Page 4 of Triggered By Love
“No case is cold,” he answered grimly. “It might be buried in the background, but it’s always there. New what-ifs, theories, angles. If I come across something, I look for patterns, things that stand out or don’t make sense. The guy who ordered the hit is still out there.”
“How sure are you that Brando wasn’t the target?” The words tasted bitter in her mouth, and she wasn’t trying to deflect the grinding guilt she marinated in. But it was damn tiring looking over her shoulder and wondering which of her competitors or frenemies, or even people she might have known in her past hated her enough to take her life.
“Wish I didn’t kill the shooter,” he said. “Then we could have found out who hired him.”
Except he was a two-bit drug user and was probably randomly accosted on the street to do the job—not a professional high-priced hitman. Disposable. Why?
“We’ve been over this too many times.” She sighed. “Going around in circles. It’s been a year, and no one has tried again. Maybe it was random. Gang initiation or something. It was my first fashion show as a new designer, and he might have picked up one of my flyers, decided to make his mark.”
Jason’s brows were drawn and his lips tight.
She could tell he didn’t like the not knowing.
They exited the indoor range—the only one in Manhattan—and were immediately on the busy street walking toward Fifth Avenue.
Avery didn’t want to have coffee with Jason. Didn’t want to stir up emotions better left for dead. The man she loved was dead. The whirlwind romance that started when he’d carried her out of a burning building had turned to dust and ashes, and the family she thought she’d have would never be.
There would be no Mrs. Avery Bonet even if they put the killer behind bars. No firehouse potlucks. No Christmas-decorated fire truck toy drives. No private strip show in turnout pants and fire gear, and no waking up late on a Sunday morning with nothing but Brando and brunch on the agenda.
“You have a point.” Jason opened the door to The Big Bean, a trendy coffee house that roasted their own beans.
“What point?” Avery asked, stepping into the atmosphere of fresh brewed coffee, infused with the comforting sounds of frothing and grinding and the muted chatter of young, urban professionals.
“The circular part.” He made a twirling motion. “If we stop thinking about our theories, we would be more open to noticing something we missed. Maybe it’s like a problem we have to sleep on.”
“Sleep on,” she found herself repeating, and her gaze moved silkily to his eyes—medium-brown with soft glints of golden specks. Wary and observant.
“Yeah.” His voice burred, and his eyelids half-closed, going full-on bedroom. “Have dinner with me. Tonight.”
“I don’t know.” She felt the stirring of attraction war with the impossibility of this situation. She could never carry on with Detective Burnett as if he were any other man. He was too deeply embedded with the worst thing that ever happened to her. Too involved with the trauma. Too tied in with the aftermath: the funeral, the investigation, the cold case.
“Friends.” He put out his hand to shake. “Let’s start with coffee.”
“We’re already here,” she muttered, letting her hand disappear in his firm and protective grip. “I don’t know if I can forget.”
“No need to forget, but for now, let’s put it in a box and leave it be.”
“You’ll take it out and worry over it in your spare time,” she accused, knowing it was next to impossible to pretend this was a new beginning.
What was she doing entertaining the thought of starting over? Brando would always be present. His dying body soaking her with his blood. Being ripped from his side and thrown into a shroud of grief and regret.
It wasn’t Jason’s fault, she reminded herself.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, comforting her. “We’ll figure it out when we least expect. For now, let it rest.”
“Okay,” she said, knowing she could never let Brando’s death rest. Yet, she was doing no good worrying and fretting. Maybe letting go would clear her mind and the answer would present itself. Maybe it was staring in her face.
“Avery Cockburn, meet Jason Burnett, your best friend,” Jason said, guiding her to the coffee line. “How’s your day going?”
“Fine,” she replied. “Coffee?”
Chapter Three
Jason shieldedAvery in the coffee line while keeping a watch on the glass storefront and doorway. He knew he was standing too close, but it wasn’t to be creepy, at least not by intention.
Asking her to dinner had crossed a line. He’d never had much of a filter, but his role was to protect Avery—well, not officially, since Brando’s case was no longer a priority.
He was still responsible. He’d gone to the fashion show as a guest of one of the promoters, because he’d been hearing noises on the street concerning a longtime congressman in a neighboring district. There had been several questionable deaths associated with fundraising parties. The investigations had been stymied by the mayor’s office. The official verdict was accidental drug overdoses, but a string of three within a year warranted suspicion—at least in Jason’s mind.
