“Parson?”
“Yeah,” I say with a slow nod. “Detective Lee Parson. He’s one of the old timers at the PD. And I guess you could say he’s my best friend.”
“Old timers?” she says with a puzzled frown, and I chuckle slightly.
“Yeah, it’s what we call the older cops,” I say with a fond smile. “The generation that came before us.”
“And they’re okay with that terminology?” she snickers.
“Yes, they’re okay with it,” I chuckle. “It’s just cop lingo.”
“So, tell me about Detective Lee Parson,” she asks and I take a deep breath, trying to decide exactly how much to tell her.
“I was just a kid when I first met him,” I tell her quietly, growing nervous again. “And he was still in uniform. You remember me telling you that I got to know a lot of the Seattle officers when I was a kid,” I ask her anxiously.
“The ones who made you want to become a cop,” she answers softly, with a small nod, and I can see that she understands the magnitude of what I’m telling her.
“Yeah. Well, Lee was one of them,” I tell her quietly. And I swallow nervously as I feel her eyes on me. “For some reason he just took an interest in me. He was always, um … just really supportive back then.” I hesitate slightly, not knowing quite how to explain the beginnings of our friendship without talking about the old man. “When I hired on at the PD, he sort of … took me under his wing. Became kind of my mentor. I go to him whenever I have a problem and I need a man to talk to. Really, I guess you could say he’s been more like a father figure to me than a friend.”
She’s quiet for a moment and then I feel her lightly squeeze my hand, and I return the gesture. When I look over at her she is watching me with a warm smile and bright, shining eyes and I begin to relax again. The rest of our drive to Bellingham is peppered with laughter and light conversation. Samantha asks me about everything from my favorite color to my favorite foods and everything in between. And, in turn, I learn that her favorites are the colors green and pink, and she loves Italian food – something we have in common. Her favorite movie is the Twilight saga – all of them, which she vows to make me watch because she can’t believe I’ve never seen them. And her favorite band is The Faders, even though they were only together for a short time.
The normally 90-minute drive to Bellingham takes us just a little bit longer as I get off I-5 and take the very scenic and winding Chuckanut Drive that runs along the cliffs above Samish Bay. The detour takes us though Fairhaven, a historic suburb of Bellingham with lots of unique shops and boutiques that girls usually love. On the way back, if we have time, I plan to stop here so Sam and I can walk around a bit if she wants to.
At ten in the morning, we pull into the large parking lot that’s been designated for the car show and stop at the registration booth to see where my section is, and Sam seems fascinated by the whole process. She watches with great interest as I go about getting the Charger registered and then we pull around to the Dodge section and park her.
“What now?” she asks with those sparkling eyes of hers.
“Now the fun starts,” I smile at her. We get out and I go around to the trunk and retrieve two lawn chairs and set them up at the front of the car. “You can have a seat if you want, baby.” But I think she’s too fascinated to sit down, and she continues to watch my every move. I take a small tripod from the trunk and a board with color photographs attached to it, detailing my work on the Charger’s restoration, and set it up at the front of the car near our chairs. Then I get out a soft cloth and begin to go over the Charger, dusting her off carefully. Once I’ve gone over every inch of her, I put the cloth away in the trunk and open up the hood so that people can see inside her.
By the time I’ve finished setting up, I notice that Martin is lurking a few feet away, scanning the immediate area with hawk eyes. We make eye contact briefly and he indicates that, so far, all is well. It eases my mind having him here patrolling the car show, even though I know that the chances of this asshole actually following us out of town are slim. Not impossible, though.
“Listen, Sam,” I tell her as we sit down in the lawn chairs, “I want you to promise me that you won’t venture away from my side today. You stick right with me; do you understand?”
“Yes, of course,” she replies, her green eyes growing very serious. “I promise. Is everything all right?” she asks softly.
“Everything’s fine, baby. I just don’t want to lose you in this growing crowd,” I tell her, looking around at the rapidly filling lot. “And just so you’re aware, Martin is here.”
“Martin?” she asks, frowning at me.
“Yes. He’s been with us all morning,” I tell her, “and he’s going to stick with us until we’re back in Seattle.”
She blinks at my words. “Okay,” she says with a worried frown.
“It was just a precaution, baby,” I say as I caress her face. “I want you safe; you know that. And I figured, this way, I could relax a little bit and we could have some fun today. All right?”
She nods, smiling at me, and I lean in and kiss her gently on the lips. “Josh,” she says softly, looking at me with her magical eyes. “I’m having a really good time.”
I smile at her, laughing slightly. “We just got here,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says quietly. “But it’s been a perfect date so far.”
I shake my head at her. She is so fucking adorable and I can’t help myself. I kiss her again, more purposefully this time, and for a moment, it’s just the two of us as we get lost in the kiss, savoring one another. But our private moment doesn’t last long, as we hear someone clearing their throat very near by. I look up and there’s a gentleman with two teenage boys standing by the Charger. The boys are looking at the engine while Dad is looking right at me.
“Don’t go away,” I wink at Sam, and stand to talk to the man about the car.
“She’s a beauty,” he says, eyeing the Charger.
“Thank you,” I nod.
“Did you really do all the work yourself like it says on the board?” he asks me.
“Yes, sir, I did. Everything but the paint,” I respond.
“What do you want for her?” he asks, looking over the car, and I frown at his words.
“She’s not for sale,” I tell him with a small puzzled smile.
He looks me in the eye then and snorts. “Everything is for sale,” he says coldly. “Tell you what. I’m going to take my sons and walk around, have a look at all the other cars here. And then, I’m going to come back. In the meantime, you be thinking of a number, and we’ll talk.” He turns and walks away then, calling to his kids and I stand shaking my head as I watch him go.
“What was that about?” Sam says as I sit back down beside her.
“Some rich fucker who thinks he can buy anything he wants just because he’s got the cash,” I say bitterly.
“Rich bastards,” Sam says gruffly, trying to keep a straight face and failing completely. I can’t help but laugh with her. She is just so cute.
Taking her by the hand, we leave our chairs then and walk around for a while, venturing out to the other sections to have a look at some of the other cars, and I point out a few really nice looking restorations to Sam while Martin trails behind us at a polite distance.
Once we tire of that, we make our way back to the Charger and sit down, and we talk about all the different cars we can see from our lawn chairs and she listens intently whenever an interested show goer stops by with questions about the Charger or comments on how nice she looks. And Samantha seems impressed that so many people stop to look at her and want to talk about her.
At shortly before two o’clock, the judges begin making their rounds to present the show awards and Samantha is shocked that the Charger is awarded three prizes – first place for the Best All Numbers Matching car, second place for Best Restoration, and second place for Best in Show. Not too shabby. It’s nice to know that all my hard work
on the Charger is noticed by people who love cars as much as I do but, I don’t really care about the awards. But it’s a fun gesture to end a car show, I guess.
“You hungry?” I ask Sam as we’re packing up our things to leave. “I thought we’d stop at Mallard’s for ice cream if you’re interested.”
“Oh, do you think we’d have time to stop in Fairhaven and have a look around?” she asks, her big green eyes imploring me to give in. I knew she’d want to stop there and I can’t help smiling to myself. I feel like I’m getting to know her pretty well.
“Whatever you want, baby,” I tell her with a small smile, leaning down to kiss her softly.
“Seems I keep interrupting your playtime,” an impatient voice says from behind us. I turn and see the same rich fucker from earlier, watching us. “Did you think of a number?” he says rudely.
“Yeah,” I tell him with a serious scowl on my face. “$75 million.”
He laughs slightly. “You must be out of your mind.”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Just trying to make a point. My car is not for sale.”
“I’m ready to write you a check for two hundred thousand dollars, right now,” he says smugly. “That’s a lot more than what she’s worth. Certainly enough to cover any sentimental attachment you may have.”
I smile slowly at him. I’ve had enough. From the corner of my eye, I see Martin standing by and I glance up at him and nod toward Sam, indicating that he should stick close for a minute. He nods in acknowledgment and moves in as I glance down at her. “Stick with Martin for a second, okay? I’m going to talk to my friend, here,” I say, slapping the gentleman on the shoulder.
“Okay,” Sam says, eyeing me questioningly.
I turn back to Mr. Dickhead and smile. “Let’s talk,” I say, leading him toward the back of the car.
“Guess I hit a figure you liked,” he says disdainfully.
I laugh slightly at him, keeping my hand firmly on his shoulder. “I’ve tried to be nice here,” I say quietly, keeping a smile on my face as we’re still in plain view of his sons and Samantha and Martin, not to mention all the other show goers still milling about. But the edge in my voice and the look in my eyes lets him know that I’m not joking.
“I’ve told you twice now that my car is not for sale. But you wanted to act like a rich jerk, you son of a bitch. And now you’ve pissed me off.” My voice grows more menacing as my hold on his shoulder tightens. “But because I’m with my girlfriend and having a nice day, I’m going to give you the opportunity to walk away quietly. Otherwise, I’m going to have to kick your arrogant ass right here in front of my girlfriend and your sons. And neither of us wants that. Do we?” I look him directly in the eye with an almost diabolical smile and wait for him to make his choice. It doesn’t take long. He smiles nervously back at me and shakes his head, saying nothing. I nod in response and pat his shoulder, releasing him. And I stand and watch as he calls to his sons and they walk away. Condescending fucker.
I head back to Sam and she’s standing with a slightly worried expression on her face. “What was that?” she asks.
“Just had to explain that the Charger’s not for sale,” I say with a shrug. “So, ice cream?”
We get underway then and make a pit stop at Mallard Ice Cream, where I listen to Sam tell me about how she wrecked her first car when she was sixteen as we share a sundae. And I just about split my side laughing when she goes on and on about how angry her parents were. I feel completely captivated by this woman; she is just so damned enchanting. No one has ever made me laugh the way she does. And as we climb back into the car, I feel almost bewitched by her.
Once we make our way to Fairhaven, we park the Charger on Harris Avenue and get out and walk for a bit, holding hands, as we go into several of the boutiques and art galleries. In one, there’s nothing but colorful glass works and Samantha goes nuts for it. Her eyes light up like Christmas as she takes in the multi-hued vases, ornaments, dishes, and jewelry – all made from glass. She falls in love with the glass picture frames and holds one up for me to look at.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” she gasps. The frame is made of a bright green glass and, as she holds it up, her eyes catch the light reflected off of it.
“Actually, yes it is,” I answer her. “And it would look great with a picture of you in it.” She rolls her eyes at me and blushes slightly. “No, I mean it. That frame sets off your green eyes to perfection, baby. In fact, I think I want it,” I say, taking it from her. “I’ll put a picture of you in it.”
I turn to head for the checkout but she protests loudly.
“Hey! I saw it first!”
She is scowling at me, hands on her hips, and I laugh at her. Then she picks up the blue frame and smirks at me. “Fine. I’ll put a picture of you in this one. It’ll set off your blue eyes to perfection,” she says mocking my earlier words to her. I chuckle at her as I lean down to kiss her.
“Come on,” I say, taking the blue frame from her hand and head to the checkout counter. I pay for the two frames and we wait as the cashier places them securely in bubble wrap and tissue paper, and we exit the store.
We make our way back to the car with Martin trailing behind us and I let go of Sam’s hand and wrap my arm around her waist, tucking her into my side and softly kissing the top of her head. And as we near the Charger my mind drifts briefly back to my confrontation with that rich jerk and I realize suddenly that I referred to Sam as my girlfriend back there. I didn’t even think about it, the words just rolled off my tongue with ease. My girlfriend. And as I open the car door for her I find myself wishing that those words were true. But I know that they’re not. At least, not yet. They can’t be. Not until we catch whoever is stalking her and close Sam’s case. Then she and I really can date without having to go out of town, away from the prying eyes of my coworkers to do it.
I slide behind the wheel and start her up, still preoccupied with my thoughts, and we get underway. As we drive back to Seattle, Sam is quiet and I get the feeling that the closer we get to home, the more her spirits begin to fall. And I wonder if she’s thinking about this asshole who’s stalking her or if she’s still fretting over whatever had her so upset last night and this morning. All day long, I have tried my best to show her how I feel. To put to rest any doubts or insecurities that she may have about me. I even opened up a little about the old man. Surely she can’t still be unsure of my feelings for her, can she? And I’m not even certain that’s what was bothering her. I sigh in frustration as I mull it over.
When we reach the outskirts of Seattle I change lanes as Sam’s phone buzzes, cutting through my troubled thoughts, and she pulls it out of her pocket. As she checks her text, I look up into the rear view mirror and see Martin changing lanes behind us, and I know that a member of his security team is still sitting on Samantha’s apartment right now, even though she’s been with me all day.
“What time does your band play?” she asks quietly. “Megan needs to know when to pick me up.”
“We go on at ten,” I answer, and she responds to her text and puts her phone away. “So, you’re bringing your cousin tonight?”
“I thought it would look more believable than me showing up at a bar alone,” she says softly, and I nod my head. “I think her fiancé will be with us too.”
“I’m sorry you can’t just come with me,” I tell her.
“I know, me too,” she says. “But I understand why we have to do it this way.”
“I just hate having to pretend it’s a random, chance meeting,” I say quietly. And I know that to anyone paying attention, like Conner, our ruse will be obvious. But maybe he won’t be there tonight and I won’t have to listen to his lecture.
“I don’t know,” Samantha says with a coy smile, “sometimes pretending can be fun.” I smile at her but say nothing. She is quiet for a few minutes, and then asks, “So, what are you going to do in the meantime? It’s only four thirty.”
“Well, unless that ice cream fil
led you up, I figured we could get something to eat,” I tell her. “We can pick something up and take it back to your place. Unless you have a better idea.”
“I was hoping maybe we could go to your place,” she says softly.
“My place?” I can hear the surprise in my voice and I know that my eyebrows are reaching for the heavens.
Samantha nods slowly. “I’ve never seen your place before,” she says. “I don’t even know if you live in a house or an apartment.”
I smile slightly at her and turn my attention back to the road. “I live in a house,” I say quietly.
“Can we go there?” she asks, her voice small and hesitant.
“If you want to,” I answer softly. When I glance back over at her, she’s smiling shyly and chewing on her bottom lip. I take a deep breath and head for my place. And I have no clue why I’m nervous all of a sudden. I smirk to myself. Who am I kidding? I know exactly why I’m nervous. My place is nothing like Sam’s luxury apartment. It’s small and dreary and blah in comparison. It’s your typical bachelor pad with sparse, purely functional, barely matching furniture. Drab, boring walls with no pictures on them. It’s not so much “decorated” as it is “lived in.”
But it’s clean. My mother sees to that. She’s constantly letting herself in and doing things like dusting and washing my clothes, even though I’m always reminding her that she taught me how to do my own laundry when I was a teenager. But she just keeps on. And I know the only way to put a stop to it is to take away the extra key I gave her. But that’s pretty difficult to do when she’s always dropping off a casserole or something. A guy’s gotta eat. And it’s normal for me to come home and open up my fridge to find a strange dish in there, only to discover that Mom’s made something and brought it by for me. Another reason I don’t cook much – Mom won’t let me starve.
I pull into my driveway and wait as the automatic garage door opens, then pull the Charger slowly into her spot. And as the door comes slowly down behind us I spot Martin parking his Sedan across the street.
Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set Page 33