“I’m not going to fight you. I’m just going to ask you one question.”
“Okay.”
“Easy or hard?”
“What?”
“We’re going to do what needs to be done to clear your name. We. You and me and whomever else we need to get the job done. The only question is, are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?”
“We’re not doing anything together.” Ava stood and jutted her chin. “I really appreciate what you did for me last night. I wasn’t myself.”
“You were the most raw and vulnerable side of yourself.”
“Then it’s a side I don’t want to see again.”
“There’s something beautiful about losing the part of yourself you cling to most.”
“You try losing it, and then get back to me.”
“I already have.” His arms folded into a protective shield. “It hurt more than any bullet hole and I lived to tell the tale.” He sighed deeply and his hands dropped to his side. “And you will too.”
Keen strode into her closet. She dogged his heels. Abruptly he stopped and barred the door with his body. “You can’t come in here without shoes. I probably didn’t get all the glass.”
“Well, my shoes are in there.”
His big lips pursed and he made an awe shucks sound. “Looks like you’re going to have to stay out here then.” He turned his back to her, moved farther into the closet, and snatched her gym bag from the bottom shelf. A long sliver of glass fell off the top. He pinched it between his fingers and presented it to her. “See.”
He tossed it into the bathroom garbage, and then proceeded to toss clothes into her bag with the hangers still on them.
“That’s not even my travel bag. It’s still in the car. Half my essentials are in it.”
“It’s amazing how little a person can get by with.” He winked.
“That bag smells like feet.”
“Then you’ll want to pack some perfume.”
“I can’t get to the bathroom,” she hollered.
He smiled and shook his index finger. “That’s right. I’ll get it for you.”
Ava rushed to her bed, dropped to all fours, and fished her winter slippers from the depths. Dust wafted in an airy pool. She almost snorted a dust bunny, but successfully evicted the thin-soled shoes from a neat freak’s version of hell and wedged them onto her feet.
“Ha,” she burst into the closet and smacked into Keen’s chest. Her shout of triumph morphed to a grunt.
“Stubborn woman.” Wide fingers threaded under her arms and wrapped the sensitive spot on her back. Though really, what spot wasn’t sensitive to his touch? “I could have trampled you.”
Breath struggled to find its way into her lungs. “You didn’t?” she wheezed.
His blue gaze hit her mouth, and then the hidden swell of her breasts with the same impact. Cliché as it was, her knees buckled.
“Whoa there.” He lifted her like a child and stood her in the closet doorway. “You had your chance to pack your own stuff. Now, if you want to help, stay out of the way. The faster we go the faster we’ll get back.”
“I’m not helping.”
“If we hurry we’ll be back before anyone knows you’re gone.”
She screamed her response, “Just stop! I can’t go. I won’t go!” Her voice grew shriller by the word.
Keen didn’t acknowledge her fit. Only continued throwing things into her bag.
From his periphery he must have seen her hand slicing toward his head. With lightning speed his hand cinched her wrist. He stepped out of the closet, backing her up, and then twisted her arm behind her back.
Ava sank an elbow into his ribs, but it only agitated him. He manacled that arm as well and pressed her onto the bed. His weight pinned her there.
They lay in total silence for several seconds. Neither dared breathe with their faces so close together. Slowly, Keen lifted his weight off of her. As soon as he was out of the way she sprang to her feet with both fists clenched.
With unnerving calm Keen spread his palms wide. “It’s far past time to face the dragon and slay the beast, as they say. You’ve hardly spoken of him since the incident and I know you haven’t seen him.”
“For a reason!” Her voice trilled.
“Why?”
The question was so simple as was the answer, but she would never let it pass her lips. Silent anger spewed from her ears.
“Well,” Keen said as he disappeared into the closet, “you might want to grab the iron on the way out because this stuff is going to be pretty wrinkled by the time we get to Louisiana.”
“I’m not going,” she gritted between clamped teeth.
“Yes, you are.” The zipper of her bag whined from inside. He strode toward her, tossing the bag on the bed on the way.
“No. Please stop this.” In desperation her anger subsided. She pled. “I can’t see him, please, Keen.”
Their gazes met and held. There, standing toe to toe, her head tilted up and her sad eyes begged him to stop.
“Why?” he breathed.
“I’m terrified.”
All the fight and all the strength left her at once. She collapsed, her sobs dragging her toward the floor. Keen’s arms caught her on the way down. He pulled her into his protective embrace, something he hadn’t dared the night before, something she wouldn’t have allowed the night before. Self-preservation be damned. She all but disappeared in his arms. Her body rocked with emotion. Her hands shielded her face while she crumpled into him and wailed.
He held her as sobs turned to hiccups, then slowly became small staggered drawls of breath. Gradually, they slowed and steadied. His chin rested atop her hair and his hands somewhere along the way had taken to stroking her. Over her back and arms he soothed her with firm yet gentle movements. When she shifted in his arms he raised her chin up to look at him.
For a while they simply studied each other. Occasionally, his thumbs stroked the length of her jaw. He took in a long deep breath and let loose a sigh.
“Now, grab that iron and get dressed. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
12
When they crossed the Alabama state line Keen notched fifteen miles per hour out of his speed. From experience, he knew all the state troopers from Alabama to Louisiana didn’t play around. The last thing they needed was to suspend progress for an hour getting a ticket or getting hauled to jail for the creepy contents of his trunk. The hysterical woman next to him wouldn’t help either. Though she’d downgraded to overly dramatic with moments of frenzy, his eardrums still rang from the five and a half hours it had taken to get out of Virginia. Yep, he’d driven that fast.
The roar of the wind whipping past the glass turned to a constant whisper. The scream of the engine turned to a low whine. The tension in the small car crackled.
“What, did the hounds of hell suddenly stop chasing us?”
“Nope. They just fell back in preparation for the kill,” he shot back in a saccharine sweet tone.
“Now who’s being dramatic?”
“You’ve tried yelling, pleading, and bitching. Want to give the silent treatment a whirl?”
Her eyes launched grenades at him. He didn’t look, but he felt their weighty impact.
“Will it make you turn around and take me back?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll try something else. Thank you.”
“Like what, hanging your head out the window, flailing your arms, and screaming, ‘Help me’?”
“I’d have tried it already, if you didn’t have the child safety locks on the windows and doors.”
“I know.”
He merged into the right lane in preparation for twenty miles of road work. “Damn.”
A sinister giggle bubbled up from Ava’s side of the car.
“If you bang on the windows and act like I’ve kidnapped you, I’ll be forced to put you out of my misery and into yours.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Keen slid his gaze to hers. “It means we’ll talk about the scars on your lower abdomen.”
Her mouth opened, gaped for a beat, and then closed without a sound. The silence held through the hills of northern Alabama and into the flat pines of middle Mississippi. Typically, when people rode in a car for a long period of time their shifting and fidgeting took on a beat all its own. Tapping of fingernails. Strumming of restless fingers. Time keeping of a foot. Shifting of legs. Stretching of a muscle here and there. Hums of entertainment. Huffs of boredom. Pulsating music.
Inside the stifled car there was no beat. Neither occupant moved more than what was necessary to breathe.
Hattiesburg, Mississippi, the hub city. Keen had traveled to it and through it a great deal when he was in law school in Oxford. He and his buddies would head down to New Orleans for the weekend to gamble and drink the nights away. But a time or two they got distracted in Hattiesburg on the way to the big easy by the local Southern beauties and a particularly chill bar known as Mahogany.
After Keen whipped the car into a parking space outside The Hog, as it was also known, he let out a sigh. It was still here, still open for business. Considering the food and drink they served he wasn’t surprised, but it was a prayer answered. What he needed now was a good drink in a laid-back atmosphere. He needed to decompress and see if he could get Ava to do the same. Their life and mission would go much more smoothly if she would.
“I’m not hungry.” She knotted her arms just a bit tighter over her breasts.
“You don’t have to eat, but if I lock you in the hot car, someone will call the police.” Keen shoved the door open. The brutal humidity pummeled the collective hours of cooling in seconds. He stood, smoothing the front of his rumpled shorts.
“Let them.” Ava rolled her eyes.
The wrinkling of her freckled skin and the way it hiked her lip hit him square in the jaw. He shoved a hand in his pocket to hide his burgeoning erection.
“You’ll pass out before they get here, Yankee.” Already she used the back of her hand to blot at the top of her lip. “But suit yourself.” He closed the door, walked to the front of the car, folded his arms, and waited.
Good thing she couldn't hot-wire a car. She’d mow him over, if the look on her red face was any indication. A bead of sweat rolled across the edge of Keen’s forehead.
“Fine. Open the door,” she mouthed and smacked the glass.
Keen rushed to open her door and held out his hand. He tried not to smile, but shit it was hard. When she was mad at him she was so cute. And her flushed skin was a whole lot sexy.
She batted his hand away and shot to her feet. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Oh come on, you’re enjoying it a little.”
Her mouth formed a hard line with several cracks. A smile fought to get through. “Well, are we going to eat already or just melt in the parking lot?” She pushed passed him, but he caught her hand and ushered her into the restaurant’s brick courtyard.
He settled them at a wrought iron table for two and ordered two blackened grouper sandwiches and two Bailey’s and coffees. Ava spent the first half of the meal staring daggers into him and the second half devouring her food and drink, despite herself. It was that good.
Keen took it all in for a few moments of nostalgia. Nothing had changed in the place and he liked it that way. Too much had changed in his life over the years. Ivy and other lush foliage traversed the aged brick on one side of the patio while water consistently ran from the concrete fountain in the court’s middle. Patrons of all ages flowed in and out at a consistent pace. And yes, the Southern girls were still beautiful.
When no more than crumbs littered his plate Keen stretched his legs out and reclined in the stiff chair.
“Now what?” Ava blotted her pink mouth and laid her napkin on the table. “Handcuffs? Rope? Duct tape?”
“If you’re into that sort of thing, I’m happy to oblige.” He pitched the last of his drink down his throat.
Snickers wafted from the table behind him where three girls, in sorority shirts large and long enough it obscured their shorts, sat.
Well, he’d never seen her cheeks outshine her hair. Ava jumped to her feet and rushed for the gate. Keen dropped several bills on the table and hurried after her. To his utter surprise she waited by the car.
Once inside he pulled onto Hardy Street, hit a U turn, and headed toward a clump of hotels. “Super 8 or Hilton Garden?”
That earned him an eye roll.
In short order he parked in front of a reputable establishment, neither the eight or garden variety, and retrieved their bags from the back. He heaved one over his good shoulder and grabbed the other in his hand. The scar tissue had seized on the long drive making his entire limb stiff and nearly useless. He pushed through it and through the main door, which thankfully opened on automatic sensors.
She stepped into his path to the front desk with both hands on her hips. “We need two rooms.”
“We’ll get two beds.” He gave her a token smile, hooked his arm around her waist, and steered her forward. “Would you look at us compromising?”
A glint flickered in Ava’s leprechaun eyes. Keen eased the other bag in front of his goods.
“You’ve learned a thing or two over the years.”
“Yeah, that you’ll strike hard and fast and when I least expect it. And it’ll hurt like a son of a—”
One elegant finger pressed against his lips. Her eyes darted to the right. “Kids,” she whispered.
If a mild curse word around kids would get her to touch him, he might just develop a sailor’s tongue. Too soon her soft skin lifted, but his gaze didn’t leave hers. And hers stayed locked on his. Her lashes drifted low and raised once, and then again. Was that desire he saw in the flutter of her lashes?
“Ah, can I help you?”
Ava jerked out of his arms and swiveled. “Yes. Thank you. We need a room please.”
“No kidding,” the woman behind the counter muttered.
“First floor, please.” Keen stepped to the high desk and blocked Ava from the woman’s scrutiny.
After he paid, the woman handed him a key. He grabbed Ava’s hand and headed for the room before the woman could say anything about not disturbing their neighbors. His…friend? She wasn’t his girlfriend, had never been his lover. So, he guessed she was his friend. His friend balked at the hotel room door.
“I need to get some fresh air.”
“Okay. Let me stow these bags and we’ll take a walk.”
“No. I need space.”
“I thought you needed air.”
“I need both.” She jerked her bag from his hand. “And I can carry my own bag. Especially when it’s hurting your shoulder.”
“It’s not hurting my shoulder.”
“Now who’s not facing their demons?”
Keen pressed her against the door with his chest. “Fine. My shoulder is killing me, but not because of your bag. I didn’t do my exercises last night…or this morning.”
“Oh.”
He swiped the key and opened the door.
Ava retreated on her own, chunked her bag on the nearest bed, and turned on him. “Just let me go for a walk.”
“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight, you’ve lost it.” He flipped the bolt and safety lock on the door and then pitched his bag to the other bed. “A cab isn’t going to take you to DC from here, and you’re sure as hell not taking a bus back.”
“I wouldn’t,” she insisted.
“Besides, it’s late and we need sleep. We’re heading out before the sun.”
Silent treatment ensued. It was different than the last time. More sad than sulking. It weighed a thousand pounds and weakened his resolve to fight her all the way to Angola. Who was he to say when she was ready to face her father. If the situation were reversed, could he do it? Shit, he could hardly face his father and he’d only killed a boy’s dreams, not innocent people.
&nbs
p; In near unison they dropped onto their respective beds. The springs under him groaned. Keen continued back until the mattress supported his mangled shoulder and back. Minutes passed. The burden doubled, but he was nothing if not persistent. He’d learned the painful way how to be dogged and determined where Ava was concerned.
Keen broke the silence. “You can shower. I’ll get one after my run in the morning.”
“Before I’m awake?”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t trust me?”
He had trusted her, trusted her with his heart.
Before he detangled the words Ava sat and unzipped her bag. She rummaged through the things he’d gracelessly packed, plucked shirts from chaotic heaps, and hung them in the closet. A tennis shoe came next. Had he put the mate in the bag?
Ava clutched a wad of lace and silk. Her gaze hopped from the panties, to him, and back in steady strokes. “Oh my gosh.” The gosh turned into a roar.
He almost said, ‘Hey, I gave you a chance to pack your own stuff,’ but thought better of it and buttoned his lips.
“Seriously?” Thin silken straps looped around her index finger. When she lifted her arm two lace nighties sprouted from the duffle.
He smirked. Served her right for being so stubborn.
“One pair of jeans. Too many wadded cotton tops. No dress clothes. Athletic shorts. Panties and two teddies. What am I supposed to do with this stuff?”
“You could go naked. I’m all for women’s rights.”
“If I hadn’t grabbed a suit on our way out, you’d have had me looking like a clown waltzing through the cell blocks of Angola, asking to be assaulted.”
“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“So you can control a mob of inmates?”
“We’re not going into the general population.”
Ava gathered her hairbrush, toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant he’d stuffed into a small inside pocket, and then placed them on the counter inside the bathroom. Light streamed from the doorway. The hum of a heater or vent revved to life. She closed the door and marched over to the side of Keen’s bed.
“Keen,” Her voice was calm and sad. “I don’t want to see my father. I don’t want to dredge up things better left buried. I don’t want to feel anything for him other than the hate I’ve nurtured for nearly thirty years. I am afraid I’ll feel things that I…” She sighed. “I don’t want to pity him. I don't want to miss him. I don’t want to love him.”
Painted Walls Page 13
