Painted Walls

by Megan Mitcham

  “You’re so cute when you’re dramatic.”

  Liking their proximity and the tingle in her belly far too much, Ava flatted her palm on his abdomen and pushed.

  Keen’s hand banded her wrist, pivoted his body so her hand slipped off him, and then pulled. Ava’s breasts pressed against the firm, hot muscle her hand had just touched. Her breath caught. Without thought her chin lifted. She met his gaze. Her free arm slipped up his back and clung to him. Emotion clogged her throat, but desire overtook it. His head lowered slowly. A whimper escaped her lips.

  She wanted his comfort, but she wanted his taste more. Would he taste different than he had so long ago? Would he move differently than he had? Would she push him away again?

  The blond whiskers on his chin pricked her skin. Ava’s lungs faltered.

  “Hello?” The phone crackled to life inches away from her face.

  Their convergence stalled.

  “Hello? Can you hear me? What’s going on, Keen?” her dad shouted from thousands of miles away.

  Keen’s gaze dropped to her mouth, lifted to her gaze, and lowered again. Striations in his jaw flexed. He exhaled through his nose. When his gaze met hers she saw it. He’d hidden it so well the past two days, but there it was. Her dad’s frantic plea for response didn’t hold him back. It made a convenient excuse. Pain arrested him. A pain she’d caused.

  Tears that had obeyed her through the most horrifying experience in quite a long time slipped free. Keen caressed her cheek. His head bowed. He braced his forehead to hers for a fleeting second, and then he slid from her grip.

  Before she could chastise herself for not holding on to him then and now, he put the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Preston, I’m here.”

  He didn’t go far, either that or her dad talked really loudly. She heard his relief as clearly as she heard her heart crack in two. Her dad rambled. “We’re waiting in line to board our flight home now. We’ll be in DC late tonight. Tell Ava we’re on our way. Tell her—”

  “Preston, listen to me very carefully,” Keen interrupted. “Don’t board that plane. Get out of line. Take Sarah and get lost. Stay on the island or go someplace you’ve never been, where you don’t know anyone.”

  “Why? And what about Ava? I can’t just abandon her with all this going on.”

  “You have to. We got a name from Hardy. I’m working on getting more information. But what I do know is that this is personal. He’s coming after Ava. Hardy believes he’ll come after Sarah too.”

  “Why Sarah? Why Ava? I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t know, yet. Take your battery out of your phones. Buy a prepaid one, text me so I’ll have the number, then get lost. Don’t call anyone else. I’ll call you when I know more.”

  A long minute of silence came through the line. “You’ll take care of our girl.”

  Why had her dad said that? She wasn’t Keen’s—shit, she wasn’t even Preston’s—no matter how much she wanted to be. Keen would keep her safe, but those eyes made it pretty clear anything more wasn’t an option.

  “Yeah, I will.” Keen pocketed the phone, but didn’t look at her.

  They’d been told this structure didn’t house prisoners. It was strictly human resources staff. Ava moved to a thick glass window. Prisoners in white or chambray shirts and blue work pants walked in long neat lines over the gravel path from one building to another. In the distance, outside of the main gate, a similar line of prisoners walked down the fence line. Shovels and other yard tools rested on their shoulders. A guard on horseback toted a shotgun in the same fashion.

  She wondered how often a man got brave, stupid, or desperate enough to run. Twenty miles from the nearest major city and surrounded by gator and leech infested swamps, the fortification of the prison rivaled that of medieval castles.

  “You ready?” Keen asked.

  “Are you?” she shot back before she thought better.

  He opened the office door. “After you.”

  She nodded a thank you but, afraid of what she’d see, didn’t hold his gaze for long. Through the door a receptionist ticked away on her keyboard. The man clacked long after they stood in front of the desk. Keen smacked his badge onto the counter. “The warden sent us.”

  A heavy sigh accompanied the man’s attention. “What do you want?” He eyed Keen’s credentials.

  Customer service.

  “We need to see records—”

  “No kidding?” The guy looked to be in his late thirties, but he’d never develop a pooch. In fact he bordered on the skeletal. He rolled dark eyes. “You’re in the records department.”

  “Look,” Ava shouted. “You can shove that attitude up your ass. I’ve been accused of murder…no, two murders in the last forty-eight hours, faced my father—who is a serial killer—spent too many hours being bossed around by a man I have history with, and I just got a name for the man trying to frame me. I need a list of all the people who’ve ever visited James Red Hardy during his incarceration now or I might just kill someone.”

  “All right, miss.” A man who probably devoured all the food the other guy didn’t stood halfway into the corridor. “I just got off the phone with Warden Cain. Why don't you two come on back before there’s bloodshed.”

  Toothpick’s gaze and overly pursed lips followed their progress around the desk and down the hallway.

  “Jasper Mills.” One of Jasper’s hands patted his belly. The other extended.

  Ava shook it and tried her best not to flush.

  “From what I heard you’re the bossy one?” He offered his hand to Keen.

  The two men exchanged glances. “That’s the word on the street.”

  “Right in here.” He ushered them toward two chairs opposite a tidy desk and sleek computer. The door shut with a quiet click. Jasper’s chair creaked under his size. “I apologize for Berry. End of the month reports always put him in a mood.” He adjusted his waistband, which—after his hand moved—promptly fell back down his belly. “Let me get Wanda purring and I’ll have your info in a jiff.”

  “Thank you.” Ava held herself rigid and stared straight ahead. The last thing she needed right now was Keen’s sexy smirk and laughing eyes.

  Jasper’s fingers glided smoothly over the ergonomic keyboard. No finger pecking here. Was it bad that she’d expected it? Probably.

  Two minutes and thirty-six seconds later—where else could she look but at the clock—Jasper grunted and then slapped the screen around to face them.

  “This is a list of all the people who’ve ever visited Hardy. Notice there are two names that repeat over the years. Hester Ludlow is an evangelist who visits several other of our death row inmates. See if any of those names ring your bell and I’ll make you hard copies.”

  Ava touched the screen. One name repeated a lot. One. Two. Three. Twelve. Twenty-four. Forty-eight. Sixty. Sixty visits in the last five years. Nothing before that. “Who is John Hardy?”

  Jasper handed Keen the papers, took the screen back, and wiped her fingerprint from the glass with his too short tie. “Let’s find out.”

  Another minute later he slapped the screen around, and then pressed the play icon with his mouse. Before them the screen came to life. James Red Hardy sat on one side of the table in a room that looked much like the one in which they’d just spoken to him. On the other side of the table sat a man the same size as Hardy.

  “This is Hardy’s last visit,” Jasper said.

  “One month and two days ago,” Keen whispered.

  In the soundless video the younger man talked with large gestures and wide eyes to James Red Hardy. Her dad’s grin shined brightly through the grainy footage.

  “Can we see the first visit?” Ava asked.

  Jasper skipped back to the first visit between the two men. Immediately Ava recognized the role reversal. John Hardy sat still. His lips parted in an awed smile as James gestured wildly. They watched several more videos. The visits were all short, ten minutes, but the progression of the relationsh
ip between these two men was clear.

  “This is the apprentice,” Ava said. Keen nodded his agreement. She sat forward.

  “Do you do background checks for inmates’ visitors?”

  “Sure do. We house some pretty dangerous men, but ah, you know that.” The man’s grey beard waggled back and forth.

  She cleared the air with a swat of her hand. “Don’t worry about it. Just tell me who this man is to James Hardy.”

  Again he took back the screen. Buttons clacked. “James’ younger brother.”

  Shock punched her in the chest. “That’s impossible.”

  Jasper wiped at an invisible spot on the desk, then waggled his jaw. “He passed a pretty stringent background check. What makes you say that?”

  Ava took several breaths before the words formed. “James Hardy was an only child.”

  17

  A va’s phone vibrated against her forearm and the car’s center console. The racket of metal jumping on plastic shattered the quiet. Her reflexive jump rattled her bones. Over half the trip was spent in silence, both she and Keen deep in thought. The anger that’d consumed her during the ride to Angola had vanished only to be replaced by angst. They’d taken the first steps toward catching this killer, but there was so much more to be done.

  She looked at the screen and groaned.

  “Abbott?” Keen asked.

  “Mm-hmm.” The phone shook as though from the woman’s anger. She eased it with a press and slide of her thumb. “Hello?”

  “I can’t believe you left the mother-fucking state,” the agent screamed.

  “I can’t believe you thought I killed someone.” The authority and bite of her tone settled her jumbled nerves. Ava grinned, ended the call, stuck the phone inside her purse, and zipped it closed.

  “She got our package from Angola?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Maybe now she’ll do something productive, instead of hounding you.”

  Ava veered her mind away from Keen and his relationship with Lara Abbott. There were certain things she didn’t need to know. When she opened her mouth, though, the question popped out anyway. “Were you and she close?”

  He kept quiet so long she didn’t expect him to answer. “My and Abbott’s exchanges were the polar opposite of ours.” He swung his finger between them.

  So they fucked like ducks. Great. He might have to pull over so she could vomit. Images of the woman’s long lean legs coiled around Keen’s lean hips scrambled her brain.

  “She never loved me. I never loved her.”

  Her gaze flitted to his for a second, and then sought refuge in the twinkling stars just beginning to brighten in the bold darkness of night.

  “I—”

  Keen started to say more, but she cut him off. “It’s not my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “Ava,” he coaxed.

  “Please, just forget about it.” Seriously. Why had her mind chosen the most inconsequential thing to fixate upon?

  Funny, the fear Ava had of being wrongly accused seemed like it never existed. Even the trauma of facing her father was lost in the buzz of progress. They had to locate Rory Coghlan before he killed again. There were so many miles and unanswered questions between them and this virulent man.

  Ava shoved the last bite of her six-inch sub into her mouth and forced herself to chew and not gag when she swallowed. The moon waxed gibbous and lit the car’s interior. As much as she’d like to shrink into the seat and have exhaustion take her, Ava needed to capitalize on this small sense of momentum.

  She tucked one leg underneath her bottom and shifted toward Keen. His gaze remained on the yellow and white lines screaming past them. He let her take the lead, but she wasn't quite ready to speak. Large steady hands firmly gripped the steering wheel. The ropes of his muscles were obvious even through his dress shirt. The tie, so precisely knotted at the prison, hung loose on either side of his thick neck. Maturity and raw masculinity had taken hold where youthful beauty had left off, chiseling his features to a weep worthy profile. Faint lines plucked the corners of his eyes. Smile lines etched around his full lips, the best kissing lips she had ever met. She sighed lightly. He hiked a curious brow.

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  “For?”

  “Believing in me.”

  “Always.”

  “For coming to my rescue. Making me face my father. Staying calm in the madness. I let my emotions cloud my judgement. I should have known to look to my father for answers, but I was too afraid.”

  Her hands twisted in her ritualistic dance of discomfort. She stilled them. “Until today I couldn’t admit that I love him. It seemed wrong. I still don’t understand it. For so many years I raged against the feelings, terrified if I loved a monster I would become one myself. Today, watching him, I realized he is two people in one body. One I hate. One I love.”

  She rubbed the tip of her nose to stall the tears gathering in her eyes. What do you know, it worked. “Anyway, I’m clear now. And I have some insight about the apprentice.”

  Mirth spread across his face. “Finally. I was beginning to think you lost your touch. I’d have hated to call Nathan and your brother and tell them our crime fighting wonder kid was going to drop out of the Bureau and become a security guard at the local mall.”

  “Wonder kid?”

  “Tell me about the apprentice.”

  “Hardy was a disciplined killer with precision and grace, if those terms may be applied to killing. He was meticulous, the most elusive killer ever hunted. He spent years training his replacement, carefully molding him to perfection, blinded by his own need for legacy.”

  “Blinded?”

  “Yes. He never recognized the disdain in Coghlan’s eyes, only the adoration.”

  “So…”

  “He hates him and loves him,” she supplied.

  Keen gnawed his lower lip. “I need more.”

  “It’s similar to my feelings for James Hardy only reversed. Coghlan admires Hardy as the ruthless killer. There is another part he equally loathes. If we can figure out what that part is we’ll catch our man.”

  “Keep going.” Keen’s head bobbed, but he still chewed the lip.

  “Coghlan honored Hardy with his first kill, but defied him in a big way with the second. Normally I would say Coghlan wants to make his own mark on the world, but there’s more here. His focus on me, on destroying me... He holds a grudge against Hardy.”

  Ava tucked her other leg under her and practically bounded on her heels as the words flowed. “Coghlan could be a relative of one of Hardy’s victims who has gone off the deep end. There is no better way to ruin a notorious serial killer than to muddy his legacy. But then there’s the issue with me again, and my mother. It’s a grudge against us. The three of us represented a family, for a time. There’s still devotion on my father’s part, as confusingly sick as it is.”

  She scooted a flyaway hair from her eye. “Coghlan is solitary. Once Gray and Abbott find his record it will show that he has never been married. He probably hasn’t had a serious relationship. He’s held menial jobs. He has little or no family life. He may have been orphaned at an early age and sees Hardy as a father figure.”

  Ava breathed deep and let it out slowly. Keen pursed his sensuous lips, “You got all that from a few video snippets?”

  She smiled. “You going to call me Wonder Woman now?”

  “No.”

  They drove through the night and walked into Ava’s apartment as the sun’s rays crested the horizon. “I need a shower. You?”

  “I’ll get one in the morning.”

  “It is morning.” Her head tilted toward the window.

  “Please tell me you have blackout shades.”

  “Like any good agent would.”

  He clamped a hand on the back of his neck and dropped his bag on the floor next to the coffee table. “I’m about to crash. Whenever we wake we’ll check in with Winslow.”

  “Sounds good.” Thi
nking about Keen sleeping a few feet away, she tightened her grip on her bag. Sure he’d slept in the same room with her the last two nights, but she’d been near comatose the first night and too consumed with fear to register it the second. Tonight was a whole different animal, a horny one at that.

  She tried to walk to the bathroom, but her feet stuck to the floor. The nod of his reply slowed, and then stopped. This was her exit. Or was it her entrance? Keen wouldn’t kiss her. Okay. This was the freaking twenty-first century. She could kiss him, couldn’t she?

  The grip on her bag loosened. If she was going to do this, she wanted to use both hands. Before she could drop the damn thing he chucked her on the arm like an old pal and turned to the sofa.

  “Goodnight, Ava.” His hand balled into the end of the throw and yanked it off.

  “Night.” Embarrassment propelled her through the open closet door. She managed not to slam it shut behind her, but just barely.

  Ava let the monotony of getting ready for bed after one hell of a long day take hold. She stripped, scrubbed, rinsed, brushed her teeth, lotioned, and dried her hair. Then something odd happened. She sat down her blow drier and marveled at herself in the mirror. Gone were the markers of her father. Sure vibrant red hair flowed around her head. Sure freckles dotted her cheeks. Sure near-neon green eyes stared back. But now these were her features, not his.

  She held her face. A short laugh stretched her mouth, revealing her white teeth. Her head tilted. Diagonal rows of scarred flesh stared back. With one hand she clutched her hair back. The other slipped down her belly to the puckered skin. Her finger rubbed the storied flesh in gentle even strokes.

  “I forgive you,” she whispered. Her gaze lifted to the mirror. “I forgive you,” she told herself once more. “And,” she gulped, “I accept your apology.” She nodded and walked into the closet.

  Maybe Amadi had a point about that self-love mumbo jumbo. The knot she’d carried in her stomach for the last…well, forever, smoothed itself out. She sighed, reached for an extra-large T-shirt, and pulled it over her head.

  When she opened the closet door her gaze hit a wall of blackness. She looked toward the sofa. Not even the outline of Keen’s form shown in the dark. Using the light from the closet, she found her way to the bed and pulled back her covers.