Jayne met Ava’s gaze. Derrick had speared Jayne directly in the heart. It’d always been a source of pride for Jayne to outdo her sister in the looks department. Ava had let the competition roll off her back, knowing that any attempt she made to one-up her sister in style would be taken as a challenge. Ava preferred not to feed the constant competition that seemed to exist in Jayne’s head.

But the pain in her sister’s eyes stabbed at her. Hard living had taken its toll on Jayne’s skin, hair, and weight. Pain ripped through Ava’s chest, and she wanted to grab her sister and tuck her in bed for a month while force-feeding her a healthy diet.

Jayne dropped Ava’s gaze. She knows how bad she looks.

Jayne never admitted defeat. But defeat shone clearly on her face. Ava wanted to kill Derrick Snyder for dragging Jayne down to his low level. He’d destroyed all of her spine and determination. Ava stepped backward, reaching for her purse on the coffee counter.

“Don’t move, Fibbee!”

Ava froze at the sight of a knife that appeared in his hand at her sister’s neck. He grabbed Jayne’s hair, pulling her head high against his shoulder, exposing the long white expanse of skin.

Bruises dotted her neck. Fingertip-size bruises.

Jayne’s gaze stayed on the floor.

She knows I can see what he’s done to her.

“That’s right,” said Derrick. “I know what you do for a living. Jayne doesn’t shut up about her big-shot sister in the effing-bee-eye. Don’t touch your bag and keep your hands where I can see them, unless you want to watch the pretty red blood run down your twin’s neck.” He looked at Dot behind the counter. “Same goes for you. Let me see your hands.”

Ava watched Dot slowly raise her hands, gazing from Ava to Jayne, grasping the situation. Did she hit an alarm first? Ava listened for sirens as she shifted into her hostage-negotiator mode.

“You haven’t done anything illegal yet, Derrick. Let’s not start with hurting Jayne.” She didn’t mention his outstanding warrants. Make him think it’s not too late.

“Shut up.” He started dragging Jayne backward toward the door, clearly planning to leave with her sister.

Ava stood still, not wanting to antagonize the angry man. If he wanted Jayne to leave with him, he probably wasn’t going to hurt her any more than he’d already done. A shadow appeared outside the glass door and a man in a baseball cap pushed his way in.

“Rick!” he roared, lunging at Derrick.

Derrick spun, terror on his face, and he shoved Jayne at the man. Jayne slammed into the man’s chest, tripping over her own feet. With agility Ava hadn’t expected, Derrick spun and dashed toward the back of the store, slamming through a door labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY.

Ava ran five steps and grabbed Jayne’s waist from the back to help her balance. Jayne slapped at her hands, screaming for her to let go and kicking backward with her feet. She didn’t look over her shoulder at Ava; all her focus was on the large man in front of her. Jayne’s sharp heel caught Ava’s shin, making her see stars, and she let go. Jayne scrambled after Derrick, shrieking for him to stop and leaving Ava in her wake.

Ava watched her sister stumble and crash into the back door. She made it through and vanished, her screams of Derrick’s name echoing in the store.

She couldn’t move. Jayne had abandoned her again in pursuit of a man and the drugs. Tears smarted in Ava’s eyes. She turned to look at the big man who’d burst through the front door and rescued her sister from Derrick’s knife.

“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t think you realize . . .” She trailed off. The man was staring at her, his mouth open in shock. She could see the whites of his shadowed eyes.

He appeared to be about her age, but the stunned look on his face resembled a twelve-year-old’s. Is he simple? “Are you all right?” she asked slowly. She took a step backward, remembering that her purse with her weapon was still by the coffee.

Comprehension flashed on his face and joy filled his eyes. “Colleen,” he said with a smile. He moved toward her as if to give her a hug.

His fist crashed into her jaw and the lights in the room exploded.

As the darkness claimed her, Ava knew she was in trouble.

22

Mason felt sick to his stomach and clenched his teeth at the taste of bile in the back of his throat. The flash of the lights from the Portland police cars in front of the shitty convenience store pulsated into his brain. He put one foot in front of the other as he numbly crossed the blocked-off street toward the store. He flashed his badge at the cop at the police tape and signed the crime scene log.

This isn’t happening.

Ava is fine.

But the gnawing, aching, empty hole in his chest told him something was very wrong. It’d started an hour ago when he’d tried to call her, wondering how long she planned to be gone that morning. The call had gone to voicemail. He’d waited twenty minutes and tried again. Voicemail. He’d stepped into the backyard to throw the slimy tennis ball for Bingo a few dozen times. And called again. Then he’d opened the app on his phone to trace her location.

Well, the app traced her cell phone’s location.

It showed her phone was in Southeast Portland. He’d ignored the warning signs in his brain, knowing that the store Ava had planned to visit was in Southeast. He’d been in the process of pulling up what existed at the address when Zander had called.

Portland police had responded to an incident in Southeast Portland, and Ava’s purse with her identification, firearm, and cell phone had been found at the scene. A witness said Ava had been hit in the head and kidnapped.