Ritzy boats eased past in the choppy bay. A steady breeze blew off the water holding the humidity and temperature in check. Pelicans perched on the end of the dock. A big one spread his wings and flapped into the headwind. The bird glided through the air, making the wind do the work. He hovered, his wing-tips nearly touching the water until he soared, and then dove. His neck stretched long. His wings stretched back. The pelican hit the surface like a missile. Deadly precision combined with grace.
“Did you see that?” His mother awed.
“Pretty amazing.” Keen inhaled the salty air, and then slowly let it out. “Did I mess you up coming in early?” He pointed to her ballet slippers.
“Not at all. I’m so happy you’re here. I’ll have to go into the studio for a couple of hours.”
“If you need to be there, go. I’ll be fine.”
“I needed to be here. I needed to see you. To know you’re whole. Even if the scene out front hurt you like hell.”
Leave it to Mom to call him out on his BS.
“I thought I played it off pretty well.”
“Yes. To anyone else, Kenneth Richmond Hunt, you look like a man in top physical condition. But I’m your mother and I know better. There’s pain in your shoulder, restlessness in your mind, and heaviness in your heart. Want to talk about it?”
Keen tossed an arm over his eyes and yawned. “Wow. Would you look at that? I’m suddenly exhausted.”
“All right. I’ll talk. You can listen.”
He made a sincere effort to stifle his groan. It didn’t work. His mother—like most mothers—was not easily deterred. She ignored his fit.
“Three times. You’ve been shot three times in the last seven years. Have you stopped to think about why it is you’ve been shot so many times?”
He let his arm fall from his eyes and looked at her. His mouth parted, but she propelled on without waiting for a reply.
“I’ll tell you why. You’re relentless in your work, doing it all so you can take the burden off of others. You’re brash. Always the first to react. The first to move. You’re cocky as hell, and you don’t have a healthy level of fear.”
He opened his mouth wider to speak, but she jumped him again.
“Oh, I know there’s a little fear in there,” she said pointing to his chest. “But it’s only enough to give you a damn rush.”
“You’re restless because you know you can’t keep going like you’ve been going. You know you need a change. You just don’t know what the change should be. And since I’m your mother, and am immensely more experienced in life, I’m going to tell you what you need.”
Keen propped his elbow on the armrest and settled his chin on top. “I was afraid you were going to keep all the wisdom to yourself.” He knew exactly where this train headed. If he were wise he’d jump now and deal with the fall.
“Wise-ass.”
“Better than a dumb-ass.” Which he sincerely was for letting her continue.
She harrumphed. “You need a woman.”
“Well, Mom, I don't have a problem getting one, or two, or three. Though, sometimes they’re hesitant about being there at the same time. Some of them anyway. Not all of them.”
“Little shit.” Her nose scrunched, but her smile shined through her ire. “Let me rephrase. You need a wife. You need to start a family.” His smug smile fell away. “You need something to anchor you to this life. You need something worth living for, worth fighting for.”
“And I thought I just needed a vacation.”
“One certainly won’t hurt.”
“Okay then.” He stood, grabbed his mother’s hand, and helped her up. “Get to work and I’ll start vacationing.” He’d heard the phone tucked into the pocket of her skirt vibrate six times since they’d been sitting.
She sighed, but kissed his cheek and eased toward the main house.
“Go. I’ll see you at dinner?”
“Absolutely,” she beamed. “I’m happy you’re here.”
He was too. Wasn’t he?
As if the voice inside his head wasn’t enough, now his mother’s chimed in to the incessant loop of questions trampling his brain. Keen wandered into the pool house. He steered clear of the sparkling crystal on the wet bar. That wouldn’t help the situation. He also gave the smattering of paint on an extra-large canvas a wide berth. The thing probably cost more money than he’d accumulate in his entire life.
Playing it safe for the first time in a long time, he stripped, and then pulled on one of the twenty or so pairs of swim trunks in the dresser. Keen made thirty-three laps in the pool before the voices echoing in his head were drowned out by the screaming pain in his shoulder. No longer did he hear his own thoughts or his mother’s helpful advice about his life, about his love, a love buried so deep inside because it hurt to even acknowledge its existence. When the words and thoughts were quiet he lifted himself out of the pool, stripped out of his swim trunks just inside the pool house door, rubbed off the excess water with a towel, then dropped onto the bed.
A TAP on the door woke Keen what seemed like ten minutes later. He levered onto his elbows, craned his head, and blinked his mom’s silhouette into view.
“Shit.” He scrambled for the covers he’d kicked off the bed during his nap and wrestled them across his glaring white backside. By the time he covered and found a pair of shorts from his bag his mother stood facing the water. He hurried to the door. “Sorry. I’m not used to sleeping in plain view.”
Little peals of laughter spilled in from the open door. She turned and aimed her gaze on his. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen or spanked before.”
“I know it. You swatted me a few hours ago.”
A dimple creased her forehead. Her lips formed a line that waggled back and forth.
“What?” Keen checked his zipper.
“You’re covered and it’s no big deal, but it’s been more than a few hours.”
“What time is it?”
“Two something.”
“You should’ve woken me sooner. I sure as hel...I didn’t mean to sleep an entire day away.”
“You needed your rest. Besides, I was late getting back from the studio and I had to check on a few things this morning. Get dressed and come eat a late lunch with me.” She motioned to the patio area where their food was ready and waiting.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Oh and the vertical button on the small white remote controls the shades.” She pressed a smile between her lips, turned, and headed for the table.
Good to know.
He hurried inside, tugged on a shirt, and joined her in short order.
She surveyed his frayed khaki shorts and grease stained T-shirt. “You’re so unassuming at times. The boy who had the world at his feet matured into the man before me.”
“I look homeless huh?”
“No. You look like a man who forged his own path in life with little help from anyone.”
“You helped me.”
“Helped you? I don’t count buying you a meal when I visited helping.”
“I did.”
“That’s one of the things I love about you.”
“Don’t list them. I’ll get a fat head.”
“Already have one. Why do you think I went with the big doors?”
His shoulders shook. It hurt, but the laugh felt good. He guessed she was right. His dad—the man he knew as Dad, her second husband and still business partner—would have put him through school at his alma mater, Harvard. Instead, Keen got a scholarship to Florida State where he first met and became friends with Nathan Brewer. Then he worked his way through law school at the University of Mississippi as a mechanic. He learned most of the trade helping his mother’s father out in his garage. After college the army had been his escape from reality, from the crumble of the world he’d known, from the reality he wasn’t ready to deal with.
Jillian H. Wright lifted her water glass toward him. “Bon appétit.”
“Bon appétit, maman.” Afte
r his mother lifted her fork and took a bite he did the same, but devoured much more of the Mediterranean salad and chicken panini in far fewer bites. He wiped his mouth. “So, how’s the studio? How are the girls in tutus?”
“Two of my girls in tutus just received their acceptances into the American Ballet Theatre.”
“Nice.”
“Nice? It’s amazing. One was chosen as a principle. She’s young, talented, but mostly she’s unbelievably dedicated to her craft. She’ll have an amazing career. They both will.”
He caught the wistful quality in her voice. It bore into his gut and stayed. Dance had been her life since she could walk. He’d seen the pictures to prove it. She was once the young, talented, dedicated principle. She had literally danced the world over. She’d had a career most dancers dream of, but never realize. Her time was cut short because of love, because of him. He realized longing when he saw it. He knew what it was to long for something unattainable.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Oh, dear.” She shooed him with a waving hand. “I’m not and you shouldn’t be. I do miss it. The stage. The lights. The roaring applause. But I still have dance which is what I loved more than any of the other. Most importantly, I have you.”
“What do you say we go to dinner and dancing tonight? You, me, and Denny?”
She cupped a hand over her smile. “Oh, I’d love to.”
“Great.”
“Let me text Denny and make sure it works with his schedule. He’s been in court non-stop for the past week.” She grabbed the phone from the pocket of her slacks and pecked out a message.
“On a divorce case?” His mother met Dennis while she was on the market for a top-notch divorce attorney from husband number three. “I thought those things hardly ever went to court.”
“They usually settle before then, but the ones that don’t are beasts.”
“Ah, amour.”
They finished their food, and then talked about everything and nothing in particular until her phone chimed nearly two hours later.
“Denny can’t make it. He’ll be in depositions for another two and a half hours.”
“We can wait. I’m not particularly hungry, though, I could always eat.”
“Always.” She nodded. “I’ll let him know.”
Her finger ticked away at the phone’s screen. Almost immediately after she finished, the thing chimed. She squinted at the screen and stretched her arms just a bit. Her mouth stretched wide. A hand clutched at her stomach. His mother doubled over in hysterics.
“What is it?”
Several seconds later she panted a few breaths. “I’ll read his text verbatim. It’s too ridiculous. He says, ‘Truth time. I’ll be done in an hour, but I hate dancing. You two go without me. I look like a jackass with its tail on fire.’”
“Truer words.” Keen shrugged. “I was at your wedding.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“Tell him we both could use a good laugh and to get his ass home ASAP.”
“All right.” She hung her head and typed with a huge grin on her face.
“Don’t forget the ass,” he cautioned.
“I would never.” After pressing send she set the phone on the table like it were a live explosive. When it buzzed she shoved it at him and laughed. “You look.”
Keen grabbed the phone. “I’m not scared.” He read the text and groaned. “But maybe I should’ve been.” Only if your mom promises to back that ass up on me. His stomach roiled and he tossed the phone to his mother.
Her gaze scanned the text and she nearly fell off the chair.
“It’s not funny.” He frowned. “Tell him he’s no longer allowed to go with us.”
“Pff.” His mother hunched over the phone and typed with the sudden speed of a middle-schooler. “Heck yes, he’s coming tonight.”
Keen didn’t know if she meant the comment as a double entendre and he hated his brain for going there. “I’m going to barf. I need to go for a run, then shower.” He jumped up from the seat and collected the dishes.
“I’ll get those.”
“Thanks for lunch.”
Her giggle followed him into the pool house. “Ugh, at least they’re happy.” He dressed and headed to the main road in record time. The image of his mom and…ugh. He had to erase that from his gray matter. After a three mile run out and back, Keen showered and dressed.
He grabbed his phone off the night stand, where it had been all day, and checked it out of habit. Typically the thing was on him at all times, but not on vacation. The screen lit and the notifications practically bitched him out. He scrolled through. Nine missed calls.
“Shit.” Not even a full day back in the States and already work was hounding him. Didn’t they know he’d only been released from the slammer—wound rehab—a few days ago?
He couldn’t cave. Not tonight. It was his only night with his mother. She deserved his full attention. He squeezed the phone in frustration. The device almost disappeared in his large fist.
A sense of duty played on his consciousness like a Kentucky fiddler. He tossed it onto the bed. “Sorry, boys, you’re going to have to figure it out on your own.” He’d done more than his fair share for his country. They could hang one more night.
Keen headed for the door. As he reached for the handle Return of the Mac blasted the room. He looked at the door knob and then back at the phone.
Responsibility jumped onto his shoulders. It weighed a thousand pounds and made it impossible to turn the knob. At the very least he needed to see who called at a stalker-like frequency.
A defeated growl left his throat and echoed inside the large room. Just a quick check, and then off to dinner. He picked up the phone and barked, “Hunt.”
The feminine voice on the other end sobbed. “Oh! Thank God. Thank you, God in heaven! Keen?”
He answered tentatively to the familiar, yet undistinguishable voice on the other end of the line. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I know my hysterics don’t help, but I just…I’m so thankful you answered. It’s Sarah.”
“Mrs. Shepherd?” He recognized Ava’s mother’s voice now that she spoke instead of wailed into the phone. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“No one is hurt. We’re all okay, but I need your help. Ava needs your help. We’re still in the islands and won’t be able to make it to DC until tomorrow evening at the earliest, and it might be later than that. There’s a storm threatening and the airport has canceled all fights in and out until further notice.”
Keen’s stomach lurched. He couldn’t take the suspense any longer. “Sarah, what’s the problem? Why does Ava need help?”
“She…she’s suspected of murder. The Bureau brought her in for questioning.”
“What? That’s...”
“I know, impossible. She arrived home a few hours ago and they demanded she come in for questioning. She called us on the way to headquarters. We told her not to answer any questions until her lawyer arrived, but she believes in the system, and in herself.”
“Damnit, Ava,” he cursed mostly to himself.
“Preston called in a favor to one of his associates in DC and he’ll arrive shortly to help on the legal side, but we need you to go. Keen, we’re stuck. Ford is on the job. Nathan is unreachable, sailing somewhere in the ocean with his new bride. You know the Bureau inside and out. We trust you. She trusts you.”
5
Three strident knocks shook the interrogation room door. Special Agent Lara Abbott’s eyes turned to molten pits ready to incinerate Ava. Like she’d knocked on the damn thing. She hadn’t, but she knew who did because he’d done it five times already. Which meant she’d been in the eight-by-twelve windowless room for five hours and counting.
Abbott pressed forward. Any bit of softness Ava had perceived from the agent vanished the moment they’d set foot in the room so long ago. Her fingers, splayed on the metal table between them, turned white. She crowded Ava’s space so much that Ava thought t
he muscled woman might crawl across the unyielding table and strangle the truth from her.
“Put me in cuffs, Winslow, or else I’m going to kill that man. Enough with the damn knocking already.” Abbott shoved off the table and stalked to the door, her striated muscles showing with every movement.
“Go ahead. I didn’t see anything.” Winslow Gray kept his hands interlaced behind his big head and reclined farther into the chair next to the one Abbott didn’t bother using. “One less defense attorney in the world.” His upper lip wrinkled. “Makes it a better place in my opinion. What do you think, Ava?”
She held her tongue and Gray’s gaze. They didn’t need to know she’d thought the whole thing was an elaborate and truly awful practical joke. They didn’t need to know the muscles above her shoulder blade knotted so tightly that mariners could use her to secure their sails in gale force winds. They didn’t need to know a trail of sweat ran from her armpits to the waist band of her shorts, but they could probably see that for themselves. They didn’t need to know that she was closer to breaking than she’d ever been.
Childhood. Adolescence. FBI training. Her first year on the job. Her reoccurring nightmares. All as the daughter of the Blood Red Killer. Those trials. Those triumphs had tempered the steel in her spine. Those wins had prepared her for the next challenge.
But she couldn’t see around this, through this, past this.
She sat on the other side of the table being questioned in a murder.
After nearly five hours she didn't know any more about the crime she supposedly committed than when she walked in the room.
Abbott ripped the door open. “If you knock on this door again, I’m putting you in handcuffs.” Abbott propped her hand on her hip and stared up at a man who looked eerily similar to Keen. So much that Ava had thought Keen had gone wild with a box of ink black Clairol in the last two days.
“You just gave me incentive, Special Agent Abbott.” Thick lips spread over a sweeter than honey smile that she’d seen before. His gaze locked on Abbott’s. Ava swallowed past the sexual tension that sparked in the confined space, thankful to have something else to think about than her impending doom. “I just needed to ask my client if she’s come to her senses and decided to let me in the room.”
Painted Walls Page 6
