Page 41 of Exposé

Night, beautiful.

"That's good."

"What is?"

"That it's working. One second…" Muffled words and scratching noise came through the phone as though she'd placed her hand over the microphone. "Brentwood would like to know how close you are to her."

"I have a date with her tomorrow morning." My gaze darted towards the fire extinguisher I'd checked when I first moved in, the expiration date approaching.

"Have you learned anything?"

"Yeah, the agency needs better safety inspections."

"Anything about Ava's investigation?"

I sighed. "This is a marathon, not a sprint, Callie. I haven't been in the field long enough, and this girl is basically a recluse."

"Finding her to be a challenge?"

Snorting, I stood from my chair and took two steps to my bed, then crashed onto my back. "Hardly. Just don't expect me to work miracles. I'm not Jesus."

"If Jesus were anything like you, the disciples would have quit after the first sermon."

I shrugged. "At least they'd be following someone who gets results, not just parables."

"Oooh, the ego on you." She huffed into my ear.

"There was a note that she had. Maybe it’s nothing. Does the name Kane Rogers mean anything to you?”

She paused, the speaker muffled. “Brentwood said no. He’ll look into it and wants a status update in three days.”

“Great. Is that all? I need to getsomesemblance of sleep."

"Yeah, make sure you take care of Echo. He's the agency's favorite cat."

I smiled at my phone, then hung up.

Dropping it onto my chest, I closed my eyes and let the images of my target's sleek legs around my waist lull me into a restless sleep with the cat purring in my ear.

9

Ava

Classic Elvis Presley played over the diner's speakers in a low tone, the infamous voice easy to decipher over the bustling conversation.

A red, black, and white theme spread across the inside of the diner. The seats were faux red leather while the floor gave a dizzying effect of black and white checkers like I'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.

Stools lined the old-fashioned serving bar with twin ketchup and mustard holders littering the surface from end to end.

I sat in the far corner, my back to the wall, nerves filling my belly as I stared at the cherry-red Gibson hanging on the wall, resembling the one my father played in the garage when I was six.

It hadn't lasted long when the neighbors complained about the unbearable racket, and my mother told him her ears were bleeding from the atrocious noise.

He'd never picked it up again.

Amazing how the human race can destroy someone's dream for their own selfish desires.

Darrel Lavoy, the co-owner of Deeno's Diner, stopped at my table with a mug and carafe in hand. "Anything I can start you off with besides coffee, Ava?" He placed the mug on the table and filled it a half inch from the rim, the steaming black coffee a welcomed sight.

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