Page 49 of Keeping Ava

He’s unfamiliar to me, but the man just behind him isn’t.

Anthony Salcedo. Ava’s childhood neighbor. Her best friend’s ex-boyfriend.

There’s anger in his eyes as they meet mine and he fires a shot, nearly hitting me in the arm. The bullet grazes my skin with no entry wound, and it lodges itself into a wall behind me. There are voices, loud and angry, yelling for him to drop his weapon, but he doesn’t move.

His attention is solely on me, the barrel of his gun pointed at my chest. “You killed my brother, puto. I’m going to make sure that you never see her again.”

“Where is he?” That adrenaline I’ve been missing hits me with the full force of a battering ram, and I stretch my neck to the side. I need answers. He won’t walk out of here alive, we both know that, but before he dies, he’ll give me what I want.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Ford.”

“Answer me, cocksucker,” I seethe. “Where is he!”

“Home is where the heart is,” is all he says before firing another shot; it hits my vest-covered chest and throws me back, but not before I answer with one of my own. This one reciprocates where his landed on mine, except there’s no vest to stop it.

Blood pours from the wound and he falls, the gun slipping from his fingertips. It lands and goes off, but no one is hurt. Instead, it breaks a window of what looks to be a small office. Another female screams. Another victim?

My ears are ringing, and I shake my head to dispel it—trying to make sure that what I think is a scream isn’t the aftereffect of being shot at. It doesn’t take me long to figure out that it’s not, and without thought, I stand on wobbling legs, rushing toward what could be a possible second victim. Disoriented, I kick the door open with my Glock in hand.

The room is small, smells of weed, and hiding someone that I never expected to meet.

“Rose Marshall?” Christ, this is going to hurt Ava. The woman looks afraid, terrified, but not because she’s been hurt. No. This one has some explaining to do. The way she’s dressed, the loud music coming from an expensive Bose speaker, and the high-as-a-kite look in her glassy eyes tells me this woman was here of her own free will.

She helped them.

“How do you know my name?” Her voice is shaky, body slightly trembling as she moves her arm to reach for something at her waist. A gun.

“Touch that, and I will be forced to shoot,” I hiss out, already raising my own toward her. “Don’t force my hand, Rose. Use your head here.”

“Where’s Officer Salcedo and Meyers?” And there is my connection. “I’m his girlfriend and this is—”

“You’re under arrest for the aiding and abetting of a fugitive. For being an accomplice in the murder of—”

“Where the fuck is my boyfriend?” she spits out, frantic as her eyes dart past me where there’s another commotion. Sirens are getting closer, and from the way I see an officer carry out a small body in his arms from the corner of my eye, I breathe out in relief. Karla was here, and we’ve got her. “You can’t do this to us. Ava needs this.”

I can’t stop my glare or the curl of my lip over my teeth. If looks could kill, she’d be dead.

Before she can try and fight me or reach for that gun at her waist, I’m on her, her hands behind her back, my grip tight as I cuff her. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you—”

“Jason loves her and will make everything right between us.” Tears run down her face now, leaving tracks of mascara in their wake. “She’s my best friend. We all miss her.”

Delusional bitch really thinks they care about them? She’s just another pawn in this game to them.

I almost pity her. Almost.

Gritting my teeth, I continue to read her rights. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

“Please,” she whispers low, the reality of just how fucked she is beginning to sink in. “Where’s my Anthony?”

There’s not a single ounce of remorse in me as I stare into her eyes and say the one word that will break her heart. Not when they didn’t care about Ava or her mental state. Not when they terrorized and killed so many innocent women.

“Dead.”

* * *

“Anything new?” I ask Gomez, the officer who’s been interrogating a still wailing Rose—off and on for about an hour now—since we’ve been back in San Diego. She’s inconsolable and wants my head. Been screaming obscenities that no one pays a lick of mind to.

What we want is answers. To stop Jason before he reaches Ava.

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