Chapter 3 Chapter 3

A Rival At The Crime Scene

Ava's POV

What are you saying?

Who did you find?

"Ethan Cole." The detective whispered.

The room tilted. "Where?" I asked.

"In a motel on the other side of the city. He checked in three hours after Dylan was killed."

My mind scrambled to catch up. "Then he did it."

"His prints are on file. So far, we haven't found a single one in your apartment."

That didn't make sense. The security footage... "The hoodie," I started.

"Untraceable. Paid for in cash a week ago. We've got him on camera leaving the motel to buy a soda two hours ago. He has a rock-solid alibi for the entire night. The front desk clerk, the soda, the pay-per-view movies in his room. He's been there."

"No." I shook my head, the motion frantic. "That's impossible. He was there. The camera..."

"The camera shows a man your height, your build," Morgan corrected, her tone patient but unyielding. "It doesn't show a face. It doesn't prove it was him."

"But it was." I turned to Jace, a desperate plea. "You saw the footage. Tell her." Jace's eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw not rivalry, not contempt, but something that looked suspiciously like pity.

"All I saw was a man in a hoodie." He said.

The betrayal was a physical blow. He was supposed to be my rival, my enemy. He wasn't supposed to side with the police. Morgan took a step closer. "Which leaves us where we started. A dead man in your apartment. A weapon with your prints under your bed. A missing watch. And a giant hole in your memory."

My hands were shaking again. I clenched them into fists. "I was drugged."

"We'll know when the tox screen comes back. Until then..." She let the sentence hang, the unsaid accusation filling the room. "Why would Ethan Cole want to frame you for murder, Ava?"

The question echoed in the silent office. Why? To punish me? To drag me back into the dark? It was exactly the kind of cruel, manipulative game he would play. "Because he's a monster."

"A monster who managed to not leave a single shred of evidence, while you left a trail a mile wide," Morgan countered. "It doesn't add up."

"Then what does?" I shot back, my frustration boiling over. "You think I just decided to kill the man I love for no reason?"

"I think you're not telling me everything."

"I'm telling you what I know!"

"No," Morgan said. You're telling me what you remember. And right now, that's not the same thing."

She looked at Jace. "What are you doing here?"

He straightened. "Dylan called me."

Morgan's pen stopped. "When?"

"Last night. Around eight-thirty."

My world stopped. "What?"

Jace finally looked at me, really looked at me, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too much to bear. "He left a message. He said... he said he was in trouble. He said if something happened to him, I wouldn't believe what it looked like.  And I was supposed to look out for you."

"Why you?" Morgan asked, the question sharp as a tack.

"He trusted me."

I almost laughed. Dylan hated Jace. They were rivals, constantly sniping at each other, competing for every title, every endorsement. He wouldn't trust Jace to pass him a ball, let alone... this.

"He never told me," I whispered.

"He was trying to protect you," Jace said, the words quiet but heavy. "He thought someone from the league was involved in something. Something bad. He was digging into it."

Digging. Like the reporter he'd wanted to be before basketball took over his life. He'd always had that restless curiosity, that needed to look behind the curtain. I thought it was a hobby. A distraction.

"What was he investigating?" Morgan pressed.

"I don't know. He wouldn't say. He just said he'd found a connection. A 'ghost from the past,' is what he called it." Jace paused, he looked at me. "He mentioned Ethan's name."

My blood ran cold. "Dylan knew Ethan was back?"

"I think that's what he was trying to find out," Jace said. The office felt smaller, the air thicker. Dylan was investigating my past. He was digging into the one thing I had spent five years trying to bury. And he'd dragged Jace, of all people, into it.

"Did you see Dylan last night?" Morgan asked him. "No. I got his message. I tried calling him back a few times. It went straight to voicemail. I figured he was busy with you." He said the last part to me, a hint of something that might have been understanding, or maybe accusation.

"And your response to a cryptic message from a rival was to do... nothing?" Morgan's skepticism was palpable.

"I was going to," Jace said, a hint of steel in his voice. "Then I saw the news this morning. I came straight here."

Morgan was a predator weighing two potential threats. "You can go. For now. Don't leave the city."

Jace gave a short nod and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, his back to us. "Ava," he said, without turning around. "Don't trust anyone. Not from the league. Not from your team. Not even me."

Then he was gone, leaving behind a silence that was somehow louder than the shouting.