Painted Walls

by Megan Mitcham

  “He…” Ava’s voice quivered. Her gaze swung to his. Her lower lip quaked. “He was in Ithaca and New York City when I was.”

  Keen choked his rage down and knelt by Ava. “Think it through. Why?”

  Her eyes shifted around the room, not seeing it. “I don’t know.”

  “Talk it out,” he urged.

  “He’s focused on me. He doesn’t kill for the pleasure of it, not yet.”

  She looked at him, pleading, but then her gaze fell to her hands.

  “Focus, Ava.” Keen held his rage together by the thinnest of strands. The sick fuck had followed her from college to college. He’d stalked her for years. And where had he been? “Tell me about Coghlan.”

  “He’s not like Hardy. Not meticulous. He didn’t even check to make sure I was here before taking his next victim. He’s focused only on his plan, but he’s not cunning. He’s letting us see too much. It’s not the kill, it’s the end game with him, the plan. I just don’t have a clue what the plan is.”

  19

  “I thought you guys already went through the place, and from the looks of things there wasn’t much to see.” The landlord leaned heavily on the banister and hoisted himself with such dramatics you’d have thought he ascended Everest.

  “We appreciate your help,” Keen said without managing to sound too sarcastic. That impressed Ava.

  “Yeah, well I’m missing my show.” He made base camp two, the second floor landing, and rounded the banister. Ava brought up the back of the line and caught an eyeful of lower belly hair the man’s Battlestar Galactica T-shirt exposed. Again with the show.

  “You pressed pause, which means when you’re done here you get to go back and press play, which means you’re not missing anything.” The maybe forty-year-old stopped with his key in the door and looked at Ava. She probably looked like a crazy person with her hands stretched wide in the air, but so be it. It had taken them fifteen minutes to coax him from his apartment and in that time her Battlestar trivia knowledge had gone from zero to proficient, and she didn’t give a shit about how many civilian ships remained in the Colonial fleet because, well, fiction.

  “It’s my sacred time.” The landlord rolled his eyes at Ava, and then looked to Keen. “Lock the door and slide the key under the door when you’re done.” He walked the opposite way around the landing. Ava hurried to the door behind Keen, afraid the man might pull a laser gun on her or something. The angry stomp of his descent echoed behind them.

  “Way to go.” Keen turned the key, and then drew his gun.

  They cleared the apartment in short time. Then Keen hung back and let her work. Winslow and Abbott had already gone through the place and taken anything they thought was worthy. But Ava knew the essence of people lived in places long after they were gone. Not so much in the spiritual sense, but in the way they lived. She wandered through the rooms touching walls, running her fingers over books, getting a feel for the man who had lived there. She meandered through the kitchen and spent five minutes sitting at the man’s desk without touching anything or saying a word.

  A single notepad, potato-chip crispy from disuse, and a pencil lay on the corner of the drink-ring stained wood. Ancient flowered paper covered the wall. The white had probably yellowed before she was born. A thin layer of dust plus who knew what clung to the roses and daisies. The paper stopped at dusty book shelves that stretched up to the ceiling. A four by six rectangle in the center of the wallpaper sucked her in like a vortex, and there she went with the Battlestar references.

  Its flowers shined bright here. The film of dirt hadn’t landed on this space, a space where Coghlan had reverently displayed a picture.

  So long ago her father had displayed a picture of her and her mother in much the same style, center of the wall in front of his desk. She stared at the spot for what seemed an eternity, then shot up and moved down the hallway into the bathroom. Keen followed her with a curious expression painted on his face. After closing the lid on the toilet, Ava sat down. She glanced at Keen, who, she suspected, strained to keep his mouth shut on a sarcastic remark. Probably afraid to scare away her flowing juju. But this wasn’t juju. This wasn’t her training. It was experience from her youth.

  When she dropped her head between her knees, her hair dangling on the floor, Keen muffled a “Yuck.” Her hoot of triumph stopped any further comment. Ava straightened, sank onto the floor, and crawled beneath the pedestal sink.

  “Ha! I’ve got you, sneaky bastard.” A smile cramped her cheeks.

  Keen crouched next to her. His wide shoulder bumped her off balance…along with his scent. “Sorry.”

  She didn’t know for what exactly he apologized—bumping into her or jerking off to her ample moans. “It’s all right.”

  Ava fingered a section of disturbed grout. The tile around it leaned slightly askew.

  He gave a grunt of confusion. “How did you—”

  “My father had the same hiding spot when I was little. When he was away I would snoop. He kept maps and notes inside, but I had no idea what any of it meant. I was so young. But I knew if anyone knew I messed with it I’d get in trouble.”

  Ava didn’t know what she expected to find in the hiding spot, but she wasn’t prepared for what she discovered. A cry scaled her throat, tumbled out the cliff of her lips, and ricocheted off the tile walls. She dropped the picture and scrambled back. Her shoulders hit the cast iron tub.

  Keen surrendered his hands and shushed her like he’d cornered a wild animal. All the peace she’d gained over the last few hours fell away.

  The lone picture occupying the space wasn’t of a mutilated body or painted wall. It was not grotesque in any way. It was happy and peaceful. Her stomach churned and her head spun. She clawed at Keen’s arms and pulled him close. He wrapped her protectively in his hold. His wide chest supported her shoulder. She leaned into him and stared down at the photo.

  The faded hue, the tattered edges did not diminish the beauty of two lovers in an embrace or the setting sun and the unmistakable width of Lake Pontchartrain at their backs.

  “This was taken at Fountain Blue State Park, in Mandeville, Louisiana. My mother has an old picture taken when I was three in this very spot. It was my father’s favorite vacation spot. My parents were smiling just like...” She broke off, unable to speak with the lump in her throat. Swallowing hard, she continued, “...just like they are, and I was sitting right there.”

  “Do you know the woman?”

  Ava shook her head. The woman in the photo was a stranger, but looked so much like her mother. Long strawberry locks flowed straight down the woman’s back. Her skin was smooth ceramic cream with the exception of freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. The major difference was this woman was voluptuous, curving, like a pin-up. Her large breasts were made more so by the swell of her pregnant abdomen. Her red lips were so close to the man’s face they drew his attention from the camera. And the man in the photo was all too familiar. It was the face which had haunted her dreams for nearly thirty years.

  Her father, James Red Hardy.

  KEEN SMACKED the black top of Winslow’s SUV and turned toward Ava. The car took off like a lightning bolt. Good. They needed to move on this lead and fast. This thing circled too close to Ava for his comfort.

  “Winslow will have the photo analyzed and have the woman’s face run through the facial recognition database.”

  Ava drifted down Calvert Street. Keen drifted with her.

  She’d known her father was a murderer for a long time. He wouldn’t have thought finding out the man had cheated would be such an additional blow. In comparison, the crime was paltry at best. Showed what he knew about the way women think. It appeared Hardy had a triple life. Family man and murderer had not been enough for him. Add duplicitous.

  He didn’t know how to help, but he knew keeping his distance was becoming harder and harder.

  “I was in Afghanistan,” Keen said, pulling her gaze back to the present and out of whatever hell she
trundled through. She watched him eagerly as they walked, as if thankful for the distraction. He scanned their surroundings as he talked, taking in every detail around them. This guy was close. Too close.

  He studied the homeless man on the corner, the hooded jogger headed out of the park, the couple walking past them. “We were hunting an American spy who had infiltrated al-Qaeda ranks then flipped. His knowledge helped a group of insurgents wipe out one of our bases, killing thirty soldiers and destroying key weapons and supplies. It was a massacre.” His lungs squeezed.

  “We tracked him for weeks in Charikar. Late one evening we raided a house he frequented. It was believed to be the home of a high-ranking member of al-Qaeda. We walked into bedlam. Mothers and children mixed among the terrorists. Still our target was apprehended. We managed to take the house with minimal casualties.”

  Keen’s eyes clamped shut. “We were withdrawing when he shot me.”

  Ava gasped. Tears twinkled on her lashes.

  “He’d been standing in the corner huddled with his mother. No more than ten years old. I can still see his face. He was scared. But there was bravery behind the tears. I hesitated when he lifted his arm. I saw gunmetal black in his small hand, but I didn’t want to…”

  Ava slapped the tears from her cheek. “Keen.” When she said his name like that his heart broke all over again.

  “If I hadn’t hesitated the soldier to my right would still be alive. I wouldn’t have been shot. But he was just a kid, terrified and, as it turned out, trying to protect his father.”

  Her arm clamped around his bicep. She pulled him to a stop and he let her. Their gazes collided. She grabbed his other arm and turned him to face her.

  “I am so sorry for what you had to do.”

  He nodded his head almost imperceptibly. “Me too.”

  Cars and trucks whipped past and stirred the air around them. They may as well have been in the center of the sea. Ava focused on him. She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. With the other on the lapel of his suit she stretched up and pulled him down to meet her lips.

  Keen paused just above her mouth and hovered, studying her face. Her breath caught and his followed. Decision time. Kiss her or run like hell in the opposite direction?

  He couldn’t run. It would be safer for him, but she’d be exposed in more ways than he cared to consider. So much had happened to her in the last few days. So many emotions tormented her. He didn’t want to cause her further heartache. But what would this kiss cost him?

  Everything.

  That didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the taste of their mouths melding together. With great care he moved his lips over hers. Two tentative strokes. His teeth gently pulled at her bottom lip and her mouth parted in a soft moan. His tongue traced her top lip, then swept her mouth. Her tongue caressed in frantic strokes. He pinned it between his teeth, claiming it completely.

  He stepped closer, invading her space. Her hands grasped at his shoulders and back, the invasion terrifyingly welcome. The quiet voice of reason got lost between the pants and whimpers. He stroked her tongue with his own until the taste of her filled his mouth.

  When Keen left her mouth to nibble a trail down her jaw she melted, pressing her breasts against his abdomen. She smelled like a woman should, sweaty and sweet and ready to be taken.

  The world around them had all but vanished when a car horn blasted.

  Keen jerked straight. His gaze scanned the area.

  A young guy hung out the passenger window of a coupe.

  Keen whipped Ava behind him, but there wasn’t a need. The college-aged kid pumped his fist into the air. “Yeah! All the way man!”

  What had he been thinking? He’d been thinking about his burning body and her gorgeous one. They were exposed, both physically and emotionally. This wasn’t the time to screw around with their lives or their hearts. Well, his heart and her body. She’d yet to say anything about loving him other than with her svelte figure.

  He stalked off toward the restaurant in between Rory Coghlan and Ava’s apartments. The hand that had clutched his shoulder looped around his arm and her dainty shoes ticked like mad, trying to keep up. “That can’t happen again.”

  Damn her, but she just snickered.

  20

  K een and Winslow fought to keep their amusement silent.

  Winslow dipped his head behind Keen’s and whispered. “You think we could erect a mat around them and sell tickets without them noticing?”

  “No, but go ahead and try. I won’t mind a front seat ticket to that show.”

  At eight-thirty that morning the facial recognition software had turned a match for the woman in the photo Ava found at Rory Coghlan’s apartment. For five minutes now Agents Abbot and Shepherd argued over who would question Ms. Bree Coghlan. The two circled each other like rabid dogs, one much larger and more ferocious looking than the other, but both with unwavering tenacity.

  “Who the hell do you think you are, trying to take over our investigation,” Lara snapped.

  “I’m the woman you tried to pin it on.” Ava thumped her own chest.

  “Hey.” Lara planted a hand on her hip. “The apple never falls far from the tree.”

  Ava’s upper lip—the one that tasted like sex—curled on one side. “You wouldn’t even have an investigation if it weren’t for me.”

  “How are you going to question her? You’re a profiler. You haven’t been in the field in what, ten years? And your boyfriend isn’t even on duty right now,” Lara bit back.

  Keen took a step forward. Low blow.

  Ava tilted her head and zeroed her gaze on Lara’s. “What are we, in high school again? He’s not my boyfriend.” She made the word sound like a disease.

  “I believed you better when you told me you didn’t kill anyone.”

  “I don’t have to prove anything to you.” Ava touched her head, and then lifted it toward the sky. “Oh, except my innocence in the copycat murders.”

  “Well, if you aren’t together it’s only because you fucked him up so well the first time.” Lara threw the surprise hook with practiced ease.

  It landed on Keen’s backbone. Lara’s too. She shrank back like she’d pulled her weapon and it had misfired. Winslow winced as though his partner had just lopped off a unicorn’s horn.

  Ava stilled.

  Lara and Winslow eyed one another. If they thought they’d won, they didn’t know Ava like he did. Keen filled his lungs and waited for the killer blow.

  Her porcelain chin lifted. Her gaze leveled on Lara Abbott’s. She paused for two long heartbeats. “Who fucked you up?” Ava whispered.

  Boom. Nail on head or slap in face, as it were.

  Lara recoiled.

  “You win. Question her.” Lara passed Ava and nearly slung the door off its hinges on her way out.

  Ava watched her go, and then swung on them, hands on hips and an exacerbated expression on her face. When she honed in on Keen her voice was calm with only a hint of frustration. “Gee, thanks for the help.”

  “You didn’t need it. Besides, that was too much fun to watch. Until it got ugly,” he amended. “I thought she was going to attack. A shame she didn’t. Now, that would’ve been interesting. But I didn’t have beer or popcorn, so I guess it’s all for the best.”

  Her laugh filled the room, as unexpected as the flutter of angel wings on a bloody battlefield. It seeped into his brain like a drug, making him light of head and body. Damn!

  He shook off the effects as best he could. “How are you smiling after that? No, I’m sorry, laughing?”

  “I won.” She swatted a lock of hair over her shoulder. “It wasn’t pretty, but right now I’ll take it however I can get it.”

  No shit.

  He’d seen that yesterday. He turned to Winslow. “What the hell’s your partner's problem?”

  Winslow ruffled his hair. His gruff voice responded, “Ah, she’s not used to people getting the best of her. And I think someone has been getting
her best, for the last few nights. Or trying to, at least. She likes control and doesn’t have any right now. Lara’s never been the sweet smiling type, but this case and now this guy, has her in knots.”

  Keen thought about Lara Abbott in a romantic setting. His mind conjured a cage, a lone tamer with a whip, and a lion. Treacherous for all parties involved and just wrong. Curiosity got the best of him. “Who the hell’d go toe-to-toe with her, besides Ava? Romantically, I mean.”

  “Beaumont,” Winslow said.

  Better yet, a grizzly and a lion going head-to-head. Funny stuff when you weren’t the one in danger of being torn limb from limb.

  THE SURVEILLANCE TEAM Winslow and Abbott had ordered camped out in an ugly tan hatchback a half a block down from Bree Coghlan’s Fairfax home. Not conspicuous, unless you knew what to look for. Keen pegged them before parking. The agents would alert them if Rory chanced a visit to his mommy’s house. The surveillance team, fact that Ava wore a wire, that Ava was a highly skilled NCAVC agent, most knowledgeable on the Blood Red Murders, and unyielding to a fault were the only reasons they were interviewing Bree Coghlan as opposed to Winslow and Abbot. Despite the earlier scene.

  He looked at Ava, something he hadn’t chanced since the drugging laugh in Winslow’s office. She hadn’t dismembered him all those years ago, but she’d killed him all the same. She’d done it with lighting speed and the finesse of a ninja. Six feet tall one minute, six feet under the next. This petite woman had leveled him like no other person could.

  Keen should open the passenger door, shove her out, and squeal tires all the way to the airport. He should get on a plane and take his happy ass home. He really should. Instead, he cut the engine outside Bree Coghlan’s white cottage style home in suburban Virginia, where she’d lived for the last five years.

  “Eyes open,” he warned.

  She nodded. They climbed out and hustled across the street and up the brick steps. Ava pulled back the black screen door. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”