Leaving the shower still feeling sore, but clean, she wrapped herself in a towel and then stepped into her adjoining bedroom. A wave of disorientation had her looking around. Everything seemed…wrong. Her bedspread was mussed, though Millie could have done that if she’d watched television in here. It would also explain why the nick knacks on her side table weren’t quite where Avery had left them.
None of it matters anymore. Millie was gone. Her days of messing with Avery’s stuff were over until they set up house somewhere else. What mattered was Millie was safe, and soon, Avery would be with her. Until then, she needed to focus on shaking Special Agent Vincent Modena, FBI.
She dressed in her black T-shirt, jeans, and Doc Martens, then pinned her wet hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. She found Vincent in the kitchen, drinking coffee, and balancing a bag of peas on his knuckles. His punching hand didn’t look much better than hers.
“Great idea,” she said. He lobbed the bag of peas to her, which she easily caught. “I’m sure there’s another one in the freezer.”
“Big pea eaters in this house?” Somehow, he’d found a way to use the existence of frozen peas in her house to ask if she was living with someone. Impressive.
“I’ve been known to like a pea or two.”
“Do you live alone?” Good to know. If subtly doesn’t work, the Fed came right out and asked. Eyelids lowered, he peered at her, pretending to be jealous, yet he was clearly making a joke out of it, and just as clearly wanted an answer. It was laughable. They barely knew each other, for one thing, and for another, it wasn’t his damn business. Yes, he was sexy as sin, and yes, in an alternate universe where Dante wasn’t desperate to kill her she’d jump Vincent’s bones and stay in bed for a weekend, living off love. But life wasn’t that simple. She owed Vincent nothing. Certainly, not the truth.
“My boyfriend won’t be home until later, if that’s what you’re asking. And yes, he’s jealous, and yes, he won’t like that you’re in my apartment, but I think I’ll be able to keep him from killing you if you keep your promise and walk away after lunch.” Nothing makes a man bail faster than being disqualified as a bed mate. Do you live alone? She wondered if he interrogated all new acquaintances this way. “You done with your coffee?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but rather went to the door and opened it. “You said you’d feed me, and no, I don’t consider a bag of frozen peas food.”
Vincent glanced at the bag she continued to clutch. “You taking that with you?”
“Why? Will it embarrass you to be seen with me holding it?” Not that she cared. Her knuckles had swollen so much her rings were pinching.
“No.” He walked to the door and motioned with a hand, indicating she step through first.
Avery didn’t move. Not until she took one last look around the apartment. She and Millie had made a life here. This was where they’d schemed and planned for the day when fear was behind them, and freedom was something they could take for granted. They’d survived here, hadn’t had much of a life, but it was theirs, cheap and shabby though it was…
She wouldn’t miss it.
Clutching the frozen peas, she walked out and used the banister to ease the weight off her bum knee. Though her descent wasn’t pretty, it was at least under her own steam, and lots less painful than being lifted. A glance behind her caught Vincent staring at her ass. An ass man. She felt relief, because that meant he wanted her, and his pursuit was about getting in her pants, not her head. Oddly enough, knowing that allowed her to enjoy his gaze. It felt like a caress, and sent arousing tingles throughout her body. The man had the naughtiest smile.
“You seem jumpy.” He kept pace with her down the stairs, looking lazy and patient. Happy, apparently, to while away his time checking out her ass.
She reached the bottom of the stairs, opened the front door, and turned off the stairwell lights. “You have that effect on a woman.”
Before stepping out onto the sidewalk, she scanned the street, automatically searching for familiar faces…faces that didn’t belong in North Conway. It was a habit she’d developed over the years, but now that her face was probably all over social media, it became more important than ever to remain vigilant. Dante’s men would find her here, the only question was, when?
She pressed the peas to her swollen knuckles, knowing it was past time to get out of Dodge. She stepped out onto the sidewalk and waited for Vincent to close the door behind them.
“Food.” She was dying of starvation. Vincent used his hand to indicate the bistro seating of the Chinese restaurant next door. Though pleased with his choice, because it would be quick, she worried it wouldn’t be quick enough. Her bus was leaving in a half an hour.
He pulled out a black cast iron chair from beneath a small, intricately designed cast iron table. “Sit. I ordered when you were in the shower. Hope you’re in the mood for General Ghau’s chicken.”
She was. The restaurant door opened as Avery sat and Vincent sat across from her. Wan Gamon, the daughter of the restaurant’s owner and Avery’s landlord, carried a takeout bag under her arm and clutched two glasses filled with iced water. She was smiling, petite, her dark hair in a low ponytail, and she wore a Boston Red Sox cap. “Hey, Patty.”
“Hey, Gamon. How you doing?”
Gamon placed the food and drinks on the table. “Heard about the ruckus at the diner. People are saying you won a knife fight with a killer?”
Avery laughed, and then rolled her eyes. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but no. That didn’t happen.” She showed her cut up neck. “I was terrified. He held a knife to my throat. I didn’t win.” Gamon oohed and awed, looking at Avery’s neck.
“That’s horrible,” Gamon said. “It’s a miracle you lived.”
“It’s a miracle I got a day off for my trouble. You know James. He hasn’t even called me yet, but if it wasn’t a crime scene, you know he’d be on the phone, telling me I was still on the clock.” She smiled, ignoring the odd look Vincent threw her way. He wouldn’t understand why she’d downplay her role in the diner’s troubles. Winning a knife fight with a drugged-out killer would bring her attention. Her one play here was to create conflicting rumors, otherwise, it would be a red flag for her ex-husband. He’d send his goons here to check out the knife-fighting waitress.
Vincent handed Gamon a fifty. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you.” Gamon gave Avery a wink and a nudge, as if she approved of her date, and then disappeared back into the restaurant.
“You certainly impressed Gamon.” Avery threw him a smile, and then opened the bag. She was so hungry her stomach hurt. “Thanks for this. It was shopping day and I was down to canned foods.”
“But do I impress you?” He used his hands to indicate their surroundings. People walked by, ignoring them mostly, and cars passed at a slow crawl. “Only the finest venue.”
“Do you ever not dig for compliments?” She set aside her frozen peas, and pulled chopsticks from the bag, laughing.
He took her implied criticism in the vein it was given, as a gentle ribbing, then saw the chopsticks, and it was his turn to laugh. “Good luck with that.” He pulled two plastic forks from the bag, placing one before her. He was right. Her knuckles were too swollen to manipulate chopsticks.
After she’d devoured a few bites, and her stomach was no longer punishing her for neglect, Avery decided Vincent could satisfy her curiosity, if not her other, more neglected needs. “How come you’re not at the diner with the cops?” she said. “I’d think a Fed would be all over what happened back there, exchanging stories, writing up reports. Isn’t that what men like you get off on? Instead, you’re babysitting the waitress. Two murders, Vincent. This is a small town. They could use your help.” And she could use him gone.
“Sheriff took my statement.” He shrugged. “I’m on vacation, remember? Not in charge, thankfully. The paperwork o
n this morning’s shit show will take them all night to complete. I’d rather spend this time with you.”
She speared a medallion of chicken with her fork. “You smell like fish, and you’re wearing Jim’s blood. The feeling isn’t mutual.”
He finished chewing his lo mein, and then licked his lips before replying. “If you’d invited me to share your shower, I’d be prettier.”
“Any prettier and you’ll be impossible to be around.” She kept her smile prim when he barked out a laugh.
A carton in one hand, his fork in the other, Vincent’s smile still seemed genuine, but it had grown subdued. “It could have been a hundred times worse back there at the diner,” he said. “You know that. Right?” She nodded, thinking of Sam, and his grieving family.
“Could have been way worse.” She’d thought herself dead more than once with Jim. “We survived, though.”
“Thanks to you,” Vincent said.
She licked the sweet sauce off her lips. “And you. You were impressive back there. I saw how you took out that guy in three moves. The silent one. Not many people can do that.”
“Yeah? So, I’ve finally done something that impresses you.” He smiled, winking. Then he leaned back, propping his feet up on the chair next to him. Spearing his fork into the carton, he twirled it, his gazed fixed on her mouth. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop licking her lips. When his smile grew naughty, she suspected he was thinking of their kiss back at the diner, like she was, only she was the one blushing.
Avery filled her mouth with chicken, and told herself to stop screwing around. She was leaving this town, leaving him. Soon, he’d be someone she used to know. “You’re staring,” she said.
His smile grew. “Am I?”
“Yeah. You’ve been staring since we met.” She leaned toward him, took his carton of lo mein and ate some, before handing it back. Then she picked up the chicken carton again.
“I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable.” No, he wasn’t. If he was, he wouldn’t be sporting such a shit-eating grin. She was attracted to him. He knew it, and she hated that he knew it. An FBI agent, for heaven’s sake. She obviously had a death wish.
“I already told you I have a jealous boyfriend. What do you think you’ll get out of this?” She waved her fork between them, indicating them as a couple. She really wanted to know, because she wasn’t an idiot. She’d already declared sex off limits, and he was a player. There was no love at first sight going on. So, what the fuck?
He gave his head a little shake, and seemed a bit wistful, as if he too wanted the answer to that question. “Something about you, I guess. I don’t know if it’s that look in your eyes, or that you’re so damn sexy, or maybe it’s because there doesn’t seem to be anything you can’t do.” He smiled suddenly, lifting his brows. “Can you yodel? I’ve tried. It’s not so easy.”
She laughed. He was so good at flirting. No, she couldn’t yodel. In fact, her skill sets were extremely narrow. Even laundry seemed to elude her. If it wasn’t for bleach, she’d have all pink socks as red items inevitably found their way into her whites.
“Exactly what look do I have in my eyes?” she said.
Vincent’s smile faded, though he continued to stare. “Like you’re caged.” His words seemed to shock even him, and then he was the image of regret. “I’m sorry. That was unkind.”
That was the thing about honesty, she thought. It wasn’t always kind, but in this case, his words couldn’t have been truer. Her family was killed eight years ago. The price of justice had been high, and part of that price was waitressing in North Conway, New Hampshire. The alternative was Dante finding and killing her and Millie.
“Patty, I’m worried about you,” he said.
About her. Not any of the other customers in the diner this morning. Her. She was the only one he tracked down, followed home, waited until she’d showered, and then fed Chinese food. She believed him when he said he was worried. No one was that good of an actor. And she wasn’t receiving a danger vibe from him, but still his focus worried her nonetheless. Vincent was FBI. Just knowing him brought unwanted attention, and she was sitting with him, eating a meal with him, in full view of the town. It wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done.
“Well,” she glanced at her watch, “stop worrying. I’m not your responsibility.” She had twenty minutes before her bus left, so she tried to relax and enjoy this free food. The chicken was delicious, and it would probably be the last time she’d eat at this restaurant. This, she’d miss.
“Good food, huh?” he said. She nodded. “I bet there are other restaurants in this town that have good food, too. Maybe we could hang, spend the day together, go on a pub crawl tonight to let off some steam.” She shook her head. “Stay, Patty. Don’t leave.”
She frowned, chewing. “I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”
“The bus ticket. I know you’re going. Anyway, if you won’t stay for me, stay for the sheriff. He might have follow-up questions. The least you could do is make sure he knows how to reach you.”
“I gave him my phone number.”
He avoided her gaze, as if he were being shy. It was adorable. “Maybe I’ll want to reach you.”
She rattled off her phone number and he smiled, all puffed up and satisfied as he inputted it into his contact list. This concession meant little to Avery. She’d memorized all her important numbers, so she’d lose little when she destroyed her phone’s SIM and GPS cards on the bus. A new phone could always be purchased at a CVS or Walgreens.
Vincent dialed a number on his phone and seemed surprised when Avery’s rang.
“Trust issues?” She sipped some water, hiding her smile, ignoring that her phone suddenly went silent.
Vincent groaned, but with humor. “You have no idea.”
A van’s sliding door opened across the street. Three people in business suits hopped out, looking official. Could have been Dante’s men, but Avery’s brain tagged them as Feds, because if they’d been Dante’s, they’d be shooting already. When they walked toward her and Vincent, holding up their credentials, she looked away, praying they were here for Vincent, maybe looking for a debrief on the diner dustup. She put her fork down and prepared a pretty goodbye, hoping to leave Vincent to it and get on with his life.
He sipped his water and then wiped his hands on a napkin. He seemed curious to see their approach, but not concerned. “The jig up?” So, he did know them.
A tall, manly, black-haired and blue-eyed Fed stepped forward, still holding out his credentials, but aiming it at Avery. It read Special Agent John Benton, FBI. Serious as death, the man locked eyes with her. “Avery Toner Coppola, the jig is definitely up.”
Chapter 5
Benton didn’t wait for Avery to respond, not that she looked as if she had a response at the ready. Her face flushed red, and her glare couldn’t have been more toxic, but she remained silent. “Change of plans,” Benton said. “We’re taking Mrs. Coppola to the sheriff’s office.”
Benton directed his words to Vincent, but kept glancing at Avery, as if expecting trouble. He understood Benton’s concern. She was glaring like she was calculating their demise.
“Just as well,” Vincent said. “I searched her apartment pretty thoroughly and didn’t find anything. If it’s in there, she’ll have to tell us.” He heard Avery’s gasp and ignored it. Benton was in a rush for a reason. “What’s up?”
Deming tucked her ID back into her black suit jacket pocket. “We’ve confirmation Coppola’s men are in the area, and there are more of them than anticipated. They’ve good as found her, Modena.”
Vincent did his best to push down his anger, not wanting to show team discord in front of Avery. “We’ve been sitting here fifteen minutes, easily. It would have been nice to have this intel.” He glanced at Deming. “Sooner.”
“Maybe someone should answer his phone,” Deming snapp
ed back.
“Get the witness into the van,” Benton said. He, Gilroy and Deming then hustled across the street to the van, leaving Vincent to deal with Avery.
He tilted his head toward the van, waiting, wondering if she’d give him a hard time. Surprisingly, she didn’t. Instead, she followed the agents at a fast clip, looking both ways, hopping inside the van without fuss. Vincent supposed hearing Coppola’s men were in the area had a way of reshuffling her priorities. Whatever got her to move was fine by him, because he had an itchy feeling between his shoulder blades, like a laser scope was aimed, a rifle locked and loaded, like he was taking his life in his hands by staying in the open.
The sun reflected off Special Agent Gilroy’s silver West Point college ring as the man jumped into the driver’s seat. Benton, Deming, and Vincent followed Avery inside the van’s interior and took seats in front of the computer monitors on small tables affixed to its walls. It was their mobile HQ in here, and now Avery was an inner, huddled against the far-right corner, eyes lowered, hiding in plain sight. He wished things could have worked out differently. There was no reason he couldn’t have groomed her more, got her to open up to him, maybe prompt her to ask for his help, but time, and events, were having their way. The FBI now had to be the hammer to Avery’s nail, and knowing what he did about her, it was going to be messy.
Hunched, feeling cramped in the back, he focused on her, looking for a way to move past what she had to think was a betrayal. “We’re on your side,” Vincent said. “It might not feel that way right now, but we are.”
“We’re the good guys,” Deming said. Sitting across from him, the profiler was studying Avery like a chemist might a boiling solution in a beaker. He was almost positive Deming had no idea how intense she was being, and if she did, he suspected she wouldn’t have the slightest interest in changing her ways. Deming was Deming. She was a damn fine agent, smart as a whip, and perceptive.
Caught by You Page 5
