Chasing Shadows (First Wives Book 3)

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Chasing Shadows (First Wives Book 3) Page 18

by Catherine Bybee


  “You would, too, if you had eight legs and an exoskeleton,” Hiraku said.

  Emmett handed her the other page. Together they were matched perfectly.

  “You guys are really good.”

  “Damn straight.” Monique had attitude.

  Avery loved it.

  Avery stood with the papers in her hand.

  “Here.” Hiraku handed her a plastic sheath to put the sketches in.

  Avery set them back on the table. “You should sign them. Since you’re going to be famous one day.”

  Even though they laughed, they totally scratched their signatures on the bottoms of the pages.

  “Thank you, guys.” She dug back into her pocket and placed several hundred-dollar bills on the table. “Dinner’s on me.”

  Stunned silence.

  “Ah, anytime you need any other help. We’re here all the time.”

  Avery winked. “I’ll take you up on that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She was busy. That’s what Avery told him in her morning text.

  But then nothing.

  Liam tossed the ball for Whiskey in the backyard while drinking a beer. The days were getting shorter, but there was no lack of heat in the air.

  The back door opened and his sister stepped out. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen.”

  “Thanks.”

  Michelle walked all the way outside. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He set his drink down and attempted to wrestle the ball out of his dog’s mouth.

  “I know that face and it’s not okay.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Now Michelle just laughed. “It’s about Avery?”

  Much like his dog, Michelle didn’t give up when she was onto something that had anything to do with emotions.

  “She’s out of town. Working. Not a lot of time to chat.”

  “In other words, you miss her.”

  He missed her, worried about her, and thought about her all the time. The dreams were as vivid as the memories. “Yup.”

  “Sounds pretty normal.”

  “Yup. Like I said, nothing wrong.” Except that before their explosively sexual weekend she would drop a text in the middle of the day with something completely random. An emoji or a picture of a jacked up truck with a comment like Where is the ladder to get up in this thing? While it might not have been all that personal, the texts told him she was thinking about him, and he’d grown used to that instant smile.

  “Call her. Tell her you miss her.”

  “You’re such a girl.”

  “So is she.” Michelle ducked back into the house the way she’d walked out.

  Liam tossed the ball to the back of the fence.

  He snagged his phone out of his back pocket and stared at the damn thing. Now who was acting like a girl?

  He pressed Avery’s number and put the phone to his ear.

  The line went to voice mail on the fourth ring. “You’ve reached Avery Grant. Leave a message, and I’ll call you back as soon as possible.”

  “Hey, Princess.” Oh, damn . . . what should he say now? Miss you sounded needy. Thinking of you was obvious. He should have sent a text. “Do you like dogs?” Where the hell had that come from? “I mean. Never mind. I hope everything is going well in Seattle. Call me when you have a second.”

  He hung up.

  “Do you like dogs?” He might as well have asked if she liked suburbia and white picket fences.

  Liam grabbed his beer and jogged down into his yard.

  Her cell phone startled her awake.

  Avery plopped a hand on the bedside table to answer the rattle. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Grant?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Detective Armstrong.”

  She woke up quickly, hearing his name. “Hold on.” She tossed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She glanced at the clock. Nine in the morning. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Okay. I’m back.”

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “I overslept. What did you find, Detective?”

  “We looked over the pictures of our suspect.”

  She knew what was coming even before he said the words.

  “And?”

  “He didn’t have any tattoo of a spider on his body.”

  Avery crossed to the windows and pulled the light-blocking blinds open. She winced. “So what do we do now?”

  “We’re reopening the case.”

  There was some satisfaction in that.

  “I need to caution you . . .”

  “Caution me about what?”

  “Tattoos are circumstantial at best. Unless there is something else to identify your attacker, the chances of being able to arrest, let alone prosecute, anyone we find with that mark is minimal.”

  “What does that mean? You’re not going to look?”

  “We’ll look. But . . .”

  “But what?” It was too early for her to be this upset.

  “Ms. Grant . . . we want men that do the things this guy did to you off the street just as much as you do.”

  “I doubt you want it more than me.”

  “Okay. Maybe in this case that’s true. Most of us got into this profession because we want to protect and serve. This case is almost a year old, and without a physical description outside of a tattoo, he is going to be impossible to find with the resources we have.”

  Resources . . . that was what this was all about. “You mean it’s not a priority.”

  “I mean we need more than a spider tattoo. An image that can be repeated on any arm, every arm, from here to Jersey.”

  She started to pace. “What if I do remember this guy’s face and I give you a description?”

  “Now we have something to work with. We give our friends in Manhattan the description. We search the prison database. If he is here, we’ll eventually find him. Then we can bring you back here to identify him.”

  The tone in Armstrong’s voice told her there was something he wasn’t saying.

  “And then?”

  “We give the case to the DA and hold him as long as we can.”

  “What does that mean?” She was starting to raise her voice.

  “Ms. Grant—”

  She was getting tired of hearing her name. “Avery.”

  “Avery, this guy assaulted you. People are mugged and assaulted every day in Manhattan.”

  She closed her eyes, her breath coming fast. “I was in the ICU for a week.”

  “Which will weigh on the case. You have a lawyer friend, right?”

  Lori. “Yes.”

  “Ask her what the chances are of this particular perpetrator doing any serious time for your attack. There are always exceptions, but my guess is your friend will break this down to a few months, maybe a year or two.”

  “So I’m just supposed to turn my back on him? He fucked me up, Armstrong. I’m not the same person I was before he stomped my head into the pavement.” She was seething.

  “I’m going to look for him, Avery. Give me a description. Let us do our job.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Give me his face, and if he is still here, we will bring him in. But finding him is not going to give you the satisfaction you seek.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I watch the face of victim after victim when we have to let their assailants back on the street. We go from hero to asshole in one day in cases like this.”

  Where was the fairness in any of this?

  Since when did she think life was fair?

  “I’m sorry, Avery. I really am.”

  “This is hard to accept.” She refused to.

  “I know. How long are you in the city?”

  Until I find him. “I don’t know. I have some work here,” she lied.

  “If you remember more while you’re here, give me a call. I’ll come to the city, and we’ll sit down with a police artist and get
his face in every station. But don’t put your life on hold. We can do this remotely.”

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  She wasn’t going anywhere.

  Avery jumped on the subway and made her way downtown to where the majority of tattoo shops were in Manhattan. After a night of research, she’d learned a few things about the industry and its history.

  Sometime in the 1960s, tattooing a person had been banned. The prohibition had lasted over thirty years and was legalized in the late nineties. Like any prohibition, the law wasn’t followed, but the places that offered tattoos weren’t advertised. Which meant that there weren’t as many tattoo parlors in the city as she thought. Of course, there was no guarantee Spider had gotten his artwork done in Manhattan. Still, it was a start. Avery felt better looking for this guy than letting him haunt her dreams any longer.

  She walked into the first tattoo parlor just before noon. The walls were filled with examples of what could be permanently placed on your body for a price.

  “Good morning,” the clerk greeted her.

  Avery approached the desk with a smile. “Good morning.”

  “Looking to get some work done?”

  “No, uhm . . . I’m looking for some information.”

  The guy’s smile dimmed.

  Avery pulled her sketches out of her folder. “I’m looking for someone who has this on his arm.”

  The heavyset man rubbed his beard and glanced at her. “You a cop?”

  “No.” She was taken aback. “I’m . . .” I have a vendetta against this asshole probably wouldn’t get her anywhere if, in fact, he was a paying customer at this establishment. “I’m interested in the artist who did this.”

  The man took a breath and pushed her picture back over the counter. “Yeah, right. Never seen it before.”

  Even if he had, he wouldn’t tell her.

  “Okay, thanks for your help.” Asshole.

  The next parlor, she took a different approach.

  This time a woman was behind the desk, said her name was Zelda. Which fit. Zelda was full of ink from her neck to her fingertips and wearing a spaghetti strap shirt to show it all off.

  “I need a little information about your services.”

  “Thinking of getting some work done?” Was this a standard question?

  “Not for me. My boyfriend.” Avery presented the pictures. “He likes spiders and was talking about adding to his arms.”

  “We can definitely do it.”

  “Do you have an artist here that has done work like this before?”

  “Yeah, we all have.”

  “With this much detail?”

  Zelda smiled. “We can show you examples of our work to assure you it can be done.” She twisted the image around, looked at the back. “Who sketched this for you?”

  Avery smiled. “A friend. How long would it take to do something like this?”

  “A couple sessions, about four hours each, minimum.”

  “So a long time.”

  “Not really.”

  Avery leaned forward as if contemplating a true decision about giving a tattoo as a gift. “How much would this run?”

  Zelda told her.

  “Oh. I didn’t realize it cost that much.”

  Zelda wasn’t amused. “You get what you pay for. Any guy who has that on his arm isn’t paying a set price but by the hour. By all means, check out more than one parlor. Be careful of anyone who says it will cost less or you’ll end up with him.” Zelda pointed to a cartoon character in the shape of a spider.

  “We wouldn’t want that. Have you ever seen a tattoo like this on anyone? I wouldn’t want to suggest something that everyone else has.”

  Zelda shrugged. “I haven’t. Not on a forearm.”

  Avery felt she was on a roll. “Is there anyone in the city that specializes in spiders?”

  “Are you asking for the name of my competition?”

  Avery took the picture back and put it in her folder. “I guess that wouldn’t be a smart business practice. I don’t want to make a mistake in the establishment I pick. Things are going really well with my guy, ya know? I would have to pull extra shifts for this kind of money.”

  Zelda sighed. “Listen, there is a guy in the Meatpacking District. But he is always six months out in his appointments, and his prices reflect that. He specializes in things like spiders and anything that crawls. But I’m telling you. We can do this.” Zelda pulled her card out and wrote a name on the back. “If you want this for a fair price, you’ll be back.”

  Avery tapped the card against her palm. “Thank you. You’ve been so helpful.”

  An hour later she was in the Meatpacking District, in front of yet another walking piece of art, asking questions.

  “Yeah, Van can do that.”

  “Can I talk to him? It’s a big decision . . .” Yadda, yadda. My boyfriend. Avery repeated all the lies she’d used to get her there.

  “You can make an appointment. I have room in April.”

  “I’d like to talk to him first.”

  “Yeah, well, he isn’t here. There’s a big expo in Chicago this weekend.”

  The euphoria of an hour before quickly faded. “Well, can you tell me if he’s done anything like this before?”

  The clerk glanced at the walls with testimonials everywhere showing spider art. “It’s what he does.”

  “Exactly this. Has he done this tattoo before?”

  Did he just roll his eyes?

  “Every tattoo is going to be unique due to the canvas you’re putting it on.”

  Avery shoved the paper in front of him. “This?”

  He shook his head as if done with the entire conversation. “Yes. Maybe. It looks a little familiar, but that doesn’t mean it’s common. I see spiders in my sleep after working here.”

  Not a confirmation, but not a denial. “How much will this cost?”

  Zelda was right. This Van Lynch guy wanted triple.

  Avery smiled and gathered her papers. “You get what you pay for, right?”

  “Right. So do you want the appointment in April?”

  “I need to check with my boyfriend.”

  The clerk seemed annoyed that she’d wasted his time.

  Once again it was after two and she hadn’t eaten. Avery made her way uptown and walked through Central Park while eating a hot dog. Food on the go. That’s what she needed, nothing fancy, and certainly no liquor to accompany anything.

  Sitting on a park bench, she watched as people walked by, normal people doing normal things while Spider was out there. Avery judged every woman. Could they handle themselves if Spider attacked them? Would they freeze and cower on the ground while a boot flew into their face?

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It had been doing that a lot.

  She pulled it out. Four messages.

  The first was Brenda. “You missed your appointment. Don’t think I won’t charge you. We’ll work harder on Friday.”

  Then there was Liam. “Hey, Princess.” He paused. “Do you like dogs? I mean. Never mind. I hope everything is going well in Seattle. Call me when you have a second.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut when she heard his voice. He didn’t deserve her lies.

  The next two messages were from Sheldon. “Hey, Avery. I hired an exterminator. Take care of that little issue upstairs.” Thoughtful. She was actually a little impressed. Only his next message wiped all that away. “Two days and you’re not here. Are you planning on coming back?” His voice was angry. “Call me.”

  She’d take care of Brenda later.

  There was no way she was going to talk to Liam. She chickened out of a phone call and sent a text. Super busy. Up early, back late. Damn phone battery isn’t holding a charge. Sorry. She hit send and stared at her message. Lame and lies. She wanted to add that she’d call him. But she wouldn’t. Not yet.

  Sheldon picked up on the second ring. She was really hoping for a voice mail.

  “I’m sorry,” she said afte
r they said hello.

  “I’m not sure how you’re going to get the job done on time if you’re not here.”

  “I understand. The spider thing freaked me out. Took a whole day to stop shaking.” She faked a flirty laugh. “I’m a girl sometimes.”

  Sheldon’s voice softened. “I can understand that.”

  Avery kicked herself for using her breathy voice. “Then something really important came up. It’s not avoidable.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “It’s my aunt. She’s sick. I’m in Seattle helping her out.” And the lies kept coming.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I guess there isn’t a huge hurry if I’m renovating. Did you talk to your contractor?”

  Avery tossed a silent fist in the air and winced. Jesus. “Yes. I gave him your number. But he’s busy, Sheldon. I’m not sure if he can help you out, but he might be able to recommend someone who can.”

  “Do you have his number on you? I can call him.”

  She bit her lip. “Nope. Left that back in LA. I’m sure he’ll call soon. He’s reliable.” Unlike me.

  “Okay. Let me know when you’re back so I know when to expect people around.”

  “I will absolutely do that.” The only nonlie that left her mouth. “Thank you for understanding.”

  She hung up the phone and damn near tossed it across the park. “‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave.’” How poetic.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Sorry?” From the woman who said she’d said she was sorry five times in her whole life and actually meant it. He understood work, completely got being so busy you don’t stop. Her phone not holding a charge was what stumped him. Something about that didn’t feel right. Yeah, it happened . . . but what did it take to send a quick hello, I miss you?

  Had he scared her off so completely that she was running away? I don’t do relationships. I don’t date. Her mantra since they met had been broken through over the last two weeks, yet now she was pulling away. The thought made his chest ache.

  “She’s just busy working,” he told himself.

  Yet the other voice, his inside voice, said he was fooling himself. There was more to it.

  Avery started back toward her hotel and walked past Bergdorf Goodman. She stopped and tilted her head to take in the high-rise department store. It was one of her favorite stomping grounds when she was in New York. The last time she’d been there was the day of the attack.

 

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