Painted Walls

by Megan Mitcham

  “Aw, Smokey, you sweet talker.”

  “Get to it, Hunt.”

  “I’m calling in my favor.”

  “You in some trouble? We need to bash some heads?”

  “No, a friend. I need you to get copies of a file to me as soon as you can.”

  “You know I can’t.” Smokey sighed.

  “I know you can.”

  “If they pick me, I’ll go down. All the way, Hunt.”

  “I wouldn’t ask unless it was important. I don’t have a file number or vic’s name, but it’s Gray and Abbott’s newest case.” Keen stalled for a second before he could form the words. “Ava Shepherd is the suspect.”

  “Oh faaahuck,” he said in exaggerated disgust.

  “Can you do it?”

  “For anybody but the piece of shit who saved my sorry life, no.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Ah, don’t fuckin’ mention it. Really don’t. Besides, I like you best when we’re even.”

  The door to the interrogation room opened and Ava stepped out of the room and headed away from him. She wore sandals, frayed shorts, and a flowing green top he could see through. Even though the only thing he could see was a white camisole underneath, Keen’s throat tightened.

  “Me too, Smokes,” he croaked into the phone.

  Behind Ava, Beaumont stepped out of the room, but turned to say something to the agents. Keen shoved the phone into his pocket and hurried to catch the long red ponytail that swung back and forth in a rapid tempo.

  “Ava?” Keen whispered.

  Her pace increased.

  “Ava?” He tried again, along with doubling his pace. He caught her at the dull metal doors of the elevator.

  She jabbed the down button. “Please, I just want to go home.”

  “Your mom sent me to—”

  “To what?” Her head snapped around and she stabbed him with those jade eyes. “To what, pat my shoulder while the world crumbles around me?”

  “She sent me to help…”

  How? He hadn’t a fucking clue.

  “If you truly want to help me, let me go home. I’m…I’m…” She huffed a breath. “I’m pissed. I’m confused. I’m…I don’t know what I am right now, but I know I’m not a killer.”

  “I know you’re not. You know that. No one thinks you hurt anybody.”

  “No one?” Her brows shot to the cosmos. She tilted her head to look down the hallway. “The two agents glaring me to death sure think I did.”

  “They’re just doing their job. If they really thought you killed someone they’d indict you. Anyway, I was talking about your family, your friends. No one who really knows you believes you could hurt a fish, much less a human being.”

  He saw it, then. A tiny softening of her mouth. A flash of widening eyes. She understood the reference. She remembered. He remembered too.

  It was the summer of his freshman year of college. Nathan invited him to stay a week in Georgia at his uncle and aunt’s house on St. Simons Sound. He’d heard tales of a meek red-headed cousin and seen plenty of pictures, but in all the fishing trips they’d stolen away to take during that first year at Florida State and in all the family visits, he’d never met her.

  All the boys had come in off the water, cleaned the boat and the cobia and few snapper they’d caught, filled their bellies with lunch Mrs. Shepherd had made, and passed out on the overstuffed furniture in the den. All except Keen. When they’d gotten back from fishing he’d noticed one of the jet skis was missing and had seen her car in the drive.

  Keen sat on the dock for hours sketching, since he only did it when no one else was looking. He mapped the sky, the birds, the boat, and the marsh across the way. Ava zipped through his scene as the sun hedged toward the horizon. Her hair lay wet and matted to her head. The bridge of her nose and tops of her shoulders shone as vibrantly as her hair from the time in the sun.

  Ava whipped the jet ski into its place at the dock, climbed the ladder, and stretched onto her tip toes with her arms out wide. His body stirred. When her arms fell to her sides so did her gaze and along with it her smile. She hurried to the bait bucket at the side of the boat. Her slender form hunched over the container and a small cry carried across the yards of deck to Keen’s ears. He hadn’t known what in the world caused her such distress until she gasped, scooped a cigar minnow into her hand, and then rushed to the water.

  They had forgotten to throw the bait they hadn’t used back into the water and almost all of them had died. But Ava spent ten minutes scooping out the live ones and placing them in the water.

  A ding from the elevator yanked him, and maybe her, back to reality. Ava practically leaped into the car. Keen stepped inside and turned to press the button for the lobby. The scuff of sandals on grimy floor told him she retreated to the back corner. He ignored the pang in his chest proximity to her always incited and the beating his ego took from her withdrawal.

  The doors slid together, but at the last moment a hand shot through the opening. It stalled the doors. They opened wide in protest.

  “We need to talk.” Beaumont swaggered onto the elevator and jabbed a finger at Ava.

  Keen shoved the button for the lobby, when he really wanted to shove the arrogant prick off the car and onto his ass. “Going down?”

  Beaumont rolled his brown eyes over his shoulder at Keen and turned back to Ava. Her eyes were clenched shut and she gulped long breaths.

  “Hey,” Beaumont snapped his fingers a few inches from Ava’s face. “You’ve been questioned by the FBI in a murder. This isn’t just going to go away. We need to determine a defense.”

  “Who is it I supposedly killed?” Ava screamed. Her eyes shot wide. Red splotches dotted her sclera.

  “What? You don’t know who the victim is?” Beaumont echoed Keen’s thought.

  “No! They wouldn’t tell me.” Her hands shot up and flailed about.

  Beaumont’s fingers tightened on the handle of his briefcase. “Why would they do that?”

  “They wanted her to slip, give something away.” The lawyer turned and leveled his familiar gaze on Keen. “It’s a common tactic, but the identity of the victim usually comes out before the suspect leaves the room. It’s possible they haven’t identified the victim yet.”

  “Then how would they know to question Ava?” Beaumont shook his head in that slight, condescending way rich people seem to know from birth.

  “Evidence at the scene must have pointed them in her direction,” Keen answered.

  “Hair,” Ava’s voice cracked on the word.

  Keen and Beaumont turned to her. A sheen of moisture coated her eyes, but her stubborn mouth refused to crack. Her lips scrunched in a fierce grimace. As though Ava were going to attack them with tears, their hands shot up, palms out, and their pitches simultaneously raised an octave. “We’ll figure this out,” Keen said, while Beaumont went with, “I’ve gotten people off with more against them than that.”

  Ava averted her gaze to the numbers above the door, and then centered it on Beaumont. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe you shouldn’t clear murderers?”

  “Oh right.” Beaumont nodded. “I forgot I was standing in an elevator with people who only see in black and white. Well, Ava, you’re about to learn that in the real world there are a kaleidoscope of colors, and most of them are very ugly.”

  “What do you know about the real world, pretty boy?” Keen bet the man had never set foot in a low rent housing district much less a war zone.

  The elevator chimed its arrival. The doors opened. A smile curved the lawyer’s mouth. “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you, soldier.”

  Keen wanted to know how the hell the guy knew he’d been in the military, but before he could ask Beaumont stepped to the side and tilted his head for them to go first. Keen let Ava lead the way. They hurried through the lobby in silence except for the echo of their shoes.

  Instead of banking left Ava headed for the front door. Keen hitched a finger toward the lef
t. “I’m parked in the garage.”

  “Then, thanks for coming, and I’ll see you around.” Ava waved and continued walking.

  The last knot on the end of his nerves frayed. “I’m driving you home, Ava, either hog tied in the trunk or buckled in the passenger seat. Your choice.”

  She stopped dead and pivoted on him, every hint of sadness replaced with spitfire rage. He liked the glint in her eyes better than the sorrow, even if it meant he treaded in shark infested waters. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “You said that at the wedding.” He grinned. “And you know me well enough to know I would.”

  Beaumont stepped around Keen. “He won’t have the chance. I’m driving you home. You need to bring me up to speed tonight.”

  “Ha!” Ava’s green eyes swelled. “Why don’t you two beat your chests with your fists and I’ll go with the one who makes the most noise? Better yet,” she jabbed the air with her index finger, “why don’t you just whack me over the head, each grab an arm, and play tug of war?”

  “I’ll take her right arm.” Keen smacked Beaumont’s shoulder and stepped forward. “You can take the left, and I’ll club her, since you don’t hit women.”

  The lawyer lumbered forward. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Ava planted her hands on her hips. “It’s like dealing with children.”

  Beaumont cocked his head to the side and found Keen’s gaze. “She’s a bit dramatic, huh?”

  “Dramatic?” Ava scoffed. “I was just questioned by the FBI in a murder.”

  “Thanks for making our point,” Beaumont said.

  “It may not look like it, but we’re all on the same team here. So, while I think I can help you more than this pretty boy, if you don’t want to ride with me, let him bring you home and you can talk on the ride.” Keen shrugged.

  Her delicate hands slipped down her sides, forming the shirt to her curves. She let them drop and hang limply. “I know you’re trying to help, both of you, but I need some time…alone…to process what I’ve heard. Why don’t you guys come over in the morning, and bring breakfast with you. I don’t have any food.”

  Keen tried one more step in her direction. “How are you going to get home? Your car isn’t here.”

  “I’ll manage. I have for almost the last fifteen years.” Ava quirked a flat smile, turned, walked through the turnstiles, and out the front door.

  Both men shuffled slowly to the window. Ava hailed a cab, 2W69, license plate 7800247, and climbed inside.

  Beaumont plowed a hand through his tidy hair. “What is it with these hard ass Bureau chicks?

  “I’ll let you figure out Lara. If you can, you’d be the first. I don’t think she’s figured herself out yet.” Keen rubbed his aching shoulder. “Ava’s as tender-hearted as they come. She’s just scared and would sooner die than let anyone know it.”

  7

  “I said I was good for it. Just wait right here.” Ava tugged on the cab’s handle and climbed out the back seat.

  “Look, lady—”

  She slammed the door, venting just a minute fraction of her irritation on the creaky car.

  The front passenger window lowered and the paunchy driver leaned over so far she wondered if he’d be able to sit up. “Look, lady,” he continued, “I been burned before. Don’t make me call the cops.”

  The cops. That was all she needed.

  “See that car?” She pointed to the unimpressive sedan twenty feet away. “That’s my car. Unless someone broke into it, my purse is in the front seat.”

  “Why the hell would you leave your purse on the front seat of your car in this city?”

  Ava buried her face in her hand. All this over eighteen bucks. She didn’t have to explain herself, but she wanted to shut him up. Her hand dropped to her side and she cinched her features into a mask of detachment. “Because the FBI agents who took me in for questioning in a murder wouldn’t let me bring it in the backseat of their car.”

  The cabbie’s eyes bulged. His cloudy blue gaze studied her. He used the steering wheel and dragged himself upright. “I’ll just wait here.”

  Yeah.

  She jogged to her car, punched in the access code, and slung herself inside to retrieve her purse. Only the fingers she clamped over her mouth kept the scream from echoing into the unusually still DC night.

  An old newspaper lay over her small handbag. The letters of the headline dripped with wet blood, “Life for the Blood Red Killer.”

  Ava jumped out of the car. Her gaze shot left, and then hooked right. She searched the street, the illuminated spots on the sidewalk, and the dark shadows of shrubs and small trees. No one jumped out of the bushes. No one ran away. But the tingle racing down her spine told her someone was hiding. Someone was watching the fruits of their handiwork.

  Why else would they stage the treat?

  To scare the shit out of you.

  But if they didn’t get to see her reaction it wouldn’t be as sweet.

  “Hey!”

  Every muscle in Ava’s body tensed at the cabbie’s shout. She exhaled and glanced at the yellow car. “Yep, I’m coming.”

  She sank back into the car and took several fortifying breaths. The extra napkins in the glovebox came in handy for spills and the handling of evidence. She used the starched paper, gingerly grabbed the edge of the newspaper in her left hand, and shrugged her purse strap onto her right shoulder.

  Careful to keep the blood from the cab driver’s line of sight, Ava fished a twenty out of her bag. She tossed it through the window and then sprinted to her building. Every corner of the lobby had eyes as she rushed through to the stairwell. In front of the familiar door she jerked to a stop.

  Ava slipped her hand into her purse. The need to arm herself pulsed in her veins stronger than the need she’d felt to seek comfort in Keen’s arms…before she’d seen the graphic image Lara’s words had burned onto her brain. Her fingers probed, but only found her cellphone, wallet, three pens, and a tampon. Too late she remembered the damn thing was still in her trunk…unless the bastard who’d broken into her car had taken it.

  A hand wrapped around Ava’s right bicep.

  In an instant, she balled her fist, pivoted, and thrust the backside of her knuckles at her assailant’s nose.

  The cabbie? Why would he attack her? Before her sailing fist made contact with the stunned man’s already crooked nose it hit something more substantial, jarring her arm.

  “Whoa there, slugger.” Keen caught her punishing blow in his palm.

  Just beyond his hand the cabbie’s mouth gaped. His gaze jumped from her fist, inches from his face, to her gaze.

  “You never put your hands on someone.” Keen’s sharp blue eyes aimed at the driver. “Especially when you sneak up on them. And especially if it’s a woman.”

  The pot-bellied man thrust his chin at Keen. “She owes me eight bucks. I’ll grab anyone who tries to gyp me.”

  “I gave you a twenty,” Ava objected. She also folded the newspaper in half, bloody side down, and stuffed it under her arm.

  “You gave me a ten.” The cab driver shoved a ten in her face and waved it around.

  Keen’s head shook. “I should have let her bust your nose.”

  His thumb rubbed the peaks and valleys of her knuckles before lowering her hand to her side. The path he’d traced tingled long after his touch ceased. Ava longed to rub the sensation away, but didn’t dare give any hint that he affected her so blatantly.

  He plucked a small leather wallet from his back pocket, and then smacked a ten from it onto the cabbie’s chest. “Keep the change.”

  “Screw you, asshole.” The driver crumpled the bill in a plump fist. He snarled at Keen while simultaneously back-pedaling.

  “You have a great night.” Keen grinned. His gaze slid to Ava’s. Her breath caught.

  “Ah, everything okay over there?” The smack of Ava’s fist and raised voices must have snagged the night watchman’s attention. He strode around the corner, using his arms t
o increase his pace.

  “We’re fine,” Keen said without taking his gaze off her.

  “Miss Shepherd?” The watchman peered around Keen’s shoulder.

  Ava swallowed her fright and the bite of lust that swelled in her throat. “We’re fine, thank you.” She didn’t know his name. She should. He’d been working in the building for the last six months, but she’d never stopped to say hello.

  After she gave a reassuring nod the man retreated with extra measured steps.

  “Still taking the stairs, I see.” Keen said.

  “I…yes, if I have a choice.” She shrugged. “I see you’re still making friends everywhere you go.”

  “It is a gift.” His gaze slipped from hers and traveled to the newspaper wedged under her arm.

  “What are you doing here?” She tried to railroad questions about the yellowed and bloody paper. Though, he couldn’t see the crimson. Thank goodness for tiny favors.

  “I know you’ve taken care of yourself for a long time. I also know you’ve had plenty of shitty nights, but you’ve never had a night quite like this. I wanted to make sure you got home all right.”

  He knew more than most about her shitty nights, but he didn’t know that—up until now—he was responsible for one of the worst nights of her life. Well, in all honestly, she was responsible, but he’d been the reason behind it.

  “How’d you know where I live?”

  “Your mom.”

  Of course her over protective mother had blabbed. “Well, thank you. I’m okay and I’m home.” She turned and grabbed the knob to the stairwell.

  His arm shot out over her head. The spread of his palm curled around the slightly open door, but he didn’t pull it wide. He held it, pinning her between the unyielding metal and his unforgiving torso.

  “Ava, I’m not your enemy. I’m the farthest thing from it. I’m trying to respect your request here—”

  “Is that why I haven’t seen you in more than ten years?” The words had no place in this predicament, and yet they tumbled out her lips with ease.