Keeping Ava

by Elena M. Reyes

  We need to find this woman before he...

  My eyes scan the pictures from Karla’s Facebook account again and a few things stand out; her hair is bleach blonde with bright blue at the tips, and the eyes are brown. The colored strands are long and wavy, framing her face in a way similar to Ava’s, yet not long enough. Her height is off too. Standing beside the deceased in what looks to be a vacation picture, she taller by a foot at least.

  She doesn’t fit his usual choice.

  The sudden pitter-patter of feet across the hardwood floors pulls my attention, and I look up just in time to watch Ava walk across the doorway. She’s wearing a white tank top and black yoga pants, while her feet are encased in a small pair of socks in the most obnoxious shade of pink. Awake and grumpy, she mutters something on her way to the kitchen, and I know it has to do with her need for coffee.

  The woman is an addict, and I find her adorable. In the two weeks since her arrival, I’ve found myself watching her when she’s distracted. Cataloging little nuances—mannerisms that make her all the more adorable to me.

  How her clothes must be folded before leaving the laundry room.

  How she’s drunk her weight in coffee every day with no issue or side effects.

  How she hides from me because she’s embarrassed of the kiss to my chin.

  How she looks coming out of the shower with little drops of water sliding down her soft skin. Moreover, it was my body wash she used that day. My scent on her skin.

  How motherfucking hard it is to keep it professional when all I want to do is take her lips—make her moan for me as I pull the pleasure from her body. Make her see how good we could be together.

  Keep letting her hide. My attention needs to be on this case and Jason.

  Not on her. Not on those curves that are meant to be touched—adored and worshipped.

  “Lord help me resist this temptation. Amen,” I say low, looking up toward my ceiling. From the other room, I hear her curse and my cock twitches, thickening at just the sound of her voice. It’s another sign that I’m fucked.

  Pulling up the captain’s contact info, I load up the doc with my findings into an email and hit send. Within seconds, my phone vibrates and his name flashes across the screen with an incoming text message.

  Reading now. ~CPerez.

  Let me know. He’s on the move and my guess is Nevada first. ~Ford

  Three tiny dots appear on the screen.

  Why? ~CPerez

  Better question: Who is leading him back to San

  Diego? ~Ford

  A tail? ~CPerez

  I take a second to answer him, trying to find the right words to explain my theory on how Jason knows that we have her without giving away too much. This is a conversation better had in person.

  There’s just too much of a coincidence.

  His escape was too easy, and the manhunt seems to be going slow. Neither add up.

  Too close for comfort. ~Ford

  I’ll be at your building tomorrow at eight a.m. sharp. Talk then. ~CPerez

  See you in the morning. ~Ford

  Something occurs to me then, and I shoot him another message.

  Please bring me the file inside my desk. Top drawer on the right. ~Ford

  Okay. ~CPerez

  Tossing the small device on the table, I follow the scent of fresh coffee and bacon.

  What I find upon entering is utterly delicious and wrong. All thoughts stop, and nothing but this moment exists. No case. No worries.

  Watching her like this gives me a sense of domestication that I never wanted before. Being in a relationship wasn’t for me. Women are a distraction I can’t afford, and my last real relationship happened years ago. She couldn’t handle my job, the hours spent away and the danger, so I didn’t try again after. Opportunities to let off steam were very few and far between and not a priority.

  The last time was more than six months ago, and up until Ava, I was more than okay with that. My life is my career and there hasn’t been room for anything else, and yet, right now, I welcome this. Her.

  This yearning she brings out in me is fucking with my head. I’m fighting the need to take her when protecting must come first.

  How easily I give in. Lose focus.

  “She’s fucking beautiful.”

  Ava is at the stove, oblivious to me as she hums, her hips moving from side to side. Cooking shouldn’t be this attractive. Her total avoidance of my being shouldn’t pull me in closer, but it does. I almost hate that I crave her.

  She doesn’t see me as I watch her flip a slice and then another. Nor when she cracks an egg and whisks it in a bowl for scrambled eggs because the woman doesn’t like omelets. But that seems to be a recurrent behavior since arriving.

  Since those sweet lips touched my skin. Since my fingertips dug into her hips.

  Avoidance is her ammo, and it’s driving me insane.

  “Good morning,” I say after another minute, having waited until she was by the sink to announce myself.

  “Shit!” Ava gives a small jump then whirls around to face me. Her blue eyes narrow, and her hips jut to the right as she places a hand there. Angry. A fiery and sexy kitten. “Do I need to put a bell on you?”

  “Are you going to continue avoiding me?” I counter, and she looks away, a hint of pink crossing her cheeks.

  “I’m not avoiding per se...”

  “So, what do you call hiding or exiting the room if I enter it?”

  “Not avoiding?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I raise a brow. “Are you asking me?”

  You’re playing a dangerous game, Ford. It’s for the best if she doesn’t get close...you need to help catch that—

  “How about some breakfast instead of the early morning interrogation?” The hope in her voice—how vulnerable she looks—tugs at my heart, and I nod. Give in easily.

  “Fair enough.” Crossing the room, I walk past her, hand skimming across her upper back as I make my way toward the coffee maker. Ignoring the small shiver that runs through her at my touch or how my fingertips tingle, I stop at the cupboard above the brewer and grab two mugs. I don’t ask her how she likes it or make any other attempt at small talk.

  I don’t turn around and pull her close like I want to. I don’t tell her everything that’s been churning within me for the past two weeks.

  That I don’t like the silent treatment.

  That I find her gorgeous.

  That I wish we’d met under different circumstances. Normal ones. Ones where her life isn’t in danger.

  Instead, I keep it simple and pour us a cup each, then take them back over to the sitting area on the other side of my island. In the fridge there’s some caramel creamer and half and half; I pull that out too, along with the whole milk. All that’s missing is the sugar, and I notice she’s put the small container between our drinks while my back was to her.

  I don’t thank her for the gesture, and after a minute she huffs. Cute.

  With a small smile on my face, I begin to make mine—all black and with half a spoonful of sweetener. I know she’s watching me as I take the first sip. The second and third are the same, even more so when she plates my food and then places it in front of me.

  She’s hyper aware of me, just like I am of her. Of this fucking pull that’s making me act irrational.

  I’m not someone to get involved with or take a case personal, but this one is just that. She’s personal to me for some reason, and I’m going to figure out the why.

  “Okay. I deserve this.” Ava sits beside me. Setting our plates down, she reaches for the caramel creamer and pours a healthy amount into her coffee. She uses my same spoon to stir hers, not asking if she can, and eyes me while doing so. “Truce?”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, swallowing hard when she brings the cup to her lips and sips, moaning a tiny bit at the sweet taste. My cock throbs, pushes against the material of my sweatpants, but I ignore the ache and focus on her. “Deserve what?”
<
br />   “You were ignoring me.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” Just letting you make the first move. Playing with fire.

  “Liar.”

  “Per se?” Grabbing a piece of bacon, I take a bite as I take in the apologetic expression on her face.

  “Touché.” Ava turns to me then and holds a hand out. “Can we call it a truce and not bring it up again?”

  “Only if you agree to watch a movie with me.” I shake it, loving how small hers is in mine. How soft her skin feels. “I’ll even let you pick.”

  “Even if it’s a super cliché chick flick?” Her lips quirk up into a smirk before digging into her food. I let her eat for a bit, holding in my rebuttal until there’s only a piece of bacon left on her plate.

  “Hit me with your worst,” I say then, a deep yawn escaping that I can’t control.

  Her brows furrow. “Have you slept?” She’s looking at me with concern, and I like it. More than I should.

  “You’re avoiding.” With some egg on my fork, I pause mid-bite. “Or is that your way of saying I look like shit.”

  “Jerk.” There’s a roll of her eyes, and she raises her hand as if to hit me, but pulls back at the last second. It’s a bit awkward, and it’s hard to hold in my grin as she brings that same hand to her shoulder to scratch a made-up itch. “So, are you? Sleeping, that is.”

  “No. I haven’t.” I swallow my bite and grab my cup of coffee. Bringing it to my lips, I take a large sip. She’s watching me. Wants an explanation, but I’m not telling her about the latest victim. Not yet. I’ll deal with it tomorrow after speaking with Perez, once I have a better idea of just how out of hand everything is. “Now, which movie? I need something good to knock me out, and don’t worry, you’re safe inside my home.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Good. So, what are we watching?”

  “Not telling.” Her pitch is a bit high, and there’s a brightness in her eyes I haven’t seen before. A glimpse into the woman she is and not what he made her. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Let me guess—”

  “It’s not going to be a sappy love fest.”

  “Really?” Because I’m not buying that.

  “Why does that surprise you?” Ava turns in her chair, body facing mine.

  “Because most women live for those dramatic encounters...” I shrug, finishing the last bite and pushing my plate forward “...it’s programmed into your DNA.”

  “I should flick you for that comment,” she deadpans, looking at me as if I were an idiot. “That or believe you’re super exhausted and delirious.”

  “I’ll take that last one, por favor.”

  “Very well.” Sliding down from her seat, her body brushes my legs and I bite back a groan. Ava holds a hand out for me to take, and when I do, she all but drags me to the living room. Once there, I’m pushed onto the sofa. “Don’t move.”

  “Where are you going?” I call after her, but she doesn’t answer. It takes a few minutes, and the longer I sit, the sleepier I get. Closing my eyes for just a second, I begin to rest a bit when Ava comes back. Opening one eye, I watch her walk over to my PlayStation and pop in the DVD, then pick up a remote and blanket from the loveseat on her way over.

  She plops down beside me, leaving just enough space to be considered respectable, and then looks over. The heat coming from her body caresses my senses. “Yes?”

  “What did you go get?”

  “Season One of my favorite shows on DVD. It’s one of the few things I brought with me.” Ava covers me with the blanket, only keeping a small bit to place over her thighs.

  “Which is?” My voice sounds far away. Between the warmth of the blanket, plushness of the couch, and her sweet scent that surrounds me, I find myself drifting.

  “...Horror Stories.” That’s all I’m able to comprehend before sleep takes me under.

  Chapter 7

  Elijah

  “What are we missing?” I mutter, looking down at the papers strewn about on the table in front of me. Every single inch of this wooden surface is covered by one file or another—my private notes from when I was the lead detective on the two cases here.

  Pictures sit beside each empty folder; they’re a diagram to the inner workings of his mind. Even the smallest details are a sign we need in order to capture the son of a bitch. To save Ava.

  “I’ve been asking myself that very question since our texts yesterday,” Cap. says, studying the notes he was given this morning as an older couple walks by then, and I look up to follow their movements into the elevator.

  We’re downstairs, inside a private conference space that the building’s manager let me use last minute.

  It’s near the front, with a window that lets you see out but not in. Moreover, if anyone tries to sneak upstairs, they must walk by this room, and it puts me at ease.

  That, and I have cameras. Plenty. Every-fucking-where.

  So, while Ava sleeps, I can work. Try to solve the pieces of this puzzle that’s been plaguing me since I was given my assignment.

  Jason has someone working with him. An accomplice.

  Of that I have no doubt, but who? And more importantly, from which department working on this case?

  “And what have you come up with?”

  “We now know a few things to be certain, Ford.” He sits back and chugs his coffee, the grimace on his face telling me it’s gone cold and nasty. “The main thing is that your theory is correct. Somehow—someone working this case is feeding him information, and Jason is heading this way. The bastard got free, and instead of going south to Mexico, he’s leaving a trail of victims that point straight back here. It’s a fucked-up scene—he knows we have her—but it’s a lead we can approach. We can intercept him.”

  I don’t like it. Fucking loathe that they’ll use Ava as bait, but it wouldn’t be the first time this tactic has been used. Especially as the desperation to capture him grows.

  I’ll protect her with my life. No one will harm her.

  My reactions to her don’t make sense and the sudden attraction is beyond my comprehension, but I don’t doubt either. Something about her calls to me. To my innermost caveman-like tendencies where the need to protect supersedes all else.

  “And the other girl?” I ask, trying to remain calm. To not show just how far I’ll go for her if need be. “Has she been found?”

  As of late last night, they’re looking into Karla and asking the public to come forward if she’s seen. So far, the missing person’s report has been spread from Texas to the West Coast.

  Cap shakes his head, lips pursed. “No. Not a damn sign of her. Not so much as a bogus call.”

  “That’s not his usual style, though.” Rubbing my eyes, I sit back and take a sip from my own lukewarm coffee as I work through the chaos in my mind. I’m not seeing something, and it’s eating away at me. “Her pictures are everywhere now along with his mugshot. Why tempt fate and be seen?”

  “What were you thinking?” His question forces my eyes back to the morbid shots on the table. His kills. “From the very first victim to the penultimate, they all follow a certain pattern. Upper body bruising, a deep gash across the chest, and his thumb prints embedded deep into their jugular. Each body lays face up and straight, with their hands intertwined over their abdomens and painted red with their own blood.”

  “All but—”

  “The last,” I finish for him. Picking up Sarah’s photo, I notice right away that this kill was rushed. Unsatisfactory for him. There’s anger in the way she was just left behind with a broken neck.

  “How many know the plan? Is it just San Antonio and Lubbock?” Pushing my chair back, I stand and begin pacing the room. Scenarios play out in my mind, each one leading me back here. To his first kill.

  “It’s a combined effort, but mainly the two Texas departments.”

  “Check relationships. Ripley had or has friends and a family. We need to figure out if any of them have a connection to someone on the force.”


  “You think that—”

  “I do...” I trail off as my cell phone suddenly vibrates atop the table. My landline flashes across the screen and I grab the device, pressing accept but I’m too late.

  “What’s going—”

  “Ava.” That’s all I give him before taking off, my finger pressing the redial button when it vibrates again. “I’m almost there,” I say, pulling the door to the stairway open; it bangs against the wall with a loud clang as I take each step two at a time. “Are you hurt? Someone at the door?”

  The last is almost impossible with how I watched the entryways, and my app shows no movement there, but I can never rule out anything. As long as she doesn’t open the door, she’s safe.

  “It’s probably nothing...” there’s a self-deprecating laugh that follows and it’s carries a hint of panic “...but you said to tell you if anything creeped me out. I’m sorry if I’m bothering you while you work, but—”

  “You can always call me. No matter the reason.” Behind me the sound of footsteps running up are loud and heavy, but slower. My head turns slightly, just enough to catch sight of Captain Perez bounding up with arms full of files.

  “Thank you.” There’s a pause and then a huff. As if she’s annoyed with herself. “Someone called the house, and it felt off.”

  “How?” Opening the door to my floor, I rush through and run toward my door. “Who called?”

  “An Officer Denis Meyers.” The fuck. My hand punches the nearest wall, and a chunk of plaster falls to the floor. I don’t say anything, mind whirling in different directions. Looking at possibilities. “Are you there?”

  “Open the door.” It leaves me on a harsh growl as I stop, hand on the casing. Ava squeaks on the other end but doesn’t hang up, instead, she keeps me on the line while walking my way and then pausing on the other side.