12. Elijah
12
ELIJAH
“ F uck,” I hiss low, rubbing my eyes. A mixture of anger and exhaustion consumes me, and a headache is forming at the back of my skull, making it harder to concentrate. It’s pounding, and all I want to do is rest, but I can’t . Not until Jason Ripley is behind bars or dead from a bullet between the eyes, preferably from my gun.
I’m a man of my word, and I keep my promises.
Moreover, I haven’t had a single good night’s sleep since Ava arrived, and each encounter brands me. She holds a power over my being no one else has before. The sight of her in that towel a few days back almost annihilated my resolve, because job be damned, I want her.
Badly. Insanely.
Exhaling roughly, I stretch my neck from side to side and glance at the clock. I’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours now and should take a nap, but the information I’m currently dissecting won’t let my mind settle.
Rest; something now foreign to me. Blue balls are also in my immediate future.
Get it together, Ford. You have a job to do.
Right. My job. The one I seem to not give three fucks about when I’m near her.
Refocusing on the laptop in front of me, my eyes feel the strain—everything on the screen becoming a bit blurry as I read through the latest information Captain Perez sent yesterday morning. The electronic file contains new details very few are privy to, and if the media got wind of its severity, we’d have a panic on our hands.
The sudden mass reports of bullshit sightings will pull us away from what could be a capture. I’ve seen it before: prank calls and false information flooding our offices, and manpower becoming thin as we work to confirm each one.
Scanning the picture in front of me, I take in the placement of certain items inside the shot. How his style of operation is changing, twisting, and the results left behind for investigators to find are careless. Sloppy, even.
As of the latest reports and findings, we have another body.
This is the second since Ava’s been in my care and exactly fourteen days apart.
Another girl that looks so much like her, and it fucks with my head. My vow to capture this son of a bitch myself wavers for a moment as the urge to grab her and disappear forms around the edge of my subconscious. Not that I would, but the thought is tempting.
“We can’t allow him the chance at another victim,” I grit out from between clenched teeth. I’m pissed and it cuts deep to add another state to the already thick file: Texas, California, Arizona—and since she’s been under witness protection—New Mexico.
Fifteen bodies now. Fifteen cases to sift through as I wait for the inevitable.
My mind won’t shut down as I look through each crime scene photo, breaking down the similarities and jotting down the new habits.
His kills are becoming messy. There’s a note of angry desperation in each gruesome scene.
Jason Ripley wants our attention. He thrives on her fear.
Clicking the mouse, I shift to the next set and come to a stop at the note found at the crime scene. It’s tagged and numbered, the date stamp from three days ago. Then, there’s the same block-like writing style brought on by the heavy use of an oversized-tipped Sharpie Marker. This is reminiscent of a homemade sign people make for games or concerts; it’s meant to be generic, and yet there’s the way he draws a line through her name and the letter “e” that’s becoming a tell.
There’s anger in that stroke. A lot of frustration.
It’s also in the streaks of blood made using his fingertips beneath the two lines.
Possessive. Threatening.
You can’t keep her from me.
Ava is MINE.
“I’ll kill him before he lays a single finger on her head,” I hiss out, making a note of the two drops of blood on the bottom right-hand side of the message. At the very edge, they’re small, but we need to know whose DNA they belong to since they don’t match the placement of the others.
At this point, I have to expect the worst.
Was this girl his only victim that night? Where is she from?
Closing the pictures, I open a PDF with vital information on the victim. I scan the document, looking for a picture copy of her ID, and stop short when I do.
From: Arlington, Texas (Approximately 25 minutes from Dallas)
Sarah Wilson was last seen with her best friend, Karla Alvarez, walking toward the parking lot of a popular college bar in Dallas. Both attended the university there and were out with friends celebrating a birthday. Neither made it to their car, and security footage is blurry at best; yet, we have the description of a pickup truck that left minutes after the girls were seen stumbling out.
I’m quick to pull up a missing person search for the area from two weeks ago to the present date, and it doesn’t take long to find her. Everything here matches the details given to me in the email—going back and forth between the two, I cross-examine the information and realize that no one has connected this dot.
Their focus is on the deceased and not on the best friend. It’s also not on the fact that they were kidnapped in Texas and her body found in New Mexico.
But where’s Karla? Do we have a second body somewhere else?
“She might still be alive.” Christ . Rubbing my temples, I go back to reading and, at the same time, collecting info for Captain Perez to disburse to those on the case. Thirty minutes in, and I have pictures, social media accounts for both, and the names of a few friends in attendance that night.
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 her 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 is 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 it cute. 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 issues or side effects.
How she hides from me because she’s embarrassed by the kiss on my chin.
How she looks coming out of the shower with little drops of water sliding down her soft skin. It was my body wash that she used that day. My scent on her soft flesh.
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 wring every last drop of 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 it now. ~ C. Perez
Let me know your thoughts. He’s on the move, and my guess is he’ll make a pitstop in Arizona next. ~ Ford
Three tiny dots appear on the screen. Takes a few minutes for his message to come through.
Why? ~ C. Perez
Better question: Who is leading him back to Los Angeles? ~ Ford
Are you thinking there’s a tail? ~ C. Perez
I take a second to answer him, trying to find the right words to explain my theory on Jason knowing we have Ava. I’m not trying to give away too much information as this is a conversation better had in person.
There are just too many coincidences, something I don’t believe in. His escape was too easy, and the manhunt seems to be going slow. On purpose or not, neither add up.
Too close for comfort. ~ Ford
I’ll be at your building tomorrow at eight a.m. sharp. Talk then. ~ C. Perez
See you in the morning. ~ Ford
Something occurs to me then, and I shoot him another message.
There’s a file inside my desk that I need. Please bring it. The top drawer on the right. ~ Ford
Got it. ~ C. Perez
Tossing the small device on the table, I follow the scent of fresh coffee and bacon.
What I find upon entering my kitchen is utterly delicious and so fucking wrong. All thoughts stop, and nothing but this moment exists. No case. No worries.
Seeing her like this gives me a sense of domestication I never craved before. Of satisfaction. Being in a relationship hasn’t been for me. Women like dating a man in uniform until reality sets in. This is not a costume for a late-night fuck session. My last girlfriend was years ago because she simply couldn’t handle my job. The hours spent away, the sudden emergencies pulling me away from a movie date or late-night dinner, became too much for her.
I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t understand the anger it might cause. I’d get pissed myself at times when called away, but just like I understood her job as a PA for the CEO of a production company—her long hours—I expected the same tolerance.
I’d never cheat. That’s not the kind of man I am, but my job is important.
I’m honored to help a grieving family find any semblance of closure while at the same time, helping them find justice.
Yes, it could be dangerous, but I know what I signed up for. I’m careful, and over the years, opportunities to let off steam were very few and far between. Not a priority. The last time was more than six months ago, and up until Ava, I’ve been more than okay with that.
My life is my career. 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 her 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 of bacon and then another. Nor when she cracks an egg and then whisks it 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 and 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 sweeping across the apple of her cheeks. Love how easily she blushes for me. “Talk to me, Ava.”
“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.
“How about some breakfast instead of the early morning interrogation, Detective?” 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 her upper back as I make my way toward the expresso machine. 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 eating at me for the past two weeks.
That I don’t like the silent treatment. That I find her gorgeous.
How I wish we’d met under different circumstances. Normal ones. Ones where her life isn’t in danger. Instead, I keep it simple and make us a double shot each, then take them back over to the sitting area on the other side of my island. In the fridge, there’s some hazelnut 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 with a splash of whole milk and 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 personally, but this one is just that.
More than, because this son of bitch slipped through my fingers or the nature of each murder.
I think it’s her. All because of her.
“Okay. I deserve that.” Ava sits beside me. Setting her breakfast down, she reaches for the creamer and pours more than a healthy amount into her coffee. She uses the same spoon to stir hers, not asking if she can, and eyes me while doing so. Daring me to comment. “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 cotton of my sweatpants, but I ignore the ache and focus on her. “You deserve what?”
“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. So contrite.
“Touché,” Ava says, her smile bashful while she smiles 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 pulling her hand from mine and digging into her food. I let her eat for a bit, biting back my rebuttal until there’s a single 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. “At all?”
“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 a chuckle when she lifts 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 arches a brow while a wayward curl slips from her messy bun.
“Because most women live for those dramatic encounters...” I shrug, 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 I’ll choose to believe you’re super exhausted and delirious.”
“I’ll take that last one, por favor.”
“Very well.” Slipping from her seat, her hip lightly brushes my arm, and I bite back a groan. Ava’s close and grabs my hand, and I let her, enjoying the way she all but drags me to the living room. Once there, I’m pushed onto the sofa. “Behave and 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. Lulls me. “Yes?”
“What did you go get?”
“Season One of my favorite show 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. Fuck , it smells just like her.
Sweet and decadent, and I inhale deep while letting it relax me. Has she been cuddling with this one while reading at night? “Which is?”
My voice sounds a bit far away. Between the warmth of the blanket, the plushness of the couch, and her sweet scent surrounding me, I find myself drifting.
“...Horror Stories.” That’s all I’m able to comprehend before sleep takes me under.