Hot Ink

by Carrie Ann Ryan;Cari Quinn;Sidney Bristol

  She’d left the door open with nothing to block his way. He stared at the back of the canvas. Did he wait for her to show him? He should. It was the right thing to do. And yet, he crept into the room, glancing over his shoulder as he neared the easel.

  Renee had captured him in charcoal and pencil. He was standing much as she’d asked him to, except one hand was wrapped around his cock, caught as if in mid-stroke. It was…erotic and unexpected. He’d never seen himself depicted so sexually. Renee had done something he might call beautiful, even if it was him she was drawing. She’d even captured many of his tattoos in intricate detail.

  She’d always been the master of the detail. It was her natural eye for the most subtle elements that set her apart from others, and it was something he could never learn, no matter how often he tried to emulate her. She was a class all her own, and she’d drawn him.

  Kit crept out of the room. He felt a little off balance, as if she’d taken something from him and put it in the canvas.

  Meow.

  He glanced toward the kitchen and saw Peaches sprawled on the hardwood, flicking his tail.

  “Sorry, bud. Did we keep you up?” He wrapped the towel around his hips before kneeling to give the cat his well-deserved scratches.

  Peaches closed his eyes and purred. Kit had left them both, and they’d accepted him back. Could it be a sign of some sort?

  * * * *

  Renee walked into the hospice side-by-side with Kit. It was strange how normal it felt to have him with her. It shouldn’t. They’d been apart ten years, and yet, it didn’t matter. She hadn’t slept much with him taking up most of her bed, but she’d lost herself just watching him. Which, if she thought about it, was pretty damn creepy—but he didn’t have to know that.

  She led Kit down the halls to Mick’s room. The old detective wasn’t letting the doctor’s prognosis keep him down. It wasn’t even ten in the morning and he already had his files open, spread out on the tray table that served as a desk more often than not.

  “Renee.” Mick took the glasses off and his brows rose. “Kit, too? Who died?”

  “No one died.” She gave the old man a quick squeeze and kiss on the cheek. It was a little strange to be closer to Kit’s family than Kit was, but life was an odd duck.

  Kit shook his uncle’s hand, which in Renee’s book was progress.

  “Decided to stick around a bit?” Mick asked Kit.

  “Yeah, I haven’t been home in a long time.” Kit shoved his hands in his pocket, appearing for all the world as if he were relaxed. Yet she saw the tightness around his mouth the beard did a good job of hiding.

  “I tried to get ahold of your momma and daddy.” Mick shook his head.

  “Probably best if you didn’t.”

  “They never were very good at getting along.”

  Renee glanced between the two. She could see Kit shutting down.

  “Hey, Mick. Did you know Kit went to school with Jessica Smith?”

  Mick blinked at her a few times, then glanced at Kit. “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah.” Kit shrugged. “We had a class together one year, then I never saw her again. I didn’t even know she died. I can’t believe I didn’t even know.”

  “Her family kept it really quiet, and protested when the school wanted to have grief counselors on hand at the start of the year. They said what you said, that she hadn’t been there that long and no one would notice.” Mick shook his head. “Wasn’t right.”

  “Do you think one of her family did it?” Kit grabbed a chair and dragged it closer to the side of Mick’s bed.

  Renee smiled to herself as she felt the mood of the room change. Sure, talking about the old case would always be sobering, but they were doing it together.

  “We had a few suspects that were relatives, but they had alibis. There was one guy, I’ll never forget him. Jack Smith. I was sure he did it for a while. Most crimes like this are committed by people who know the victim, so we spent a long time looking at the family, but the person we liked the best for it was named Oscar Brister.” Mick peered at Kit. “What else do you remember about her?”

  “Uh…not a lot. It was a long time ago.” Kit glanced at Renee, but she only shrugged. By the time Jessica and Kit would have had classes together, she had already graduated. “She had nice clothes, and the girls were always jealous of her shoes. I didn’t get the big deal, I mean, shoes are shoes, but the girls talked about it.”

  Mick stared at him and Renee shifted in her seat.

  “What?” Kit asked.

  “Jessica Smith came from a poor family with almost no money,” she explained.

  “Are you sure it’s this girl?” Mick pulled a picture from his folder. It was a high school photograph showing a girl with a big smile, full lips, dark hair and flat eyes. She’d smiled for the camera, but Renee doubted there was a lot else to smile about.

  “Yeah, that’s her.” Kit leaned forward. “What does that mean?”

  “Maybe she was stealing clothes from someone and they found out,” Renee suggested.

  “Yeah, but you wouldn’t kill someone over that,” Kit said.

  “You’d be surprised what girls would kill over.” Renee shook her head. Girls were vicious.

  “We know Jessica often disappeared from home for long stretches of time and no one knew where she went.” Mick crossed his arms over his chest and grimaced. “We’ve ruled out her working at any place near her house. Was she turning tricks?”

  “Tricks, like a hooker?” Kit asked.

  “Yeah.” Renee sighed. It was her least favorite explanation, but it fit. “Young, pretty girl like her could make a lot of money, which could explain her school wardrobe. Plus, she’d had sex before her death.”

  “That doesn’t mean she was a hooker,” Kit countered.

  “You’re right, which is what I’ve always hoped,” Renee said.

  Kit frowned and stared at the floor. “What if she was being paid under the table for a job? I mean, when I started working in Cali, I’d do tattoos for cash and not claim it.”

  “But who would she be working for? Young, pretty girl, no education, from a poor area? Could be anywhere. Teens could be cheap labor.” Mick rubbed his temples.

  “What if…what if the clothes were part of the job?” Renee’s mind whirled. The clothing detail wasn’t huge, and yet it raised more questions.

  “What kind of job would a teen need to dress nicely for, and be qualified for?” Mick asked.

  “Maybe she lied about her age? Job at a fancy store? High end escort?” Renee sighed as it went back to sex. Such a large number of the homicides had some sort of sexual component. It was depressing.

  “When she was dumped, the killer used a car near the dump site. She was naked. Maybe they were trying to remove evidence of the clothes? Maybe there was some connection between the clothes and her killer? Damn.” Mick shook his head. “There’s no way to get our hands on those clothes. Wherever she stashed them, they’re long gone.”

  Renee couldn’t think of a scenario where they might find an entire hidden closet. If Jessica’s family knew about the clothes or where she got the money for them, it wasn’t something they’d shared.

  She glimpsed the morning nurse hovering on the other side of the door. Though Mick appeared as if he was still healthy and able to pound the case into the ground that was far from the truth. The reality was that Mick seemed to save his energy for when people came to see him, but even that was growing short.

  “How about Kit and I go look at it? Maybe he’ll see something we’ve been missing,” Renee suggested.

  Kit stared at her like she was crazy while Mick nodded.

  “That’s a great idea. You should have been a detective.” He waggled his finger at her. It was a refrain he’d begun to say often since going over the Smith murder together after his retirement.

  “Too bad I decided I wanted to cover my body in tattoos and never, ever exercise.” She sighed and shrugged. “Okay, we’ll go c
heck it out, and I will let you know what we find.”

  Kit blinked, obviously bewildered, but he followed her lead, bidding his uncle goodbye and following her out to the hall. Renee said a quick good morning to the nurse and hurried away from the room before Mick could call them back.

  “What are we doing?” Kit asked.

  “Leaving.” She led them out into the parking lot and shoved her sunglasses on before stopping to face him. “Look, he seems like he’s got lots of energy, but he doesn’t. It’s like…he saves it for when there are people around. Long visits exhaust him, so I come in for fifteen to twenty minutes at a time, every other day.”

  “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

  “It is. He’s dying, he’s just doing it on his own time.” She took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around herself. Mick might not mean much to Kit, but he’d become family to her, and facing his end was going to tear her apart.

  “Okay.” Kit stared at her. “What do we need to do?”

  She blew out a breath, and a tightness in her chest eased. Kit wouldn’t be there forever, but he was there today, and that’s what she’d have to hold onto.

  * * * *

  Kit drove down a bumpy road, far off the beaten path toward the watery grave of a girl he’d once known. It was a surreal and disturbing situation to find himself in, but he was with Renee, so there was a little something right with the world. He glanced at her, missing the feel of her hand in his. When they turned onto the gravel road he needed both of his hands to steer.

  “You sure this is the right place?” he asked again. They hit a bump and he rocked his hip into the console. The single deep scratch she’d left on him throbbed in sweet memory.

  “Yeah.” She laughed at him. “I’ve been here at least ten times with Mick”

  “What exactly are we doing?” Part of him was jealous of his uncle. He had a relationship with Renee, where Kit might as well be a stranger to her now.

  “Appeasing him.”

  “And that means…?”

  “We’re going to go look at where she was dumped. There isn’t anything there now, just some swamp and reeds.” She bounced her knee in time to the music he wasn’t listening to anymore. She was in jeans and a tank top, with her hair up in that silly knot he missed so much.

  “What is this supposed to accomplish?”

  “It’s not about what we accomplish, it’s about…making Mick think he’s putting his last moments to use. He just…he realized he was a dick for so long, and he’s been doing everything he can to change things. This case has really stuck with him because—like you said—everyone just forgot about Jessica. Except him.”

  “And you.” She’d really opened up. He didn’t think the old Renee would be willing to show she cared.

  Renee smiled at him. “You remembered her.”

  Her smile did things to him deep in his chest. The muscles around his ribs grew tight and for a second he felt lighter than air.

  “Yeah, but not until you talked about her.”

  “Turn left here.” She pointed at a dirt track.

  He turned where she directed, and if he thought the road before was treacherous, this one was worse. The only indication it was a road at all was the two tracks of dirt worn down by tires. They finally reached a point where the hard-packed dirt turned to grass and Renee told him to stop. She got out first and picked her way to the edge of the water. He followed, not as sure about this.

  She didn’t turn toward him as he approached. It felt as though they were visiting a gravesite. This was the hallowed space where Mick and Renee came to let a teenage girl know she wasn’t forgotten. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her to his chest. Jessica’s passing proved how fast people could slip from your life. He didn’t want to become a ghost of Renee’s history, just as he didn’t want to call her someone he used to know.

  “Some kids were coming here to fish,” she said. “They think someone must have boosted a car up the road, driven it here and put a cinderblock on the accelerator. The water’s shallow up close, but out there it’s deeper. The car didn’t make it far enough out there to submerge it, or they’d have never found it.”

  “Was she…alive?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

  “No. Time of death was a few hours before. She was strangled and was brought here to be disposed of.” Renee wrapped her arms around herself as they stared at the slow-moving current.

  There were a hundred little noises around them. The breeze through the trees, the whine of the reeds, birds calling to one another, the buzz of insects and a hundred other sounds. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it might be like to come here to die. It just felt so—alone—out here. Even with Renee an arm’s length away.

  “In all those times you’ve been out here, have you found anything new?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why keep coming?”

  “Because someday, someone might find her killer.”

  Something cracked to his left. He peered through brush.

  “Probably just some kids going fishing,” Renee said.

  Or it might be Jessica’s killer.

  Two teenage boys tromped through the grass, fishing poles over their shoulders. They stared at Renee and him with round eyes.

  “Hey guys. How’s it going?” Renee asked. She stepped toward the kids, who darted uncertain glances at him.

  “Good,” one muttered.

  “Okay,” said the other.

  “This is my friend Kit.” She gestured at him. “He knew the girl your brother found here. Say, do you remember anyone finding some clothes nearby? Bagged up or just tossed on the side of the road?”

  “No, ma’am. My brother don’t come over here anymore,” the second boy said.

  Renee sighed. “It was worth asking. How are you doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.”

  “Don’t say too much,” Renee jibbed. She shook her head. “Okay, well, we’re headed out. Thanks for your time.”

  Renee had no sooner turned than the boys shuffled around them and went on their way.

  “We done?” Kit asked. He didn’t want to seem like he wasn’t okay doing this for his uncle, but kicking around in the backwoods wasn’t solving anything.

  “Yeah.” She sighed and climbed back into the Jeep.

  “Where to now?” he asked as he reversed the Jeep back to the gravel road.

  “Anywhere.”

  He rolled the thought around. It was nearing noon and he had something he wanted to throw at Renee to see what she’d do.

  “Say, you okay visiting a friend of mine?” He turned onto the gravel road and shifted into drive. As he glanced in the rearview mirror, he saw a man standing in the driveway to one of the homes clustered together. He had a thousand-yard stare aimed at the Jeep. The old guy gave Kit the creeps.

  “You have friends?”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha. Yeah. A few.” He maneuvered the truck around until they were back on the road, headed for Baton Rouge, and away from the creeps.

  Chapter Five

  Renee stared at the front of the biggest tattoo shop in Baton Rouge. She’d been in this one a few times back in the day when she was looking for a new gig. These days it was the only decent place to get ink, but she just couldn’t do it. She’d been turned down, but at least it hadn’t been a cop-out. The shop had a full contingent of artists and no space for another. She still didn’t like being back here.

  “Who do you know here?” she asked as Kit climbed out of the truck.

  “A buddy of mine, Dave. He’s just in town for the week, maybe more if he feels like it. Come on.” Kit shut the door and stepped up on the curb.

  She couldn’t sit out in the truck, no matter how much she wanted nothing to do with the shop. Kit was up to something, and she didn’t like it. Why couldn’t he let it go, like she had? Just because he was the newest, celebrity tattoo artist didn’t mean she wanted to be. At least not outside of her ima
gination. So she dragged her feet into the shop, resolute on not shivering as the buzz of machines greeted her and the scent of green soap and A&D ointment perfumed the air.

  The shop was in an old saloon, complete with wooden walls and swinging doors to the back. The counter was the old bar, except there were glass fronts to display jewelry and merchandise. Flash art hung on the walls, along with some prints and a framed Bon Jovi poster.

  Kit was already looming over a burly man stretched out on a padded massage table while another man bent over the client’s calf, tattoo machine in hand. Her fingers curled, remembering the weight and feel of her old tools. She missed the process and artistry of tattooing. The people? Not so much. The rest of the shop’s artists crowded around as Kit told them some story. He had the charm turned on, and the men eating out of his hand.

  Ten years ago he would have shied away from being the center of attention. Now, it was her turn to hope no one looked at her. Besides, he’d earned the fame through his blood, sweat and tears.

  “Can I help you?” a man drawled.

  Renee turned toward the voice. She recognized his face, but couldn’t place his name. He had salt and pepper hair, a wiry frame and a spit cup in hand. Chances were he’d been around back when she’d tried and failed to work here.

  “No, thanks,” she said with a quick smile. She thumbed toward Kit. “I’m with him.”

  “Ah, the big kahuna.” He nodded, one side of his mouth kicking up. “You from around here? You look kind of familiar.”

  “Uh, yeah, actually I live here.”

  “Have you been in here before?” His gaze narrowed a bit.

  “Just once looking around.”

  “Did you used to work at that place down in the arts district?” He stroked his chin.

  “What place?” Shit. She didn’t know why she wanted to hide her former profession so badly, but she did.