6. Elijah
6
ELIJAH
PRESENT…
She’s his muse.
“ T hat sick son of a bitch,” I grit out, grabbing the file I’d pushed away a minute ago. My fingers clench and unclench, renewed anger coursing through my veins as I lean over and begin flicking through the pages. I’m seeing everything through a different set of eyes, taking in the details not as the detective who hunted this animal down, but as a victim. “How didn’t anyone make the connection sooner?”
All women. All young. They were between the ages of nineteen and twenty-nine with the same physical attributes: chocolate brown hair, blue eyes, and were short in stature.
Jason saw Ava in every victim. Substitutes he used and killed to ebb his obsession with her. And as I read through each line, I’m cataloging the moments of pure fear she must’ve lived through, instead of analyzing him .
The torture of not knowing what will come.
The survivor’s guilt all victims carry.
Then, there are the questions I’ve come to expect as part of the healing process while interviewing the parties involved with murder cases.
It’s a wash, rinse, and repeat cycle as I read through the notes Dallas detectives, a psychologist, and their district attorney added to the thick file. I’m numb to it for the most part unless it pertains to her answers. Something about this woman invokes this near-painful need to?—
Protect. Avenge. Bring peace back to her life.
The reaction wars against the reality of a man like me: numb to the ugliness of the job.
Drugs and assault or trafficking—murder. Not because I’ve lost my humanity, but because a clear head doesn’t make mistakes. Attachments cloud judgments. It can place innocent people in danger, and that goes against my oath—my badge.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I exhale roughly and then stretch my neck. The area feels tight, I’m tired, but there’s little time left before Ava Perry arrives. “She’s just a case. Nothing more.” Picking up my cell phone from beside an empty soda can, I press play on the audio file Captain Perez sent me after our meeting. I’ve listened to it more than five times now, always pausing at the fifteen-minute mark:
“Do you have any questions for us, Miss Perry? Anything we can do to help the transition into witness protection more ? —”
“There’s nothing that will make this easier or less horrifying, Detective.” No one says anything, but a tiny sob slips through, and the sound causes my chest to ache. Her voice is low, a tiny whisper, but I find myself attuned to it—to the most minute hitch of her breath and the utter fear in her tone. “Nothing but his capture will heal me. Will bring some semblance of safety back.”
“We’ll do everything we can, Miss Perry.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
If they notice her lack of trust, those in the room don’t comment, and a few seconds later, they begin to discuss her transfer. She’s coming from Dallas to Los Angeles with a private escort set up by my precinct.
She’s been thrown into an unknown situation with variables out of her control. With no one she fully trusts.
Asking herself if she’ll ever be safe from him.
Wondering when she’ll go back home and what she’ll walk into.
The woman’s been moved two times since Jason’s arrest, the first due to the harassment. People who knew her spoke out in interviews, exposing who she is, and the amateur paparazzi began to press her for whatever details she knows and that the media isn’t sharing. Then, they inundated her bakery, made it impossible to run the business, and followed her every move through the lens of their cell phones.
Then it happened again, once he escaped police custody during a transport trip.
It’s a lot to take in for anyone. Fucks with their head.
Closing my eyes for a few seconds, I focus on the soft breeze coming from the open balcony doors. The scent of salt water has always soothed me—lulls me into a state of calm where I can think rationally.
Page after page, it’s full to the brim with notes on both of them. His fascination with her is plain to see within every line—morphing into a sick obsession the older she becomes. My mind pulls to the forefront a few details that stand out from the file…
*Ava went to school with the accused. Three years younger than him, they didn’t run in the same circles, but he was close friends with her childhood neighbor, Anthony Salcedo.
*She ran into him again as a customer at her shop. He came in daily after the first encounter: 7 a.m. (February to the end of September) ordering the same thing: black coffee with a half-dozen apple pie donuts .
*Asked her out on a date consistently, which she turned down politely. Over the last month, he increased his insistence from once a week to an almost daily occurrence; Jason was demanding the day she caught him. Miss Perry reported his last words to her that morning as follows:
“We’re inevitable, Sugar, and soon I’ll own every single inch of you. That’s a promise.”
*The first body was found a mile from her home after the first refusal: a twenty-four-year-old brunette he picked up at a bar and choked to death. Examination of the body concluded that there was no sexual assault, just physical.
“How old was she when his obsession started?” a thought that forces me to take a metaphorical step back and analyze how no one noticed. Who’s helping him?
That’s when Perez’s words from earlier crashed into me. The tightness in his expression gave more than the sternness of his command; it was a plea. A warning.
“Very few people know of her whereabouts outside of the ex-military guards driving her across state lines. They’ve already been instructed to deliver her to your home within the next six hours, Elijah, and we’ll be keeping it that way.”
“Ava Perry?” I whisper her name aloud, opening my eyes just before the doorbell rings. A few seconds tick by, and that ring becomes four quick raps against the wooden surface. They’re loud, but not as annoying as the continuous pressing of the doorbell. Standing, I grab my gun from the coffee table and make my way over. I’m more than halfway there when whoever is on the other side knocks again. Inpatient or in a rush to...
My eyes shift left to a clock on the wall, and I realize just how much time has passed since coming home. Two hours where I’ve been lost inside my head while reworking the puzzle pieces this case brought to my door.
Another knock. Softer this time.
I don’t look through the peephole, though, knowing it’s her, and pull the door open. The problem with that; I didn’t think things through. I’m not prepared for what greets me, and in that minuscule second where my eyes meet a pair of light blue ones, I curse Perez for my destruction.
I’m caught. Can’t look away.
My eyes scan her face, memorizing everything from the freckles over the bridge of her nose and cheeks, to the small scar over her right eyebrow. It’s tiny, a crooked line partially hidden beneath the hair there, and I find it cute .
Lowering my eyes, I settle on her plump mouth. Its natural berry color is appetizing, even more so as this tiny beauty bites down on her bottom lip while looking up at me through long, thick lashes.
She’s simply gorgeous. Blushing.
The blood throbs within my veins and my cock hardens; it pulses with each rise and fall of her chest. With the way, her own eyes look at me with curiosity.
“Detective Ford?” she asks, and as those lips slightly pucker at the end, I know why I’ve been feeling off. Why I knew taking this assignment was a mistake…
AVA
My life will never be the same. How could it be?
I’ve gone from owning a quaint little café to being on the run. From having friends and a life of my own to absolutely nothing in the blink of an eye because I was given no choice but to disappear.
There were no goodbyes. No last hugs. Nothing.
Taken from my home in the middle of the night, I was told to cooperate and follow instructions. To simply go with two men I don’t know, and trust that they’ll keep me safe until we reach my next handler a few states away. This is the second time I’ve been moved in the past few months: from Dallas to San Antonio and now Los Angeles with nothing but empty promises that this will all be over soon.
This is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.
Not even when my parents died did I feel so isolated. For my safety, I’m being kept hidden from the public eye and the plethora of hungry reporters vying for an exclusive I’ll never give. Then, there are the morbid fans following every printed snippet while making up their own theories on the case.
Some are right. Some are way off.
And I can’t blame them either. How many times have I watched crime documentaries and put the pieces of the puzzle together in my head, finding angles that others never thought about? It was my way to unwind: a glass of wine and some pizza while a gruesome story unfolded, often without criminals seeing the inside of a prison cell at the end.
It was when the letters and emails began—I was being followed around—that my protection detail removed me from my safety net.
My bakery. My home. My routine.
I’ve been stored away like an object in San Antonio where his trial was set to begin, but then he escaped. Their mistake is why I’m being driven to Los Angeles without a choice in the matter.
Three states. More bodies. And more than one life was taken by this monster in each.
The more his depravity comes to light, the more I realize it’s my fault. His obsession isn’t new; it began when we were teens. I didn’t pay attention to him now or knew he existed back then, but the truth is, he hurt those women because I turned him down.
A monster with a wounded ego. I’ve never told a soul how uncomfortable and pushy he’s become. About the one time he?—
“We’ll be there shortly,” Jaime says from the passenger seat while Adam nods. The all-black F350 is roomy, and I thank God because the last thing I want is anyone close enough to pat my hand. It’s a short statement like all the others before; they’re not rude. Not in the least. Jaime’s tried while Adam is the silent type, speaking only when necessary.
They don’t work in law enforcement. Taking on this last-minute responsibility of protecting me until we reach my next handler is a favor, and one I’m very grateful for.
I no longer trust anyone in Texas.
Moreover, I know Adam’s disposition has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the beautiful blonde he kissed goodbye before we got on the road. Jaime’s goodbye was more subdued, but watching them—their love and how tender they treat their women—made me think of what I’ll never have.
Not for a while. Maybe never.
Not with the fear that grips me tight at the knowledge that my worst nightmare could be anywhere. Maybe following in the car behind us. Jason could be biding his time so he can take from me what I never gave him willingly.
“Thanks. Can’t wait to stretch my legs,” I say, trying for enthusiasm and failing miserably. My palms are sweaty, and I wipe them down my denim-covered legs while pretending to clean something off. “It’s very pretty here.”
Adam meets my eyes through the rearview mirror and nods. “The detective in charge of your protection lives near the water. We could stop there first if you like. Get some fresh air?”
“That’s very kind of you, but I would rather we just get this over with.” I’m sure the smile on my face looks more like a grimace, but he’s kind enough not to mention it. Neither of them do. My nerves are choking me, the worry almost making me sick.
It’s been four days since Jason escaped police custody, forcing the change in game plan. We’ve gone from lying low to a secret race in which very few are participating in. From conviction to recapture while playing a game of hide-the-witness.
It’s also brought back the nightmares; a horrific movie reel that never fails to keep me awake.
Her screams. His laugh. All the blood?—
I’ll come for you…
“You’ll be okay, Ava. Safe here.” Adam sounds so sure of himself that I don’t have the heart to tell him how much I doubt that. That at this point, my hope is almost gone.
“May the good Lord hear you,” I mumble and then refocus my attention on the passing scenery. My eyes shift every few minutes, looking at the cars passing us and praying that Jason isn’t in one of them. Some shoot us a quick glance, but most continue to drive as they maneuver through the busy traffic this state is known for.
And they weren’t lying. California is everything you see on television: lively, busy, and beautifully scary because it represents the unknown. I don’t know anyone here. I’m alone.
Jaime lowers his window, and then Adam follows, lowering the rest to let in the salty, fresh air coming off the nearby water. It’s gorgeous—a warm shade of bluish green that soothes me, seeping deep into my bones.
Closing my eyes for a second, I take it into my lungs and sag against the seat as the ex-Marines drive me toward the detective’s home. For a little while, I let go and regain control of my anxiety—I pretend this is a vacation and not a forced seclusion.
I don’t know how long I stay that way, but a hand nudging my shoulder pulls me from my semi-relaxed state. “We’re here.” Jaime’s voice is low, while his expression is one of concern.
“Thanks.” Taking my seatbelt off, I exit the truck while taking inventory of my surroundings. The building before me is huge. Intimidating. And yet, as we enter the fancy lobby and get on the elevator, there’s no fear. Instead, the same sense of calm that settled over me as I took in the fresh saltwater scent, enveloped my tired limbs tenfold.
It catches me off guard and makes my knees a bit weak, but I stay quiet. Maybe it’s the exhaustion taking over or the repercussion of my lack of appetite, but when we get off on the twenty-fourth floor, I have to force my legs to cooperate. One foot after the other, I follow a quiet Jaime down a long hallway after making a right turn while Adam remains downstairs, grabbing my bags.
At the very end, Jaime stops in front of a door with the number seven on it and tilts his head in my direction. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“For what it’s worth, Elijah Ford comes with high praise and is familiar with this case. If anyone can keep you safe, it’s him. Trust him.” My mouth opens to reply, to tell him that I’ve heard this from someone I do trust, when his phone pings with an incoming text. Jaime snorts after reading it and looks at me. “Adam needs help with the bags. Be right back.”
“No…” he walks away before I can finish, pushing the doorbell on his way “…problem.”
For a few seconds, I stand there, and…nothing. So, I knock. Hard.
I don’t like being out in the open like this, and my escort has disappeared around the corner, so I pound my fist a couple of times to make sure I’m heard. It takes a few harsh knocks from me and the push of the buzzer for that door to open, and when it does, what I find is a thigh-clenching and naughty-dream-inducing specimen of masculinity.
Lord, have mercy on my soul. Amen.