Page 24 of Triggered By Love
Jason stood rooted to the spot, staring after her.
“That guy is weird,” Saul said after turning the corner.
“He’s a detective.”
“Still, I was shocked when I saw you with him.”
“Really? Why?” Avery’s heartbeat hadn’t settled down all evening.
“Dude’s always following you around,” Saul said. “It’s like whenever I drop you off or pick you up, he’s there.”
Avery swallowed and pursed her lips, not sure how she felt about it. “At least he’s a policeman. I should feel safe.”
“Yeah, guess so, but he looks just as dangerous as the other guy.” Saul switched lanes, almost sideswiping the limo that had blocked her way.
The chauffeur flipped him the bird, and Saul braked hard to let the car swoop by.
“What other guy?” Avery asked, noting that chauffeurs these days had no manners. Her father would never allow one to lean against the car or make rude gestures.
“No one,” Saul said, seemingly spooked by the near accident. “Forget I said anything.”
“I can’t.” Avery’s nerves were on instant alert. “What other guy? Seriously. I need to know.”
“I misspoke, Miss Cockburn. All limo drivers look the same. You know how they hang out waiting for their bosses.”
“You’d tell me if I were in danger, wouldn’t you?” Avery flashed him a smile.
“Of course. You’re my sunshine on a cloudy day,” he said, reminding her of the line used by her photographer back in her bikini modeling days. Not very original, but they had to say something to get a reaction, and some just liked the sound of their own voice.
Did Saul ever attend one of her photoshoots? And if he’d been watching, who else could have been lurking in her past?
Chapter Nine
Jason studiedthe image of the man with the wraparound glasses, trying to imprint the shape of his nose and the curl of his lips so he could recognize him on impact.
He flicked back and forth between the grainy images and pictures of various celebrities or movers and shakers he’d investigated in the past. There was the Hampton crowd where candidates went for fundraising, and the many private Billionaires’ Row parties where favors were traded and deals made. Clusters of influence peddlers and agents hooking dollars up with power. Which one of the perennial partiers was responsible for the deaths?
It was hard to tell with the grainy image captured by the security camera. He swiped to close the image, but hit the arrow key instead. The wide-eyed and very dead face of one of the male models stared at him. He was one of three who’d been found dead near the vicinity of Congressman Overton’s parties. There was no physical link or witnesses placing him at the fundraiser. The body was found in the alley behind the ballroom and had been stripped and robbed. Cause of death was meth overdose.
The young man was pale and thin, with a distinctive cleft on his shadowy chin. His face was scraped, like it had been dragged across broken glass, and bits and pieces of debris were stuck near his hairline.
Jason flicked to the next image. Same angular look, but this man was dark-haired and tanned. The haircut was fresh and stylish, so these were not street bums, and this one had a Viking tattoo on his shoulder—a Berserker brand of sacrifice. The skin was cut and pierced by some sort of thin plastic straw, woven into a pattern.
The third man was found dumped in the East River and was unidentified because his face had been eaten by fish. The only reason Jason lumped him in with the male models was the collar around his neck that resembled a bearded lizard’s fringe of pointy scales.
A car rattled to the curb across the street, and Jason looked up in time to catch Avery streaking out of the brownstone. She jumped into the waiting car.
He ran across the street and shouted for her to stop. The car screeched from the spot, barely missing him. His phone went flying, and he was unable to take a picture of the car or the driver. He did, however, catch the plate numbers.
The driver looked familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen the young man. Brown hair, medium build, your average-looking New Yorker in his twenties or early thirties.
Jason jogged back to his car and ran the plate. The car was registered to Saul Guillory. No priors. A few speeding tickets. As he was running the profile, it hit him that Saul was the barista who was friends with Avery and more importantly, he had the same surname as the male model with the Viking tattoo.
What was the connection? Or was he reading too much into a coincidence? The barista was probably a friend of Avery and giving her a ride home. It wasn’t Jason’s business who Avery hung out with.
He took a calming breath. But it was no use. He had to know if Avery was safe. He’d do a drive-by and see if her light was on. Nothing else.
He wouldn’t invade her privacy or use his badge to get past the doorman.
