16
Ten days. A week and a half without answers. Without action.
Holt was beyond twitchy. He knew how to wait. How to hold out for the right moment to execute a directive. But this wasn’t the sort of fight he’d been trained for. He didn’t have the computer or investigative skills necessary to undo the damage that had been done. So he had to rely on others. Some, like Cash, he trusted. Others, like the FBI agents allegedly working to prove Raynor’s current felonious activity, in addition to shoring up whatever weaknesses existed in the original case, he didn’t. Oh, he was sure they were doing their jobs. But it wasn’t their families, their livelihoods on the line, so they weren’t motivated in the same way. Holt needed to put an end to this. And while he knew countless ways to track down and neutralize the threat Raynor posed, he was a civilian now, without orders or just cause for taking a life.
So he waited, filling his days with flour, sugar, and butter in the exacting, methodical fashion that had come to soothe him during his tenure in Dr. Graham’s program. Baking was a thing he could control, with results he could predict. And it was the only way they were going to keep their business afloat.
Customers were coming. Not in the droves of the very beginning, but steady enough. There’d been plenty of Looky Lous fishing for information about the break-in. They were sticking with the party line that the vandal hadn’t been caught, and the police were looking into it. So far, nobody had been brave enough to ask or opine to their faces about any connection to the trouble they’d had during the renovation.
Without the refrigerated display cases, he and his partners had switched to baking things more in shifts rather than prepping the whole day’s wares at once. Since the bulk of his contribution to the bottom line were the custom cakes he had, thankfully, gotten a steady stream of orders for, he came in later, which meant he was around for the morning routine at home, getting Maddie off to school. That part of the change he liked, and not just because he felt like she was better protected if he saw her to and from the elementary school.
For her part, Cayla had taken to working out front in the bakery, both for planning and client meetings, when she could arrange it. She didn’t like it, not when she’d only just gotten her office ready for clients. But Holt hadn’t forgotten how Raynor had cornered her there, and he didn’t want to give the slimeball a chance to do it again. Here she was protected, both by dint of being in public and by always being within shouting distance of the three of them. And he had to admit, he enjoyed being able to glance through the pass-thru and see her tapping away on her tidy little laptop or making notes in the composition books she preferred at one of the four-top tables.
This morning she sat with the newly engaged Marisol Sanz, discussing options for an engagement party. It amazed him how easily she could just reach out to strangers to offer her services. She came off as the well-organized friend who just wanted to take something off their plates and make life easier, which was, he’d decided, the secret to her success. Marisol fairly glowed with happiness, her hands waving as she talked with apparent enthusiasm over whatever Cayla had suggested.
The door opened, and another customer came in. Holt pegged the guy in his late twenties. He wore jeans and an untucked Oxford cloth shirt, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. One hand curled around the strap of a messenger bag hung over across his narrow chest. The heavy-framed black glasses gave him a vaguely Clark Kent vibe, though he was too wiry to fool anyone into thinking he was Superman. He glanced around the bakery before stepping up to their new counter. Mia had improvised a clever display out of reclaimed wood and old windows. It wasn’t refrigerated, but it did the trick of displaying their wares in a more professional fashion than the card tables and baskets they’d been working with, and the price tag had been minimal, which was a concern these days.
Because it was his turn, Holt pushed past the swinging door to go out front. “Help you?”
“Yeah, can I get one of those apple cinnamon scones?”
“Sure. For here or to go?”
“To go, please.”
Holt opened the door on the back of the case and reached in with a square of parchment paper to grab a scone off the end of the tray closest to him. “You want this heated?”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”
Holt bagged the scone and rang the guy up, accepting the cash payment and making change. “Have a good one.”
“Thanks, man.” The guy stuffed his change into his pocket and opened the messenger bag to put his purchase inside. As he turned, his eyes landed on Cayla and brightened with recognition.
Someone else she’d gone to high school with? The age was about right. Holt watched as the guy strode over to her table.
“Cayla Black, right?”
She looked up, confusion flickering over her face. The lack of recognition on her side had some instinctive alarm sounding, and Holt was already moving out from behind the counter as she said, “Yes?”
He dropped an envelope on her laptop. “You’ve been served.”
Holt growled, his hands curling into fists.
The Clark Kent wannabe took two stumbling steps back, face paling as he caught sight of Holt. “Just doing my job, man.”
“Get out.”
He booked it out of the bakery. Cayla looked at the door, at Holt, and then finally down at the envelope as if it were a snake about to strike. She’d gone sheet white. Because this was the thing they’d been waiting for. This was what they’d been expecting for weeks. It had to be.
Marisol looked acutely uncomfortable. “I think we’ve got enough for now. I’ll talk everything over with Shayne and be in touch.”
Cayla worked up a smile, though it was brittle around the edges. “Great. And I apologize for the interruption.”
As soon as the girl left, Holt locked the door behind her. Brax and Jonah came out from the kitchen, hovering near the counter. Holt sat down across from Cayla, who was still staring at the envelope.
He kept his voice gentle, understanding her fear. “Do you want me to open it?”
She shook her head, reaching for it with trembling fingers. Ripping it open, she slid out the contents and unfolded them. As her eyes read over the paperwork, her face paled further. Without a word, she handed it to him.
Holt skimmed it, not absorbing the details beyond the fact that Raynor was suing for full custody of Maddie. Struggling not to crush the petition in his hand, he set it aside and reached for his wife. Her fingers felt icy in his.
“We knew this was probably coming. He let us get complacent. It’s why he waited. To have maximum impact and upset you more. It’s gonna be okay. Another pain in the ass, but we’re going to get through it.”
Some alert sounded on her phone. She picked it up to check. At the sight of the notification, she went almost gray. Yanking her hand from his, she fumbled with the screen, opening some app and scrolling through, clearly checking several things.
“What is it?”
She closed her eyes, tears leaking out as she struggled to speak. “The identity theft protection service I use. He’s cracked my and Maddie’s identities and done the same damned thing to both of us.”
* * *