Chapter One
Daisy
I should have brought a smaller basket. I fumbled, trying to balance the wide, woven basket against my hip as I searched through the dark for the staff entrance to The Inn.
Another of my bright ideas that didn’t quite pan out the way it was supposed to. Lately, I seemed to have a lot of them. I’d been to The Inn at Sawyers Bend hundreds of times, but I’d always come through the front as a guest of the restaurant and bar.
Today, I was delivering what I hoped was a tempting selection of treats from my bakery, an example of the kind of thing I might provide for The Inn to leave in guest rooms or sell in the small shop by the front desk. Anything to expand my client base. Right now, I needed every penny I could get.
I usually had a lull in the early morning after the first wave of baking was done and before our doors opened for the day. Grams could handle our first few customers, and I’d figured I could drop off the basket and get back to Sweetheart Bakery in time for the opening rush. And I might if I could find the staff entrance.
At the back of the enormous timber and stone building, I stared over the gardens, lit with spotlights here and there. Even in the dark, the gardens were beautiful, flowing from the back of The Inn, the gravel paths leading to benches, to soft grass perfect for a picnic, and further to the guest cabins scattered along the river.
Fatigue pulled at me, and for a moment, I wanted nothing more than to sink onto one of the pretty iron benches, unwrap one of my own cookies, and just take a break.
Not yet. Not for a while, maybe. I’d been running on too little sleep for too long, but I couldn’t stop until I’d fixed the mess I’d gotten myself into.
Hitching the basket higher on my hip, I watched as tendrils of light from the rising sun crept through the garden. One more minute. Then I’d get it together, find the staff entrance, drop off my basket, and get back to work. As I soaked in the beauty of early morning in the mountains, the burble of the nearby river, and the mist rising off the gardens, I realized where I’d gone wrong.
Of course, the staff entrance wouldn’t be at the back of the building. During the day this space was mainly used by guests. I’d passed through the guest parking lot as I’d walked from the bakery and had completely forgotten about the smaller parking lot on the other side of The Inn. That must be where I’d find the staff entrance.
My energy renewed, I awkwardly re-balanced the basket and started along the gravel path to the far side of The Inn, hoping I wasn’t leaving a trail of prettily wrapped brownies and cookies behind me. Approaching the corner, I took the narrower path to my right, marked with a small sign that read STAFF ONLY, hoping I’d find the door I was looking for.
I wasn’t expecting to run into a wall. With a yelp, I backpedaled, scrambling as the basket tipped, trying to get my feet under me before I landed on my butt.
Not a wall. A man. Tall, in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, he barreled into me, the cardboard box in his arms bumping my basket and sending it tumbling.
I winced at the thuds of brownies hitting the grass and shouted, “Hey, wait a sec,” but the man flung out an arm, shoving me hard. So much for not landing on my butt. My feet flew out from under me, brownies and cookies raining down on the wet grass.
I stared in stunned amazement at the figure leaning over me, his features hidden by the deep hood of his sweatshirt. For the first time, my heart chilled. I’d assumed he was an employee coming in to work, or a guest out for an early run. That he’d apologize for bumping into me and we’d laugh and go our separate ways.
He said nothing, only loomed over me, face shadowed, radiating menace.
My heels kicked at the grass, hands scrabbling to pull me backward, away from this sudden threat. The man in the sweatshirt hesitated, his hands flexing on the box he held before whirling and racing around the corner, exactly where I’d been headed. He disappeared from sight, and I let out a breath of relief.
I should have collected what was left of my treats and gone back to the bakery to try again another time. Or brought what I could salvage to the front desk and dropped it off there.
I should have done anything other than follow the stranger with the box.
I don’t know why I did, why I was so sure he was up to no good, or what I thought I could do about it.
I followed anyway. My life had given me good instincts for people who were up to no good. I didn’t always listen—and wasn’t that biting me in the ass these days—but when I did, I was usually right.
I rounded the corner of The Inn and found the man in the sweatshirt leaning over a metal square protruding from the side of the building. It looked like an HVAC vent or an air intake. He was opening the box, tilting it toward the vent as if getting ready to dump something inside. What the hell?
I fumbled for my phone. My pockets were empty. Crap, I must have dropped it when I’d hit the ground. That would have been the time to run, to head for the front desk and a working phone.
Running would have been smart. Smart, but too slow. If I ran, he’d be gone by the time I got the police on the phone, and it would be too late to stop whatever he was doing with that box.
He hadn’t seen me. I still had time to get away. Instead, I called out, “Hey! Do you work for The Inn? I’m calling security!”
Stupid, I know. Alone in the dark with a stranger I’d already figured out was up to no good, and instead of going for help, I shouted at him.
Not my best move.
Not my best move, but it worked.
The cardboard box fell from his hands. In the growing light of the rising sun, I watched in horror as it spilled to the ground, a flood of shiny black cockroaches disappearing into the grass. Oh, gross.
Had he been about to dump those into the air intake at The Inn? The ramifications hit me in a split second. I ran an establishment that served food and beverages. I knew exactly how bad a flood of cockroaches would be. On top of that, the sheer size of The Inn would make it nearly impossible to root them all out.
Plus, cockroaches. Yuck.
All of that hit me in a flash just before I turned to run. Where, I didn’t know. He was between me and the fastest route to the front desk and a phone. I took off anyway. Anywhere was better than alone in the dark with a pissed off stranger.
I turned on my heel to bolt. I made it three whole steps before a hand closed over the back of my shirt, yanking me down to the ground. I landed hard, the breath whooshing from my lungs. The man in the sweatshirt was on me a second later, his arm raised, hand balled into a fist.
If he was thinking straight, he would have run. I guess that made two of us who weren’t thinking. I twisted, trying to throw off his weight, but he held me down easily, muttering, “Dumb, nosy bitch fuckin’ gettin’ in my way.”
He swung his fist, catching me on the cheekbone. Pain exploded, my head flying to the side, wrenching my neck. I’d never been hit in the face before. It hurt. A lot.