Are we in a rut?

Nothing wrong with routine and knowing what you enjoy.

She listened to his description of Justin’s home, interjecting occasionally with a question.

“I can’t get a feel for this kid yet,” Mason said, his eyebrows coming together. “Usually by now I have a picture with lots of pieces. So far all I can see is a typical twenty-year-old who doesn’t know what to do with himself and isn’t getting much guidance from his parents. They seem to let him float along, doing as he pleases.”

“What about his history of depression? They got him help for that.”

“Yes, but I wonder if they were scared to push him into more independence. It really was odd over there. It was like he was sixteen, not twenty. When I was twenty, I’d been out of the house for two years. I studied hard in college, worked a part-time job, and got an apartment with friends. We were lucky that one of us had an old TV, otherwise we wouldn’t have had one. Kids today believe they must have every piece of updated electronics.”

“Careful, your old man is showing,” she teased. “Next you’ll be telling me you didn’t get a new car for high-school graduation.”

He snorted. The waiter took their orders and left them with a basket of dark warm bread. Ava tore off a piece, slathered it with butter, popped it in her mouth, and sighed, closing her eyes in bliss at the happy sparks emanating from her tongue. She opened her eyes to find him grinning at her.

“What?”

“You look happy. That makes me smile. I didn’t know someone could enjoy bread so much.” His brown gaze held hers, and she wished she weren’t heading home alone after their meal.

“I told you I was hungry. So Justin’s room turned up nothing? His car looked pretty clean, although we did find some of his prescription bottles in the trunk. It was the same medication his mother showed you.”

“Who keeps old pill bottles? Most people throw them out once they’ve picked up the refill.”

“Maybe the evidence teams will find something more interesting in his car or the home. Is his psychiatrist next on your list?”

Mason swallowed his mouthful of bread. “I hope so. Ray’s contacting him because we want to talk to him tonight. Was Zander still at the command center?”

“Yes. Although the connection to his jewelry fence is looking weaker and weaker. Justin Yoder doesn’t seem like the type to get involved in millions of dollars of stolen gems.”

“Agreed. The kid collected Marvel action figures and had a weakness for Mountain Dew. Doesn’t say international assassin to me.”

A group of people strolled by their outdoor table, and Ava fought the urge to hide as her gaze locked on a slim platinum-blond woman dressed in too-short shorts.

Jayne?

The woman laughed in the center of the group; her head turned and Ava caught a clear view of her profile. Not Jayne.

“Jesus Christ,” said Mason. “What was that?” He studied her, his brow wrinkled. “You looked like you were about to dive under the table.” He turned to follow her gaze, and watched the group continue down the sidewalk. “Oh.” He looked back at her. “It was the blonde, wasn’t it?”

Ava gave a shaky nod.

“What went through your head?” His expression showed nothing but concern.

“I wanted to hide,” she said, her heart still pounding. “I didn’t want her to see me or see us or stop to talk to us.” She briefly covered her eyes. “Oh, my God, how wrong is that?”

“Not wrong at all. I’m pretty certain you prefer your calm life instead of the spinning mess that Jayne creates. I don’t think your reaction was overboard.”

Ava took a long drink of her ice water and set it down. “You don’t know the jolt it sent through my system.” Her limbs still tingled.

“I saw it clear as day on your face.” He scowled at her. “Stop beating yourself up about it. You haven’t seen her in months. And the last time you did see her, she wasn’t fit for human companionship.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. The waiter brought their food and she took a few bites of her salad, not tasting it.

“Screw this.” Mason set down his knife and looked at her earnestly. “I thought you’d learned not to let her affect you. We’ve got a good chance for a nice meal here. I don’t want Jayne McLane messing with my burger.”

He was absolutely right. She shook her head at him. “It snuck up on me. I talked to her on the phone this morning, and she sounded great.”

His brow rose and he popped a piece of bread in his mouth.

“I know it’s temporary. But I do like to talk with her when she’s normal.”

“You miss her.”

She sucked in a breath. “I miss the normal Jayne, but normal has always come with a large piece of crazy. I don’t think there’s been a time in our lives when she’s been one hundred percent normal.”

“What was your mother like?” Mason carefully buttered another piece of bread.

His casualness didn’t fool her. Was your mother mentally ill, too? “Other than two years of hell with her ovarian cancer at the end of her life, she wasn’t like Jayne. Ever.”

“And you never knew your father.”

“Right.”

“You’ve looked.” It wasn’t a question.

“I did after my mother died. I suspect she didn’t give us accurate information about his name and where he lived. The question is, was that deliberate or an accident? Maybe he was never honest with her.” It wasn’t a new discussion for her and Mason. They’d skirted around her family history a few times. Her past was like a partially healed scar. It’d been ripped open too many times, and she’d discovered the only way to let it mend was to completely avoid it. Mason had pressed her a few times about her parents, and she’d been brief. If she dug too much, the scar might tear wide open.