Sexy Ink!

by Jamie Collins

  “Of course, Tess. I’ll box two of them up for you to take to your in-laws before you have to head out. Have I told you how glad we are that you and your family are here? That you came all this way to spend Thanksgiving with us?”

  “So sweet of you, Bubbi. My little Ella just loves Louis. So, too, do the demon twins, but they’ll never show it. In fact, I think that Sienna has a little crush.”

  “You think? I can never tell. They all just always look so bored in our presence, or just completely absorbed with their iPods and gaming consoles. I swear, I can’t get Louis to actually pick up a book.”

  “That’s actually ironic, don’t ya think?” Tess said.

  “Well, he certainly doesn’t need to be reading what I write! I promise you, no interest there, except for the lifestyle it brings.” La Costa wiped her hands on a dishtowel and said, “Looks like dinner will be ready in about an hour. Where’s that pitcher of mimosas that Henry whipped up?”

  Tess smiled, feeling quite proud of herself and the great team that she and La Costa had become. Things were running on all cylinders, and there was no end in sight. La Costa Reed was holding her own in the rankings, and the new year would only promise more good things to come.

  “Oh, and speaking of which, what is it with that new man of yours? I tell you, he’s a prince! He took all of the kids down to the spa to wear them out in the saltwater pool with a marathon run of Marco Polo, and then officiated a quick pickup game on the basketball court. He’s a keeper, that one, for sure!”

  “That he is, Tess. He has two boys of his own, both superstars at their colleges out east. He just got back from having an early holiday with them in DC. I don’t think I have ever been happier about so many things. I am often afraid to say that out loud, fearing I might jinx something.”

  “Not a chance. If he makes you happy, that’s all you need to know. You’re simply beaming, Bubbi.” Tess grabbed the pitcher and poured a flute for La Costa. After refilling her own, she raised her glass and proclaimed, “I glow, too, from time to time, but now it’s just hot flashes. Here’s to more magic, manuscripts, and memories to come! Salute, my friend!”

  The two clicked glasses and fell into a fit of giggles.

  * * *

  The woman in the blue bandanna sat calmly in the waiting area. The paperwork had been completed weeks ago for her release. A bundle of clothing, all she had been wearing on the day of her arrest, was returned to her, along with a manila envelope containing some personal effects and sixty-six dollars in small bills. She ripped open the envelope upon receiving it and dumped the contents into her lap, her skittish fingers touching every piece of paper, searching manically for the glossy photo. It was there. Crumpled and faded, but it was there.

  She leaned over to the woman sitting on her left, holding a similar stack of clothing and a discharge envelope, and said, “Is someone picking you up?”

  “My sister,” the woman said. Panther had known her from the exercise yard and from a work assignment the past summer. “Need a ride?”

  “Yeah,” Panther said, handing the woman the crumpled cash.

  “Keep it, babe,” the woman said. “You’re going to need it. We can take you as far as Baton Rouge. Cool?”

  Panther nodded. It would be a start.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  La Costa was twenty-five hundred words into the first draft of her next romance trilogy, with the working title: The Jess Trader Chronicles, when Henry emerged from the bedroom, dressed and ready for the day. He leaned in behind her at the keyboard and nuzzled her neck with a chin full of prickly stubble.

  “I know you don’t think that you can come up in here without a clean-shaven face and kiss me,” La Costa teased.

  He knew how much she hated his scratchy post-dawn beard, but it was already past eight, and he had to get to the bistro.

  “I’m sorry, babe. I have to run. I wouldn’t be so grizzled if you would have let me get any sleep last night,” he said, pulling her hands from the keyboard and wrapping them around his neck. “My staff doesn’t mind the new look. Everyone knows that I’ve gone to seed since you stole my heart.”

  “Is that so? Seems to me that someone passed out last night after too much wine and turkey. Once our guests were gone, so were you. As soon as you hit the pillow!” La Costa said, straightening his collar. He looked adorable in his button-down shirt and starched chinos. Who would have ever thought that her type was this delicious-smelling, intoxicating, clean-cut white man, Henry Paige? Certainly not her.

  “Where’s Louis?” Henry asked, reaching for his car keys and slipping the Tumi satchel strap over his shoulder.

  “He went back to the hotel with Tess and her family. They are taking him with them on the road trip to San Diego. He and Reyce are like brothers. Said he wanted to go.”

  “So that means . . . ?” Henry smiled.

  “We are going to be blissfully alone for the next couple of days. They will drop Louis off when they make their way back to LAX on Sunday to fly back to New York.”

  “Oh,” Henry said with a sly smile. “We will definitely have to take advantage of that.”

  “You read my mind,” La Costa said. “But not before I get this word count done for the day. Till then, I can’t even think about that, so go on and get. I have work to do.”

  Henry gave her another kiss and squeezed her waist. “Don’t work too hard. Dinner tonight at my place?”

  “It’s a date. Now, go!” La Costa said.

  Not two minutes after he had left, La Costa’s phone buzzed. It was a call from South Carolina.

  “Ms. Jackson?” The voice on the other end of the line was terse and formal. “I am attorney Anderson T. Wade. I have some unpleasant news to tell you about a Ms. Georgia Byrne. I am sorry to say that she passed away ten days ago.”

  La Costa sat, stunned and silent, in the chair, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. She barely heard the lawyer’s voice droning on the other end of the line as tears welled up in her eyes and her body started to tremble.

  “I am handling the details concerning the terms of the will, which has been presented to court for probate on behalf of her executor. You have been named in the terms of Ms. Byrnes’s will as a person of interest in the estate. Her great-niece is requesting that I contact you. When can you be here?”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Three days later, La Costa received a copy of the will, which had been overnighted to her Los Angeles residence. La Costa couldn’t believe it. She had just spoken to Georgia two weeks prior, and she had looked fine. Quick and sharp as ever. The attorney, Mr. Wade, had not given her any information about what had happened. She would just have to wait until she could get to South Carolina and was able to meet with Georgia’s great-niece to find out.

  La Costa had managed to rearrange her scheduled appearances for the next week, much to her publicist’s dismay, in order to fly to Hilton Head Island to sort out the details. From the preliminary and pedestrian reading of the documents, it appeared as if La Costa had been named as one of the beneficiaries of the estate.

  “How long do you think you will be gone?” Louis asked, as he watched La Costa pack a sensible overnight bag that would qualify as a carry-on.

  “Not long, sweetie. It’s just to settle some paperwork and to pay our respects. I would take you with me if it didn’t mean you would miss any more school.”

  “I know,” Louis said somberly.

  La Costa stopped packing and sat down next to him on the bed and pulled him close. “I know that you loved her, baby. I did too. We are really going to miss Ms. Georgia, aren’t we?”

  He let a tear slip from his eye. It was a shock to them both, and it would be the first time that Louis had ever lost a loved one. La Costa wondered if she was doing the right thing having him stay behind. He would be in Henry’s care, which made the most sense. By now, Louis was much too old for a formal sitter.

  “I’m going to need you to look out for things while I’m
gone and listen to what Henry says. He will be staying here at the condo evenings, but you are on your own during the school day. I’ve spoken to the doorman, and he is aware that I’m not going to be here, and that Henry will.”

  He nodded and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah, okay. Oscar’s cool. He lets me use the express service elevator and the basketball court after hours.”

  “You go to him if you need anything. You have my cell number, right? I’m going to check on you throughout the day, though, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you, sweetie. More than you can ever know,” La Costa said, giving him a firm, lingering kiss on the forehead.

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  Four hours later, La Costa was on a plane for the nearly five-hour flight to Hilton Head. When she had arrived, she checked her messages while hailing a cab to the hotel. She had several texts from Henry: CALL ME WHEN YOU LAND. . . BE STRONG! WE MISS YOU! And one from the lawyer, with directions to his office for the next morning’s meeting.

  La Costa stepped out onto the pavement and was hit with the warm, beach-tinged humid air of Carolina. A feeling of sadness mixed with fond memories followed. In a strange way, she felt like she had come “home” to a place that, like no other, filled her soul with peace and gladness. She could not imagine never seeing Georgia, or her bright, all-knowing eyes ever again.

  She slipped into the back seat of the cab and texted her two men confirmation that she had arrived safely and punctuated each message with a series of x’s and o’s and emoji hearts.

  Still, there had been at least twenty texts from Tess and the publisher needing her attention. La Costa sighed. It was going to be a long night after a long day.

  The next morning, La Costa arrived at the lawyer’s office and was introduced to a roomful of people, one of whom was Georgia’s fresh-faced great-niece, Desi Byrne, a millennial with ivory skin, a Brazilian blowout, and Georgia’s jewel-toned eyes. She was accompanied by her personal lawyer and seemed more bored than sorrowful when La Costa offered her hand to relay her condolences. “I am so sorry for your loss. She was such a vibrant and strong woman. Do they know what took her?”

  Desi gave a limp handshake, her hand barely grazing La Costa’s and mouthed, cancer, followed by a rude, full yawn.

  Being in her frosty presence made La Costa’s famed “ice queen” publisher look like a fairy princess.

  The meeting was long and exhaustive, as Georgia’s assets were many, including the business holdings, royalties on her book and movie rights, which would continue paying out for some seventy years into the future, assorted stocks, CDs, and two sizable savings accounts. But the outcome for La Costa was swift and conclusive. Less than one hour into the meeting, La Costa was made aware of the reason she had been summoned.

  She phoned Henry from the lobby of the lawyer’s modest office on Chamber of Commerce Drive to let him know the startling news. “Are you sitting down?” La Costa asked him.

  “I’m having a bit of lunch, babe. How did it go?”

  “Well, put down the roast beef, honey, because Louis and I just inherited Splendor Bay!”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  December 2014

  La Costa awoke to the glorious sound of Henry snoring beside her. She reached out for the now-familiar warmth beneath the bed sheets that formed a sort of cocoon around them both. Henry was her man. She felt sheltered by his strong frame as he lay near to her on a shared pillow. Her nightgown was still folded neatly on the edge of the bed, evidence of the need not to wear it after all, as they inadvertently had tumbled into bed and made love well after midnight. A pleasure, like this morning, celebrating the luxury of an empty house reclaimed. With Louis away overnight at his friend Kayden’s condo twelve floors down, she and Henry were wonderfully alone.

  They had spent the night prior discussing their lives and plans for the future. It was nearly Christmas, and soon, would be the new year. In just three years’ time, Henry would be handing the reins of the bar and restaurant over into the competent hands of his eldest, Zachary, who would then begin on as full-time manager of the bistro in the spring after graduation. Then, his second born, Grayson, the marketing genius, would join on the following fall, at which time, Henry would embrace early retirement in all its glory and forms. In short, he would have more time to mentor his sons with the business as well as have more free time for her and Louis.

  The acquiring of Splendor Bay could not have come at a better time. It would be something that they could share together, putting them further on common ground. It was a place where La Costa had come into her own, and now, much like Georgia and her beloved Macklin, she and Henry could do the same. Couldn’t they? The house came with the business of running the B&B, and nobody knew better how to run a successful business than Henry. At worst, they could hire out a management firm to keep the historical inn up and running in the short term, keeping it the unique and special treasure that it was.

  And seeing as how knights in shining armor were so very hard to come by these days, La Costa could not have been more grateful to have been rescued by the king of all Prince Charmings, Henry Paige. She couldn’t wait to show Henry what she and Georgia had made of the historical house. They had plans to fly to Hilton Head Island just after the holiday over Louis’s winter break. She had the keys, the deed, and big hopes for the future.

  Henry was more than La Costa’s prince. He was her inspiration, encouraging her that she could indeed do anything she set her mind to, including, and not least of all, letting him love her.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Las Vegas, NV

  AJ bent over the pool table with a Winston bobbing from his copious lips, taking a few practice shots. He was a tower with tree-trunk legs and rock-hard limbs. He had eyes the color of strong coffee, a cue-ball head, and a jagged scar on his forehead near his left ear, courtesy of a prison fight. He was a slow talker with a booming voice, who preferred to speak with his fists. He was mean, vengeful, and jealous, and more than anything, he didn’t like to lose.

  He studied the rack and chalked his cue, waiting for his mark, a former frat-boy wannabe poser from some flyover state, thinking he could score some action in a two-bit pool house on the Strip. There was always action to be had. AJ’s accomplice, Gunner, was a con from Detroit who knew how to spot the suckers. He had the hustle down to an art form. He first would befriend the mark at a different bar, play a few rounds with him, letting him win, and then suggest that they find some bigger thrills. “I know a place where there’s action twenty-four-seven. With game like yours, you could really clean up. Any rail bird can tell you how easy it is to make an easy score, ya just gotta know where to go.”

  First, they would start the mark at ten barrels at twenty-five dollars a game. AJ would play below his speed, eventually driving the mark “on the hill,” where the only thing needed was one more win to land the set. This was when they would up the ante to a dime set—one thousand dollars a game. AJ was calculating and patient. Rarely did he fail to take the mark in the end for all he had.

  AJ was cold and mean. He fought dirty, conned, and used others for his own gain, and most of all, he despised women. They were all bitches and whores to him, just the same. He had served his first eighteen months in prison when he was nineteen. It was a woman who had fingered him for stealing her identity in a sweetheart scam and assaulting her, a woman who had prosecuted him, and it ultimately was a female judge who put him in that hell hole. When he finally got out, he dabbled in petty crime, drug possession, and illegal possession of firearms, but was never caught. He was too slick and too smart for that. He played the odds and would bet on just about anything, especially himself. He was fearless.

  Raised in South Compton from age six, life for AJ and his little brother, Tavon, in the mid-seventies was a nightmare of abuse and neglect from the start. Their father, Lionel, was a custodian who cleaned toilets in the rat-hole project that they lived in, and who spent his free t
ime drinking, betting on fast dogs, and taking turns beating on his two sons. Their mother, Opal, prostituted herself to support a raging crack habit and spent her sober hours of the day plotting her husband’s death. The brothers were malnourished, unclean, and unloved most of the time. The day that AJ came home to find Lionel had bought it with a single shot to the head, Opal was nowhere in sight. That changed everything for him. His mother had taken what little there was left, along with little Tavon, and vanished. Not wanted in the bargain, AJ was on the streets at just fifteen. In spite of his age and only having an eighth-grade education, he learned to fend for himself. His motto becoming: Take first, or be taken.

  Damaged goods, he eventually sought validation in the strip clubs and bars in and around LA in his twenties. He was consumed with the lure of sex, power, and making a quick buck however he could. When the prospect of making it big in the sex trade went cold, he turned back to the only other reliable asset he had, organizing a sequence of armed robberies at a number of local gas stations and quick marts for fast cash. That is, until 2003 when his sometimes-on, sometimes-off, ex-girlfriend, Panther St. James had resurfaced, assuring him that she had “done away” with the baby after their breakup and was now willing to be an accomplice in his life of crime. Regrettably, however, she ratted on him in an attempt to lessen her own sentence in connection with a botched burglary in Watts one sweltering summer day.

  She got a cakewalk sentence in a women’s correctional facility, and he did seven hard years in California State Prison for being in her phone contacts. Needless to say, he was not inclined to forgive her. His street smarts and lust for payback would not allow it.

  It had been a long night, and the pool hall had thinned out. AJ took a swig of his Rémy Martin, settled with Gunner, and headed home to his fleabag apartment on Donna Street in North Las Vegas. It was there that he would continue to hole up, biding his time and counting the days until redemption.