Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set

by Lashell Collins

  “But, Sam … why?” She looks at me with bewilderment and she sounds hurt. Damn it.

  “I’m sorry, Lola,” I tell her, grasping her hands. “It had nothing to do with you! It was all about my crazy insecurities. I was … intimidated by your offers to show my work. So I just avoided you.”

  Lola is quiet for a moment and she looks shocked. “Samantha Colby. I am stunned. You … of all people! Why would you ever be intimidated by showing your work? Sam, you are one of the most talented artists I’ve ever met!”

  I take a deep breath and let out a defeated sigh, looking Lola in the eye. “I just…,” My voice trails off in frustration. “Look, it took a lot to get me here, okay? But, I’m here so…,” I open my purse and pull out the CD portfolio I burned this morning and hand it to her without a word. She glances down at the CD in my hand and then back up at me. Then she smiles and takes the CD in one hand and grabs my hand with the other and leads me away to the back of the gallery.

  As I enter what appears to be Lola’s office, I notice Martin venturing toward us, ever watchful, and I nod to him to indicate that all is well. He returns my gesture and takes up a stance in the small hallway outside the door.

  “Is he with you?” Lola asks with a concerned frown.

  “He is. Long story,” I say with a wave of my hand as she points me to a chair in front of her desk. She turns her laptop to face us and takes a seat in the chair beside me, and loads the CD into the computer. The butterflies in my stomach feel more like bats flying about in there. I’m so nervous!

  The CD is loaded with about 25 images of my sketches. I focused mainly on my nudes but, I also included several landscapes as well, as I really enjoy doing those, and a few portraits. I included the nude sketch of Josh asleep in my bed – the one he said could never be displayed in a show. I understand why it can’t, and I would never use it, but it is a great sketch. I’m proud of it and I want Lola to see it. As expected, it stops her in her tracks.

  “Wow. Samantha, that is amazing. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear it was a black and white photograph.”

  “Thank you,” I say quietly, feeling the butterfly bats begin to calm.

  “If you’re interested, I think we could build an entire show around this piece,” she says, looking at me with an excited gleam in her eye. “We could create a show focused on your nudes and this would definitely serve as the centerpiece. It’s incredible, Sam!”

  My sketch of Josh as the centerpiece of a show? I’m speechless. And instantly crestfallen. We can’t show that sketch! But I don’t get the chance to speak up just yet because Lola keeps talking.

  “And I’m not knocking your landscapes or your portraits, they’re excellent. But your nudes are stunning. I know sketching is your thing, but have you ever painted any nudes?”

  “Um … well yes, I have but … ”

  “Wonderful! We could do an entire show of your nudes using both your sketches and your paintings,” she says excitedly. “I’m getting goosebumps, I’m so excited! This partnership could work wonders for both of us, Sam.”

  I’m feeling slightly lightheaded. I’m not sure what I thought would happen when I showed Lola my work but, I didn’t expect her to take off at lightning speed. I just wanted to know if she thought my work was good enough to think about a show but, she already has us entangled in a working partnership, and her mind is off and running, creating an entire showing of my nudes. And I haven’t agreed to anything! I stare at her dumbfounded, blinking mutely. What the hell just happened?

  “Lola … I … ”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m overwhelming you, aren’t I?” She laughs slightly. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m just so excited. I haven’t been this excited since opening night!”

  I hesitate for a beat and then take a deep breath, letting it out with an anxious sigh. “Lola, I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting you to offer me a show right away.”

  “Samantha, I’ve been offering you a show since I first conceived of starting my own gallery,” she says.

  “I know. But I … I’m just … stunned. And flattered. And flabbergasted!” She laughs at me and grabs my hand.

  “Look, Sam … I have no idea why you’re so reluctant. You are so incredibly talented; you always were. And I thought you were serious about wanting a career in art. Wanting to make a name for yourself instead of resting on your family and your trust fund.”

  “I do want a career in art.” My voice sounds confident and I wonder where that grit came from. Where has it been for the last year? Why didn’t it surface when Lola first offered me a show? Maybe it came into your life with a certain overly handsome detective. I smile at the thought. What was that I was saying to myself this morning? That Josh makes me brave.

  “Is that smile a ‘yes’ then?” Lola asks me.

  I’m silent for a moment as I think about Josh posing for me and always telling me how great my work is. Then I take another deep breath as I nod slowly. “Yes.” My voice sounds small but definitive, and Lola squeals.

  “You won’t be sorry, Sam,” she says, throwing her arms around me. “You’ll see. This show will be your first step toward art stardom! And it will help establish the gallery as a real player in the art community. I will be lauded for my brilliant find of the art world’s newest superstar! I’ve already got so many ideas on how to promote your show. This is going to be huge!”

  Over tea, we talk for another hour or so about the direction she wants to take with my show and she says that she wants to see more images of all the nudes I’ve done to date. She is disappointed when I tell her that the sketch of Josh sleeping can’t be used and why, but after I explain the reason, she asks if I could sketch him again in a similar pose, leaving the face unseen. It’s something I’m willing to try. After all, Josh did say that I could continue to sketch him nude as long as there was nothing distinguishing to identify him in the finished work.

  We set a tentative date for my show, just three weeks away, pending her review of the nudes I have on hand and the reworked sketch of Josh sleeping. And I think the rush is because she’s a little afraid of me getting cold feet and backing out. She suggests a range of 30 – 40 works between my sketches and paintings, and we set up a time for her to come by the apartment and look at my studio. By the time I leave, my head is spinning, and I am so preoccupied that I actually wish I had let Martin drive me this morning. That way I wouldn’t have to try and concentrate on driving home right now. But luckily, the traffic is light and I manage to keep my scattered thoughts in check as I drive.

  When I get back to my place, I do as Josh asked and allow Martin to come up to my apartment to check that everything is okay. And while he’s making his rounds, I send Josh a quick text to let him know I’m home:

  Gallery visit went great!

  Can’t wait to tell u about it.

  Martin checking apt. now.

  His response comes in an instant but, again, it sounds very clipped and distracted.

  That’s great, Sam.

  Please stay put.

  I’ll c u soon.

  What the heck is going on? This is really starting to worry me. I hope he’s okay. And I can’t help but remember that slight uneasy feeling of terror that ran through me at dinner yesterday when he and Paul Jr. were talking about Josh’s home invasion case. He confirmed to Paul that there was some sort of shoot out and a physical altercation during that arrest, and my heart nearly fell into my stomach. I never really think about Josh’s job being dangerous but, I know in my head at least, that it is. Oh, please let him be okay! And I find it heartwarming that, while he’s dealing with whatever it is that has him so distracted, he’s obviously worried about me. He is so sweet sometimes. I want to text him something reassuring:

  I’ll be here. Miss u.

  Martin comes down the stairs from my studio and declares my apartment clear and stalker-free, and I smile as I thank him and lock the door behind him. My phone buzzes as I do. It’s Josh’s reply:
>
  Miss u to.

  Be there soon, baby.

  Don’t move.

  Don’t move? Why would I move? I told him I would stay right here. And what does he mean he’ll see me soon? It’s only just after one in the afternoon. Surely he means he’ll see me this evening. What is it that has him so distracted and frazzled today? I don’t know but, whatever it is, maybe I should stop bothering him and let him concentrate on doing his job. He can’t stay safe if he’s distracted by me.

  I set my phone down on the table and head upstairs to my studio. I’m so excited and anxious about my meeting with Lola, and I just can’t wait to go through my stuff and see what’s there. I still can’t believe that I actually agreed to a showing of my artwork. Josh is going to be so surprised when I tell him.

  Once in the studio, I head straight for the far side where there are stacks of finished canvases leaning against the wall. I haven’t painted many nudes but, I do have some. Mostly acrylic but, I did also dabble in oil for a short time. I know that I’ve done at least a dozen nudes in paint. Now I just have to rummage through my completed works to find them.

  I work diligently, pulling the nudes aside and lining them up on the other wall so that I can really look at them. I have five set aside and I am pulling out the sixth one when I hear a noise downstairs and I freeze. What was that? I stand stock still, listening closely. I know that I heard something but … I’m not sure what. It almost sounded like the apartment door opening and closing. I know Josh said that he would see me soon but, Josh doesn’t have a key to my place.

  Maybe he should.

  Yes. Maybe he should, seeing as he’s here all the time. Hmm. I’ll have to give that some serious thought. But it doesn’t help me right now. I know that I heard something … what was it?

  Quietly, I set the painting down and venture slowly down the steps and through the hall into the living room. I walk over to the door and check it. It is still locked, just as I left it, and I feel silly as a small wave of relief washes over me. Turning away from the door, I take a couple of steps toward the kitchen, but as I do, I get a strong whiff of smoke and it’s familiar somehow. Cigarette smoke? A chill runs up my spine as I recall the strong smell of cigarette smoke on my attacker and my heart begins to pound. Oh, God. This is not possible. My door is locked. He can’t be here!

  I turn quickly and see that I’m alone in my apartment. But something’s not right. Josh! I have to call Josh. Quickly, I walk to my cellphone that’s still setting on the table, but as I reach for it, out of the corner of my eye I see someone enter the living room from the hallway, and I look up into the face of the man with the tattoo! He is smiling at me but his smile looks evil.

  “I told you we’d be together soon, Samantha,” he says in a creepy singsong voice.

  I think all the air has left my lungs and my body can’t remember how to breathe. I can’t even scream, and God knows I’m trying. This can’t be happening. Not again! Run, Samantha! My stunned fight or flight response suddenly kicks in and I turn and make a mad dash for the door. But before my brain can tell my fumbling fingers how to operate the lock, he descends on me, one hand grabbing me around my waist as the other covers my mouth, and he pulls me away from the door as I kick and struggle against him.

  Chapter Nine

  Joshua

  As I leave Sam’s apartment to head to work, I can’t get over how normal this all feels. Being with her. Waking up with her and starting the day together. Her fixing me breakfast. It’s difficult to remember that our relationship is still so new. It feels as though we’ve always been together. Like Sam’s a part of me that’s always been there but, somehow I just never knew it until now. Like she’s awakened some secret, special part of me that I never knew existed. What is that? Maybe you’re in love with her, Pierce.

  The thought halts me in my tracks and I stand for a moment beside my truck, just trying to wrap my head around the idea. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Love. What the fuck do I know about love? I have no answers to that question and I run a hand through my hair as I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

  I try to push the questions aside and climb in behind the wheel and pull slowly out of my parking spot. Conner and Lee, they both implied that I’ve been acting like a love-struck idiot. And Mom certainly seems to agree with them. What the hell point was she trying to make last night, giving me Grandma Mona’s diamond ring? Maybe they all see the thing you’re trying so hard not to, Pierce.

  I shake my head to try and clear it of these troubling thoughts as I slowly make my way to the far side of the parking lot where Mr. Martin is keeping vigil, and roll down my window.

  “Good morning, Martin,” I greet him stoically.

  “Detective,” he nods.

  “As you know, Miss Colby’s place of business is closed on Mondays,” I tell him, getting right to the point. “However, she has a very busy morning, and I’ve persuaded her to allow you to do your job today. You won’t have to shadow her from a distance; you’re on close protection duty. She won’t give you much trouble,” I assure him, and he nods at me again.

  “Very good, sir.”

  “She should be down shortly. Why don’t you wait for her in the lobby of the building? She’ll also be expecting you to sweep her apartment upon her return home. Call me if she gives you a hard time.” My voice sounds very authoritative but it’s just an occupational hazard. Luckily, Martin understands, being in this line of work. And he knows that we’re ultimately on the same side here, working to ensure Samantha’s safety.

  “Yes, sir.”

  As I pull onto the street and head for the station, I think about my brief exchange with Martin and I’m happy that he hasn’t attempted to run roughshod over our investigation. Instead he’s been very mindful of staying out of the police department’s way and respecting my position as lead investigator. Hell, he’s even respected my position as Samantha’s boyfriend during this whole thing, and idly I wonder why. I expected him to have more of an attitude with me, and to be determined to take orders only from Lucas Colby and no one else. But, that hasn’t been the case.

  I don’t have time to think too much about it as I pull into the back lot of the police station a short time later. And as I’m parking the truck I suddenly get a lead feeling in my gut. Shit. Conner. I’ve forgotten all about my little run in with Conner on Saturday night at The Slammer. It’s not like this is the first time that Dave and I have bumped heads on something, but it is the first time that I’ve ever come that close to decking him. And I hate that it happened in front of Sam and Lindy. Shit! Well, I can’t sit here in my truck forever; it’s time to face the music.

  As I walk into the station, I’m greeted by Simon as he is heading to the locker room. “Hey, Guy. How’s that sunshine of yours?” he asks, smiling that shit-eating grin of his at me. I am instantly annoyed at his ribbing.

  “You see, Simon,” I smirk, pointing my index finger at him, “this is why I never tell you shit. Because you always find a way to use it against me.”

  “Calm down, man,” he laughs. “I’m just messing with you. Did she like the dedication?” he shrugs, and I smile and nod at him.

  “Yeah, she did. Thanks for keeping it anonymous.”

  He shrugs again. “Well, you gave me a code name for her so, I figured you didn’t want your name in it either. So, was that her? The chick you walked out of the bar with?”

  “Yeah,” I smile.

  “She’s pretty. Looks a little young for you, though,” he teases.

  “Fuck you, Simon,” I say with a smile and he laughs out loud as he turns toward the locker room. It’s a phrase I utter often during our band rehearsals. “Hey, Simon,” I call after him and he stops and looks at me expectantly. I hesitate a beat and then say, “Thanks for jumping in. Stopping me from doing something stupid.”

  Simon shrugs once more, saying, “It’s not the first time I’ve had to pull your sorry ass off of somebody. I’m sure it won’t be the last, you dic
k!” He laughs as he enters the locker room and I chuckle, shaking my head, as I turn around and walk down the hall toward the detective’s bullpen.

  I head straight for my desk and I can see that Conner is already there, talking on the phone, pen in hand and he’s scribbling on a notepad. I pull out my chair and take a seat as he hangs up the phone.

  “Hey, Guy,” he says quietly.

  “Hey,” I nod at him. The awkward silence is deafening. “What’s that you’re working on?”

  “Just follow up on that home invasion. Prosecutor had a question about the arrest.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Nah, it’s all good. Case is a slam dunk.”

  I nod at him and the awkward silence is back. Shit. Might as well just get this out of the way. I take a deep, anxious breath and say, “Look, Dave … about what happened Saturday night … I’m sorry that I got so angry.”

  He is silent for a long moment as he stares blankly at me. Then he lets out a big sigh. “For what it’s worth, Guy … I’m sorry too. Lindy says that I acted like an ass. Not just to you but, to Samantha too. She’s probably right.” He looks contrite and I don’t know what to say. I opt for humor to diffuse the awkwardness.

  “Yeah, well … in your defense, you’re pretty good at acting like an ass,” I say with a razor straight face, and my comment takes Conner by surprise. He tries not to but, he can’t stop himself from laughing, and I smile.

  We settle into our normal banter then and, after roll call, we decide to head out to canvas the area tattoo parlors one more time. As we walk out of the station and over to our unmarked cruiser, my cellphone beeps at me, indicating I have a text. It’s from Sam, informing me that she’s just reached the salon and that she’s following orders by texting me. I smile as I reply, telling her that she’s a good girl for doing what she’s told. And as I slide behind the wheel, I get her response, asking me to be careful today. God, she is so sweet. She’s worried about me. I text her back, telling her that I’m always careful on the job and reminding her not to give Martin a hard time.