Page 21 of Keeping Ava

“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.

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