“Yeah. Yes. Sorry.” She looked at the strewn motor vehicles and the mile-long line of traffic with drivers all craning their necks to see what had gone down. She had some paperwork to write up and a report to make, but… “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
She hung up because she didn’t like the way she responded to SSA Sheridan’s voice. A lot of men had sexy voices. Didn’t mean anything, even though it was packaged well. She climbed into her car, knowing she’d ache tomorrow but for now, she was still riding the adrenaline high. She’d helped get another bad guy off the street, and that was why she’d joined the FBI in the first place. And why she stayed.
Chapter Five
As Ava drove up to Van’s house, a feeling of immense sorrow sank into her bones. It didn’t look like Sheridan was here yet and she was glad. It gave her a moment to grieve in peace. It was an older neighborhood, a lot of small family homes built in the fifties and sixties with some newer, larger homes here and there.
She stepped out of the Impala and headed slowly across the street to the neat little bungalow Van had shared with the wife he’d worshipped. The air was still warm from the heat of the day and the scent of roses from Jessica’s garden scented the air. Jessica had passed away by the time Ava had worked with him, but every room reflected the woman who’d made this house a home. As far as Ava knew, Van hadn’t altered a thing.
When her father had been murdered, Ava and her younger brother and sister had been packed up with barely the clothes on their backs and whisked clear across the country. The only reminder of her father had been a framed photograph kept in her mother’s bedroom. That, and Ava’s recurring nightmares.
Ava missed her dad even though she could barely remember him now.
The smell of fresh cut grass snapped her out of her memories. The sound of someone approaching from around the side of the house made her tense.
Supervisory Special Agent Dominic Sheridan appeared wearing dark slacks, a bright white shirt—complete with his service weapon in a shoulder holster—and expensive-looking, black leather shoes, now covered in grass shavings. His tie was gone, sleeves rolled, revealing tanned, strong-looking forearms and nicely shaped hands.
He stopped short and looked momentarily nonplussed. Cleared his throat. “Van didn’t like the grass getting too long.”
They looked away from one another. Their individual grief too raw to share.
“My jacket’s around back.” He tilted his head toward the rear of the house in a walk-with-me motion.
Ava said nothing as she followed him. Van lived in a corner plot with a big wedge-shaped yard. Sheridan’s Prius Bucar was pulled up outside Van’s garage. Sheridan’s jacket hung off a fence post, a red tie sticking out of the pocket. Ava watched as he rolled down his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs, the muscles in his arms flexing. Her cheeks heated. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed her ogling him and he’d blame the blush on the sun. He shrugged into his jacket but left his tie in the pocket.
“What can I do for you, SSA Sheridan?”
Those deep blue eyes probed her face. “Call me Dominic.”
“Okay.” She made it sound like a question, feigning a nonchalance she wasn’t feeling. His face was attractive. His voice was attractive. So was his stupid name. He oozed power and confidence, wealth and charm. If she had any smarts at all she’d stick to calling him SSA Sheridan.
When she didn’t say anything further, he pulled a key from his pocket. Ava crossed her arms. “You want to go inside?”
He nodded.
A shiver of trepidation hit her. “Did you look at the reports?”
His lips thinned. “I decided to take a look at the house first.”
“Do yourself a favor. Don’t look at the autopsy photos.”
“Did you?” Those denim eyes were intent on hers. She didn’t want to show weakness in front of a superior but this was about the loss of a friend. A good friend. For both of them.
“I wish I hadn’t.” She admitted as she turned toward the house.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Ava met his gaze then. “Aldrich won’t be happy that I’m here.”
“My boss won’t either, but I hadn’t planned on telling him.”
“Good plan.” They shared a quick smile.
In silent agreement they approached via the back door, the one Van insisted friends and family use when they came by.
“When was the last time you were here?” he asked.
“Monday last week.” She hadn’t wanted Van to get lonely—at least that’s what she’d told herself. In truth she was the one who was lonely but she wasn’t about to welcome SSA Sheridan to her pity party. “What about you?”
He grimaced. “May. I had a busy few months.”
Ava could tell he regretted that now. She stood aside and allowed him to turn the key and swing the door wide.
She went to take a step forward, but he touched her arm. “Put these on.”
He held out a pair of latex gloves and then pulled paper booties out of his pocket. She eyed them with surprise. “You think this is a crime scene?”
“Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to convince people?”
“But no one is buying it.” She took the gloves and tugged them on. “You said you didn’t read the reports, so—”
“I started to,” he admitted. He stretched the latex over his fingers with a snap. “It felt like I was reading about a stranger. I figured I’d get a better sense if I first looked at the scene myself.”
They both slipped the paper covers over their shoes. A ball of dread congealed in her stomach. “Has anyone else been in here since…?”
Sheridan shook his head. “Van’s daughters were waiting until after the funeral to deal with the house.”
She squared her shoulders and stepped inside. A wave of memories pummeled her. Van standing next to the coffeepot. Van making scrambled eggs for dinner because it was one of the few things he knew how to cook and he was always happy to share.