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Where did that come from? I was far from the settling down and marrying type. I owned the security firm and worked in the field along with my team. I didn’t work a typical nine to five hours. Most of the time, I was in the action right alongside my team.
There was a reason most of us were single.
I don’t know how Bree and Westin’s marriage survived the uncertainty that protection agents lived through.
All of this is a dangerous line of thinking. There’s no way Ava and I could work in this lifetime, and I’ve accepted it. Getting my body to cooperate with my mind was a different story.
Time to focus on the job I’m here to complete. “Have you received any texts or DMs like the emails you showed me?”
Ava reaches above her to the cabinets, still wearing the T-shirt Bree brought earlier, and a sliver of her belly is exposed.
The dark leggings are riding low on her hips, exposing twin dimples right above her ass.
I clear my suddenly dry throat.
“Um, yes, let me get my phone. I get tons of DMs after I post videos. I try to respond, but it’s hard to keep up.”
I could imagine it was with millions of followers.
“You don’t have someone to help you?” I ask. Could the stalker be targeting someone else and using Ava as a means?
“No, generally I do everything. I upload videos myself. Sierra acts as my agent and publicist. She’s the one who handles advertising and is like a liaison for anyone wanting to interview me or any appearances.”
After setting down the plates, Ava goes into her bedroom and holds her phone up to her face to unlock it for me. I pull up Instagram and see she has over one hundred direct messages.
“Wow, this is a lot of people,” I say.
She shrugs. “I went through a lot of them. People saw from Asher and Madison’s post that a shooting took place. Mostly messages asking if I was okay. There’s also an article from NY Post. Hall of Famer Henry Wells Family NYE Nightmare. So of course, all those messages are expected.”
“Here,” she says, handing me the phone. “I need to take the bake pan out.”
I begin looking through the list of senders and nothing looks out of the ordinary, except a majority of the older messages are from @iheartAva86740475. Immediately, I think these are bot-generated messages.
The timing of the messages gives me pause. This user’s messages were all sent around midnight when the shots started.
There’s only one message sent at 11:57. I select the message, heart rate quickening for what I may find.
It’s a six-second video. I press the center of the video and there’s no sound. It looks like an assault rifle in the hands of someone wearing long black sleeves and black leather gloves, and they’re cleaning the gun. The video ends when the magazines snap into the chamber.
Right under the video is a message sent seconds after the video:At the stroke of midnight, BANG BANG!
While Ava lit into Asher and I, and her phone was left on a table, this sick bastard told her exactly what they planned to do.
Whoever sent this relied on the knowledge that Ava wouldn’t check messages while having fun with her family, terrorizing her with knowledge of the shooting after the fact.
Ava’s plating the food. The Brazilian bake smells as good as it looks, but my appetite is nearly gone after that chilling video.
“What is it, Brandon?”
“I viewed one of the messages you received, and the shooter sent you a warning minutes before the shots were fired.”
Ava’s face crumples and she sets a plate down, her hands covering her face. “I could have warned everyone. I was too busy yelling at you and Asher.”
Before I have a second to consider my actions, I’m around the counter and pull Ava into an embrace. Her tears wet my shirt at my chest, and her head only reaches my shoulder.
“It’s not your fault, Ava,” I say, gripping her around the shoulders. “I’m going to catch whoever is doing this to you.”
To my last breath, I will not rest until I catch whoever thought they could fuck with Ava and get away with it.
