Ava glanced at Mason as she added more wine to his glass. “Brody,” he whispered, and she nodded. She’d quizzed him about the pushy reporter after their meeting, trying to get a perspective on Mason’s relationship with Michael Brody.

“He’s the gum on my shoe,” Mason had told her.

“But you obviously respect him,” she’d pointed out.

“What tells you that?”

“The way you interacted with him.”

“You picked that up from a five-minute conversation?” he asked.

“I could tell the minute you started talking to him. It takes a lot to earn your respect. Most people spend a lot of time on your list, waiting for a chance to prove if they’re worth your time or not. Brody already earned it.”

Mason had stared. She’d perfectly summed up his attitude toward the human race.

She gets me.

Who’d tapped him with the lucky stick?

He watched her move about his living room, patting the dog, straightening a book, and setting her laptop near her bag to grab in the morning. He couldn’t take his gaze off her.

“Callahan?” Brody said in his ear.

“What?” he snapped into his cell phone, realizing Ava had completely distracted him by doing . . . nothing.

“I asked if it’s Joe Upton. From Grandview, Washington.”

“Yes, that’s right. And it’s Junior, not the senior Joe Upton.”

“Noted,” said Brody. “Have you found any connections between him and the two other victims?”

Mason sighed. “No. He’s the same age. Thirty-five. That’s all we’ve got so far. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say that we’re a bunch of idiots with no leads, please.”

“Since you said please,” said Brody. “Having a woman around must soften you up. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please except to order a cup of coffee.”

“We’re done talking, Brody. Go bug someone else.” He ended the call.

He picked up his glass of wine and sipped. He hadn’t been a wine fan. He’d avoided it, not caring for the acidic, fruity flavor he’d always encountered, but Ava had introduced him to something dark and bloody red. He never remembered the name, but it had hints of smoke and coffee and earth. It was a manly wine, he’d told her the first time he tasted it. She’d found his description amusing but agreed. Now they always kept a bottle on hand.

The wine was a reflection of her. That smoke in her low voice and the down-to-earth rationality that shone in her eyes. He identified the scent of the wine with how he felt when he was around her.

She made him relax. A glass of wine, a quiet conversation, maybe some music.

It was a stark contrast to his previous rigid life of work, work, and more work.

He still worked a lot, but now he worked beside someone. The opportunity to partner with her on the same case had proved how well they meshed. He patted the sofa cushion next to him, and she sank into it with a sigh. She scooted close and leaned her head on his shoulder. The scent of the dark wine on her breath drifted to his nose, and he felt his muscles relax.

“A long day,” he said as he brushed her hair behind an ear.

“They’re all long right now. Not that I expect that to change until we find the Bridge Killer.”

“How is your arm?”

She gingerly rotated her left shoulder. “The same.”

“You missed your appointment this week, didn’t you?”

“I did.” She grimaced. “And I caught hell for it. I’ve been doing my exercises, though. It’ll eventually come around.”

“Any more out of Jayne?” Ava had told him about her most recent phone call.

“No,” Ava said quietly. “Are the doors locked?”

“Yep. And the alarm is set.” He’d had an alarm installed immediately, calling in a favor from an ex-cop who ran a reputable alarm business. When it’d just been him living in the house, he’d sort of hoped to encounter a burglar one day. He’d been prepared to make a punk’s life miserable if one dared enter his home. Now with Ava in the home, his mind-set had shifted to prevention.

He didn’t want anyone getting in. Again.

“I’ve been thinking about your place,” he said slowly, not knowing where the words had come from. They’d delicately touched on the topic of her selling her place a time or two, but both had immediately shied away from discussing it in depth. “You know I love you. I think we’ve proved we get along pretty well.”

Her body shook with silent laughter, making him smile. She’d once said they got along like peas and carrots.

“We mesh perfectly,” she said. “None of this ‘pretty well’ bullshit.”

“Good. Sell your place and move in here. Or we could rent it out, I guess, but I don’t really want to be a landlord.”

She took a sip of wine and her silence filled the room.

“Ava?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself why I don’t put it on the market. I don’t think I’m ready to yet,” she finished slowly.

He touched her chin to turn her to meet his gaze. Dark-blue eyes looked back at him as he studied her face, loving the small scattering of freckles along the tops of her cheeks. She looked sincere. She didn’t look scared. “Are you uncertain?” he asked.

Her lips curved slightly. “I’m uncertain about what to do with the condo. I’m very certain about us.”