Читать книгу Texas K-9 Unit Christmas - Shirlee McCoy - Страница 18

SEVEN

Fourteen hours stuck in Bea’s house when there was work to be done at the diner was thirteen hours too long!

Emma pulled eggs from the fridge and did her best to ignore her aunt’s questioning gaze.

She knew what was coming.

The same question she’d been asked a dozen times in the past few hours.

Patience, she thought. She needed God to give her a bucket-load of it.

“Aren’t you going to get ready for church?” Bea asked.

“It’s not Sunday, Bea,” Emma responded with the same answer she’d given a dozen other times.

“Are you sure?” Bea walked over to the wall calendar and squinted at the numbers.

“Yes.”

“It’s not Sunday?”

“It’s Saturday. We’ll go to church tomorrow.”

“Are you making something for the potluck?”

“The potluck isn’t for another week, Bea. I’m making scones.” Because cooking is the only way to maintain my sanity.

“Lovely! You should invite that nice young man over and give him one.”

“What young man?” Emma asked, making sure that there wasn’t a bit of impatience in her voice. It wasn’t Bea’s fault she was going stir-crazy. Working as a sous-chef meant long and active days. It meant dealing with stress and chaos in a calm and efficient way. It did not mean sitting in a quiet old house for hours on end, nursing aching muscles and ugly bruises.

“The one you used to hang out with all the time. What was his name?” Bea frowned. “I should know it. He was here almost every day.”

“Lucas?” Just saying his name made a hundred butterflies dance in Emma’s stomach.

“That’s right. Lucas. Call him up and tell him to come for scones.”

“I don’t think so, Bea.”

“Why not?”

“He’s busy.”

“How do you know that he’s busy if you haven’t called him?”

“I—”

The doorbell rang, interrupting the argument. Thank goodness.

“I’ll get it.” She ran to the front door, pressing her eye to the peephole. The police hadn’t found the guy who’d attacked her. She didn’t expect to see him on the other side of the door, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

A man stood at the far corner of the porch, his face hidden by a Stetson, what looked like a very big dog at his feet.

“Who is it?” she called, but she knew. She recognized the breadth of the shoulders, the easy way he held himself. She even recognized the fuzzy outline of the dog at his side. Lucas.

“It’s me.” He stepped in front of the door, and her heart leaped. He looked good. Better than good. He looked like everything any woman could ever want in a man.

She fumbled with the lock, her fingers tripping all over themselves. It seemed to take forever, but she finally managed to open the door.

“Lucas! What are you doing here?”

“I’m working your case, remember?” He smiled, taking off his Stetson. “Do you have a couple of minutes?”

“Sure. Come on in.”

“Do you mind if Henry comes, too?”

“As long as he doesn’t eat my aunt’s dog, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Henry only takes chunks out of bad guys who refuse to cooperate.” He patted the big dog’s head and stepped into the house.

She closed the door, catching a whiff of spicy cologne and chilly winter air.

Bea shuffled out of the kitchen, her walker tapping on the floor. “Lucas Harwood!” she exclaimed. “Is that you? And you brought a dog! Fluffy! Come quick. You have a visitor.”

Bea’s little white puffball of a dog had probably seen her “visitor,” because she refused to make an appearance.

“How are you, Mrs. Daphne?” Lucas grinned at Bea, his dark hair ruffled. He had grown into his height, his shoulders filling out and his face losing the almost-too-pretty look of his youth. Now he had an edge of hardness and strength that Emma had to admit was appealing.

“It’s been too many years, young man,” Bea chastised, even though it had been less than twenty-four hours since they’d seen each other.

“It has been too long,” Lucas agreed before Emma could remind her aunt that they’d seen him the previous day.

His gaze shifted from Bea to Emma. He took in everything with one long sweeping look. Her hair...which she knew was sticking out in a million different directions, her faded oversize sweats and baggy T-shirt, her bruised and swollen cheek.

If she’d been a different kind of woman, she might have cared that she was a mess. She didn’t. Much. She touched her hair but resisted the urge to smooth down the wild strands.

“I’m making tea and scones. You want to come in the kitchen while I work? We can talk there.” She didn’t wait for him to respond, just hurried into the kitchen. She felt comfortable there. At home. She knew what to do with eggs and flour and sugar. She knew how to cook a roast and fry an egg. What she’d never been very good at was dealing with emotions and people and all the stuff that went with relationships.

Lucas followed Emma into the kitchen. She looked tired, her eyes deeply shadowed, her skin pale, the bruise on her cheek deep shades of purple and red. She’d left her hair loose and it fell to her shoulders in wild waves and curls, covering the stitches he knew were behind her ear.

“You should be lying down, not making scones,” he commented.

She looked up from the counter she’d been sprinkling with flour. “I tried that. It didn’t go well.”

“Why not?”

“It’s hard to rest when your brain is going a hundred miles an hour.”

“What’s on your mind, Em?” Lucas asked as he pulled a stool over and perched on it, watching while she measured flour into a bright yellow bowl. Henry raised his nose, sniffing excitedly.

“Down, Henry,” he commanded, and the dog collapsed onto the floor in a pile of lush soft-looking fur.

“What isn’t on my mind? Every time I close my eyes, I think about the guy who attacked me. The diner. I’m supposed to open soon, and I’m stuck here.” She gestured around the large kitchen. “With the way things are going, I’ll probably be stuck here for the rest of my life.”

“The rest of your life is a long time.” He grabbed a raisin from a box she’d opened, and she swatted his hand.

“Those are for the scones!”

“Sorry.” But he wasn’t really. He’d been at the office almost all day, tracking leads, looking through surveillance footage. He hadn’t eaten lunch, and all he’d had for breakfast was a bagel and a cup of coffee.

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right.” He laughed. “How about I make it up to you?”

“How?”

“The diner has been cleared as a crime scene. My boss gave me permission to let you go back there.”

“Really? That’s fantastic!” She looked up from the bowl she’d been scooping sugar into, a hint of color in her cheeks and a broad smile on her face.

“Yes.”

“Great!” She whirled away from the counter. “I’ve got to get cleaned up so I can go over there. The scones will have to wait.”

She darted toward the kitchen doorway, but he snagged her arm and pulled her to a stop.

“Hold on, Emma.” His palm rested against the smooth, warm skin of her forearm, heat racing through his blood at the contact. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m already a day behind myself. I have a schedule, and—”

He pressed a finger to her lips, cutting off the words. “We have video footage from a surveillance camera near a downtown bus stop that Henry tracked your attacker to.”

The excitement faded from her eyes, and she tensed. “Do you think the guy is in it?”

“It’s possible. Three men boarded the bus about ten minutes after you were attacked. One looked too old to be our guy. The other two fit the description you gave me. Tall. Muscular. If you’re up to it, I’d like to take you to the station and have you view some still photos we pulled from the tapes.” If she wasn’t, he planned to bring the photos to her.

It was imperative that she see them soon. Lucas’s boss had recognized one of the men. The guy had a criminal record and had served jail time. He’d also worked for Arianna when she’d owned Emma’s diner. Lucas didn’t tell Emma that. He didn’t want to influence her perception, taint her view of the photos.

“I’m up to it,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll get changed and then we can head out.”

She walked out of the kitchen, her shoulders slumped. She looked defeated, and Lucas hated that he couldn’t change that. He’d wanted to come to Bea’s place with good news, but all he had was more questions than answers.

Hopefully, the video stills would yield more information. If Emma positively identified her attacker, they could get his picture out to the public and offer a reward for information leading to his arrest. If the guy was smart, he’d turn himself in. If he wasn’t, he’d try to hide. Either way, he was going to be found and he was going to be thrown in jail.

Lucas would make sure of it.

He snagged another handful of raisins and walked into the living room to wait with Bea.