Still Life

by Dani Pettrey

“There was venom in her voice when she referenced her,” Kate said.

  “You think Skylar slept with Kyle too, and he’s Amanda’s guy?” Parker asked.

  Griffin inclined his head. “If I were a betting man.”

  “Okay, so we have a ticked-off Connor because Skylar dumped him for his roommate,” Parker said, “and a ticked-off girlfriend because Skylar slept with her boyfriend.”

  “Yeah. It wouldn’t be the first time. Skylar had a pretty bad habit of stuff like that,” Avery said. “As gorgeous as she was, guys went gaga for her.”

  “But Kyle’s girlfriend, Amanda—if she is in fact his girlfriend—is gorgeous too,” Kate said, clearly wondering why Amanda’s boyfriend would stray. “She has long blond hair, big blue eyes . . .”

  Parker exchanged a quizzical look with Avery. Rich college kids . . .

  “What?” Kate frowned.

  “It couldn’t be . . .” Parker said.

  “Couldn’t be what?” Kate asked.

  “I don’t suppose you saw what kind of car Amanda King drives?” Avery asked.

  “Yeah. A burgundy and white—”

  “Fiat,” Parker and Avery said in unison.

  “Yeah.” A curious expression danced across Kate’s face. “How’d you know?”

  They explained about their tail, or rather Gary Boyd’s second one, and what Megan had said about Skylar’s nighttime visitors—that the young couple had broken into Skylar’s place and argued about how “his cheating had gotten them in this mess.”

  “So are we thinking it was Kyle Eason who broke into Skylar’s trailer with Amanda?” Griffin wondered.

  “Based on her referring to ‘his cheating,’ that’s my guess,” Kate answered. “But his cheating got them into what kind of mess? Clearly more than within their relationship if they were breaking and entering into Skylar’s trailer.”

  “Megan said they were there looking for something. Something Skylar must have hidden well.”

  “Hidden?” Parker said. “Did they find it?”

  “Nope.” Avery shook her head. “If Skylar wanted to hide something . . .” she began, then her eyes lit. “The safe deposit box?”

  Kate smiled. “Exactly.”

  “Any luck on tracking its location down?” Parker asked.

  “Ask and you shall receive.” Kate handed him the printout.

  “Wells Fargo on Bel Air Road. Skylar made quite the trek for that box.” It was easily a forty-five-minute drive without traffic, and around the beltway there was always traffic. There had to be a closer Wells Fargo to her.

  “She was probably worried if anyone found out she’d gotten a safe deposit box, they’d search the closest bank to her home,” Avery said.

  “I should be able to get a warrant tomorrow, so Jason and I will head there first thing Monday morning,” Griffin said. “Avery, why don’t you meet us there? I’d like to have you accompany us since you can verify Skylar’s signature on the forms. I could compare documents, but I’d prefer having the word of someone who knew her well.”

  “No problem.” Avery leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees. “I’m curious. Do you think someone else might have rented the box in her name?”

  “No. I just like to dot my I’s and cross my T’s.”

  “Of course you do.” Parker smiled. Griffin was the most thorough person he knew, which is what made him so good at his job. “Okay, if we’re done here,” Parker said, standing and gesturing to Avery, “I’m taking this girl home.”

  Everyone arched their brows in a teasing manner.

  “Not like that.” Children—the lot of them. Though, when it came to teasing, he was often the worst of the pack.

  “Let me just help Tanner clean up the kitchen first,” Avery said, seeing Tanner moving to do so alone.

  “Of course. Can I help?”

  “No. Just sit. With the two of us it won’t take long.”

  “Three of us,” Kate said, jumping up to join them in the kitchen. Declan picked up his phone and excused himself.

  Griffin and Finley, instead of moving for the kitchen, moved to sit on either side of Parker.

  Okay, whatever was coming was going to be fun. Not.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

  “What are you doing?” Griffin asked.

  “About . . . ?”

  “Avery.”

  “What about her?” He ached for Avery to be his, but what about Jenna? He had no intention of spending the rest of his life alone. . . . It was just that Jenna’s loss took such a chunk out of his heart, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be whole again. And Avery deserved whole.

  “Please,” Griffin said. “You are clearly into the woman.”

  Wonderful. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Oh, honey,” Finley said. “You have no idea.”

  “What’s holding you back?” Griffin said, leaning forward and interlocking his hands. “Is it Jenna?”

  Was he seriously going to have this conversation with Jenna’s big brother about caring for another woman? They really had come a long way in repairing their relationship if they were going to have this conversation.

  Griffin stared at him, waiting for an answer.

  “Yes.” He exhaled.

  “It wasn’t your fault Jenna died,” Griffin said quietly. “Trust yourself that you can protect Avery, that you can be there for her. Especially with everything that’s going on now.”

  Parker swallowed hard. That meant a lot coming from Griffin.

  “Still . . .” Parker fell back in his seat. “Avery deserves someone whole, and after what happened with Jenna . . .” He didn’t know how to explain it.

  Finley shifted forward. “Maybe to be whole, you need someone else to fill that hole.”

  “But isn’t that killing my memories, my love for Jenna? She deserves better.” She was his first love. “And so does Avery. She deserves all of me, and I want to give it to her, but I want to honor Jenna too.”

  “You will always have those memories and that love,” Finley said softly, “but it doesn’t mean there isn’t room for a new love in your heart, which, by the way, is already clearly there.”

  “It’s obvious you love her,” Griffin said.

  He’d fallen hand over fist in love with Avery Tate and totally missed the fact until she’d nearly been taken from him. For the first time in seven years, he loved a woman. Not just wanted, not just longed to date or spend time with, but completely loved a woman. And not just any woman, but a strong, vulnerable, brilliantly quirky mess of perfection.

  “So how long are you going to sit there with that goofy expression on your face before you go tell her?” Griffin asked.

  Tell Avery I love her? “She’s skittish. I don’t think she believes I could love her fully, and until now neither did I.”

  Reaching over, Finley clasped his hand. “Tell her the truth.”

  Finley was right, but the notion choked the air from his lungs.

  29

  Rain lashed down as Avery fumbled out front of her townhome with her keys. The intense heat of the day had finally triggered the thunderstorm threatening to let loose with a fury.

  Raw, restless energy coursed through Parker’s veins as he scanned the dark street and thin copses of wooded areas surrounding them. They were fixed targets.

  He placed a steadying hand over Avery’s shaky one. “Allow me.”

  Not only did he want Avery safely inside ASAP, but he needed to share the words burning like embers in his throat.

  Unlocking the door, he followed her inside, scanning the perimeter once more before shutting the door, the feeling of being watched prickling the nerves along the nape of his neck.

  Avery sloughed off her drenched raincoat, tossing it over the stair rail. “I’m going to make something hot to drink. You want something?”

  You. “I’ll take coffee if you have it.”

  “Yep. French press, just like you prefer.”

  “Sounds great.”

&nb
sp; She kicked off her Docksiders at the end of the hall and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

  He moved through her family room, the townhome more than a hundred years old. It was one of the first built in Federal Hill, back in the days of Francis Scott Key. The place was gorgeous, the hand-carved crown molding, gleaming refurbished hardwood floors, and turn-of-the-century light fixtures exquisite, just like the woman who owned the place.

  Her personal touches were so evident. She’d worked hard—saved almost everything she earned and bought the place the year before last. It suited her to a T.

  Avery could never be labeled a girly-girl, so there were no hints of pink or lace or flowers. Instead, she’d gone with rustic nautical. Decorating in crisp white, dark navy, and deep red. And thanks to hanging around the ladies far too much, he knew all about shabby-chic distressed furniture.

  Kicking off his shoes, he sat down on her cushy navy sofa.

  “One coffee with Irish creamer,” she said with a smirk, stepping into the room with two blue-and-white-speckled ceramic mugs. No doubt from Ten Thousand Villages, the store Avery loved near Finley’s house.

  “Nice touch with Irish cream, lass.” He thickened his brogue in playfulness. Having immigrated at the age of four and grown up in a home full of strong Irish accents, his lingered. He was proud of his heritage. Proud of the beautiful area of Ireland on the southwestern coast they’d come from.

  “Same to you with the accent.” She sat down beside him, resting her head back against the sofa, her blond hair splaying out about her beautiful face.

  “I love listening to you talk,” she said sleepily, and then jerked upright as embarrassment flashed across her face. “Sorry. I mean . . . I-I’m just exhausted.” She raked a hand through her hair. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

  He nudged her foot with his. “Because you didn’t mean it?”

  She smiled, softly—lighting her whole face for the first time since Skylar’s disappearance. He loved that he could bring her even a moment’s respite from the heartache that was coming.

  “Because I did,” she whispered.

  He smiled, shifting to face her, resting his arm beside her head on the sofa, his fingers longing to run through her silky hair. “Well,” he said, refraining, “while we’re sharing confessions . . .” He took a deep breath and let it fly. “I love you.”

  “Very funny.” Un-amusement fixed on her face. “Way to make fun of my exhausted confession.”

  Of course she’d assume he was joking, but he’d never been more serious.

  He scooted closer, so close he could almost hear her heart beating. “I’m not joking. It took me a while to sort through things, but tonight I realized I’ve been in love with you since you first walked through my door all feisty and determined not to take no for an answer on the photographer’s listing I’d posted.”

  He chuckled. She was staring at him like he was crazy, and maybe she was right, but as his mom liked to say, he was full-in. There was no turning back now.

  He thought back to that first day. To the first ray of light in his life in so many years . . . “You were so surprised when I said yes and hired you. Come to think of it, your face held the same shocked expression that day as it does right now.” A face he wanted to cup and . . .

  Stay on topic.

  The woman was a flight risk if ever he’d met one. He swallowed, reaching for her hand, and to his surprise she didn’t pull away. “That love has grown each day since, until it’s engulfed me. You”—he slipped his fingers into her hair, finally running them through her silky golden lengths—“have engulfed me.”

  With that, he engulfed her, kissing her with all the pent-up passion that’d been boiling inside for nigh on a year.

  Her lips were even softer than he’d imagined, her kiss equally fervent.

  “Avery,” he whispered as he reluctantly came up for air.

  He moved back to kiss her again, wanting to never stop, but she pressed her flattened palm to the center of his chest, halting him.

  His breath ragged, he looked up into her eyes and saw what he feared most.

  He shifted his position, zooming in with his binoculars, and he still couldn’t get an angle on them. The blasted sofa was blocking his view.

  What were they doing?

  Anger raked through him.

  She was his.

  That man, whoever he was to her, better not be touching Avery, spoiling her. He wanted this subject pristine. Angelic. And Avery Tate was.

  Disbelief. Avery was staring at him in guarded disbelief. Parker reined in the nearly excruciating urge to pull her back into his arms. Taking a focusing breath, he behaved as the gentleman she deserved him to be. “I’m sorry. That came out way faster than I expected,” he said.

  “You think?” She ran her finger along her full bottom lip.

  Leave it to Avery to be just as blunt.

  He shrugged. “Subtlety is not my strong suit.”

  “But Jenna?”

  He smiled. “Subtlety is far from your strong suit either, love.” He sighed. “I loved Jenna. She was my first.”

  Avery’s eyes widened. “You and Jenna . . . ?”

  “No, of course not.” But he needed to be completely honest with her. To share something he’d never shared with anyone—wanting to protect Jenna’s honor and the privacy of their relationship—but Avery had asked, and if this relationship was going to work, he needed to be an open book. He rubbed his thighs. “But . . .”

  “But?” She shifted to face him better.

  “The night before Jenna died things went too far.”

  “But you just said . . . ?”

  “We didn’t have sex. We both believed in purity before marriage. I still do, but that night we came dangerously close. We were so young and in love, and you know the desperation that goes with that.” The desperation and urgency he felt for Avery, but now he was a different man—grounded in his faith and far more mature and self-disciplined. He knew how to be a gentleman.

  “I know,” she said, stroking his hair. “It’s hard to resist the temptation to rush. God never promised it would be easy, but it would be worth the wait.”

  “You’re worth the wait, and Jenna was too, which is how we managed to stop.” He’d somehow raggedly found a restraint he barely possessed and stopped. Jenna was half hurt and half impressed, and even more in love with him for wanting to protect her virginity, for knowing she deserved that to be for her husband—who he’d hoped to be one day.

  One day.

  It was amazing and brutal how twenty-four hours could alter one’s life. But it was equally, if not more, amazing how God was taking the shell of the man he’d become and made him able to fully love again. And, the fact that it was with a woman as remarkable as Avery flat-out boggled his mind.

  “What?” She tucked her chin in, studying him.

  “I was just thinking how grateful I am that God brought you into my life.”

  “And?” She bit her bottom lip.

  He smiled. He loved her bluntness and tenacity. “And I can no longer imagine life without you in it. Without you at my side.”

  “As your photographer?”

  He cupped her face, careful of her bruised jaw, and stared into her gorgeous green eyes. “Much more than that, love, so much more,” he whispered, lowering his lips to hers.

  She kissed him back, and joy filled him. He tentatively brushed his fingers along her jaw, so in love, so in awe of the restoration, the hope, and the renewed life Christ had brought into his life. His love and memories of Jenna would always be a part of his past, but Avery was his future, the half to his whole. One day she’d be his wife, God willing.

  She narrowed her eyes. “That’s quite the mischievous smile on your lips. What’s going on in that handsome head of yours?”

  “You find me handsome, do you?” He smirked.

  “Tall, dark, and Irish. Please . . .” She rolled her eyes. “Of course I do.”

  His smile wi
dened. “I like that.”

  “I bet you do. Now back to my question. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  “You’ll just have to wait and see.” The moment he proposed needed to be perfect.

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Trust me, love, not all surprises are bad.” He tugged her onto his lap.

  She studied him again, this time far more intently.

  “Now, what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

  “You think I’m beautiful?” A flirtatious smile danced across her lips.

  “Please, you know you’re gorgeous. Now answer my question. What are you thinking so hard about?”

  “I want to know why you love me.”

  “Because I don’t make sense without you. You’re part of me.” He placed his hand over his heart. “It beats for you.”

  Finally, they moved into view. She was sitting on his lap.

  Rage burned through his limbs.

  She was right there. Ripe for the taking. If only it were simply him and her—an artist and his subject.

  Her creamy white neck called to him.

  How would he do it?

  Every fiber of his antsy being screamed “take her,” but he was no fool. He knew he had to wait—now was clearly not the time.

  She was the one, but she wasn’t alone. He’d wait and take her when he could ensure he’d have plenty of time with her. He’d start by combing her hair. He bet the teeth would just glide through her silky golden tresses. Then he’d dress her. Evergreen would match her eyes and be a striking contrast to the white sheet he’d place her on. Then came the best part—posing her. He’d place her on her back, her golden hair fanned out around her pale skin bordering on blue but not quite there. Her arms outstretched, her legs bent slightly at the knee.

  He’d photograph her after her breath had left her body, but before the blood drained fully down, pulling life from her angelic face. She would be his angel of death. His perfect peace. Finally.

  Waiting was going to be excruciating, but he needed time to acquire and set up a new location. It would be a fresh start. New studio. New subject. It was only a matter of where and when, but he’d work fast. He couldn’t hold out much longer. He was itching for her.