Karen Olson - Pretty In Ink

“What?” I asked a little too sharply. She frowned, so I immediately said, “I’m sorry. It’s just been a really long day. Has Charlotte or Ace called?”

“Ace is in with a client.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“His client was already here. We couldn’t exactly have a heart-to-heart.” She paused. “I did ask him about Charlotte. He said she was in a safe place.”

What on earth did that mean?

But my brain was shutting down. I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed, forget that this day ever happened. Well, except maybe for Dr. Colin Bixby. Since I hadn’t talked to Charlotte, I had no excuse to call him. I wondered whether he really would call me .

As I was thinking that, the phone rang. Like karma or something.

“The Painted Lady,” Bitsy said when she picked it up. She listened for a minute, nodding, then turned to me, holding the receiver out. “It’s Jeff Coleman.”

So much for karma. I took the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself, Kavanaugh. You know, you’ve got yourself in a bit of a pickle.”

“Huh?”

“Rusty Abbott was just in here. Asking all sorts of questions about you.”

I felt my chest constrict, and I stopped breathing for a second. “What sorts of questions?”

“Personal stuff. How long have you had your shop, are you dating anyone, where do you live. That sort of thing. It was weird, almost like he was sweet on you. But in a stalker kind of way.”

“Oh, that makes me feel better,” I said sarcastically. “Why doesn’t he just get in touch with me himself?”

“I’m not sure you want to have a cup of coffee with the guy, Kavanaugh. He was a little skittish. I didn’t tell him anything, but I did ask him about the roulette game, and he said he’d just happened to be there when you wandered over. You know, your reputation precedes you. He recognized you by your tats.”

Like I’d recognized him.

“So why would he run away, then?”

“I think you make him nervous.”

Great. A nervous stalker.

“I didn’t realize you were such great friends with the guy.”

“I’m not. First time I’ve seen him since I did his ink.”

“But you did tell him about me, didn’t you? When you inked him.”

“I must have. Otherwise how would he have known about us?”

Us. Like we were some sort of couple. I totally did not want to go there.

“He asked me to give you a message.”

I waited, could hear him take a breath.

“He said you might want to be careful, because you never know. Accidents happen.”

My heart jumped into my throat. “Accidents happen?

What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve seen my share of crazy, Kavanaugh, and I think you better be on the lookout. I don’t think he’s playing with a full deck.”

Considering the tattoo on Rusty Abbott’s arm, Jeff Coleman was taking liberties with his puns.

“You really didn’t tell him anything?”

Bitsy was openly listening to my conversation, and I waved my hand in front of her face and turned my back to her. She walked around me to go to the staff room and stuck her tongue out at me. I stuck mine out in return. We were like a couple of third graders.

Jeff was talking. “All I said was if he wanted to talk to you, he could find you at your shop-that was public information-but he said that wasn’t the plan.”

“What does that mean?”

“That’s what I asked. He wouldn’t say any more than that, but I’d watch your back, Kavanaugh.”

I was quiet a second, digesting this information.

“Do you want me to come over there, follow you to your house, make sure you get there okay?” Jeff’s voice was unnaturally soft, and the fact that he was offering made me take this a lot more seriously. He must really think the guy was a nut and could cause me some sort of trouble.

Accidents happen.

I heard Joel’s and Ace’s tattoo machines whirring in harmony in their rooms.

“No, Jeff. Thanks, I really appreciate it, but I can have Joel or Ace do that. You don’t have to leave your shop and come down here.”

“Wouldn’t be a problem, Kavanaugh.”

I thought about Jeff Coleman, how he called me only by my last name, like he was some sort of tough guy, and how he always made cracks about my “upscale” shop.

“Thanks, Jeff, really,” I said, hoping he could hear the gratitude in my voice.

I could hear a smile in his. “You know, Kavanaugh, I think I’m growing on you.”

He didn’t give me a chance to respond. I heard the dial tone and hung up the phone, pondering what he’d said. Not about him growing on me-the jury was still out on that one-but about Rusty Abbott. What was his game? Even though he told Jeff that meeting up with me was just a coincidence, in a completely paranoid moment, I wondered whether he’d actually set me up. If he were the champagne shooter from last night, maybe he was following me around to make sure that I couldn’t identify him.

I was being totally irrational.

Or was I?

I was so deep in thought that when Ace’s client came up behind me, I jumped.

“You scared me,” I said, holding my hand to my chest to see if I could make it stop thumping so hard.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said with a lopsided grin.

Bitsy had come back and was taking his credit card. I wandered over to Ace’s room, where he was cleaning up his inks. He looked up when I came in and sat on his client chair.

“Hey, Brett,” he said casually, as if it were like any other day.

“Where’s Charlotte?”

He stopped fiddling with the inkpots and shrugged. “She called some friend who came and picked her up at my place. I don’t know who he was-he stayed in the car-but she said she’d be okay.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“She’s a big girl, Brett.”

“Did she get my message about Trevor?”

“That’s why I made her call someone. I had to be back here, and I didn’t want her to be alone. She was pretty broken up about it.”

“But not enough to come out of hiding.”

He didn’t say anything.

“What’s going on? Why is she in hiding? Was it that guy at the pawnshop? Has he threatened her? Is it an old boyfriend? Is that who she’s hiding from?” I couldn’t stop the questions once they started coming out.

He bit his lip and shrugged. “She hasn’t really told me anything, except that it’s not what it seems. Said I just have to trust her. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“Not what it seems? That’s pretty evasive. She has to talk to the police.”

Ace shook his head. “No cops. She’s pretty adamant about that. Says it’ll all come out eventually, and she wants it on her terms.”

“What does that mean?”

He sighed. “I’m not totally sure, Brett. Believe me, I tried to get her to go to the cops. Tell them what really happened this morning at that pawnshop. But she won’t. I can’t force her.”

“What about Tim?”

He gave a short snort. “He’s the cops, Brett. No cops.”

“Should I talk to him for her?”

He went back to putting away the inks. “Whatever you want.”

“When did you and Charlotte get so chummy?” I asked.

I could see only the side of his face, but the smile was obvious. It was as if someone hit me over the head; otherwise, I would never have figured it out.

“You’re dating her, aren’t you? Why are you keeping it secret?”

He shrugged and looked back at me. “We didn’t want anyone to know. The whole ‘office romance’ thing is so clichéd.” He made little quote marks with his fingers as he spoke.

I could understand that. “Listen, then, you really do need to convince her that going to the cops is the best thing. If she needs some sort of protection, then it’s for her own good.”