Chapter One #2
“You’re focused,” Ava said. Her gaze flickered between Jack and Cale as if she was calculating something in her head.
He took her in more carefully now. He had watched the other patrons casually, of course. What they ate, who they watched, who they waited for, the fleeting emotions that crossed their faces when no one else saw.
This woman, she had been here almost as long as he had, nearly an hour.
Like him, she had only ordered a drink.
Her curves generously filled her little red dress, curves that he could explore, that he would explore if he were not working. Red lips, too, violently bright, but that was the only makeup she was wearing, and beneath the saucy grin she had given him, she looked weary in a way he understood.
Are you okay? he would be asking her in a different life, a different version of himself, one where he was not waiting to kill the man who was now telling Tasha another story about bike trips and how important they were for wellness.
“Hello? Earth to Professor Macintosh?”
He blinked at her, head tilted. “Professor . . . Macintosh?”
“You talk like my most boring professor.” Ava shrugged, the sleeve of her red dress slipping to one side and revealing a glimpse of bare shoulder. “And you didn’t tell me your name.”
He met her gaze. “I’m AJ,” he said.
“That’s not on your cup,” she said, squinting.
He glanced down at the to-go cup that had Brad scrawled in loopy handwriting on one side. Well, shit. “Shit, maybe I grabbed the wrong drink,” Jack said. “They called a matcha, and I didn’t look at the name.”
Ava didn’t look like she quite believed his cover, but she didn’t push it. “Well, nice to meet you, AJ.” She leaned across the aisle between them and extended her hand. “Let me guess. You’re the dude with the brand-new Volvo out back. You look like you’d drive one.”
He took the offered hand, noting no fingernail polish, no rings. Smooth skin, except for the battered knuckles.
“Guilty as charged,” he said, holding on to her hand a moment longer than he had any right to.
Ava’s eyes followed Jack’s gaze, and she snatched her hand back and shoved it into her lap.
His mind was still trying to wrap his head around this picture—beautiful girl, cheap dress, expensive lipstick, overpriced café, bloody knuckles.
None of the puzzle pieces fit.
“Here you are, Mr. Jacobson,” Tasha called from the counter. Her eyes flickered to the tip jar and then back to him.
Of course she knew who he was.
Maybe that was why Cale did this himself instead of sending one of his assistants. Maybe he liked the sense of importance, the recognition. He worked in insurance—he was not exactly in a useful or well-loved industry.
But he did have money.
Across the aisle from Jack, Ava was twisting her hands in her lap, one finger picking absentmindedly at the scab on the knuckle of her right hand.
Christ.
“Ava.” He said her name firmly, and her gaze snapped to him.
The smile on her face was plastered now, stilted and strange. “Yes?” Even the lightness in her voice sounded forced.
“Are you okay?”
Jack should not have asked. He should have turned away from her, back to his paper, attention focused on the man he would kill in one day’s time.
“No,” she breathed, and then caught herself, her fingers closing over the edge of the table, the battered knuckles turning white. “Yes. Of course I am. Are you?”
“Well, Ava.” He lifted his newspaper again, reopening to the article he had been reading. “It was a pleasure.”
“A pleasure,” she returned, her words hollow.
She was a puzzle that would nag him for much longer than just this strange morning of reconnaissance, but he had other cares today. And Ava of the bloody knuckles and the haunted eyes and the sharp tongue would have to wait.
Cale took his juice and club sandwich and exited the café, the door slamming shut behind him.
Like clockwork.
Tomorrow was Friday, and Cale would be here earlier, around seven in the morning. Jack would be here, too, and when Cale left with his juice, Jack would kill him.
It hit him, a pang out of nowhere, that he hoped Ava wasn’t here to see it.
Jack leaned back in the booth, letting his head thump against the soft cushion. A moment later, he froze.
Ava had disappeared.
For one disorienting moment, he thought he had imagined her. If Jay could see him now—well, he would know just how bad Jack had gotten in his absence. Jack was lost here, more lost than he had ever been. And he had always been lost.
But a breath later, a flash of red caught Jack’s eye. Ava was outside the café, and when Cale stepped into the crosswalk, she fell into step behind him.
Christ.
Jack jumped to his feet, leaving his newspaper in unfolded disgrace beside his half-finished matcha, and then he snatched her own abandoned smoothie and followed her through the door.
It was raining lightly now, though Ava’s back was already soaked through with sweat, the damp red fabric clinging to her skin.
Fuck.
Fuck.
How had he missed this, sitting three feet away from her?
She was going to ruin everything.
He caught up to her with long strides, but she was already reaching into her purse, and fool, fool that he was, he should have known that her strange bloody knuckles were not the only weapon this girl had. He should have known the nervousness was not about him. He should have known.
“Ava,” Jack shouted.
She jerked around like a marionette whose strings had been pulled, and Cale turned, too, squinting back at the sound of the shouting.
Fuck fuck fuck.
He never got this close to his hits before the moment he killed them. Never let them see his face or gave them the opportunity to ask a single question about who he was.
And now Ava had fucked it all up.
Ava stared back at him, her face a raw mixture of fury and something more, something as vast and overwhelming and wretched as the sea in a storm, something he would drown in if he stood too close.
Her hand was frozen in her purse. “What the fuck?” she snarled.
“You forgot your smoothie.” Jack held it out with his most charming smile. “I thought you might want it.”
Ava opened her mouth to speak, but Cale interrupted them both.
“You,” he said, his voice cracking with something resembling terror as he stared at Ava. “You. Security!” He was pointing at them both, and for one sinking moment Jack thought that his cover was blown, that everything was blown.
And then Ava stopped, as if deciding, before she dropped her purse and tackled Cale to the ground.