Triggered by Love

by Rachelle Ayala

  “No. That would be falling into the trap. The note threatens both of them, although Matt is making light of it on social media and milking it for all he can. They’re proclaiming him a hero for saving Avery from the taxicab.”

  Jason didn’t care if Matt got the credit. “I’ve been investigating Congressman Overton. Richie is a bundler for his father’s political contributions. Remember that case of the male model found dead at a fundraiser?”

  “Chief concluded they were accidental overdoses,” Blade said, still spewing the party line. “By the way, he’s asking why you turned off your phone.”

  “It’s my day off. What did he want?”

  “Said you were off duty, and you’re not assigned to the attempted hit and run.”

  “I was there on the scene.”

  “Right, tailing Avery Cockburn when he told you to stand down.”

  “Did you tell him I’m dating her?”

  “She’s supposed to be dating the football star,” Blade said. “Nice try.”

  “Don’t you find it interesting that Avery, whose father is running for Congress, is connected to one of the dead models?”

  “Which one?”

  “Garm Guillory was the brother of Avery’s friend, the barista who got beat up outside of Lushpuppies.”

  “Interesting,” Blade said. “How close is Avery to this barista?”

  “Friendly, and I think she’s trying to help him get into fashion photography.”

  “Okay, but this connection is stretched thin. What’s the other one?”

  “More direct,” Jason said. “You know the woman I was dating, Alida Adams. She’s Swanson’s publicist and Avery’s a client, too. Alida put on the fundraiser for Overton’s reelection where another model was found dead. She’s angling to get involved with Avery’s father through her.”

  “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

  “Not when you’re doing publicity. There’s no harm in being the power consultant for both sides,” Jason said. “It’s all a big game as far as the Hampton crowd is concerned.”

  “Then Avery’s your link,” Blade said. “You better keep her up there wherever you are and let me do the digging.”

  “I should be the one.”

  “Unless you want to trade places with me,” Blade said. “Leave Avery in my capable hands. I’m sure I can keep her both busy and safe.”

  Jason refused to let his partner goad him. He’d square things up with him later. He wasn’t supposed to be emotionally involved with a witness, so he’d better remember well and act like he didn’t catch the innuendos.

  “It’s better for you to talk to Alida and Matt,” he conceded. “I’ll track down Richie and get Avery to spill all she knows.”

  He hung up when he heard Avery knock on the door.

  “Are you okay?” she asked sharply. “What happened?”

  Either she had a radar for trouble, or she was peeved at his brusqueness when he walked out on her.

  Feeling guilty, he tucked his phone under his armpit and wrapped a towel around his waist. “I’ll let you have the bathroom. Sorry.”

  He opened the door, and she rushed in, bumping into him. “Damon called. He went back to my apartment to look for me. He said they trashed the place and stole my design notebook. All my sketches are gone.”

  “Did you have them backed up anywhere?”

  “No, you don’t get it.” She practically shrieked. “Those are brainstorming sketches. Ideas. They’re the genesis of my designs. I have to go back.”

  “It could be dangerous,” he said. “Let me call Damon and speak with him. The notebook is gone, and they might have set a trap for you, knowing you’d run right back.”

  “I don’t care. I can’t run away from my problems. Besides, I have a meeting with Ivanna to go over the model lineup and measurements. I still have to check the final fitting and match the accessories with their makeup. There’s too much to do. That’s why I ran away from Chase, because I knew he’d keep me from going back to the city.” Her words tumbled out so fast she could barely catch her breath.

  Jason put his arms around her and held her still. He kissed the side of her head. “We have to be smart about this. I’ll go with you, but first, I want to speak to Damon. Can you tap his phone number in for me?”

  “He’s really upset.”

  “You won’t be able to avoid him if you go back.” Jason handed her his phone. “Call him for me.”

  “Fine. All of you are overprotective,” Avery grumbled but tapped in the number. She handed the phone back to Jason and shoved her way into the tiny bathroom.

  The door locked with a click.

  “Damon Cockburn?” Jason said when the call was answered. “I’m Detective Burnett. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “Hold it there,” Damon said. “You kidnapped my sister from my parents’ house.”

  “Are you interested in your sister’s safety? Have you thought about who would want to target your sister?”

  “Avery doesn’t have any enemies. I keep an eye out for her, and I haven’t seen anyone suspicious.”

  “Yet someone is targeting her, wouldn’t you say?”

  The other man paused and huffed. “She’s been under a lot of stress, and I don’t want to feed into the paranoia. As far as I can tell, the threats are against men who are dating her. That quarterback is using her for publicity, and he claims he got a threatening note.”

  “True, but if Avery’s so safe, who broke into her apartment?”

  “I didn’t tell Avery, but I saw her model wrangler, Ivanna Chu, leaving the building. I wondered why she was lurking around, especially since Avery was out of town. She has a motive because Avery critiqued some of her designs and rejected them from the show.”

  “Whoa, there. You’re suspecting the model wrangler? Tell me about her.”

  “She’s one of those social climbers. Hanging on to my sister to steal her ideas then talking bad about her behind her back. Last week, I caught her snooping around the building. When I confronted her, she said Avery gave her a key and she was dropping off gowns.”

  “No reason to trash the place and steal the designs,” Jason said. “If they were so important, why did Avery leave the notebook?”

  “She’d just come back from the emergency room, and my brother Chase threw her clothes into a bag. He practically hog-marched her out of the apartment,” Damon said. “Look, I can protect my sister. She can stay in my apartment and work from there.”

  What he said made a lot of sense. Avery needed to get back to work, and the threat to Matt Swanson was tangentially related to her. Someone, likely an old lover, wanted Avery for himself.

  “I’ll stay at Avery’s place to trap anyone who makes another try,” Jason said. “By the way, if someone is threatening Swanson, do you think it might be one of Avery’s old boyfriends? Who was she dating before Brando?”

  “Why don’t you ask her? Put my sister on. I want to speak to her.”

  “You’re not worried about any stalkers or ex-boyfriends?”

  “Put my sister on.” Damon’s voice was firm.

  Jason hung up instead.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Avery didn’t want to speak to Jason on the way back to New York City. He was a brute and thoroughly rude. Ordering her around and acting as if nothing had happened the night before.

  Nothing of import.

  She’d just as soon forget her temporary insanity. It had to do with the Chianti and tiramisu. Nothing more. She’d acted out, and it had meant absolutely nothing.

  “You’re not at all worried about the threat Matt Swanson received,” Jason’s flat voice stated rather than asked.

  “He’s a big boy.” She crossed her arms and huffed. “He’s getting all the drama he wants.”

  “What about anyone stalking you?”

  “I’m too boring to stalk, and I don’t want to talk.”

  “Since I have you as a captive audience, I’ll go through what
I’m thinking.”

  “La, la, la, la, la, I’m not listening.” She turned her head away from him and stared out the window. The trees wore their summer greens, and the parkway was uncrowded on this Sunday morning. She and Brando used to do this drive in his convertible. They’d spend his off days upstate at a bed and breakfast, go hiking or float on a rowboat, then watch the sunset from an overlook or across a lake. They’d always hold hands, and he loved taking pictures of her, of the trees and plants, the scenery, and the many birds and an occasional deer he spotted.

  He was such a peaceful man. A gentle one and considerate. He steered clear of anything that triggered her and never questioned her about her past. He accepted her the way she presented herself—a young creative professional who loved art and design. He appreciated her style, her reserve, and her need for solitude. And he never probed into areas that made her uncomfortable.

  Quite unlike the inquisition she was receiving from one Jason Burnett. Rude. Annoying. Brute.

  “You’re going to listen whether you like it or not,” he said, shutting off the radio. She reached for the knob, and he palmed her hand. “My car.”

  “Then I’m jumping out.”

  He hit the automatic locks, and she flicked the lever.

  “You’re not that crazy,” he said. “Brando didn’t save your life for you to waste it on the Taconic State Parkway.”

  “Keep his name out of your mouth.” She and Brando had loved the wild trails, the solitude, and especially the fall colors. But that was then and this was now.

  “Tell me about Richie Overton.”

  The mention of Richie’s name sent Avery’s heartbeat skyrocketing. Why would Jason tie the congressman’s son to her? Was he fishing or did he know something?

  “What does he have to do with me?” she asked in a saccharine innocent voice.

  “He was the guy stalking you in the apple orchard,” Jason said. “Why were you hiding from him?”

  “I didn’t know he was following me,” Avery said.

  “I find that hard to believe. Sure you weren’t playing hard to get?”

  “Eff you.” She slapped his hand, but he didn’t let go.

  “You already did, and you’re assaulting a police officer.”

  “You’re kidnapping a witness.”

  He swerved at the exit toward the Donald J. Trump State Park. “Then you can get out of my car.”

  She waved her hand at the trees in the undeveloped park. “Not out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Then behave and tell me about Richie Overton.” He gripped her hand hard, but not enough to hurt.

  “You’re hurting me.” She squirmed as he let off the pressure.

  “You’ll be even more hurt if you fling yourself from a speeding car.” He drove into a deserted parking area and put the transmission in park. “Do I have to cuff you?”

  She yanked her hand from his and shook it out. “I have to pee.”

  He didn’t say a word, and she stomped out of the car with her arms still crossed toward the restroom. She didn’t really have to pee, but she couldn’t stand a single minute longer in the car with that asshole.

  He’d acted like nothing had happened between them. Hadn’t mentioned anything. Hadn’t even thanked her for the morning sex. He’d dropped her flat as soon as his phone rang.

  Had everything that happened meant absolutely zero to him?

  “Humph.” She flushed the toilet. “What a zero. Not a hero. Nothing happened. Period.”

  By the time she returned to the car, Jason was leaning against the hood on the phone. He hung up as soon as he saw her approach.

  Since she needed the ride, she slumped into the passenger seat. “I’m not telling you anything. I’m going to sleep.”

  “Fine by me.” He started up the muscle car. “Then I can talk to myself without disturbing anyone.”

  “Urgh!” She clapped both hands over her ears. “La, la, la, la.”

  “I love your singing voice,” he said. “You know what I love more about you?”

  “La, la, la, la.”

  “Your prickliness. Women who are difficult and cantankerous turn me on.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Try me. Go ahead. Say something mean and nasty.”

  “Ahhh!” She clamped her mouth shut. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Besides, he was manipulating her—plain and simple. He was a detective and knew how to use psychology. He had a one-track mind, and that was to delve into her secrets because he was obsessed about solving a cold case.

  A slithering chill crawled down her back.

  But so was she.

  She wanted to avenge Brando. More than anything, she wanted the person who ordered the hit in jail. The shooter was dead, but he was only a foot soldier.

  Someone had hated Brando, or maybe it was her, or her father, or could it be Chase? Or Stone? Or her mother? Someone had wanted to hurt someone she loved bad enough that they’d sent a killer to her debut Manhattan Fashion Week show.

  “If they’d wanted to kill Brando,” she mused. “They could have found a different venue.”

  “Ah, so you finally admit you were the target,” Jason said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “Shut up.” She hadn’t meant to speak aloud. She most certainly didn’t need his help. He was incompetent. He had nothing. “You have no clue.”

  “That’s why I want to know about Richie,” he said, not missing a beat. “I know he dated you about five years ago. His social media is still up, but you’ve unfriended him.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “How does he feel about your father running against his father?”

  “How would I know? I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “Why is that? Does he bother you? Has he tried to contact you recently?”

  She studiously kept all expression from her face. The last thing she wanted was Jason or anyone dredging up that phase of her life.

  “I see I hit a sore spot.”

  “You hit nothing.”

  “I’d say I hit your G-spot.”

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” She made a show of yawning. What an utterly infuriating man. Braggart too, except her insides quivered involuntarily, and a soft warmth throbbed between her thighs.

  “Humor me a moment. Let’s say Richie is upset your father is running against his dad, especially since your father is leading in the polls. He’s used to the perks of being a congressman’s son. He has his crimes covered up, access to travel with his dad to exotic foreign countries, a pipeline to all the drugs he wants, bribes and kickbacks paid into his bank accounts, even a pseudo-important position as a board member to peddle influence and run cover for corruption.”

  Amazing. The dumb detective summed up the sleazebag son’s reason for existence, but Avery wasn’t going to give him any accolades. Instead, she was grumpy because he’d tossed hitting her G-spot like it was an offhand brag—not a sacred sensation in honor of being bonded with love.

  Too bad Brando never hit the spot.

  She slapped herself mentally for her disloyalty.

  Brando was big and loving, but not rough enough to slam her that hard. He worked magic with his tongue—patiently licking and lapping as long as it took for the faint shimmering feeling to swell. So leisurely that she often wearied of waiting and took matters into her own hand to finish herself off.

  Maybe she was a New York firecracker, but with the steam fuming from her at the disrespect Jason treaded over Brando’s memory, she was fit to be tied to a fiery stake and spit fireballs at him.

  She forced her mind from the spot back to Jason’s provocations. “Richie’s way too lazy to care about his father getting defeated. You’re barking up the wrong tree. Their family has enough money and influence to let him be a playboy for the rest of his miserable life.”

  “Ah, ’tis a miserable life to have the world eating from your hands,” Jason said in a snarky manner. “Tell
me, did he have you eating from his hand, too?”

  “He’s nothing to me. I refuse to talk about it anymore.”

  “’Tis curiouser and curiouser,” he said. “Most women love to skewer their exes. What better payback than siccing the police on him and making him a suspect for a murder? Perhaps he was jealous of that brave and wonderful firefighter.”

  “Shut up,” Avery screamed and threw her weight at Jason.

  The speeding car went spinning, and everything was a blur outside the windshield. Tires screeched, and Jason struggled with the steering wheel.

  It felt like time was stopping.

  Her body was jerked up and then slammed down into the seat.

  Pow.

  An explosion of white stung her face and made her head ring. She gasped for air, swatting at the deflating airbag, and she realized what she’d done.

  “Jason.” She didn’t dare look his direction. What if he was a bloody mess?

  “I should have cuffed you.” A growly voice answered her, and then his lips were over hers, kissing her like he was on his last gasp.

  Her arms locked around his shoulders, and she kissed him back if only to punish him, because God forbid, she cared anything about him or the fact she’d wrecked his prize sportscar and could have maimed or killed him.

  “Damn you, Jason Burnett,” she muttered in between grappling with his lips and smothering him with her hugs. “Damn you to hell.”

  “Then you’re coming with me, because I’m arresting you for assault on a peace officer and sentencing you to solitary confinement with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You wrecked my Dodge Hellcat Challenger! You must be one hot mama.” Jason zoomed down the FDR Drive in a rented convertible. Avery’s billowing blond hair streamed out the back, and her hands were gripped tight on the armrests.

  The wrecker had towed away his totaled Dodge Hellcat Challenger, and he could never afford it again since he wasn’t going to win the lottery ever again.

  Unless the lottery was for love. In that case, he was a winner. Bigly.

  “I said I’m sorry!” she shouted.

  “Temper, temper,” Jason said. “You’re in big trouble.”