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CHAPTER ONE

NICOLE KEYES had always believed that when life gives you lemons, stick them in a bowl on the counter, then go get a Danish and a coffee to get you through to better times. Which explained why the time cards were sticky and she had a very effective caffeine buzz going on.

She eyed the display case, where a cherry-cheese Danish softly whispered her name over and over again, then glanced down at the brace on her knee and cane by her side. She was still healing from her recent surgery, which meant not a whole lot of physical activity. If she didn’t want to risk making her jeans even tighter, she was going to have pass on that second Danish.

“Better to be tempted by a pastry than a man,” she reminded herself. Baked goods could make a woman fat, but a man could rip out her heart and leave her broken and bleeding. While the cure for the former-diet and exercise-wasn’t pleasant, it was something she could handle. But a cure for the latter was iffy at best. Distance, distractions, great sex. At present, she didn’t have any of those in her life.

The front door to the bakery opened, causing the bell above it to tinkle. Nicole barely glanced up as a high school kid walked to the case and asked for five dozen doughnuts. She licked her fingers, wiped them on a paper napkin, then began initialing the time cards so they could be dropped off at her accountant’s that afternoon.

Maggie, working behind the display case, put three big boxes on the counter, then started to ring up the order. Just then, the phone rang. Maggie turned to get it.

Nicole couldn’t say what it was that made her look up at that moment. A sixth sense? Luck? The way the teenager’s fidgeting caught her attention?

She saw the kid stick a cell phone back into his shorts’ front pocket, grab the boxes of doughnuts and head for the door. Without paying.

Nicole accepted that she was, by nature, a crabby person. She rarely saw the bright side of any situation and she was known to overreact from time to time. But nothing, absolutely nothing, pissed her off more than someone playing her for a fool. She’d had a lot of that in her life lately, and there was no way this kid was going to add himself to the list.

Without really planning her actions, she stuck out her cane, tripped him, then shoved the cane in the center of his back.

“I don’t think so,” she told him. “Maggie, call the cops. ”

She half expected the kid to jump up and run away. She couldn’t have stopped him, but he didn’t move. Ten minutes later the door opened again, but instead of one of Seattle’s finest walking in, she looked up and saw someone who could easily pass for an underwear model/action hero.