Page 40 of Triggered By Love
Could a rival gang member blame Brando for saving them? Except he hadn’t been able to find any gang connections to the hitman—a Salvadorian immigrant who worked in a dive bar.
Meanwhile, Avery had no enemies that he could find. She grew up in Westchester County, in the suburbs, where she went to an elite private school. Her father was a retired general, and her mother was a homemaker who dabbled in the fine arts. As she’d told him, her four brothers loved her.
The one new piece of information about her sister, Harper, deserved checking out. Still, it was hard to imagine a younger sister ordering a hit and taking out the boyfriend by accident.
Which left men Avery had dated or rejected. He needed to figure out who Mr. Wraparound was. Avery had clammed up when he asked, and their conversation had been casual. However, Avery’s body language was defensive, and she appeared like she wanted to escape.
What did Wraparound have on her, and what did he request?
And then there was Saul Guillory, the barista. The young man was cagey and insisted his beating was a misunderstanding. Of what? He was seen with Avery dropping her off at the bar, and according to Avery, he was supposed to join her after parking his car.
Did Avery know his brother was a model? Had Garm ever modeled for Avery? Did Saul blame Avery for Garm’s death or was he spying on her for a competitor?
Perhaps he reported her location and then got his wires crossed. Or maybe he reneged and was taught a lesson.
Jason would do a complete background on Saul and Harper, but he also had to follow up on Wraparound. He glanced up at the fire escape and caught a glimpse of the man’s profile as he went back into the building across the street. He was wearing aviator sunglasses. It was a hot summer’s day, and many people wore sunglasses.
But something wasn’t right.
They were the wrong type. Old man sunglasses the young and fashionable wouldn’t be caught dead wearing, unless they were a decoy.
Jason picked up one of the free community newspapers from a storefront and leaned against the side of the coffee shop. He flipped through the paper, lifting it to hide his face and watched the building’s glass door entrance.
No one matching the description of the man with the aviator sunglasses exited, but several cars pulled in and out of the underground garage.
He was sniffing up the wrong tree. Maybe Avery was right. No one had bothered her for almost a year. It could be that she wasn’t the intended victim.
Jason replayed the movement of the shooter in his mind. He’d reacted with a shout when he spotted the sweaty man stand and raise his gun.
Did he shout before the gunshots or after?
Could it be that he’d distracted the gunman who was on the other side of the runway from him?
Pain lanced through his heart, and a gasp choked his throat.
What if neither Avery nor Brando were the target? What if the man was shooting at someone else and missed? Could the target have been Alida who was sitting next to him?
He closed his eyes and replayed the moment that was etched forever in his mind.
The sweaty guy with the ill-fitted suit had stared at him. That was what had drawn his attention. The eerie feeling of being watched had given him away. He’d been sitting next to Alida. He had been investigating Congressman Bill Overton’s donor, and Alida worked publicity for Overton. She dropped names as frequently as a man like Matt Swanson dropped his pants.
Overton was a big catch for her because he had presidential aspirations. Not this election cycle, but in time for a change of parties after Steele’s second term. Which was why the donors flocked to the powerful congressman.
If Alida were the target, then he’d screwed up by killing the shooter. Even worse if he were the target and someone wanted him to stop investigating the male models’ deaths.
The thudding of blood through Jason’s head was almost too much to endure. If he were the real target, then he’d signed Brando’s death warrant by his presence at the show.
Jason wiped cold sweat from his brow and dropped the newspaper from his shaking hands.
It couldn’t be him. He was a cop. No one would dare go after him at a fashion show, knowing he was armed. Nope. The man had been after either Avery or Brando. Without more attempts, it was likely Brando’s past held the clues.
Avery and Matt exited the coffee shop, surrounded by the film crew. They walked hand in hand like lovers did, with her leaning toward him, and he attentively laughing and unable to keep his eyes off her.
The camera crew passed Jason’s position, still focused on Avery who giggled flirtatiously at something Matt said. The crowd parted for them, and a blur of yellow jumped the curb, tires squealing.
“Watch out!” Jason shouted. He rammed himself against Avery, shoving her scant inches from the gleaming chrome bumper. A series of thuds and a crashing sound followed by a shower of broken glass ended with an eruption of a nearby car alarm and screams from the bystanders.
“You okay?” Jason did a quick check of Avery who nodded, still alive and able to respond.
