Page 12 of Triggered By Love
Avery was shakingand trembling like she was trapped in an ice storm instead of Manhattan’s sweltering mid-summer heat. She tore her way back from the park, pumping her arms and legs at a breakneck speed.
Several runners whooped to encourage her, but she paid them no attention. She was way past exercising. She was exorcising the grief that gnawed on her heart, chewed through her bones, and corroded her bloodstream.
Brando died because of her. She knew it. She could feel it, and the damn detective acknowledged it. He suspected something, had to. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be tailing her and stirring up trouble.
He was shaking the box to see what would pop out.
Except nothing had happened. Not even a crank phone call. She’d withdrawn from the party circuit. Stopped hanging out at Lushpuppies, the local bar where her brothers celebrated. She hadn’t gone on the annual Vegas trip her sorority sisters made, and she’d definitely not logged in to any of the dating apps she’d entertained herself with prior to meeting Brando. She didn’t have the energy, and Brando made all of her past dating life obsolete and dull. Not even tickets to a hilarious Broadway show could tempt her. Richie ought to know she’d be no fun at all.
Whoever shot at her had shot the life out of her. It was like they wanted her to join a cloister, shut herself off, and exist in a cave. All work, no play. Exercise yes, gun range yes, dating no, charity balls no. Family visits yes. Singles bar no. Church yes. Amusement parks no.
And he’d succeeded. Brando’s death had turned her temporary stage fright into a permanent disability. And yet, she could not let the killer win.
There were no leads, as if a petty street thug would take a random shot at a fashion show for kicks.
And Brando had died. The revered firefighter hero who the entire city had grieved. A real American hero who had no enemies.
Avery dashed into the shower and let the hot water burn her skin. She stood underneath it, washing away the ever-present tears.
Brando would hate to see her this way. So rattled and afraid of her own shadow. Brando gave his life for a big nothing if she were to give up now. She couldn’t live like this—on hold, waiting for the incompetent detective to find a reason.
Perhaps there was none.
She got out of the shower and paraded around her apartment, naked and dripping. She had to get her mojo back and strike forward with bold moves. When was the last time she sketched or even doodled?
She wanted to make the most use of Matt Swanson’s chiseled face and be known as the first designer to go beast mode. The face of a predator over the understated heroism of a Cary Grant. What kind of animal was Matt?
Feathers, scales, or fur?
She pulled up photos of Matt Swanson on her laptop and studied the angles. He had well-defined cheekbones, a slight cleft in his chin, and a high forehead. While it was tempting to portray him as a reptile, possibly an iguana, he was on her team to make her look good.
His brown hair was swept upwards in a quiff, and she could accentuate that upward flight with feathers. He was a professional quarterback, so the theme of air and flight worked. She wouldn’t turn his nose into a beak or anything Halloweenish, and she didn’t want to go overboard. The feathers would blend up to his hairline. She’d add makeup around his dark-blue eyes to sharpen them, and a few longer feathers to accentuate his eyebrows.
Picking up her sketching pencils, she blocked in Matt’s face and dotted his temples with hawk feathers, laid flat. Enough to give him the bird of prey look without being garish and distracting from the tweed, cravat, and suit of clothes he’d be modeling.
The phone rang. Even though she was okay with being naked while sketching, she pulled a towel over her body before answering. Strange, wasn’t she?
It was her friend, Kerry Mills from Hawaii, a blond bombshell professional surfer and swimwear model. It didn’t seem so long ago when Kerry had taught her how to surf, and the two of them were bonding over boyfriend gossip and cheating on their diets with dollops of vanilla ice cream over hot fudge brownies.
“Hey, sweetie,” Kerry said. “Your summer hot enough?”
“I’m wilting.” Avery put on a cheerful voice and laughed. “Took a shower after running through Central Park.”
“At high noon? You know what they say about mad dogs.” Kerry chuckled.
“Actually, I had a mad dog with me.” Avery wrapped the towel around her and slouched onto her sofa. The shades were drawn so she was in no danger of anyone spying on her from the high rise across the street.
“Oh, and is it a he? A male dog?” Kerry picked up on the slight innuendo.
“Yes, and no, I’m not in heat, despite the heat wave.”
Even with the air conditioning blowing, Avery could feel the sheen of sweat slicking over her face. At least the hot shower had taken the chill of Brando’s death from her bones.
“Tell me all,” Kerry said encouragingly.
“Actually, I told him off, and no, he’s nothing interesting. Just that Detective Burnett with no news and no clue.”
“I wouldn’t call the man who saved your life just anybody,” Kerry said. “So, he’s your training partner now? Is that a new thing?”
