Page 231 of Fearless

“That was almost an hour ago. I didn’t see him after he went for coffee. He coulda gone anywhere. Scratch that – he camehere.”

“Well who the hell comes to visit a chick who isn’t…” He made a gesture, not wanting to say it. He didn’t have to; they both remembered what Jasmine had said about this girl.

“Let’s go find out,” Aidan said.

Serena lived, according to Jasmine, on the first floor, apartment three. The number had been brass, once, and was a nice shade of tarnish now, most of the red paint on the door flaked off, what remained nothing but tattered oil-based strips. Aidan heard a flurry of movement on the other side when he knocked.

Snatch of a voice. Something overturning, clattering on the linoleum. Footsteps. A thump, a click, a door closing.

Tango had the more pleasant voice of the two of them, so he called, “Rena?” through the door. “It’s Aidan and Tango, from Dartmoor. Jasmine said we could find you here. You got a minute?”

“Shit,” a female voice said from inside, then muttered something they couldn’t make out. Then: “Yeah. Just a sec.” Small feet came pattering up to the door. It opened a crack, but the chain was engaged.

Aidan caught a glimpse of the girl’s face, her overdone eyeliner, the dark circle under her eye that makeup couldn’t quite cover. He could just see half her face, but in it, he saw naked fear.

He put on the charm. Slow smile, the ladykiller sleepy-eyed look that got him invited into so many bedrooms. “It’s Rena, right? Hey, gorgeous, I’ve been looking for you since the other night. I wanted to make sure you’re okay. You were pretty shook up about what happened to Andre.”

She wasn’t buying it. “I’m fine.” She started to shut the door, and he caught it with a hand, pushing against the safety chain, wishing it was as old as the rest of the building and could be broken.

“Serena, calm down. We just want to talk to you.”

She gritted her teeth as she struggled against the door, unable to push him back.

He’d been suspicious before; now he was sure. This chick knew something about Andre the rest of them didn’t.

He gave the door a hard smack that sent her yelping and jumping back. “Where’s Jace, Rena? We know that’s his bike outside. Is he in there with you?”

“Shit,” Tango said behind him. “Ground floor apartment. She’s distracting us–” He tore off at a run, heading back toward the parking lot.

Aidan felt a desperate tightening in his gut. They hadn’t even known what they were stumbling across – it had just been a hunch, something to occupy them that felt semi-helpful – and still they’d managed to fuck it up.

“Rena,” he said, pressing his face to the gap in the door. She stood in the middle of a pitiful little living room, in a limp cotton dress, arms banded tightly around her middle. She was shaking. “I’m not going to hurt you. But whatever you know, you need to tell me. Things will be better for you if you’re honest.”

She shook her head. “I called him. He’s coming.”

“Who’s coming?”

Then Aidan heard the echoing blip of a police siren, just two quick punches to catch his attention.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He abandoned Serena – she was useless anyway – and headed out to the parking lot, afraid he’d find his best friend in handcuffs. Jace and his bike were gone. Tango stood on the sidewalk, hands on his narrow hips. And at the curb, blue lights revolving soundlessly, sat Sergeant Fielding in his cruiser.

“It just keeps getting better,” Aidan muttered.

Forty-Three

Ava opened her eyes and the cottage was full of warm daylight. With awareness came the knowledge that she was too hot. She kicked the covers off and thick, humid air folded over her bare skin. She could smell the lingering spiciness of dinner, and the swamp water, and dark, green plant smells that had found their way in under the door and through the thin glass of the windows. Her internal clock told her it was the middle of the day, and she couldn’t believe she’d slept that late. A quick scan revealed that she was alone.

She sat up, and gasped at the revelation of her soreness and stiffness. She was stretching her arms up over her head, trying to ease the ache in her shoulders, when the front door opened and Mercy entered carrying some sort of strange, cylindrical basket.

She was self-conscious in that first moment, aware of her nakedness, the way she was arching her back. She lowered her arms. But then he turned a smile toward her – a wide, beaming, thrilled smile that warmed and soothed her. He was so happy to see her. She rested her hands on the mattress. He’d said all along that he wanted to look at her; she might as well let him look.

“You’re up,” he said, kicking off his boots. They were muddy, and wet, leaving dark splotches on the wood where he’d walked. The bottoms of his jeans were in the same state. He was shirtless, his hair tied back.

Ava didn’t think she’d ever seen anything more beautiful.

“Yeah. You shouldn’t have let me sleep so late.”

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