Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set

by Lashell Collins

  Suddenly my heart is racing, pounding in my chest, and I’m not sure why. What does this mean? I swallow hard and close the sketchbook, setting it back on the table. What she said this morning … or rather, what she didn’t say … it was like she was implying that she was unsure of me. But what did she mean exactly? That she’s unsure of my ability to catch this asshole who’s stalking her? Or that she’s unsure of our relationship or my ability to be in one? Or maybe she meant that she’s unsure of how she feels about me. Maybe she’s not sure how you feel about her, Pierce. Fuck. Is that it? Is that what’s upsetting her? No. That can’t be it. I’ve been clear about my feelings, haven’t I? I’ve told her that there’s something about her, something I can’t stay away from. I’ve told her that I need her. Haven’t I? Haven’t I shown her how I feel about her?

  My confusing thoughts are interrupted when Samantha comes bouncing into the living room, looking ready for anything. She’s dressed in a tight pair of faded blue jeans and a form-fitting white t-shirt and she looks sexy as hell, her long brown hair flowing over her shoulders, and she’s carrying a light green cardigan sweater and her purse in her hands. “Well, let’s go,” she says with a bright smile, and I can’t help smiling back at her as I stand.

  I take her by the hand and we head out then, and I lead her out of the building and over to my Charger that’s sitting in a parking space near the entrance with her cover draped protectively over her.

  “I want you to meet someone very special,” I tell her, as I release her hand and begin to uncover my car.

  “Oh, my God,” she softly exclaims. “Is this her? You said we were going for a drive but I didn’t know you meant in her!”

  “This is her,” I repeat, smiling broadly. “My 1968 Dodge Charger R/T. The other woman in my life,” I say as I fold up the cover.

  “Is that what I am, Josh?” Sam asks softly, looking up at me bashfully. “The woman in your life?”

  Her voice sounds small and uncertain and I’m immediately reminded of her words this morning and the fact that she’s feeling unsure of … something. Me, possibly. I tilt my head to one side as I look down at her. “Yes,” say definitively as I hold her gaze. She smiles slowly and then looks away nervously, and I wonder if I’ve put her mind at ease at all.

  She looks at the Charger then and her smile gets bigger. “She’s very shiny,” she says looking her over.

  “She damn well better be,” I tell her with a chuckle. “Come on, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.” I open the door for her and wait for her to slide in.

  “Where are we going?” she asks, excitedly.

  “I told you, it’s a surprise,” I smile as I close her door and walk around to the driver’s side and get in, placing the cover in the back seat. I start her up and the engine roars to life, purring like a kitten, a nice low rumble that makes most guys drool. We pull slowly out of the parking lot and onto the street, and I glance in my rear view mirror and see Martin pull out behind us. He’ll be our shadow today, tailing Sam just like he’s been doing all week.

  We drive in silence for a short time and as I get onto I-5 and head north, Samantha turns in her seat and looks at me. She says nothing and I glance over and see her smiling at me. “What is it, Sam?” I ask her with a smile.

  “Tell me where we’re going,” she says softly and I shake my head, chuckling at her.

  “I bet you’re a pain at Christmastime aren’t you?” I ask her. “Don’t you like surprises?”

  “Only when I’m in on the surprise,” she says, and I laugh at her.

  I shake my head again. “Do you really want to know?” I ask with a sigh and she nods furiously, her eyes big and round. “Okay,” I say. “We’re going to a car show in Bellingham.”

  “A car show?” she repeats, and her voice is full of curiosity.

  “A car show,” I say with a smile, glancing over at her. And she’s looking at me with a goofy grin on her face and I shrug. “I just thought it might be nice to get out and do something,” I tell her. “Maybe get our minds off of your case for a few hours, take advantage of the nice weather.”

  “I’m excited,” she exclaims in that endearing five-year-old way that she has. “I’ve never been to a car show before!”

  I can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. She is so adorable and I reach over and take her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her knuckles. I hold her hand as we drive on in silence, lightly rubbing my thumb across her knuckles.

  “So tell me about the Charger,” Samantha says softly. “You said that you’ve been restoring her for years? How long exactly?”

  “Hmm,” I murmur as I think about her question, “I started putting serious money into her once I got hired on at the police department. But I had been tinkering with her for years before that.”

  “Where did you get her?” Sam asks innocently, and the question immediately makes me uncomfortable. I feel my left hand tighten around the steering wheel and I fight viciously not to squeeze Sam’s hand that I’m still holding with my right. She’s not asking about the old man, Pierce. She’s just asking about the car. I clear my throat and hesitate for a beat, taking a deep breath.

  “Well, she was just sort of always there,” I tell her with a frown.

  “I don’t understand,” she says.

  “It’s a long story,” I mumble, releasing her hand as I change lanes. And I see Martin changing lanes behind me in the rear view mirror.

  “We’re going to Bellingham,” Sam says lightly. “We’ve got time.”

  I glance over and she’s smiling sweetly at me, and I know that she’s trying to get me to open up. Maybe that’s why she’s feeling so unsure, Pierce. Because you won’t open up. Shit. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why she’s feeling unsure of me? Because I won’t talk to her about my past or my old man. I take another deep breath and let it out slowly. I can do this. Just tell her about the car.

  “When I was a kid,” I start out slowly, glancing over at her again, “I used to play with Hot Wheels all the time. You know what those are?” I ask her. “The little toy cars and trucks?”

  “Yes,” she smiles. “Lucas had Hot Wheels when he was little.”

  “Well, I was obsessed with them,” I tell her. “I must have had a hundred of them. Anyway, my favorite one was a blue ’68 Dodge Charger. I loved that little car, I can remember taking it everywhere with me.” I actually smile to myself as I think back on my memories of that little car. “One day, I was at my old man’s garage when this customer came driving up in that same car, only it was black. I couldn’t believe it, it was like my toy car only … bigger! I heard him tell the old man that he had bought it brand new but, he had blown the motor in it by racing her. I didn’t know what any of that meant at the time,” I shrug. “I just knew that my toy car had come to life and I was fascinated.”

  Sam giggles. “I bet you were an adorable little boy,” she says and I smirk at her.

  “Do you want to hear this story or not?”

  “Oh,” she says softly and runs her fingers across her mouth, as if she’s zipping her lips, and I smile at her.

  “Anyway … for some reason, the man never came back to pick up the car. For months it just sat in the garage until one day, I watched as my old man and one of the men who worked for him, pushed it out to the yard behind the garage. They parked it under the shelter back there and that’s where she sat for the next several years. As I got older, I always wondered about it. I asked the old man about it and he said the guy who owned it never could pay for the repairs, and then when he died, his widow just gave my old man the title to it.”

  I look over at Samantha again and she is looking at me expectantly, as if she’s hanging on my every word, so I continue. “The car sat behind my old man’s garage for most of my childhood. Then when he died, and mom was taking care of things and preparing to sell the garage, I asked her about the car and I begged her to let me keep it. She was adamant at first that I couldn’t have it because I was only fou
rteen. But I begged and begged, like my life depended on it or something. And I had no clue at the time exactly what I was going to do with it. I just knew that I wanted that car. I mean, it was like it had been sitting there all that time, just waiting for me!”

  I take a deep breath and sigh as I think back on it. “So, Mom finally agreed to let me keep it, and we had it towed to our house and it sat in our garage for another couple of years. I washed her and cleaned her up and I opened up the hood and started doing the things I could … you know, the things that didn’t take a whole lot of money. And I got on the Internet and started to really research the car. Once I did that, and I realized exactly what it was that I had … all numbers matching … I knew that I was sitting on something special. And I made up my mind right then that I was going to take this seriously. I knew that if I took my time and did it right, not only would she be a show piece someday, but she would also be worth a pretty penny. So, when I got my first job, when I was sixteen, I started doing a little here and there. Not much. But then, once I got hired at the PD and I started making a decent living, I began putting a little more money into her, a little at a time. And here we are,” I shrug.

  “What does ‘all numbers matching’ mean?” Samantha asks, looking puzzled.

  “Numbers matching means that the car has all the original parts that it came with straight from the factory,” I explain to her. “None of her parts have been replaced. The engine, heads, transmission, rear end … it’s all the same parts she rolled off the showroom floor with. And it’s very rare to find a classic car with all numbers matching these days. There’s a lot of stretching and patch-working going on, with guys trying to recreate as closely as they can. Might look nice once they’re finished,” I shrug, “but it’s still not original.”

  “Why would someone swap out the original parts?” Sam asks.

  “Might not have a choice,” I explain. “If the motor or the transmission can’t be rebuilt, then you’ve got to replace them. And you can look and look and try to find your make and model where the body’s shot but the parts are salvageable. That would be your best bet, and sometimes you get lucky but … doesn’t happen often.”

  Sam is quiet for a while as she smiles at me. “Now I understand why you’re so obsessive about her,” she says softly. “And why she means so much to you.” I look over at her and smile, taking her hand again. “Why you fought so hard to be able to keep her. She must be like a last link to your dad for you.”

  At her words, I feel as if she’s slapped me in the face and I let go of her hand. “No, she’s not,” I say gruffly. “It’s got nothing to do with him.” I can feel my hands tighten around the steering wheel again and I take a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm down.

  “I’m … I’m sorry,” she stammers. “You just … you sounded so … nostalgic. I assumed it was because you were thinking about your dad.”

  “Samantha, thinking about my old man makes me feel many things,” I tell her bitterly. “Nostalgic is not one of them.” I take another deep breath and venture a glance over at her. She’s looking at me with a deep frown on her face and I know that I have to clean this up and try to rescue the nice day I had planned for us. “Look, Sam,” I begin quietly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get upset. It’s just … my old man was nothing like yours, okay? We didn’t have the kind of warm, loving relationship that you and your brother had with your dad. We were never close. The only good thing my old man ever did for me was teach me to work on cars.”

  “Oh,” she says softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

  “I know,” I say, letting her off the hook. “You had no idea.”

  She’s quiet for a beat and then says, “Can you tell me about him?” Her voice is small and hesitant, as if she’s afraid. And I can’t blame her. Every time she asks about the old man, I meltdown on her. And right now, I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as if it’s trying to escape through my skin.

  “No!” My voice is harsher than I mean for it to be. “Samantha, I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to tell you about him yet,” I mumble.

  “Why not?” she asks quietly, and I can tell that she’s confused by my reaction.

  I swallow hard and take another deep breath, trying to calm my erratic heart. “Because … once I do, you will walk away and never look back.” I can hear the fear and the dread in my own voice and my heart refuses to slow down. With both hands, I grip the steering wheel even tighter. And I can’t look over at her. I can’t.

  “Why do you say that?” she asks softly, her voice disbelieving.

  I hesitate for a second before I answer her question. “Because I would if I were you.” My voice is so small, it’s barely audible and my heart rate seems to accelerate even more. I can feel the sweat forming on my brow and my breathing shallows. I’m panicking. Shit! And I still can’t look at her. But then suddenly, I feel her fingers running gently through my hair at my temple, and my heart crashes into my ribcage as it trips over itself, immediately beginning to calm. I swallow nervously and take a deep, unsteady breath.

  “Joshua,” she says softly as she continues to play with my hair, “I don’t understand why you feel this way. Why you believe I’ll go once I learn about your dad. That makes no sense to me. If you don’t want to talk about him, I’m not going to force you to. But I can tell you with complete and utter certainty that I have no intention of walking away from you. Not for any reason.”

  Her words make me smile slightly because she’s so earnest. And I know that she thinks she means what she’s saying but, she doesn’t have all the information. Her feelings will change once she knows everything. Once she finds out what a monster I really am. Still, I can’t help but feel hopeful somehow. I shake my head and let out a soft sigh. Taking her hand from my hair, I bring it to my lips and kiss her knuckles again. Finally, I venture a quick, nervous glance her way and she is eyeing me with such sincerity. I sigh again and lightly squeeze her hand.

  We’re quiet for several minutes and I’m feeling self-conscious as hell, not knowing what to say. The mood in the car has taken a huge nosedive and I have no clue how to get it back on track. I decide to go for honesty. “I’m sorry, Samantha,” I tell her quietly. “I didn’t mean to put a damper on our day.”

  “You haven’t,” she says. “You’ve been honest with me about your feelings about your dad. I may not fully understand those feelings but, I appreciate the fact that you’ve shared them with me. That means a lot to me, Josh.” She looks so sweet when I glance over at her and I just want to kiss her. I squeeze her hand once more and continue to hold it as I drive. I don’t want her to feel unsure of me. I know that she wants answers from me, but I also know that not I’m ready to give them to her yet.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” she announces, her voice brightening, and I can hear her smile.

  “Like what?” I ask, smiling slightly.

  “Um,” she murmurs, appearing to think for a moment. “Tell me about your friends.”

  I frown at her. “My friends?” I repeat questioningly, and she nods. “What about them?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know … tell me about your partner. What’s his name?”

  “David Conner.”

  “Yeah, him,” she says. “Tell me about him. You said that he’s your closest friend?”

  I nod slowly, not sure exactly what it is she wants to know. “Well, we’ve been partners for over four years. It’s a relationship that forces closeness,” I tell her. “You have to learn to rely on each other. To trust the other person to always have your back, so to speak. Basically … you have to learn to trust that person with your life, literally. So, yeah. He has become one of my closest friends.”

  “Do you hang out together outside of work?” she asks.

  I nod again. “Yeah, sometimes. We go to ball games and stuff,” I tell her. “We used to hang out a lot more before he got married.”

  “He’s married?”

  “
Yeah. For a year now,” I answer.

  “What about your band members?” she asks. “Do you hang out with them? How many are there, anyway?” she asks.

  I chuckle at her, feeling like she’s interrogating me. “There are five of us,” I say, answering her second question first. “And we do hang out occasionally. But mostly, we just see each other at work and at rehearsals. And at the bar, of course.”

  “Oh,” she mutters. “How often do you rehearse?”

  “Back when we first formed, we would rehearse two … sometimes three times a week. Now, we try to get together once a week but, sometimes it ends up being every other,” I explain.

  “Where do you rehearse?” she asks, continuing her investigation, and I laugh again. I look over at her and she is grinning like a loon and I can tell she’s enjoying herself. And I remember her saying once that she wanted to learn all about me. Well, I guess this is how she plans to do it.

  “We rehearse at Butler’s house, in his basement,” I tell her with a smile. “And before you ask, Butler is our drummer.” She giggles and my heart skips a beat.

  “Are they all detectives like you?”

  “No. Simon and Butler are detectives in the Violent Crimes division with me. Drew is a patrolman on the motorcycle unit and Cody’s part of the K-9 unit. Next question?” I ask her, grinning ear to ear.

  “Hmm, I’m not sure,” she says. “What else do I want to know?”

  “You mean you’ve run out of questions?” I ask with mock astonishment, and she giggles even more.

  “Never,” she exclaims, still laughing, her green eyes sparkling at me. “Let’s see. Hmm … Oh, I know. You said that your partner is one of your closest friends. Who are your other closest friends?”

  I smile at her and hesitate a beat. Her question has brought up an unpleasant memory but, I push it away. I have to make more of an effort to talk about myself for her. “Parson,” say simply.