Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set

by Lashell Collins

  He smiles at me as he takes a last sip of his coffee. “It was just a question, Sam, not a suggestion. But if it helps you, I’m glad.” He leans in and kisses me chastely. “I’ve got to go, baby.”

  He stands and puts on his shoulder holster. Then I watch, fascinated, as he takes up his gun and checks to make sure it’s loaded, popping the magazine out and then back in again. He pulls the slide back and I think he’s checking to see that there’s a bullet in the chamber. And then he places the gun in his holster and grabs his jacket and turns to me with a serious expression on his face.

  “Listen, Sam … I know that you only want Martin around when you’re working at the museum, but you really need to keep him close today too.”

  I groan and roll my eyes as I gear up for an argument. “Josh…”

  “No arguments, Samantha!” He’s ready for me and his voice is suddenly very stern, his eyes flashing at me like blue sparks of fury. “You know that this asshole is watching your every move; I don’t know why you’re even trying to argue about this!”

  “Josh, I just don’t…”

  “No!” He shouts and it surprises and startles me. I blink at him and I can see the frustration on his face. His jaw clenches and he runs a hand though his hair and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry for yelling, Sam. I just want you safe, baby. And it bothers me that I can’t be with you 24/7. Please. For my peace of mind … promise me you will take Martin with you today.”

  “Okay,” I say softly, giving in. “I promise.”

  He caresses my face once more and kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry I got angry,” he whispers.

  I offer him a small smile. “It’s all right. I know you’re only upset because you like me, Detective.”

  Josh smiles at me and chuckles softly. “Well … yesterday I think we established the fact that I am little bit crazy about you, Miss Colby.” His bright blue eyes sparkle at me. “And you’re crazy about me!”

  “Yes, I am,” I reply softly, smiling sweetly at him. Then I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him swiftly on the lips. “Get out of here. Go catch some bad guys.”

  He smiles and takes me into his arms, kissing me soundly before he pulls away. And as he walks toward the door he says, “Do me a favor … text me.”

  “Text you?” I ask with a puzzled frown as he opens the door.

  “Yeah. Throughout the day,” he shrugs, looking sheepish. “Text me when you get to the salon, let me know when you get home … that kind of thing.” I’m silent as I look at him with raised eyebrows, and he continues. “I’m not trying to keep tabs on you, Sam. I just want to know that you’re okay. And please, when you get home, let Martin come up here and have a look around, okay?”

  “Okay,” I smile at him. He kisses me again, tenderly this time, and then he’s gone. I lock the door and then hurry to clear away the breakfast dishes. Then I dash off to get a shower and change.

  I dress casually in a taupe gray, cotton, shirt dress with buttons down the front and a wide belt at the waist. The dress is one of my favorites. I bought it during one of my shopping sprees with Megan at Neiman Marcus. I just love the way it fits. It’s so comfortable and I can dress it up or down. Today, I pair it with my peep-toe Jimmy Choo taupe gray pumps and the same tiny gold hoop earrings that I wore to dinner yesterday. There. Casual enough for a morning at the spa with Megan but, dressy enough for an impromptu business meeting at the art gallery with Lola.

  Once I’m dressed and coiffed, I open up my MacBook Pro laptop and begin poring over the digital images of my sketches and paintings that I have stored on my computer. I feel slightly nauseous at the thought of actually showing my work to Lola but, I have to push through it. Josh is right. Most artists wait a long time for a gallery to offer them a show and this is practically being handed to me. I should take advantage of the opportunity.

  I smile as I think about the fact that Josh makes me brave. I would never have considered doing this before his encouragement. But he seems to believe in me so … maybe I should start to believe in myself a little. He said he was proud of me! He did say that, didn’t he? My smile gets bigger as I sift through my images and pull the ones that I think will capture Lola’s attention. But I’m careful to also pick the ones that I feel really define me as an artist. I want Lola to understand the type of work I do and to get a real feel for who I am as an artist now. I don’t want her to remember only the work I did in college.

  It takes only moments for me to burn the images to a CD and then I am up and out the door, placing the disc into my gray ostrich Birkin as I go. When I step out of the elevator into the lobby of my building, I am startled to find Martin waiting there for me and I smile, rolling my eyes slightly as I walk toward him.

  “Detective Pierce had you wait for me here?” I ask him.

  “He did, ma’am,” Martin replies, all business.

  “I suppose he also informed you that I have a busy morning planned and that you’re to shadow me?”

  “He did.”

  “Okay,” I say with a sigh, putting on a fake happy face as I turn to head out of the building.

  “I’d be happy to drive you, ma’am,” Martin says as I head for my Maserati.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” I say glancing at him. “I promise, I won’t try to lose you and I’ll drive the speed limit. I can’t have you telling Detective Pierce that I was uncooperative.” It’s a joke, of course, but Martin doesn’t find it funny. Jeez, crack a smile sometime!

  I get into my car and get underway, and I arrive at the spa thirty minutes early, as the receptionist suggested this morning on the phone, and I am immediately ushered to one of the private suites in the back. Before I strip down, I send Josh a quick text:

  Arrived safely @ spa.

  Just checking in as requested.

  His response is immediate and it makes me smile:

  Good girl.

  Enjoy your pampered morning, Sunshine.

  Sunshine. Will he ever tell me what that nickname means? I text him back quickly:

  I will if u promise to be careful

  out there today.

  Again, his response comes almost immediately:

  I’m always careful on the job, baby.

  Don’t worry about me.

  U keep Martin close n don’t

  give him a hard time.

  I roll my eyes at that last part and put my phone away and get ready. I’m comfortable with Elle, the technician who will be working on me; she’s the same girl who waxes my legs and underarms on a regular basis. But I have to admit, I’m just a little nervous about having hot wax spread on such a delicate area and then having it ripped off. I’ve heard that the pain is twice as bad as having your legs done. Good thing I remembered to take a couple of Advil before I left my apartment this morning.

  “Good morning, Samantha,” Elle greets me cheerfully as she enters the private room. I am already lying on the table with a small cloth covering my private area, and a frisson of fear runs through me.

  “Good morning,” reply nervously. And I think she can hear the anxiety in my voice.

  “Now you’ve had your bikini area done before so, you have some idea of how this will go,” she says soothingly. “Are you ready to get started?”

  “Um hm.” It’s all I can manage at the moment and Elle smiles reassuringly at me. She begins to chatter away, asking me all sorts of questions about my job at the museum and about Megan’s upcoming wedding and what my maid of honor’s dress looks like. I know that she’s trying to occupy my mind with something other than the pain and I’m grateful for the distraction.

  About fifteen minutes later, the procedure is over and I’m pleasantly surprised that it really wasn’t as bad as I had been anticipating. Yes, it hurt but, not excruciatingly so. Certainly not so much that I would hesitate to do it again. I thank Elle for her time and for squeezing me in so unexpectedly, and I give her a sizable tip. It just seems like the right thing to do for someone who’s just waxed such a p
rivate part of my body.

  I freshen up and get dressed, and then head back out to the plush waiting area where Martin sits trying to fade into the woodwork and Megan is already seated, mimosa in hand.

  “Hey, there you are,” she says, a bit confused. “What are you doing coming out of the back?”

  “I got here a little early this morning because I wanted to add a procedure,” I say nonchalantly, hoping that she won’t ask. But, of course, she does.

  “What did you have done?” she says with a frown.

  I take a deep breath and say quietly, “I got a … Brazilian.” Crap. Am I blushing?

  Megan says nothing for a moment but she is looking at me with wide, shocked eyes, and then a smile slowly spreads across her face. “I’m assuming this is Detective Yummy’s influence?”

  I think I blush seven more shades of red as I nervously chew my bottom lip. “And what if it is?” I ask her. “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No! Of course not,” she frowns. “I’m just … surprised, that’s all. I’ve never had a Brazilian before. How was it?”

  I shrug. “Not too bad, actually.” Megan smiles at me but says nothing more and I wonder what she’s thinking.

  “So, I take it things are still going good with you two?” she asks me.

  “Things are going really great, Megan,” I tell her with a goofy grin. “I had dinner with his family yesterday.”

  “Really? You’ve met his family already?” She sounds shocked. “Wow. He must really be into you, Sam. It was several months before Scott and I did the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing. So how was it?”

  “It was nice! I really like his mom. She’s great. Oh, and get this,” I nudge her softly with my elbow, “his mom has a twin sister. Isn’t that funny? Our dads are twins and his mom has a twin! They’re identical though.”

  “That is funny,” Megan says. “Might not be so funny if you two start having babies though.”

  “What?” I look at her with a very puzzled expression. Who in the world said anything about babies?

  “Well, there are twins in both of your families,” Megan says with a slight huff. “It’s kinda like stacking the deck against yourself.”

  “Oh, Megan,” I roll my eyes at her. “You think of the weirdest things sometimes.”

  “I’m just saying … it never hurts to do a little research!” She seems a little out of sorts this morning and I wonder what’s going on with her.

  “So, how is Scott?” I ask her, trying to get a feel for what’s bothering her.

  “He’s great,” she nods, offering no further details as she takes a sip of her mimosa.

  “Any last minute wedding crises to worry about?” I venture.

  “Nope. Everything’s all set. Church, flowers, caterers, music … everything.” She is looking directly ahead, avoiding eye contact with me, and I can’t help but think something is just not right.

  “Meg…,” My thoughts are halted in their tracks as we are called to our manicurists chairs, and we spend the next twenty minutes chatting with them. But I notice that Meg is just not her usual bubbly self, and anytime one of them tries to ask her about the wedding, she skillfully changes the subject.

  Once our nails are painted and we’re seated with our hands under the dryer while our toes are being worked on, I turn to her. “Megan, is everything okay?” I ask her conspiratorially.

  She is silent for a long moment, and at one point I actually think she might burst into tears. But then she lifts her head and turns to look at me. “I think I’m having cold feet,” she says bluntly.

  I blink at her words, speechless for a second. “Megan … I’m not sure what to say. Cold feet, that’s normal, isn’t it? All couples have cold feet before they get married, right?”

  “How should I know?” she wails. “I’ve never been married before!” She looks genuinely panicked and my heart goes out to her.

  “Oh, Meg!” I feel helpless. What the hell am I supposed to say to her? “What brought this on? You adore Scott!”

  “I don’t know what brought it on,” she says, looking at me with sorrow-filled eyes. “I just woke up this morning and looked over at him, and I thought about the fact that six days from now, I will wake up a married woman. Married.” She looks at me imploringly. “Married, Samantha!”

  “Okay, married! I know; I get it.” Oh, God. What am I supposed to say to her right now? Helplessly, I look down at my hands, at the brick red polish drying on my fingertips and take a deep breath. “Megan, I’m not sure exactly what it is that’s freaking you out right now but … I do know that you love Scott Dublin. The day after you met him at that off campus party, you told me that he was the perfect man. Do you remember that?”

  Megan blinks at me, saying nothing. And then she slowly nods her head. “Yes.” Her voice is almost a whisper.

  “You also told me that morning that you had met the love of your life. You said he was the man you were going to marry and have lots of babies with. Do you remember that?” She nods her head a little more confidently this time and a single tear travels down her cheek and, without thinking, I remove my hand from the dryer and clasp one of hers.

  “Do you remember how happy you were when he proposed?”

  With no warning, Meg throws her arms around me and hugs me tightly for a long moment. “Thank you, Sam,” she breathes into my ear. “I love you so much!”

  “I love you too, Meg,” I smile. She pulls away and we each look down to examine our nails. Then we look back up at each other and burst into a small fit of relieved giggles. Our manicures appear to be intact.

  We talk then about the wedding and about how I wish that Josh could accompany me to the festivities and, by the time we are ready to leave almost an hour later, Megan is in much better spirits. We say our goodbyes at the door of the spa under the ever watchful eyes of Mr. Martin, and then we go our separate ways.

  Martin escorts me to my car and then hurries over to his own and, as I drive to South Lake Union I can’t help but mutter to myself about the absurdity of having a bodyguard. Honestly, it’s not like I’m a movie star or something. I’m not even a celebutante and I refuse to become one. Empty, air-headed social x-rays who are famous just for being famous. The thought makes me cringe. How did I attract a psycho stalker anyway? It’s not like I’m constantly in the tabloids or on TV. The whole thing just puzzles me.

  I pull up outside the Lola Thorne Gallery and wait, like a good little girl, for Martin to exit his car and come open my door. He trails after me at a respectful distance and I try to forget that he’s there as I quickly send Josh another text:

  Heading into gallery now.

  Wish me luck.

  His quick response is very supportive and it makes me smile:

  U don’t need luck, baby.

  She’s going to love your work.

  I remember the brave feeling I had this morning compiling my photos onto the CD. More of Detective Yummy’s influence. He makes me feel like I can do anything. I text him back as I stand outside the gallery.

  Thanks for believing in me, Josh.

  His next response seems clipped and I begin to wonder if everything’s all right.

  No need to thank me for that, Sam.

  Is Martin with u?

  The tone of his text seems agitated almost and I wonder, ridiculously, if it has anything to do with my case. I know that Josh is working on two or three cases right now and mine is just one of them. But he knows that Martin is with me, so why is he asking? I text him back:

  Yes, of course he is.

  Is everything okay?

  He replies instantly, revealing nothing:

  Just distracted with work.

  Nothing to worry about.

  Keep Martin close.

  Why is he so obsessed with Martin being at my side today? I frown as I ponder that question. But then, his words from breakfast come floating back to my mind and I smile.

  “I just want you safe, baby. And it bothers
me that I can’t be with you 24/7. Please. For my peace of mind … promise me you will take Martin with you today.”

  He’s worried about my safety. And I can’t help the crazy grin on my face right now. My boyfriend is worried about my safety. I giggle to myself and turn toward the gallery door.

  I enter the gallery and look around slowly, taking it all in and I’m really impressed. The space is much larger than it looks from the outside and the interior is all done up in neutral tones of gray and white. I know that I should head straight to the receptionist at the desk and ask for Lola but, I just can’t help myself. I have to check out the exhibits first.

  I wander slowly around the gallery, taking in the works of the current artist on display, a mister Tracy Barry. His work is stunning, oil on canvas, and it’s very expressionistic. I don’t usually go for the contemporary or the abstract but, Mr. Barry’s work is warm and moving. Almost sensual in a way, and I am so caught up in the beauty of it that I don’t notice someone walking up to me.

  “Are my eyes playing cruel tricks on me or is that the Samantha Colby … one of Seattle’s most prominent, and most reclusive socialites, standing in the middle of my humble gallery?”

  I look up and see Lola staring at me with a mixture of delight and surprise and I can’t help but return her huge smile. I haven’t seen Lola since we graduated almost a year ago but, she looks wonderful. She’s always been sort of bohemian chic, and today she wears her long red hair in a braided ponytail that is slung over her shoulder and reaching to her waist. She is dressed in a long charcoal-colored floaty skirt and blouse with cute little flats to match and she’s wearing lots of chunky silver jewelry. I rush forward to hug her.

  “It’s great to see you, Lola!”

  “Oh, Sam, I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you,” she responds. “It’s been far too long!”

  “It really has. I’m sorry!”

  “We honestly need to make more of an effort to stay in touch,” she admonishes me and I blush slightly, feeling guilty for avoiding her.

  “I know, it’s my fault,” I sigh. “I got all of your phone messages and your emails and I was so happy to hear that your gallery opening went well. But I have to admit … I avoided coming down here.”