“Let’s go,” he said and his hand came out, palm up, toward me.
And I swear to God, I had no control over what I did next. I looked at his strong hand and walked forward, ignoring the hand. I moved right by it, kept walking until I collided with his hard body, head on. I shoved my face in his chest, grabbed fistfuls of his shirt right next to my cheeks and held on while I let the tremors overwhelm me.
Within a second of making contact with his body, Luke’s arms wrapped around me.
Tight.
Chapter Seven
Pink Lady Sandy
For the next year of my life (not really), I looked at seven million, two hundred thousand and forty-four (not really) mug shots. I found the pictures of both the guys who kidnapped me. My identification of them made Luke’s mouth get tight when he saw their faces, I didn’t ask why mainly because I didn’t want to know.
This was after I told a nice, older man named Detective Jimmy Marker my kidnapping story. This short story took a lot longer because Indy, Ally, Shirleen, Daisy and Jules all phoned me while I was telling it to find out if I was okay. I was guessing Jet and Roxie got the story from Eddie and Hank and Shirleen, Daisy and Jules got my number from Indy or Ally.
After this was all over, Luke took me to his Porsche. We strapped in and the Porsche glided to the street (even post-kidnapping I had to appreciate the ride was sweet) and I said quietly, “Please take me home.”
Luke didn’t answer. What he did do was drive through LoDo, taking Speer Boulevard all the way into the Highlands, which led to my house. In front of my house I got out of the car and made my way to the door. Luke took the keys from my hand at the door, let us in and stopped me just inside.
“Stay here, I’m gonna check the house.”
I did as I was told.
When he was done, he came back to me and closed the door.
“Ava.”
I looked up at him.
“I’m spendin’ the night.”
I let out a breath.
Thank you God.
I nodded.
He watched me a beat and said, “I’m gonna do a scan of the neighborhood. Lock the door behind me.”
I nodded again. He turned to leave.
“Luke?”
He turned back to me.
“You should park your Porsche in my garage. This neighborhood isn’t good.”
“Got an extra remote?”
I took him to the kitchen, dug through my junk drawer, gave him the extra remote and an extra set of keys.
He left. I locked the door behind him.
I walked upstairs and went straight to the linen closet, pulling out the bedding and extra pillows for the futon. My futon was a fancy one with armrests and everything. It was a pain in the ass to get open because it weighed a ton. I figured I’d make the bed when Luke got back. He’d probably be able to pull it out by glaring at it.
I went to my bedroom and dropped the Roman blinds. I’d painted my bedroom in a soft, eggshell blue. It had a white bed stand, solid wood, no slats, which meant no way to cuff me to it, which was not why I bought it but that had now become an additional bonus; two thin white nightstands on either side; a white dressing table with a big mirror; and a tall, narrow seven-drawer lingerie dresser. The sheets were pale green, the bedspread and pillow shams were a pattern of eggshell blue and green that matched the tile around the fireplace. The big windows had wispy white curtains and custom-made Roman blinds. I took one look at it and decided I was never going to leave it, ever again, in my whole, f**king life.
Unfortunately, before I could do that I had to take out my contacts.