Page 19 of Triggered By Love
“I’ll just set these on your table,” Jason said. “I don’t mean to intrude.”
“Oh, I’m sure we have plenty for you, don’t we, Ave? Do you mind if Detective Burnett joins us? I know him from the investigation.”
Avery had the caught-with-a-hand-in-the-cookie-jar expression on her pretty face, although Jason wasn’t sure why she’d look so guilty.
Before she could answer, Joan said, “He might have more information about, you know.”
He set the food on the table, aware of Avery’s gaze burning on his face. “Uh, Mrs. Bonet, I can’t stay. I was responding to a call next door, and I’m still on duty.”
“Did you catch the guy hurting Miss Renzi?” Mrs. Bonet filled a glass of water from her refrigerator water dispenser and handed it to him.
“No. She wasn’t forthcoming with information.”
“That’s too bad,” Mrs. Bonet said. “Such a lovely girl. And she’s a therapist too. She should know better.”
“Joan, maybe we shouldn’t talk about Tatiana’s business,” Avery said. “She might have a good reason not to press charges.”
“There are no good reasons,” Mrs. Bonet declared hotly. “I’ll speak to Tatiana again. It pains me that she counsels clients with anger management problems but lets this go.”
“It’s her private life,” Avery said.
“Sounds like she doesn’t follow her own advice,” Jason cut in. “You mentioned she’s a therapist?”
“Yes, that’s exactly it,” Mrs. Bonet said. “It’s frustrating, but she won’t deal with it. I hear the violence, and I see the results. She’s a good girl, and my heart breaks for her.”
“Is it always the same man?” Jason didn’t know why he pumped for more information. Actually, he did. He was just as pissed off at men who hurt women as Mrs. Bonet was. Actually, he hated bullies of all sorts.
“I can’t be sure, but yes, I believe it’s that man with the Italian suits. He’s always wearing wraparounds, so it’s hard to identify him. He’s average height, build, Caucasian. Brown hair and nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Have I run into him before?” Avery asked.
“I sure hope not,” Mrs. Bonet huffed.
Jason’s phone rang. “Sorry, ladies. I have to take this call.”
They excused him, and he left Joan’s apartment. It was his partner, and he wanted Jason to meet him to go over the forensic report of a crime they were investigating.
“You talking to a therapist yet?” Blade reminded Jason of his threat. He’d already gone on several investigations with his partner without making progress.
“Yeah, Tatiana Renzi, anger management. I’m calling her office for an appointment,” Jason replied. “Good enough for you?”
* * *
Avery’s facewas hot when she peeled off her linen suit jacket. The summer heat permeated into the minimally air-conditioned building. Joan’s apartment was part of a turn of the twentieth century brownstone without central air, and the noisy window units were anything but adequate.
At least that was Avery’s explanation for why she felt so hot, and it had nothing to do with the detective’s brash and direct manners or the guilt swarming her from her last encounter. She should never forget he saved her life, and instead, she punched him and told him off. She should show her gratitude, but at the same time, it might encourage him, and how then would she resist his raw animal magnetism and the penetrating way he looked at her?
Flustered and jumpy, she washed her hands and grabbed cutlery from the kitchen drawer. “I brought your favorite lasagna and a cool iceberg lettuce salad. My brother cut into the casserole.”
“Don’t worry. There’s quite enough for both of us and that young detective.” Joan embraced Avery in a warm hug that lasted a few moments longer than motherly. When she finally let go, she asked, “Is something going on between you and Detective Burnett?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Avery said. “He was investigating next door and ran into me in the hallway. Right before I knocked on your door, he grabbed the food because he didn’t want you to think he wasn’t a gentleman.”
The edges of Joan’s lips turned down. “I suspected as much, but I had to be friendly in case he dug up any leads in, you know.”
Recently, Avery and Joan had an agreement not to mention Brando’s name in reference to his murder, but to only focus on happier memories. Both of them had completely failed, of course, because any memory of Brando brought back the pain and anguish they’d piled up over the year of mourning him.
“It’s a cold case and not a priority,” Avery said. “Let’s remember Brando’s last birthday. We took a trip to Montauk, the three of us.”
