“Everyone, let’s start this over.” Alida cupped her hands into a megaphone and directed the camera crew. “Avery, why don’t you go back to the traffic light and start walking our direction. Actually, jog slowly like you’re finishing your workout. When you see Matt, a giant smile lights your face and you open your arms, happy to see your newest beau.”
“I don’t think this is going to work,” Avery said. “Look at me. I’m a mess.”
“It’s okay. We can splice and edit the footage. I can’t afford to reschedule, so we’ll take what we can get.” Alida tried to shoo away the bystanders. “Everyone, back up. Matt Swanson will sign autographs after the coffee shop date with his newest sweetheart, America’s hottest new fashion designer, Avery Cockburn. Look it up. Cocky Heroes for our first responders.”
Avery finger combed her hair and walked back to the corner. She spotted Jason across the street watching and gave him a thumbs-up. She could do this. It was only business, after all, and it would make a great story for the Cocky Heroes line Matt would model for her.
Unfortunately, he turned his back without returning her friendly gesture. The man was definitely difficult, but at least he backed off enough to let her playdate Matt Swanson.
She put on a smile, did some jumping jacks and running in place, then when Alida gave the signal, she bounced perkily toward The Big Bean Café. Halfway there, Matt exited a strategically placed limousine, and this time, because she was prepared, he swept her off her feet, dipping her low for an awfully aggressive and not at all romantic kiss.
Once they entered the coffee shop, the general hubbub from the camera crew and other customers prevented her from having to have meaningful conversation with Matt. Saul was behind the counter. He came around and gave her a high five.
“Hey, where’s Jason?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to the camera crew.
“I’m on a date.” Avery hooked a glance at the football player towering above her.
Saul’s eyebrows twisted, and he took their orders, then went back to make their coffee. Matt kept his hand on Avery, continuously touching some portion of her body. Every chance he got, he leaned down and whispered in her ear or gave her a kiss. It was positively gross, but Avery told herself to grin and bear it.
The buzz alone should skyrocket her brand in front of the fashion show. She’d already pledged all initial sales of her Cocky Heroes line to the Brando Bonet Firefighter’s Memorial Fund, so she was prepared to put up with a slew of boorish behavior.
“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” Matt asked once they were seated and sipping their lattes.
“Let’s discuss this with Alida,” she replied in a friendly manner. “I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“Then we’ll have all the pleasure to ourselves and let Alida handle the business side.” He took her hand and pressed her knuckles onto his lips.
Jason’s reflection shone from the window outside, but she refused to let him know she noticed or cared. She smiled at Matt as if he were her hero and nodded, licking her lips. “It’ll be a pleasure to do only business with you.”
Damn her to pieces.
Jason’s gut ground like it was full of glass as he hovered at the window of the coffee shop. Yes, he looked like an idiot, but no, he wasn’t moving.
Publicity stunt or not, he didn’t like the way Matt Swanson treated Avery like she was one of the strippers vying for his Benjamin Franklins. Ambushing her like he was sacking a quarterback was beyond the pale wrong, and the way his fingers made slimy snail trails over her body was over the top gross.
Still, he couldn’t stand here staring at the two of them like a jealous ex, so he wandered up and down the street and observed the people coming and going.
A black limo drove slowly down the street, and he wondered if the man with the wraparound sunglasses was hidden behind the tinted windows. Or was it simply Matt’s driver circling the block waiting for him?
A delivery man walked by at least twice, and a bike courier circled the block. Two men pushing jogging strollers ran by. One had a toddler inside, and another one carried a dog. A group of young women carrying umbrellas to shade themselves from the sun strolled in front of the coffee shop and studied the menu.
A flash of light caught his eye, and he looked up at a fire escape. A man wearing a dark-colored shirt and pants stood leaning over it, smoking a cigarette. A pair of binoculars hung around his neck, and Jason wondered who he was surveilling.
He went through his list of suspects. Brando had no enemies that his friends knew of. He didn’t owe money to loan sharks, and he had no connections to organized crime. He’d saved plenty of lives, but like any fireman, there were tragic situations where he hadn’t been able to rescue the occupants.
It was possible one of the family members blamed him, but everyone he interviewed said Brando went above and beyond his own safety to rescue people. He even saved a gang member’s family when he set a fire to collect insurance money and wasn’t aware his mother and niece had returned to the apartment.
Could a rival gang member blame Brando for saving them? Except he hadn’t been able to find any gang connections to the hitman—a Salvadorian immigrant who worked in a dive bar.
Meanwhile, Avery had no enemies that he could find. She grew up in Westchester County, in the suburbs, where she went to an elite private school. Her father was a retired general, and her mother was a homemaker who dabbled in the fine arts. As she’d told him, her four brothers loved her.
The one new piece of information about her sister, Harper, deserved checking out. Still, it was hard to imagine a younger sister ordering a hit and taking out the boyfriend by accident.
Which left men Avery had dated or rejected. He needed to figure out who Mr. Wraparound was. Avery had clammed up when he asked, and their conversation had been casual. However, Avery’s body language was defensive, and she appeared like she wanted to escape.
What did Wraparound have on her, and what did he request?
And then there was Saul Guillory, the barista. The young man was cagey and insisted his beating was a misunderstanding. Of what? He was seen with Avery dropping her off at the bar, and according to Avery, he was supposed to join her after parking his car.
Did Avery know his brother was a model? Had Garm ever modeled for Avery? Did Saul blame Avery for Garm’s death or was he spying on her for a competitor?
Perhaps he reported her location and then got his wires crossed. Or maybe he reneged and was taught a lesson.
Jason would do a complete background on Saul and Harper, but he also had to follow up on Wraparound. He glanced up at the fire escape and caught a glimpse of the man’s profile as he went back into the building across the street. He was wearing aviator sunglasses. It was a hot summer’s day, and many people wore sunglasses.
But something wasn’t right.
They were the wrong type. Old man sunglasses the young and fashionable wouldn’t be caught dead wearing, unless they were a decoy.
Jason picked up one of the free community newspapers from a storefront and leaned against the side of the coffee shop. He flipped through the paper, lifting it to hide his face and watched the building’s glass door entrance.
No one matching the description of the man with the aviator sunglasses exited, but several cars pulled in and out of the underground garage.
He was sniffing up the wrong tree. Maybe Avery was right. No one had bothered her for almost a year. It could be that she wasn’t the intended victim.
Jason replayed the movement of the shooter in his mind. He’d reacted with a shout when he spotted the sweaty man stand and raise his gun.
Did he shout before the gunshots or after?
Could it be that he’d distracted the gunman who was on the other side of the runway from him?
Pain lanced through his heart, and a gasp choked his throat.
What if neither Avery nor Brando were the target? What if the man was shooting at someone else and missed? Could t
he target have been Alida who was sitting next to him?
He closed his eyes and replayed the moment that was etched forever in his mind.
The sweaty guy with the ill-fitted suit had stared at him. That was what had drawn his attention. The eerie feeling of being watched had given him away. He’d been sitting next to Alida. He had been investigating Congressman Bill Overton’s donor, and Alida worked publicity for Overton. She dropped names as frequently as a man like Matt Swanson dropped his pants.
Overton was a big catch for her because he had presidential aspirations. Not this election cycle, but in time for a change of parties after Steele’s second term. Which was why the donors flocked to the powerful congressman.
If Alida were the target, then he’d screwed up by killing the shooter. Even worse if he were the target and someone wanted him to stop investigating the male models’ deaths.
The thudding of blood through Jason’s head was almost too much to endure. If he were the real target, then he’d signed Brando’s death warrant by his presence at the show.
Jason wiped cold sweat from his brow and dropped the newspaper from his shaking hands.
It couldn’t be him. He was a cop. No one would dare go after him at a fashion show, knowing he was armed. Nope. The man had been after either Avery or Brando. Without more attempts, it was likely Brando’s past held the clues.
Avery and Matt exited the coffee shop, surrounded by the film crew. They walked hand in hand like lovers did, with her leaning toward him, and he attentively laughing and unable to keep his eyes off her.
The camera crew passed Jason’s position, still focused on Avery who giggled flirtatiously at something Matt said. The crowd parted for them, and a blur of yellow jumped the curb, tires squealing.
“Watch out!” Jason shouted. He rammed himself against Avery, shoving her scant inches from the gleaming chrome bumper. A series of thuds and a crashing sound followed by a shower of broken glass ended with an eruption of a nearby car alarm and screams from the bystanders.
“You okay?” Jason did a quick check of Avery who nodded, still alive and able to respond.
He jumped to his feet and spotted a woman covered with blood writhing on the ground and a screaming child clinging to her.
“Call nine-one-one,” he ordered the bystanders. “Don’t move her.”
Jumping over them, he charged toward the driver’s side of the car. Its airbags had deployed, but the door was open.
“He ran that way.” A bystander pointed down the street.
Jason gave chase, shouting at the perp to stop, but the crowd was slow in getting out of the way, and even though Jason was catching him, he was cut off by a bus.
He lost him, and the only description he had was an average-sized Caucasian man wearing dark slacks and a dark long-sleeved T-shirt.
Chapter Fourteen
The car came out of nowhere, and the next thing Avery knew, she was face-planted on the sidewalk. The push of air, the crumpling sounds, and the vibration of tires swooshing past her face were jumbled with shouts, screams, and a hard body landing on top of her.
Somehow, she knew it was Jason, not Matt. He didn’t move for a split second or maybe many seconds, she couldn’t tell.
Was he hurt? Shot? Crushed?
She struggled underneath the protective chest and arms, and he lightened his weight, looking her over with perceptive eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She was too stunned to answer, and she was aware of the screams and cries of people who had been hurt. The car clicked and hissed, its hood halfway into the coffee shop, and broken glass showered the sidewalk.
Several people were covered with blood, and a woman moaned, holding her belly while a child screamed at her side.
“Jason, help them,” Avery shouted, getting up onto her burning hands and knees. She staggered toward the child, but incredibly, Jason leaped over them and ran around the car.
“Call nine-one-one,” Jason shouted, as people got on their phones and others surrounded the hurt woman, debating on what to do.
Avery knelt beside the child, holding her shoulders. “Does anything hurt?”
The little girl shook her head and shied away from her. An older woman took the girl’s hand and shot Avery a dirty look.
She whipped her head around when she heard Matt shouting, “We need a doctor here. Lady, you’re going to be okay. Just relax.”
She got to her feet, stumbling and disoriented. The crowd pressed around the victims, and Alida elbowed her way toward her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just scraped up.” Avery patted herself, wincing at the dirt scratched into her elbows.
“We caught all of it on video. That was so close,” Alida said, gaping at her. “You should see your face. No, on second thought, don’t look.”
Whatever happened didn’t stop the film crew from sticking their cameras in her face. One side of her head throbbed, and her cheek felt puffy.
She covered her face with her hands. “Stop filming and help those who are hurt.”
Instead of shutting down the cameras, Alida dragged Matt over and positioned him in front of Avery.
He took both of her hands in his, pulling them from her face, and peered at her as if he were concerned. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d been hit.”
“You’re hurt.” She blinked at the trickle of blood trailing down his face.
“Cut by flying glass,” he said. “But I got you out of the way in time thanks to my quick reflexes.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, you came so close.” He pressed his hand over the side of her head. It burned on contact, and she winced. Removing his hand, he showed her the smear of blood.
“I’m hurt?” Now that she saw the blood, she could feel the stinging sensation at the roots of her hair and the dull pounding in her head.
He lifted strands of her hair to show her the ends darkened by road tar and dirt. “The tire went over your hair. I thought you were a goner.”
Avery pressed her palm on the side of her head against the oozing stickiness. The exploding sounds. The weight of Brando’s body over her, the panic, the screams, the nauseating odor of blood and guts. The hubbub and the sirens, and the barking of orders and the wailing of the injured.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” She shoved her bloody hand at the closest camera lens. And then she screamed, “Stop it. Just stop. Stop. Stop.”
By the time Jason returned to the vicinity of the coffee shop, emergency crews and squad cars were on the scene, along with a tow truck standing by. News vans were set up across the street, and the entire block felt like a cross between a movie set for zombie extras and a slasher street carnival.
Blade grabbed ahold of him when he approached the uniformed officers interviewing witnesses. “I take it you didn’t catch the perp?”
“No, a bus got in the way. Where are the people who got hurt?” He approached several ambulances.
“No one seriously,” Blade said. “Thank God. Cuts and scrapes from the broken glass. A woman went into labor from the shock. A gossip video crew was on hand and caught it all on video. Witnesses say it didn’t seem like an accident, that the car was crawling up the block when it hit the gas and jumped the curb.”
“I know. I was there. Where’s Avery Cockburn?” He elbowed his way between the clusters of witnesses and onlookers.
“Taken to the local hospital. She was banged up pretty good.” Blade lifted his eyebrows. “I saw some of the cell phone video. The bumper barely missed her, and some of her hair got caught under the tire.”
“It was that close?” Jason’s blood ran cold. “This was a deliberate attempt on her life.”
“Or they could have been targeting Matt Swanson,” Blade said, hooking his chin in the direction of a news crew. “He’s giving interviews.”
Alida spotted him and scrambled to his side. She grabbed his sleeve. “Come talk to the news. Did you
get a description of the driver? Do you think it was an accident?”
Jason raised his elbows to protect his head and break Alida’s grip. “I’m going to the hospital to find Avery.”
“Not so fast.” Blade waved over a uniformed cop he recognized. “You have to give a statement. Besides, I doubt her brothers are going to let anyone see her. They arrived one after the other, threatening violence on the cab driver and swore they were taking her home to Mom and Dad.”
Alida hounded Blade. “Do you have information on the cab driver?”
The policemen shut their mouths, and Jason turned Alida around by the shoulders. “This is an ongoing investigation. Go back to your football player and see if he needs a wipe or to blow his nose.”
“You’re so droll.” She huffed and curled her lip. “If you were a better cop, you’d want to know, too.”
Jason ignored her and motioned to the officers to gather in a huddle. “We need to get control of the situation. Take names of everyone with a camera and ask them to turn in their videos. Now, where’s the cab driver? I want to speak to him.”
The uniforms brought Jason to the entrance of the garage where an ambulance was parked.
“Was he hurt?” Jason asked the officer in charge.
“Hit on the back of his head for the car keys.”
The driver was sitting on the curb. He was a Hispanic man in his forties with thick eyebrows and a thick mustache to match.
“I didn’t see him,” the driver said. He held an icepack to his head.
“Description? Anything you noticed or felt?” Jason squatted so he was eye level to the witness.
“White guy. He wore dark glasses.”
“What type of glasses?”
“Aviators, mirrored.”
“Clothes? How old do you peg him to be?”
“Dark. I don’t know. Maybe twenties or early thirties.”
“He say anything?”
“No, but he kicked me when I was down.”
Triggered by Love Page 11
