The Blood In the Beginning (11 page)

‘Friday then?'

‘My shift starts at nine.'

He exhaled. ‘Are you avoiding me?'

I bit my lip. Why wasn't I saying a simple, clear, thanks but NO? The aware part of me waved a warning flag, but something I couldn't put my finger on kept me from fully acting on it.

‘I'm concerned about what happened to you, Ava,' he said when I didn't answer. ‘If you haven't realised by now, I take a strong interest in all my people.'

People?

‘Your safety is of the utmost importance to me.'

‘I can handle myself.' I opened the door and stepped a foot on the pavement, shocked at the monumental effort it took to get my ass out of the car. Moving away from him, up to the sidewalk, seemed to help.

‘You can handle yourself?' His brows went up, no doubt taking in my battered condition. It did weaken my argument. ‘Dinner, Friday at seven?' He was persistent. ‘It'll be very casual. Before work.'

I could just imagine what ‘casual' was to a man in Armani. I wouldn't have anything to wear. ‘I'll text you.'
Yeah, I had put his private number in my phone.
Judging by his expression, it wasn't the answer he expected. ‘Thanks for the lift.' I closed the door before he could say anything else, and headed up the steps. Daniel Bane didn't drive away until I was in my apartment. A true gentleman.

Once inside, I went through the four rooms of my apartment, flipping on lights: lounge, bed, bath and kitchen. Clear. The familiar scents of home, a mix of kitchen spices, vanilla candles and a hint of gun oil, made my shoulders relax. It also made me hungry. In the fridge was a rubber-banded bunch of droopy kale, two eggs and a black banana. I tossed the kale in the sink, rinsed out the blender, and then checked everything with the Geiger counter. A pinch of radioactive isotopes was supposed to be good for the immune system, but that was CHI Tech talking, not me. There were enough things to worry about without starting to glow in the dark, a real possibility with five melting reactors spilling contaminants worldwide, not including the old Fukushima Daiichi, which no one in the world seemed to know how to shut down, even after all these years.

The Geiger read within the normal range, my sieverts measuring 1.1 mSv/y. Excellent. I cracked the eggs with one hand, peeled the banana, added ice, kale and a generous shake of salt. Yeah, I loved my sodium chloride and trace minerals. So what? My phone beeped before I could hit frappe on the blender.
Probably Cate, bored out of her mind waiting for the tow.
I answered. ‘Cate!'

‘How was the ride?'

The way she said it … the tease. ‘I'm his employee. I have integrity and I'm sure he does too.' I frowned at that.

‘Ava, you only live once.'

‘He's not my type.'

‘Too rich, too smart or too good-looking?' Cate laughed and I could hear traffic roaring by in the background.

‘Too …' I was going to say, too much my boss, but my mind fogged up and nothing came out. I rubbed the back of my neck.

‘Tow truck's here. Gotta go.'

‘Get some sleep.'

‘Yes, Mum.'

I tapped ‘end call' on one device and hit frappe on another.

The mixture whirled into a creamy green liquid. I poured the smoothie into a tall glass and downed it in long, appreciative swigs. My phone beeped again, a text message this time. I wiped my mouth and smiled. Cate wasn't going to let this go. But when I checked the screen, one message flashed, unknown number. Not Cate. I tapped it open.

Ice ran through my veins as I read the single, backlit sentence.

Enjoying the green smoothie, Ava?

The phone fell from my hands.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The air in the kitchen felt thick and smelled of sour sweat.

Mine.

It was him, and he could be anywhere.
Watching me.
The idea took hold, like fingers around my throat. I tried to reassure myself, but it didn't work.

I sucked in shallow breaths, picked up the phone, blocked the number and turned it off.
Like that's going to make him go away.
A noise jolted me from my thoughts.
Someone outside, in the hall?
I looked over my shoulder, waiting for a knock, or maybe for the door to be kicked in. Nothing. I checked out the window for parked cars. No drivers casually reading the newspaper. Not that I could see, at least. The view was limited by the maple. Listening for footsteps, I strained until I started to shake.
Calm down!
It was no time to lose it. I grabbed my water bottle and had a swig, eyes darting around my apartment.
What if he is already inside?
I went to the gun safe and grabbed my .32 NAA pistol.

The bathroom, bedroom and hallway closet were still empty. All clear. No one appeared to be watching the place, but then, if they knew their job, I wouldn't see them. Didn't see the green Subaru either. I forced myself to pick up the phone again, and turned it on. ‘Call Rourke,' I whispered into the mouthpiece. He didn't answer. The call went to his front desk and I asked to have him paged. Why hadn't he called me back? I put the phone down and checked the hall again. I started when it rang, adrenaline shooting through me. ‘Rourke.'

‘You in trouble, Ava?'

‘No shit. He's watching me.' My calm and quiet attitude was out the window. ‘I have a freaking text message to prove it.'

‘Your attacker? He's in the building?'

‘Maybe. What do we do?' I was hyped up anxious, but I did want to catch this guy.

‘Hang on.' He barked out orders and was back to me fast. ‘Lee's coming. Let him in.'

‘Who?' On autopilot, I buzzed open the entrance to the building.

‘Your tail. He'll take you someplace secure.'

‘But we could …'

‘Ava, not going to risk it, not until you're healed and can protect yourself.' There was another pause. ‘Lee's at your front door. Hall's clear. You can open it.'

I did, keeping Rourke on the line. The guy looked casual in a Hawaiian shirt and jeans, but he had his gun drawn, eyes scanning. If anything, it made me feel even more nervous.

‘Stay here, ma'am.' He started checking the rooms.

‘Ava?' Rourke was in my ear. ‘Did anything happen on the way home?'

I thought of the high speed car chase, being run off the road, Joey's truck. ‘We were followed, but he has my freaking phone number, Rourke. He knew what kind of smoothie I was drinking.'

‘Are you sure it's the man who attacked you?'

‘Who else could it be?'

There was a pause on the other end. ‘You were followed?'

‘By a white BMW.'

‘Catch the plates?'

I pressed my palm to my forehead. ‘Nope.'

‘See the driver?'

‘Male. Short hair. Tinted windows. Nothing distinct.' In other words, no war paint.

‘Unlock your phone. I'll pull the text data and send it to forensics.'

‘Can we trace him?'

‘Not after he's hung up, but we can locate the nearest tower, and with the time stamp, possibly narrow it down.'

I removed my password protection so Rourke could download the text time and my GPS. ‘Now what?'

‘We'll pull the security from your building. Who's on live feed?'

‘It used to be A&R but, you know … this is South Gate.'

‘Damn. Never mind. I'll run it myself.'

‘Thanks.' My voice came out thin and high.

‘I'm going to send the mugshots. Maybe it'll jog something. You need to stay somewhere else for a few days. I can tell you're …'

Freaked out of my mind?
‘How did he find me?'

‘Calm down, Ava. Think of who you can call, but don't do it until you're on the road with Lee, in case the apartment's bugged.'

‘Right.' I looked out from a fog of paranoia, gun still gripped in my right hand.

‘Lee'll let me know where you are. Don't worry. No one can follow him, if he doesn't want them to. Pack some things and go.'

‘Thanks.' I tapped off. My adrenal glands were about to detonate. Lee double-checked my room, the bathroom and broom closet, and the hallway. Clear. I threw some things into my backpack, then opened the gun safe, retrieving the .32 NAA holster. It strapped neatly to my left ankle. Lee looked on, expressionless, in full sentry mode. I locked the safe and grabbed my toothbrush, reading tablet and gi, the standard white martial arts kimono I trained in, and my black belt. Cate had done laundry, so I threw a stack of it into my pack as well, and a box of contacts. On top went deodorant, tampons and organic herbal face cream. It would have to do. ‘I'm ready.'

Lee ushered me out under full armed guard. The sun was going down, the maple leaves dark and glittery, shadows as long as the street. I couldn't imagine what the neighbours were thinking. Once on the road, I exhaled and told him where we were headed: UCLA student housing on Westwood Plaza. He turned in the complete opposite direction. I guess he knew his job. Meanwhile, I was on my phone, telling it to call Tom, my ex. We'd dated, sort of sporadically, in my sophomore and junior years. He was still a good friend. One of my best. I'd get an earful about the dangers of my work, but that was okay. I was confident he'd put me up, even though we hadn't talked for a few weeks.

My call went straight to voicemail. He was probably studying, or in class. Conjuring a breezy tone for the message was beyond my abilities, so I went with real: scared shitless. ‘Hey, Tom. It's me.' My throat tightened. ‘Look, a little thing's come up.'
No point freaking him out yet.
‘I need a place to crash. Just for a night. Maybe two. Hope that's alright. Couch free?' I tried to laugh. ‘Don't tell anyone. I'll explain at yours. Heading there now.'

The phone beeped. ‘Your message has been recorded.'

I tapped, ‘End call.' Headlights flashed by, and a few blocks later, we hit 110 South and stalled in rush hour traffic. I let the air conditioning blast my face, giving me goosebumps. My phone rang and I jumped. Lee looked across at me. ‘It's Tom,' I said and answered.

‘Ava. What's happened? You missed our study date Monday.'

‘I'll explain. I just need a place to stay.' Heat flushed my face; it pissed me off, how much emotion was running through me. What was I so scared of? Oh right, a murderer who left messages on my mobile. ‘Can I?'

‘You're full of mystery.'

‘That's me.'

‘Of course. Come on over.'

‘See you soon.'

* * *

Half an hour later, Lee dropped me at Tom's student housing block. I took the well-lit stairs up to the second floor, knocked twice and let myself in. Still had a key. He'd never asked for it back. Like I said, good friends. But as soon as he looked at me, my shoulder in a sling, bruises fading on all visible surfaces and possibly wild-with-worry eyes, his posture changed. I started to explain. Midway through he was sending death threats my way with the bluest eyes in the world, a real summer-day-in-the-country blue. Tom. My ex. Rugged good looks, smart and growing angrier by the second.

‘You were hospitalised and I didn't even rate a call?' he said with his jaw clenched.

‘I was slightly unconscious. Made it hard to tap speed-dial number two.' I crossed my arms in front of me.

‘I'm number two now?'

‘Second only to Cate.'

He seemed to relax at that. ‘But you were attacked? What if this guy is a murderer?'

‘I'm pretty sure he is. That's why I'm staying here, if it's alright?'

‘Of course it's alright.' He let out his breath. ‘Sorry, was I shouting?'

‘Yeah.' I shrugged out of my pack and took a seat on the couch. It felt like a second home here. Hell, I'd practically lived with Tom two years ago. I guess our relationship had been more on than off, now that I thought about it. The domestic intimacy didn't last, but being in his apartment, with the familiar sights and smell of books, coffee grounds, mandarin peels, recently burned toast and the faint trace of kitty litter, was soothing. Tom hovering over me was not.

‘How badly hurt are you? Rourke is looking out for you? Are you hungry?'

‘Not that bad. He is, and I just ate.' I patted the couch next to me. ‘Tom, sit down.'
Mental note: way to make a Cancer sun sign happy, ask them for help. They love to feel needed.

He stood there, five foot eleven, fit as ever. He'd look good if he'd stop grilling me and unpinched his brow. Tom's face wasn't movie star attractive, in spite of the summer-day eyes and surfer-blond hair, but he had strong-featured good looks. Undeniable. Thomas Roth Macey also had more allure than most guys could muster on their best days. It came with the breeding, no doubt. He was from old-family DNA, where ‘old' equals a ton of money that came over on the
Mayflower
, or something like that. Even though he rubbed shoulders with the rest of us common folk, his origins showed. I called it self-possession; others said arrogance. They couldn't have been further from the truth.

‘Walk me through it again. You got out of work at
Poseidon,
you say? When did you start there?'

I gave him the short version, right up to the personalised text from the stalker-copycat murder suspect. When I was through with the story, he finally sat down.

‘You're shaking,' he said and draped a sleeping bag over my shoulders.

I pulled it around me. It smelled like him, desert cactus under a hot sun, hint of sage. There was something else there, too, a trace of girly-sweet bubblegum. I chose not to let on I noticed. In spite of the other scent, the warmth and sense of safety had me letting go. Tears welled up for a second, but that was it. I hadn't cried properly since I was twelve. No way was I starting now. ‘I need to look at mugshots.'

‘Did you bring your laptop?'

‘Not sure if it works since the ride in Joey's truck.' The hard drive had problems even before it flew off the seat.