inside, the air in the truck had heated to a stifling level, and she rolled the window down.

Once she made some calls and ruled out Greta being involved in an accident, she could head back to the house, assuming no other problems came up. But with unsolved robbery cases piling up, Jackson in town and Gavin, Allie and now Greta all AWOL, the odds of a quiet afternoon working on renovations were slim to none.

Jackson stood in the doorway to Coach’s den for ten minutes, unable to move all the way into the room. A fine layer of dust covered the surface of his desk. The old man hadn’t been here in a while and, if the doctors were to be believed, wouldn’t be coming home again.

Knowing the ache in his stomach wouldn’t get any better, Jackson crossed the threshold. Two steps into the room and he felt like he was invading Coach’s personal space. The sensation that any minute Coach would appear in the door and bark at Jackson for snooping followed him as he moved around.