Lori Devoti - Amazon Ink

“I wouldn’t call him a friend.” Whatever had happened in Mother’s workout space didn’t make us friends.

“Really? He seemed kind of friendly.” Peter twiddled with the cord on my mouse. I stifled the urge to jerk the wire out of his fingers.

“Well, he isn’t. We aren’t.”

Peter shrugged. “None of my business.” But his expression said it was.

Feast or famine. I hadn’t had a man interested in me for a decade and suddenly I had two…kind of…maybe…I looked at Peter, tried to figure out what was going on in his head. Was he attracted to me? Was I attracted to him? Or was something about all the stress I’d been under doing weird things to my libido?

He leaned down. “Of course, it could be my business.” And he kissed me.

I think my heart stopped from shock-but it started back up again, double time.

His fingers cradled the nape of my neck, tipping my face to his. He tasted of premium coffee, hazelnut. Had to love a man secure enough to buy a flavored brew.

My hands somehow found their way to his knees and then I was standing, my legs between his, my fingers resting lightly on his hips. He didn’t change his grip, didn’t pull me closer, and I was afraid to move further myself, like any overt action on my part would cause him to pull away. As surprised as I had been when the kiss started, as his lips moved over mine and parts of me constricted that I’d forgotten could constrict, I knew I didn’t want the kiss to end.

But it did, and in as confusing a manner as it had started.

He pulled his mouth free, placed his hands over mine, and gave them a light squeeze. “So, you’ll talk to Harmony?”

My mind was foggy and my eyes were half closed. I fluttered my eyelids, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Talk to Harmony about our kiss? Was that necessary?

“She seems pretty taken with Dana, and after seeing this…well, you don’t want her to think flashing tattoos to get on some Web site is a good idea.”

Things were back in focus now, and embarrassment at how lost in the moment I’d become while Peter had clearly moved on settled in. I pulled my hands from his legs and stepped back. “Not too big of a worry. At least for a few years. Harmony doesn’t have any tattoos and won’t till she’s legal.”

“Still, it wouldn’t hurt…” Peter slid away from my desk. I turned-picked up a piece of paper and shoved it into a random file.

Fingers trailed down my spine, stopping right at the spot where my shirt separated from my jeans. Every muscle in my body locked up, while my heart jumped back into beating overtime.

“And let me know about that detective. I’m hoping he is my business.”

Before I could think of how to reply, he’d spun back around my desk and sauntered from the room.

I plopped into my chair with enough force it rolled backward two feet. After heel-walking back to my start point I stared at my computer screen, but I wasn’t seeing teenage girls exposing themselves for the camera, or even dead Amazons at the moment-my mind was in too big of a whirl.

I sat there another few minutes, then shook myself. One kiss and I lost track of everything else going on. Just showed humans had nothing on Amazons as far as being ruled by basic urges.

I forced my eyes and mind to focus. There were a lot of thoughts pinging around in my brain-Peter’s kiss and the idea that Reynolds was attracted to me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about either; my body was sure how it felt, but my mind, not so much. That Harmony was confiding in not only Dana, but also Peter-a man she had only met a little over a week ago-rather than me. The disturbing fact that Dana thought it was an okay idea to show my daughter a Web site with girls, Dana being one of them, obviously drunk and flashing skin. And finally, the biggie, that on said Web site there were pictures of both dead Amazon girls, not to mention the other girls who I knew from their art were also Amazons. Givnomais displayed for the world to see on the Internet…Someone in the tribe wasn’t doing her job educating these girls. It pissed me off.

I put my anger aside, for now.

I had to find out who took these pictures and posted them on the Web. I had to stop this leak, and in the process most likely I’d find the killer.

And while not a total technophobe, I had clue zero on how to do that. Except asking Dana. If she didn’t know, I might have to do something crazy, like be responsible and call the police.

Dana was back upstairs. I realized this as soon as I opened my office door-the smell of melting chocolate was a dead giveaway. As was the plate of freshly baked cookies sitting next to the group flash on the reception counter. They were still warm and gooey when I sank my teeth into one.

I followed my nose up the stairs. For all the smells filling the building, the kitchen was frighteningly clean. I stood there, trying to think where a pregnant woman who had just baked six-dozen cookies (neatly resting on wire racks I didn’t know I owned) and scrubbed a kitchen (even the dust bunnies that were normally stuck to the chair feet had been evicted) would go next.

I knew where I’d go-bed. With that in mind, I walked down the hall to the room recently assigned to Dana.

She was there, but she wasn’t sleeping. Somehow in the last four hours, in addition to her baking, she’d found a can of paint, pan and roller, and brushes. She was halfway around the room already.

Even if I hadn’t seen her givnomai on the Internet, I would have guessed it. No one but a bee, maybe a beaver, could be this diligent.

She turned when I entered. A streak of purple ran down her nose and dots of white adorned her hair. “You’re done. Did you want some lunch? I made a quiche.”

I’d never had quiche in my life, wasn’t 100 percent sure I knew what it was.

“Uh, no, actually I wanted to talk to you about something.” Facing her beaming eagerness made bringing up the Web site that much harder. Made it hard to believe the drunken girl I’d seen on the Internet and this one were one and the same person.

Finally, I just said it. “I saw the Web site.”

“Oh.” She picked up the brush and dabbed at a spot where the old institutional green was leaking through the purple. “Do you like this color? I thought about pink. It’s my favorite, but Harmony didn’t think it was a good idea.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure why.”

“Because of the baby?”

She patted her stomach. “What about him?”

“Him. He’s a boy.”

The wrinkle morphed to a full-face frown. “I know.”

I took a breath, then let it go. The kid was going to be the first boy in history raised with a family of Amazons-a pink or purple bedroom was sure to be the least of his differences.

I paused, wondering if he, like many Amazons, would inherit skill sets from his grandmother. Pisto was a warrior and Dana a hearth-keeper. I had no idea which was more common in their line. Could a boy be a hearth-keeper? Of course, common belief was that males didn’t inherit any of the Amazon strengths, had normal mortal life spans and no powers; skill sets or lack of them should follow this same rule…

“Is it okay if I paint the furniture too? I was thinking white.”

Purple walls, white furniture…if the boy did get a skill set, I prayed to Artemis it was warrior. Or maybe on his thirteenth birthday I’d just gift him with a badger tattoo like the one Nick had been drawing. He’d need the added toughness to survive junior high.

Dana picked a plastic bag off the floor and pulled a white lace baby gown and bonnet from it. “I got this from Goodwill. What do you think?”

I rethought the tattoo. It would take more than a badger to handle the ribbing this kid was going to endure, even in liberal Madison.