Escorted By The Ranger. C.J. Miller
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rest of your security team went ahead. The funeral home has been swept and security is tight. We’ll stay vigilant,” Jack said.
He offered his arm and she took it, slipping her hand around his elbow and exiting the house with him. The warmth of holding on to him and the security of knowing he was protecting her were a comfort. He smelled of sandalwood, the light fragrance of his aftershave.
Leaning her head closer, she inhaled. “You smell good.”
“Thank you. Same goes.”
He opened her car door, helped her inside and circled to the driver’s seat. It was a basic sedan with dark tinted windows and comfortable leather seats. She had purchased the car for transportation around the city when she wanted to go unnoticed and so there was nothing remarkable about the outside of the car and the inside was comfortable enough to sit for hours when she was stuck in traffic or when driving it to photo shoots closer than a plane ride away.
“Do you have any suspicions about who might have hurt Avery? I’m not looking for evidence and proof. I want to know who you think might have been involved. I can better protect you if I have an accurate picture of the situation,” Jack said.
An accurate picture of her life included many volatile characters. Models, photographers, musicians and the occasional brush with professional athletes and actors. Some had built their reputation on being difficult and others liked to make headlines. “I don’t know who will show up today. Less successful models were jealous of Avery. She was the face of famous brands and she worked the good gigs.”
“Like you,” Jack said.
“Like me, but also different. Avery dealt with problems more directly. When I’m working with someone who doesn’t like me, I ignore it. Avery liked to engage and confront a problem. She would get into screaming matches and a few times, she refused to pose with certain models. Since Avery is more in demand than most others, she was responsible for lost jobs.” Marissa didn’t like to spread gossip, but Avery had worked with younger, less experienced models who had walked off the set in tears and had lost the booking and a six-figure payday.
“If you see anyone at the memorial who you know had a score to settle with Avery, give me a heads-up. Although it’s unlikely an enemy will show up looking to offer their sincere condolences.”
But on the off chance he or she did, Jack would be close by. Marissa was used to standing on her own. Even when she had been married, travel and work schedules meant she hadn’t often been in the company of her now ex-husbands. That might have been part of their problem, no real intimacy or sustained closeness.
Marissa was determined to have loyalty, trust, intimacy and love in her next relationship. She’d move past lust and desire into real, amazing love. Her skin tingled at the thought of Jack as the object of her affection. To pursue Jack was a mistake. She had selected the wrong man time and again and when she next fell for someone, she would make sure it was real and lasting and not a fling.
* * *
Marissa hadn’t known Avery to attend religious services of any type, but her memorial service was being held at Saint John’s, a megachurch in downtown New York. The building was constructed of brown and beige bricks in a gothic style that was imposing and dark. Entering the church, Marissa felt she was transported to another place. As historic and unwelcoming as the exterior was, the inside was modern and fresh, the walls painted pale gray and covered in posters and prints about salvation and new life. Coffee and beverages were being served from carts. The memorial service was being held in the main auditorium, which seated three thousand. Chairs had been cleared from the center to allow mourners to mingle.
On the left stage, a band was setting up. On the center stage were life-size prints detailing the progression of Avery’s career, from age fourteen to the present. Each photograph was angled under the best lighting, as if Avery herself was doing a photo shoot. It was unsettling how lifelike the photographs were.
The room was adorned in gold trim, the reflection from the metallic accents bouncing light around the room, the shine second only to the scent of flowers. Huge arrangements lined the stage, hung on easels, sat on posts and covered the floor space around the pictures.
Marissa cringed when she noticed the band’s name. Her ex-husband Michael’s band was performing. Avery’s mother hadn’t mentioned it. Though they had changed names and members over the last fifteen years, Michael was the lead singer and guitarist and proficient on the piano. He was iconic in the music industry. Though she and Michael had been married for about five minutes, it had been dramatic and heartbreaking. Their entire relationship had played out in the tabloids. Marissa had been young and naïve, and had given interviews about her relationship and said far too much. Two months into their relationship, she was claiming to love him and calling him her soul mate. Her words had come back to haunt her during their breakup and subsequent divorce.
The one detail that had never made it to the public eye was that after their quickie Vegas wedding, the following week, he had tattooed her name on his left posterior. Laser surgery would have removed it by now. Marissa and Michael hadn’t spoken in years and that awkwardness arced between them.
Marissa bumped into Jack and straightened.
“Sorry,” she said.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I see an old friend. Not an old friend. Ex-husband. The second one,” Marissa said. She took a deep breath. Standing in a room with Michael shouldn’t be hard. If he was sober, he would respect the space and remain reverent. If he was high, she expected rudeness, possibly some yelling.
“Could he have anything to do with this?” Jack asked.
Her exes didn’t care enough to lash out at her. They gained nothing from killing Avery and then targeting her. Their divorces were final. Based on what she had seen, they had moved on with their lives.
“My ex-husband didn’t kill Avery.”
“Did he know Avery?” Jack asked.
She and Avery had been friends for decades. “Yes, but they got along with her.”
“Tell me about your ex-husbands,” he said.
She gestured around. “Here?” She didn’t want to talk about them. It made her feel silly at her age to be married and divorced—twice. The first time, she had been young, naïve and looking for something stable and real and Elliott had been grounded and calm. The second time, she had been caught up in a wild affair. Michael had swept her off her feet.
“Or elsewhere and later. Your call.”
She wanted to put off the inevitable, indefinitely, but Kit may have already told him some of the more sordid details. For that matter, an internet search would fill in the blanks. “The first is a bar owner in Chicago. Elliott and I were married for three years. He hated my travel and after a while, it bothered him that I was too recognizable and that meant we rarely had privacy. The second is Michael, who is over there. He and I traveled too much to see each other enough to make it work. Opposite schedules.” To list her marriages in those simplified terms, she felt like they were part of some past life. Each had affected her and every time, she had believed in love and forever.
A piano played a familiar tune and Marissa tried not to stare. Michael was seated at the piano bench, warming up for what Marissa expected would be a big performance. Michael didn’t do small.
“We don’t need to stress about this. Say goodbye to Avery now and give yourself this time to focus on her,” Jack said. “Do you want me to keep him away from you?”
That wasn’t necessary though having Jack at her side gave her a bump in feeling safe. “I can handle Michael.” Marissa had enjoyed the distraction of the conversation. The situation was overwhelming. As she walked through the room, she sensed Jack at her back.
“Marissa!” Ambrose’s voice. She spun on her heel and he wrapped her in a tight hug. Ambrose was slender and tall, with curly dark hair he kept cut short. It was graying