Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
JAY
Jay groped around the bedside table, trying to silence the annoying alarm.
Only after he pressed every button and flipped every switch did he realize the sound wasn’t coming from his clock.
A loud noise had jolted him from a deep sleep, and he strained to identify its source.
A few seconds later, he heard it again—the doorbell, followed by someone urgently pounding on their door.
He opened his eyes and squinted at the numbers on the clock.
It was just after four. He sat up in bed, slightly dazed and still hungover from his last cup of holiday cheer.
The pounding grew louder and drove him out of bed.
He slipped his arms into his robe and silently cursed Hope with every step.
She's locked her keys in the car again!
He marched down the hallway, his head shaking in disbelief.
She can stand in the OR for hours, operating on tissue smaller than a human hair, yet she can't remember to take her goddamn keys out of the ignition!
This is twice in the last month! Around the corner and past the Christmas tree, he cinched the terry cloth belt around his waist with force.
"How is it that you can—" he swung open the door, stopping mid-sentence.
"Mr. Avery? Jameson Avery?" a man inquired.
"Y-yes?" Jay stammered.
"May we come in?" a woman asked.
Jay nodded with a glazed expression. It'd taken only seconds for him to size up the bodies that stood waiting in the outer vestibule of their condo. A man. Six-foot-two. Dark hair. Thick mustache. The other, a petite woman with blonde, curly hair. Two of LA’s finest, dressed in their standard-issue navy blues.
A searing heat pulsed through his veins.
He swayed and grabbed on to the doorframe with both hands.
Though the officers had spoken just a handful of words, the look in their eyes told Jay everything he needed to know.
And the brown leather briefcase in the female officer's hand—the one bearing his wife's monogram—confirmed it.