Triggered by Love Page 7

  “Don’t get angry, Detective.”

  Avery loved Joan and hated how conflicted she felt about Matt, Jason, and the upcoming fashion show. What was she hoping to accomplish by dedicating her Cocky Heroes line to Brando? It wouldn’t bring him back, and it was forcing her into this deal with Matt Swanson.

  While Joan went to the kitchen to pour lemonade, Avery checked her text messages. Alida had set up a Saturday afternoon date with Matt at the same coffee shop she’d met Jason. It would only last half an hour, but allowed ample time for a camera crew to capture several clips that Alida could post to Matt’s social media.

  “Everything okay?” Joan came out of the kitchen with a strained expression and two frosty mugs. Her gaze was fixated on Avery’s phone.

  “Oh, it’s just my publicist.” Avery placed the phone facedown on the coffee table.

  “I thought you might have heard from the detective,” Joan said. “I looked out the kitchen window and saw him.”

  “Was he coming or going?” Avery took a sip of the lemonade and tried not to pucker her lips at the tart taste.

  “Coming in.” Joan shrugged. “You didn’t buzz him up, did you?”

  “Nope. Not me.” Somehow, she felt deflated, not that she had any right to. Jason could visit whoever he wanted to. So, he was unable to stay away from the woman next door. It shouldn’t mean anything to Avery.

  He was doing his job. Or maybe he had a personal reason. Why was she so bothered by this bit of news?

  She settled back on the sectional sofa and pulled out her unfinished afghan. The colors seemed off, or maybe it was the slanted rays of the setting sun washing out the blues.

  “What do you want to watch?” Joan asked, switching on the television.

  “Whatever you want, as long as it’s not news.” Avery looped the yarn around her crochet hook. Try as she might, she couldn’t tamp down the jitters, and she pulled the yarn too tight around the hook.

  “What’s wrong?” Joan asked after the minutes of laugh tracks dragged on. The air inside the stuffy apartment was too heavy, and Avery felt like a fish gasping under algae-thick water.

  “I might be coming down with a cold, or maybe I’m just too tired,” Avery said. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

  “Oh, you poor dear.” Joan put her hand on Avery’s forehead. “No fever, but I’ll understand if you wish to go home.”

  “It’s not that. I enjoy spending time with you.”

  “And you have, many evenings. But let me tell you a secret.” Joan smiled warmly and her eyes crinkled. “Youth is wasted on the young. Don’t let the years slip by without living it up.”

  “I did live it up.” Avery felt the tears well up. “I just thought I’d have more time.”

  With him.

  “Have you ever wondered why you’re still here? Why we’re here?”

  “All the time,” Avery said, putting away her yarn. “It’s not fair.”

  “No, but it means you do have more time,” Joan said. “It’s a gift. Don’t let it go to waste.”

  “Being here is not a waste.” Avery wiped her eyes. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “Absolutely not.” Joan folded her into her arms. “I love you like a daughter, and I know we’ll always be close. But you have a life to live without me—without Brando. He wouldn’t want you to just exist. Your publicist is right. I think it’s time you started dating again.”

  “I already told you it’s a fake setup. I’m having coffee with him tomorrow so Alida can start a rumor.” Avery recoiled at Joan’s uncalled for encouragement. “You’re being noble, and you don’t want me to feel guilty.”

  “You have nothing to feel guilty about.” Joan patted her back. “Nothing. I’ve accepted that my son gave his life for you. I just want to see the killer caught and punished, but I don’t want you to live in limbo until then.”

  Avery let out a stale breath, shaking her head. The fact that Jason was somewhere in the building upset her more than she wanted to admit. She had to get out before he came out of Tatiana’s apartment.

  “Will you excuse me if I do leave now?” she asked. “I’m exhausted.”

  While Joan packed the empty food containers, she ordered a rideshare, happy to see her favorite driver was available.

  Minutes later, she marched out of the brownstone, looking neither right nor left, because no way would she want Detective Burnett to think she was looking for him.

  A stretch limo idled on the curb directly in front of her, and the driver was leaning against the car hogging up all the parking. Avery kept her gaze down. She certainly hadn’t ordered an upgraded ride—especially one with a driver who lounged around wearing jeans and designer sneakers.

  Her rideshare, an economy car, pulled up, and she hopped into the front passenger seat.

  It was Saul, who also worked as a barista. His mouth widened into a genuinely happy smile, and he made a motion like he was taking her picture.

  “Good to see you, Avery,” he said. “Calling it an early night?”

  How was it everyone seemed to know her habits? Maybe she was too obvious with her routine.

  “Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping well,” she said, checking her messages. “So much on my mind with the fashion show.”

  “I bet it’s a lot to do.” He pulled from the curb and laid on the horn. “Idiot.”

  Avery looked up from her texting and caught a hard stare from Jason as Saul jerked the car to avoid hitting him.

  “That was close.” She looked back over her shoulder.

  Jason stood rooted to the spot, staring after her.

  “That guy is weird,” Saul said after turning the corner.

  “He’s a detective.”

  “Still, I was shocked when I saw you with him.”

  “Really? Why?” Avery’s heartbeat hadn’t settled down all evening.

  “Dude’s always following you around,” Saul said. “It’s like whenever I drop you off or pick you up, he’s there.”

  Avery swallowed and pursed her lips, not sure how she felt about it. “At least he’s a policeman. I should feel safe.”

  “Yeah, guess so, but he looks just as dangerous as the other guy.” Saul switched lanes, almost sideswiping the limo that had blocked her way.

  The chauffeur flipped him the bird, and Saul braked hard to let the car swoop by.

  “What other guy?” Avery asked, noting that chauffeurs these days had no manners. Her father would never allow one to lean against the car or make rude gestures.

  “No one,” Saul said, seemingly spooked by the near accident. “Forget I said anything.”

  “I can’t.” Avery’s nerves were on instant alert. “What other guy? Seriously. I need to know.”

  “I misspoke, Miss Cockburn. All limo drivers look the same. You know how they hang out waiting for their bosses.”

  “You’d tell me if I were in danger, wouldn’t you?” Avery flashed him a smile.

  “Of course. You’re my sunshine on a cloudy day,” he said, reminding her of the line used by her photographer back in her bikini modeling days. Not very original, but they had to say something to get a reaction, and some just liked the sound of their own voice.

  Did Saul ever attend one of her photoshoots? And if he’d been watching, who else could have been lurking in her past?

  Chapter Nine

  Jason studied the image of the man with the wraparound glasses, trying to imprint the shape of his nose and the curl of his lips so he could recognize him on impact.

  He flicked back and forth between the grainy images and pictures of various celebrities or movers and shakers he’d investigated in the past. There was the Hampton crowd where candidates went for fundraising, and the many private Billionaires’ Row parties where favors were traded and deals made. Clusters of influence peddlers and agents hooking dollars up with power. Which one of the perennial partiers was responsible for the deaths?

  It was hard to tell with the grainy image captured by the
security camera. He swiped to close the image, but hit the arrow key instead. The wide-eyed and very dead face of one of the male models stared at him. He was one of three who’d been found dead near the vicinity of Congressman Overton’s parties. There was no physical link or witnesses placing him at the fundraiser. The body was found in the alley behind the ballroom and had been stripped and robbed. Cause of death was meth overdose.

  The young man was pale and thin, with a distinctive cleft on his shadowy chin. His face was scraped, like it had been dragged across broken glass, and bits and pieces of debris were stuck near his hairline.

  Jason flicked to the next image. Same angular look, but this man was dark-haired and tanned. The haircut was fresh and stylish, so these were not street bums, and this one had a Viking tattoo on his shoulder—a Berserker brand of sacrifice. The skin was cut and pierced by some sort of thin plastic straw, woven into a pattern.

  The third man was found dumped in the East River and was unidentified because his face had been eaten by fish. The only reason Jason lumped him in with the male models was the collar around his neck that resembled a bearded lizard’s fringe of pointy scales.

  A car rattled to the curb across the street, and Jason looked up in time to catch Avery streaking out of the brownstone. She jumped into the waiting car.

  He ran across the street and shouted for her to stop. The car screeched from the spot, barely missing him. His phone went flying, and he was unable to take a picture of the car or the driver. He did, however, catch the plate numbers.

  The driver looked familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen the young man. Brown hair, medium build, your average-looking New Yorker in his twenties or early thirties.

  Jason jogged back to his car and ran the plate. The car was registered to Saul Guillory. No priors. A few speeding tickets. As he was running the profile, it hit him that Saul was the barista who was friends with Avery and more importantly, he had the same surname as the male model with the Viking tattoo.

  What was the connection? Or was he reading too much into a coincidence? The barista was probably a friend of Avery and giving her a ride home. It wasn’t Jason’s business who Avery hung out with.

  He took a calming breath. But it was no use. He had to know if Avery was safe. He’d do a drive-by and see if her light was on. Nothing else.

  He wouldn’t invade her privacy or use his badge to get past the doorman.

  Nope. He would make sure she was safely home and keep driving. She wasn’t the one under investigation. She was a private citizen, and he had no evidence she was being targeted.

  Other than the fact he felt it in every bone in his body and every chill creeping over his scalp.

  Someone wanted Avery Cockburn out of the way, and knowing the criminal mind, they would use the upcoming fashion show to make their statement. The problem was he’d been doing a piss-poor job assuming the danger was limited to stalkers and not looking for other more nefarious reasons, like organized crime, witness tampering, or hostage taking. Or it could be simply business, the way they did it in New York City. Rough and tumble, take no prisoners. Competition.

  The fact the perps had held off for an entire year meant they had control of their emotions—that this wasn’t a crime of passion or jealousy or rage. It was designed to terrify and to haunt, to make Avery look over her shoulder, ever vigilant, never able to relax, always wondering when the next shoe would drop.

  Nope. He’d been going about it all wrong. He should be looking into her competitors or anyone who was jealous of her. Maybe even someone who had been in love with Brando and accidentally took him out when Avery was the intended target. To do that, he needed to find out more about Avery—her past, her associations, her family, her goals, and her motivations.

  He wasn’t being paranoid or giving himself an excuse to chat her up. Nope. Someone didn’t like him protecting her. He didn’t believe in coincidences. The mountain biker who knocked him down could have hurt Avery. Someone wanted him out of the way just like they wanted Brando gone.

  He had to calm down and apply his brain, not his heart. Stay completely rational. Focused.

  He fought traffic, passing and cutting off slow drivers, and raced to the block of the Melbourne Building. It was dark, but pedestrians were still out and about. He slowed down, scanning the parked cars, looking for the barista’s car.

  It wasn’t in the vicinity.

  He closed in on the building and idled across the street, double-parked. Avery’s window was still dark. She hadn’t arrived home yet.

  He waited. The minutes ticked by, and after half an hour, there was still no sign of Avery.

  Jason blew out a frustrated huff. He was self-aware enough to know he’d crossed the line. There was no way he could track her down if she’d gone to a party or stopped off at a nightclub.

  He wasn’t going to wait all night, was he?

  He switched on his headlights and pulled away. As he turned the corner, a black stretch limo rolled in front of the Melbourne’s entrance.

  A man wearing a suit emerged from the Melbourne Building. He put on a pair of wraparound sunglasses and wiped his hand back over his hair, exposing his widow’s peak. The chauffeur opened the door for the man, and he got into the limo.

  Jason made a U-turn in the middle of the block and tailed the limo. What was the guy who beat up Tatiana doing in Avery’s building?

  The limo drove by Avery’s brother’s company, Slipstream Entertainment, and into a narrow street of restaurants, nightclubs, and bars where it dropped off the man. He went into a bar called Lushpuppies.

  Jason looked around for a parking spot, but there were cars packed on both sides of the street. He circled the side streets until he was able to squeeze his car in between two panel vans.

  “Buy you a drink?” Saul asked Avery as he pulled up to the curb in front of Lushpuppies, the neighborhood bar where she used to meet up with Brando and his buddies after they got off a shift.

  He used to text her and let her know he was safe, and then he and the crew would decompress over a few beers before heading home.

  “You don’t have to,” she replied. “I’ll pay the fare, and you can get going.”

  She put in a nice tip for him and tapped the rideshare app to pay. The destination wasn’t where she’d originally planned, and she wasn’t sure why she decided to drop by the bar that held too many memories—especially alone, but Joan was right. She was too young to let life pass her by. She hadn’t seen Brando’s buddies in ages, and she wondered in passing whether they still gathered here.

  “The good thing about driving rideshare is I can shut off the app.” Saul flicked his finger over his phone screen, tapping and swiping. “There. I’m finished driving for the night.”

  “I wasn’t trying to derail you from your work,” she said, knowing he was always hard up for cash. It wasn’t easy being alone in a big city, and from what she knew about Saul, he had no family to give him a helping hand if he was behind on the rent.

  “Your tip made up for the rest of the night.” He got out the driver’s side door and came around the car, opening the door for her. “Go on in and find a seat. I have to find parking.”

  She walked in alone. It was a hot night, but the air conditioner was on full blast, and Avery’s skin prickled. She kept her gaze loosely focused in front of her without seeing anything, the way she’d been taught to walk as a model down a catwalk.

  She was used to being stared at, as long as she was hiding inside the eye-catching clothing and stage makeup that made her almost anonymous. Walking into Lushpuppies alone was risky, though. Her brothers hung out here—that wasn’t the problem—and she felt safe when Brando’s buddies were around.

  Her debut as a fashion designer was forever marred by tragedy, and she heard whispers wherever she went. There was one particular set of eyes she never wanted to meet again. One pair of the coldest, darkest, stoniest eyes—feral and cruel which made her feel naked and exposed no matter how many lay
ers she wore and how many bodies surrounded her. Fortunately for her, she was beneath his notice now that he’d climbed the ranks of power. As long as she left his name off her tongue, she’d be fine—hopefully. He certainly wasn’t slumming in a midtown bar.

  Avery shook off the creepy feeling when she spotted Brando’s buddy, Trent Gallagher, sitting with a tall, slim brunette who looked familiar.

  “Ave.” Trent waved her over. “Haven’t seen you around in ages. You doing okay?”

  “Yes, okay.” She leaned in to give him a friendly hug.

  The brunette didn’t wait to be introduced. She stuck her willowy hand at Avery and said, “I’m Jayla Cooper, and I do a little modeling in my spare time.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Avery said, taking note of Jayla’s athletic build. “Do you surf?”

  “I’m more of a skier,” Jayla said. “Competitive, but I snowboard, too. There aren’t many places to surf around here. Why do you ask?”

  “I do a photoshoot in Hawaii every winter,” Avery said. “If you’re interested.”

  “I better work on my tan.” Jayla glanced at the freckly skin on her arms.

  “I’ll introduce you to Kerry when she comes to the show,” she replied, looking at Trent. “Would you like tickets?”

  “Sure, if you’re handing them out.” Trent grinned. “I understand the show’s dedicated to Brando. He would be so proud of you.”

  Avery gave him a tight nod. She’d never get used to talking about Brando in the past tense. Suddenly, she wanted to be alone and nurse her sorrows over a stiff drink.

  “I’ll get you a beer,” Trent said, mollifying her. “A Corona with a twist of lemon, no lime?”

  He remembered. It was what Brando ordered her every single time they went out.

  “Thanks.” She sidled away from Jayla’s overly enthusiastic prattle and found a seat in the corner of the bar underneath the clock.

  It was all she could do not to burst into tears.

  A shadow fell over her. “You look a little lonely. What’s up?”