“Thanks, friend.” Her smile seemed too innocent and made him wonder if she were teasing him, so he didn’t respond.
He segued into officer mode as soon as they stepped into the emergency room and spotted Saul being discharged. He was holding an icepack against his head and walking away from the nurse who handed him a sheet of instructions.
“Saul!” Avery rushed to his side. “Why are they letting you go? Are you okay?”
“Did you see who hit you?” Jason asked, standing close enough to Saul in case he had the woozies and needed a hand.
He shrank back away from Jason, eyes wide. “Why are you here? I didn’t do anything.”
Jason was sure Saul remembered him from the investigation into his brother’s death. He hadn’t been much help because he hadn’t known what his brother was up to until he got a call on the rideshare app. By the time he responded, his brother had already died in the alley from a drug overdose.
Still, it was strange how Saul was so quick to assume he was in trouble or guilty of something.
“Whoa, wait, Jason isn’t here to arrest you.” Avery stood close to Saul’s side. “We saw you get taken away by an ambulance and spoke to the officer.”
“What did he say?” Saul’s expression was like a cornered coyote. “I’m not filing charges, so I don’t see why you’re here.”
“Don’t worry.” Avery rubbed Saul’s upper arm. “Come, let’s go back for your car.”
“Not sure he should be driving,” Jason cut in. “Did they give you pain pills?”
“Yeah, and instructions.” He shook the thick pamphlet the nurse handed him.
Avery took the instructions from him and frowned. “It says you might have a concussion, and that someone has to monitor you. Do you have anyone?”
“I’m okay,” Saul said. “I’ll take the pain pills and get some sleep.”
“You can sleep, but you need to be monitored in case you don’t wake up,” Avery said. “Do you have roommates or anyone who can check up on you?”
“I don’t need anyone,” Saul insisted. He wiped his hand over the gauze strip wrapped around his head. “Scalp wounds bleed a lot. It looks worse than it feels.”
“You’re coming to my place then,” Avery said. “Jason, can you give us a ride?”
What did Avery know about this young man? Sure, he was a friendly barista and quick with the jokes. But being nice to customers was part of the job.
Still, it was better to figure him out than to let him go. He was either attacked or got into a fight, and it could have been about Avery. It wasn’t a coincidence that the man with the wraparound sunglasses came out of Avery’s building and headed to Lushpuppies.
“Of course,” Jason replied. “We should at least take turns and wake him up every few hours. Make sure he’s coherent.”
“I really shouldn’t be disturbing you guys,” Saul said. “Truly. I appreciate it, but I’d rather go back to my place.”
“We can’t leave you alone,” Avery protested. “The instructions say to watch for impaired vision, dizziness, and unresponsiveness.”
“I’ll take Saul back to his place and camp out there tonight,” Jason volunteered. “I’m off duty tomorrow.”
Both Avery and Saul started to protest, but he held up his hand and shook his head firmly. “Let’s get going. Ave, I’ll call you in the morning and let you know how he’s doing. Saul, you have a good friend in Avery. Don’t waste it.”
Decision made, he dropped Avery off at her building, watched her go inside, and then drove to Saul’s apartment in a run-down area of Brooklyn. He shared it with several other guys, but they kept to their own business and only crossed paths coming in and going out to their jobs.
“You don’t really have to stay,” Saul said, pulling aside the floor-to-ceiling partition that marked his spot in the common area. A cardboard dresser and a metal trunk were the only furniture besides a ratty sofa piled with clothes and papers, and a spring-framed cot with a thin mattress. “Sorry, the accommodations aren’t first class.”
“The couch is fine,” Jason said. “I’ve done stakeouts in worse places.”
“Yeah, well, then, thanks.” Saul looked sheepish. “Want any water?”
“I can help myself. I’ll set my phone alarm to go off every two hours and ask you questions when I wake you.”
“Sure.” Saul shoved clothes from the couch onto the grimy carpet. He yanked a thin blanket from the cot and gave it to Jason. “Why do you care what happens to me?”
“Avery cares.” He shrugged as he sank onto the couch, feeling every spring. “Maybe she feels guilty for what happened to you.”
He slipped off his shoes and arranged the cushions under his head, making sure not to appear overly inquisitive.
The young man turned off the bare-bulb lamp on the metal trunk. The cot springs creaked and rattled as he got comfortable.
It was silent other than the traffic noises and the occasional shout of pedestrians outside, but Jason waited, listening to Saul tossing and turning.
“Is my presence disturbing you?” Jason asked, just to let Saul know he was still awake. It was a dumb question, but there was something strange about the attack, and he was sure it had to do with Avery. The young man’s wallet wasn’t taken, and neither were his car keys, so it wasn’t a robbery or mugging.
“No, I’m just worried about Avery thinking this was her fault,” Saul said.
“Why would it be her fault?” Jason asked, even though he was the one who implied it.
“It was a misunderstanding. They mistook me for someone else,” Saul said.
“Who would they mistake you for?” Jason asked, hoping to drive the questions toward his brother. If he wasn’t mistaken, his brother had stayed in the model apartments upstairs.
“No one, at least not anyone I know.”
“At least they didn’t hurt Avery.”
“Oh, no, that wasn’t what they wanted,” Saul declared hotly. “They weren’t trying to hurt her.”
“Just someone with her?”
“I wasn’t with her. I was only driving rideshare, but they didn’t believe me.”
“I’m sorry they mistook you for someone else.” Jason squelched a yawn to seem as if he wasn’t interested in the answer. “Did they have a message for her?”
“Not really, they just said I’d better not rat them out, and they’d know if I did. Which is why you put me in a bad situation coming here like this.”
“Lucky I’m plain-clothed. If they were watching, they saw me come out of the bar with Avery, and since I didn’t go in with her, they’d think I only met her there. You have any idea what they want with her?”
“No.” Saul’s voice was flat, and Jason got the distinct impression he realized he’d said too much. “Nothing.”
“Hmmm …” Jason hummed. “I’m sure you have an idea.”
“I don’t, really.”
“Think they might have mistaken you for a male model?”
The man’s breath caught, and Jason could hear him swallow.
“No, man,” Saul answered in a small voice. “I’m the guy behind the camera.”
“Bet you get great pictures. I’d like to see them someday.”
“Yeah, if I get a break somewhere.”
“You never know,” Jason said.
After Saul’s breathing steadied, Jason searched the apartment. He found what he was looking for underneath the sofa cushions. Glossy black-and-white modeling shots for Garm Guillory, one of the deceased male models.
Chapter Eleven
Avery called Jason early the next morning and was relieved that Saul was okay. He was lucid and woke up with only a dull headache. The blood in his ear turned out to have trickled down from his scalp wound.
“He’s going to work, and I promised we’d stop by after we finish at the range,” Jason said.
Pushy guy, this Jason, but she didn’t call him on it. She was impressed he’d spent the night monitoring a guy he didn�
�t know.
“I didn’t say I was going to the range with you,” she teased, even though as a creature of habit, Saturday mornings were for shooting, not sleeping in.
“I’ll be by at seven thirty to pick you up,” he said and hung up.
The nerve of this man!
His forcefulness didn’t bother her the way it should have. Her father was like that, brusque and straightforward. He was disciplined too. As an Army guy and a retired general, he used to act like a drill sergeant, getting them up early Saturday morning for pushups, calisthenics, and a brisk run around the park.
Jason was downstairs chatting with the doorman at exactly seven thirty. Avery spotted him as soon as the elevator door opened. Her heart fluttered, and her pulse sped up, and she was about to rush out when she stepped back and let the doors close automatically.
What was wrong with her? Acting like a giddy schoolgirl on her way to the county fair with the star quarterback wasn’t remotely her modus operandi. She’d always been calm and collected. It was what had made her a good model, back before she turned self-conscious.
She mentally swatted herself and straightened her shoulders, pressing her lips into a grim line. She was practically a widow. She should have been married almost a year. Just because she was slightly hungover and worried about Saul didn’t make Jason a hero.
Okay, back that up. He was a hero because he saved her life, but he wasn’t a knight in shining armor, not that she needed one. He still hadn’t solved Brando’s murder, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he was using the investigation as an excuse to hang out with her.
What would Joan say if she saw her panting after Jason like an anxious puppy? She only gave her the green light for a social life, not to jump the next hunky guy’s bones. Besides, even if she were to move on, she’d honor Brando best by dating another firefighter—not a cop, who was probably nuts in the first place. She’d heard there was a fine line between a cop and a thug—both prone to violence and roughing people up. One had a badge, and the other didn’t, and there were too many cases of rogue cops losing their temper and using unnecessary force.
Nope. Firefighters were heroic and sacrificed themselves to save others. There were no gray areas about charging into a fire and pulling people out of burning buildings.
The elevator resumed its duty and climbed to one of the upper floors. It picked up an older couple and started back down. They were holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes like they were on a perpetual honeymoon.
If she’d had a lifetime with Brando, she could easily see herself swooning over him even in her old age. Now, she only had Jason lurking downstairs.
Avery’s nerves danced on pins and needles, wondering if Jason had left. He knew her schedule down to the minute, and she was never late for her lane reservation.
It took her one more up and down trip before she straightened her shoulders, picked up her gear bag, and walked out of the elevator, purposely looking straight ahead, although aware of Jason coming toward her.
He was dressed casually, ripped jeans, high-top sneakers, and this time, a crisp white T-shirt with a small American flag logo. The white fabric of the T-shirt clung to the hard slab of his thick pecs. Over strong, solid shoulders, he wore a light olive-green jacket, no doubt to cover the holster and gun he packed. A camouflage cap perched backwards on his head.
She pretended not to notice the heat wave radiating from his well-built, but not bulky body. She was going to play it cool. Sure, she was grateful for his care of Saul, but she couldn’t get rid of the niggling feeling he wanted something. Information? Loose ends? Or to get into her panties?
That last thought sent a delicious warmth through her nether regions, but she had to shut it down. This wasn’t the time for fantasizing. Not with the big fashion show coming up and having to deal with Alida, Matt, as well as Larry and his father’s requests. It was a juggling act to keep her business and social obligations balanced. With her father running for Congress, she couldn’t afford to piss off any power brokers.
Jason’s gaze locked on to her as he took her gear bag from her shoulder. She expected him to say something, ask her why she was late, or inquire if she was hungover, but he gave her an enigmatic grin and opened the door for her.
She didn’t need an update on Saul, and she’d already thanked him over the phone, so she took the opportunity to breathe in the city air and take in the busy sights and sounds of the noisy city.
She was determined not to speak until he spoke, but he stayed silent. Surprisingly, there was no awkwardness, at least on her part. His presence felt companionable, as if the two of them were so comfortable with each other they didn’t have to talk.
He didn’t open his mouth until they entered the gun shop. He greeted the owner of the range, and they signed in.
“You need to get serious with your pistol selection,” he said when she went to select a rental. “If you’re going to carry, you have to be ready to use it.”
“Who says I’m going to carry?” she challenged him even though she’d already gotten the permit. She just hadn’t settled on a handgun yet. “I shoot in place of therapy. I don’t care if I miss the targets.”
“Ah, but you do care.” He led her to the handgun display counter. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so pissed at me for hogging the next lane.”
She wanted to roll her eyes and dismiss him, but she was afraid he’d see through her—he already did. “It’s a sorry day when you’re competing with me.”
“I make every bullet count.” His eyes gripped hers, large and serious. “Let me train you.”
“Sure, okay.” She surprised herself, then added, shrugging, “Who better to train me than a cop?”
“Who saved your life,” he reminded her.
“How do I get started?”
“First thing is not you. It’s the handgun. Has to fit your hand perfectly. You’ll want one that’s compact, lighter in weight, with a lower trigger pull. One that conceals well so you have it with you all the time.”
For the next twenty minutes, rather than rent any old handgun, she tried the grips and feel of each handgun. After finding the right pistol, she rented it. They walked into the shooting booth, and Jason adjusted her hand and arm position, wrapping one hand around the other to brace it. He then kicked her feet apart into the correct stance, with one foot back to brace against the recoil. After that, she learned to calm her breathing and line up the front and rear sights. He showed her the shape of the sights and how to center them. “Equal height and equal light.”
“When am I going to pull the trigger?” she asked, squinting at the target behind the moving sights.
“Not until you can keep the gun steady.” Jason stood behind her.
“The gun’s getting heavy.” She could feel sweat trickling on her forehead, but Jason insisted she raise and lower the gun, adjust the sights and count heartbeats—her own.
“Then there’s no sense pulling the trigger, because you’re only going to miss,” he said.
“I need to shoot,” she muttered. “It lets out the anger.”
“That’s the wrong reason.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s what I came for.”
“Every time you take a haphazard shot, you’re ingraining bad habits. You’re out of control. It’s dangerous.”
She lowered the gun and put on her hearing protectors partly to muffle out his nagging. “I’m going to shoot, so you can either help me or stay out of the way.”
His body closed in behind her, and he put his hands over hers, adjusting the gun and her grip. His heat enveloped her, and her heart took an erratic leap. She licked her lips and told herself to stay composed. The gun didn’t feel as heavy, and he let her guide it, right at the heart of the target.
This time, she was going to do it right, not squeezing her entire hand and making the shot go wild. She slowly inhaled and concentrated solely on pulling back her trigger finger.
Bam!
She almost jumped at the
shot. It sliced cleanly through the target’s heart.
“Try again,” Jason barked, not acknowledging her precise hit.
She let out the breath she was holding and realigned the front and rear sights. Again, she put all her thought into the one finger movement, feeling like the rest of her was detached—only the trigger finger mattered.
Bam!
The shot hit the target, a little wide, but still went through the torso of the target.
She could sense his approval by the slight nod of his jaw against the top of her head, and she readjusted, pointing to different parts of the target until she emptied the clip.
She ejected the clip and placed it on the counter while he triggered the target return.
“Not bad.” He whistled at the holes. “How do you feel?”
“Like I was meditating.” She inhaled slowly. “It’s weird. Different. Calming. I don’t feel irritated right now.”
He still had his arms around her as she lowered the emptied gun. Taking it from her, he placed it on the counter and turned her around so she faced him. Gently, he lowered her ear band and left it hanging around her neck.
“The calmness is what makes you a good shot.” His gaze was so intent on her that she could see the glints of gold within the pools of brown.
The praise felt good, coming from him, and she could feel herself floating closer to him. The scent of gunpowder, the bucking of the pistol, and the raw power of plugging bullets into the target filled her with a heady rush of emotion.
Focused. Intense. He moved like a wildcat stalking his prey. His mouth was hot and hungry, pressing her lips, while his big, wide hands tilted her head back, throwing her off-balance, so that she was teetering on the edge of a cliff.
She stopped herself from thinking. Closed her eyes and kissed him back, tasting passion she didn’t know she possessed. Heat rushed through her body, filling her heart with hot blood and making her purr like a horny alley cat wailing for a mate.
Her tongue swept his mouth, twirling and tangling with his hot thrusts. She wanted to melt then and there, weak at the knees and swept away by this hard, powerful man whose intensity should have scared her. Instead, excitement sizzled through her hot blood, and she pressed her hands over his sinewy shoulders, his hard pecs, and down every ridge of his abs. Her nipples tingled, and she tipped herself on her toes and let her breasts rub up against his torso.
Triggered by Love Page 9
