Triggered by Love

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Triggered by Love Page 13

by Rachelle Ayala


  The main house had been expanded several times since the colonial days, and the many angles meant places without security camera coverage. True, Chase could have audited all of them, but he didn’t know about the secret passages and hiding places like she did.

  An elderly servant told her long ago the house was a stop on the Underground Railroad, and she’d shown Avery the hiding places behind cabinets and bookcases.

  She had already showered and changed into a pair of jeans and a tie-dyed tank top, so she pulled on a light olive-drab jacket, touched up her makeup, and ran a brush through her hair. After she applied bug spray, she looped her overnight bag over her shoulder and snuck from her room into an alcove underneath the stairs.

  The TV blasting sounds of a NASCAR race provided ample cover for her to tap open the panel and replace it. She bent low and passed into the dark passage, lit only by her cell phone light.

  No one else knew of her hiding place, and even though she was in a hurry, she checked to make sure her box of childhood secrets was safe. It lay undisturbed, dusty and filled with items a packrat would covet. Bottle caps, candy wrappers, ticket stubs, price tags, and a diary itemizing them.

  Leaving the box well hidden underneath a floorboard, Avery crawled the rest of the way and moved a brick aside to activate the trapdoor. After shimmying down a steel pipe, she landed lightly on the lush lawn behind the property.

  As long as she kept low to the ground, she would be out of range of the cameras. The upstairs light in her brother’s suite was on, but she’d only be seen if he happened to look out the window.

  Once she cleared the row of hedges, she climbed the wall at the location where she’d knocked back a few stones for footholds.

  The apple orchard gave her cover, and she darted from tree to tree, making her way to the edge of the property. A dark-colored sedan drove slowly over the ruts with its lights off.

  Her heart skidded to a stop, and she hid behind a gnarly old tree. Why would Jason keep his lights off? And furthermore, she didn’t know what car he’d be driving.

  Still.

  She was probably being paranoid. It wasn’t as if anyone knew she was up here at The Manor.

  The car idled closer, and Avery didn’t dare peek in case the driver spotted her.

  She pulled out her phone and texted Jason.

  What kind of car are you driving?

  His text returned almost immediately.

  Black Dodge Hellcat Challenger.

  The car was black, but it was a sedan. She had no clue what a Dodge Hellcat Challenger looked like, but it sounded expensive. What was a cop doing driving something like that?

  It’s not the car you were driving in the city, is it?

  Nope. That’s an undercover cop car. This one’s mine.

  She texted. If you’re idling in the orchard, honk two times to let me know.

  His message came back. That’s not me. Has he seen you yet?

  Don’t think so. But he’s coming closer. What do I do?

  Stay still. I’m on my way.

  Avery pressed her back against the tree. Sweat prickled her brow, and her heart was jumping up her throat.

  Who would be skulking around the orchard?

  Who even knew she was up here?

  The car came closer, and she slid slowly down onto her knees, hoping the brush around the tree would hide her. The power window lowered with a whir, and she could feel a pair of eyes searching for her.

  It was dusk, getting too dark for sunglasses, and she was too petrified to peek. The car’s motor rumbled, slowing down as the tires crunched over the leaves and twigs littering the dirt road.

  She didn’t dare move, in case her motion drew his attention, and she was glad she’d pulled on an olive-drab jacket. But her overnighter was a bright turquoise, and it was sitting in plain view a few yards from her position.

  The creaking of a car door swinging open had her heart in her mouth. A mosquito buzzed in her face, but she didn’t move to slap it. She heard the approaching footsteps, and her body trembled in flight or fight mode. It was all she could do not to jump out of her hiding place and run screaming like a quail flushed by a persistent spaniel.

  Stay or go? Stay or go? Had he seen her? She didn’t hear more than one set of footsteps. No dog panting, no commands. No baying of a bloodhound.

  Another car approached, bouncing over the ruts in the mud. Please, please, please be Jason. Please, put on the siren or something.

  Whoever was stalking her ran back to his car. The door slammed, and the car, which had been idling, revved. It threw up clods and a plume of dust and cut across toward the road.

  The second car, a black muscle car, probably the Hellcat Challenger, sped toward her instead of chasing the sedan.

  The muscle car braked to a stop, and Jason jumped out with his gun drawn.

  “Avery? Avery, you okay?” He stepped toward the turquoise overnighter while whipping his gun from side to side.

  “I’m behind the tree.” Her voice squeaked. “Don’t shoot.”

  She raised both hands up and slowly appeared from behind the old tree.

  “Avery.” He grabbed her hand and gave her a swift assessing glance. “You okay?”

  “Yes, but why’d you let him get away? I thought you’d chase him down.”

  “I wanted to be sure you’re safe. Who was it?”

  “I didn’t see him, and I don’t recognize the car.”

  He picked up her overnighter. “It was a black Lexus ES-350. Do you know anyone who drives one? Your family?”

  “No, I don’t think so, but I can check. Why didn’t you go after it?”

  “More concerned with you, babe.” He pulled her toward the muscle car. “How did I know you weren’t lying in a pool of blood?”

  Avery shivered, despite the balmy evening. The last time she was in a pool of blood was Brando’s blood.

  “Oh, crap,” Jason said. He drew her into his arms and rubbed her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  “No, you didn’t. It’s okay. I can’t dwell on it forever.”

  “You sure you’re okay?” He kissed the top of her head. “I need to watch what I say.”

  “No, you don’t. Never watch what you say,” she replied. “That’s what my family does all the time. Watch what they say, and it drives me crazy. Like they’re tiptoeing around me all the time.”

  “Hey, they love you.” He opened the passenger door and helped her in. “Now, about that cozy little hole in the wall? You like Italian?”

  “Love Italian.”

  “Great. Because I’m half.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gino’s was indeed a hole in the wall. It was farther upstate on the crossroads in the woods squeezed between a gas station and a motel catering to fishermen and hunters.

  “I’m impressed,” Avery said when she stepped out onto the gravel parking area.

  “You should be underwhelmed.” Jason draped his arm over her shoulder. “But it’s safe here.”

  She felt secure when he touched her, holding her close to him. After that scare in the orchard, she needed to have that closeness. Jason’s solid muscular body was like a shield, and the way he touched her, guiding her while alert and scouting the surroundings, let her know she was important to him.

  “Do you come here often?” She noted the clapboard building and the rusty cars parked nearby. Hunter-green curtains were parted over the diner’s window, and the hand-painted script needed a touchup.

  Jason nudged her toward the red-painted door hidden underneath an awning. “Only when I have a woman I want to impress.”

  He could be impressing women every week, or he was being sarcastic. She’d reserve judgment after seeing how familiar the staff was with him.

  They entered the dimly lit interior, and Jason was immediately bear-hugged by a huge man with a thick white handlebar mustache.

  “Jase, you in trouble or something?” The man squeezed all the air from Jason’s lungs,
or so it appeared.

  “Always,” he replied after the bear let go.

  The bear man turned to Avery with a friendly grin. “Bella, molta bella.”

  She liked him immediately. He had that magnetic, yet warm personality of someone who was sincere and comfortable with his own skin.

  “This is Avery Cockburn,” Jason said by way of introduction. “Avery, my uncle, Gino Zanetti.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said.

  Gino opened his arms for a hug, and Avery was happy to give him one. “My dear Avery, welcome to the world-famous Gino’s Pizzeria. As you can see, my nephew thinks highly of you.”

  “Does he come here often?” she asked as sweetly as she could, hooking a glance at Jason who looked like he’d swallowed a prune.

  “Never seen him with a beautiful woman.” Gino let her go and crossed his heart.

  Yeah, right. His uncle was covering for him, but why did she care? She took Jason’s hand and walked by the walls laden with old black-and-white photos of Gino taken with famous boxers and other celebrities.

  “I bet he says that to all the women,” she said while Gino grabbed the menus and led them to a corner table.

  “You’re the first and only.” Jason’s deep voice burred while he pulled a chair for her.

  She noticed he took the seat with his back against the wall and glanced at the entrance as well as the other customers seated near the window. Always vigilant.

  “This place looks well loved,” Avery said, smoothing her hand over the red-and-white checked tablecloth. The scent of Parmesan cheese and tomato sauce, the flickering candles dripping wax over old Chianti bottles, and the rustic wooden chairs made the restaurant warm and cozy.

  “It is loved by generations of Zanettis.” He looked wistfully at the paintings on the wall. “See that lighthouse?”

  “Yes, it’s a beacon of light over the rough seas.”

  “My mother did all the landscapes.”

  “She’s talented.” Avery craned her neck at the impressionistic blots of flowering trees and mountains under moonlight, and one of a carnival with red-and-white striped tents and a glittering Ferris wheel.

  “She was,” Jason said. He fixed his gaze on the menu as if he’d never seen it before.

  It still hurt. That much she could tell. She wasn’t close enough to him to pry, and yet, her heart ached for him. There was a story behind it, and she wished she could reach out and take some of the burden from him.

  The awkward moment passed when Gino returned with a breadbasket. “I will cook anything you want, Miss Avery, on or off the menu.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to.” Avery opened the menu. “I’m sure everything here is delicious.

  “Then you’ll have to come back and try everything,” Gino said. “I’m hoping you fall in love with my restaurant so I can see my nephew more often.”

  “He’s a busy boy.” Avery smiled and gave Jason a wink.

  “You keep me busy.” At least the twinkle was back in his eyes. “Since we’re working our way through the menu, I bet you’d like the chicken piccata.”

  “Sounds great, along with a small dinner salad,” Avery replied. She hoped she wasn’t hurting Gino’s feelings, because the sign on the wall bragged about the award-winning spaghetti with jumbo meatballs, and she was sure he was about to suggest it.

  “Spaghetti with mooseballs for me,” Jason said, pointing to the award. “Make the sauce extra tangy.”

  He ordered a Guinness stout, and Avery had her signature Corona with a wedge of lemon.

  “Thanks for ordering the chicken,” Avery said, toasting Jason. “How did you know I’m watching my weight?”

  “Fashion designer, former model? Forgive me for stereotyping.” He flashed her a cheeky grin. “So, sweetheart, what will your brother do when he finds you gone?”

  Avery checked her phone. “He hasn’t texted. I told them I was exhausted.”

  “That mansion’s like a fortress. How’d you manage your getaway?”

  “I know the secret passageways.” She turned off her phone and put it back into her purse. “Some he’s not even aware of.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

  “Former Underground Railroad stop.” Avery took several swallows of the beer and settled back in her chair.

  She’d been on edge for so long, she didn’t remember how to let her guard down, but sitting here in a remote restaurant far from Manhattan, she could afford to let go of the constant anxiety.

  “Must be historical.” Jason’s eyes sparkled with interest. “I’d like to see it someday. Do you guys have a bomb shelter, too?”

  “I don’t know how bombproof, but I’m sure we have things stashed away,” Avery said.

  “Guns and ammo to defend it too?”

  She squirmed and took another sip of her beer. She shouldn’t have disclosed this to a cop who was mostly a stranger. What if he raided it?

  “My family’s wealthy, as you can tell, and there are always threats, especially with my father running for Congress,” she said. “But Chase is over the top. He’s convinced there are enemies out there who wish to hurt my father by hurting one of us.”

  “Doesn’t seem over the top to me, given what’s happened.”

  “Matt Swanson could have been the target,” she said.

  “What does your gut tell you?”

  His question made her gut clench, but the truth was, if someone wanted to hurt her, they would have done so already. She was probably seeing patterns where none existed, and Jason’s paranoia wasn’t helping. “I just don’t know why anyone would want to hurt me.”

  “Other than to get at your father or maybe one of your brothers. How about your sister?”

  There he went again. Always probing. Even on a dinner date. But then again, maybe this wasn’t a date, but a witness inquisition.

  “Harper hated the overprotectiveness. That’s why she’s on the West Coast.”

  “Doesn’t mean they can’t get to her there.”

  “She’s using a pseudonym,” Avery lowered her voice. “Leave her out of this.”

  Jason’s whistle was low and spooky. “Okay, then she’s out of the picture. What about that man you were talking to last night? Looked overfriendly to me.”

  “Are you rating my dates?” She took a breezy tone, not wanting to tell him it wasn’t his business.

  “I didn’t like his body language,” he replied, not stumbling over her provocative remark. “Is he a good friend or a business associate.”

  Avery took a sip of her beer. Her foot jittered underneath the table. This was part of the investigation, but since he was on her side, she’d let him know Larry was harmless.

  “Not a friend and not in business. He’s my professor’s son, and he wants me to do a private showing for him.”

  “I didn’t know you’re still in school.”

  “I’m not, but I owe this man. He gave me a start in modeling. He taught me everything he knew about design.”

  “A mentor. Why would he want a private showing?” Jason slathered butter over the bread from the basket, but his hand clenched and squished the bread.

  “He’s not in good health,” Avery said. “Doesn’t want to go to the Manhattan Fashion Week and sit among the crowd.”

  Jason nodded pensively, as if she’d given him a clue. “You should give him a private show. I’d like to meet this man who had such an influence over you.”

  “I’ve too much to do before the show, and I’m not sure Matt will agree to do it. He’s only doing Fashion Week for the publicity. Big football star. Lots of photo ops. Possible endorsement deals.” Avery reached for the bread before remembering she couldn’t indulge in the fresh, steamy bread.

  He held his buttered bread to her lips, tempting her. “Go ahead. You could use a little loving, and what’s more loving than fresh buttered bread?”

  And just like that, her mouth watered. She could think of several things more loving, and she was staring at
one delectable hunk—not just the bread.

  “Ahem, Jason, I can’t.”

  “Of course, you can.” He was so persuasive, but then, a good detective would have those mesmerizing skills.

  She bit into the bread and almost moaned. After finishing the wedge, she drained her bottle of beer.

  Maybe not the brightest thing, because Jason was still after answers, and she couldn’t afford to let him know why the professor was so demanding.

  “If you need a model for the private show, I can do it,” he said, surprising her.

  “You have any modeling experience?”

  “None needed.” He puffed his chest cockily. “I’m sure I can swagger as well as Matt.”

  “Actually, real male models don’t swagger.” A giggle percolated from Avery’s throat at the image of Jason Burnett swaggering naked with everything hanging.

  “You’re laughing at me now,” he said in an aggrieved voice. “I’m giving you notice I will not do that heroin addict lazy walk, all loose-limbed and flaccid.”

  “Sure you’re never flaccid?” The giggles erupted into laughter, the better to cover up the heroin addict comment.

  “Never, and I can prove it to you.” The smoky look in his heavy-lidded eyes held promises that had her pulse racing. What would she like him to prove?

  “Then it’s a deal. You can model for my private showing.”

  “And prove my lack of flaccidity.”

  “Tit for tat.”

  He made a kissing motion, and her nipples took notice as warmth pooled in her belly. How would he feel up against her and all over her? How did his mere words arouse her to this extent?

  The moment was thankfully interrupted when the waitress brought her salad and refilled the breadbasket.

  Jason ordered her another beer, and she really shouldn’t have it—carbohydrates and all that, but after the day she had, at least one problem was settled.

  “You’ll have to practice walking like a firefighter,” she said. “Part of the private showing is to strip in turnout pants.”

  “For the professor?” Jason’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling.

  “He has strange tastes, yes. You’re not going to arrest him, are you?”

 

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