The Devil Has Tattoos

by Destiny Ford

  I reached my hand out and rested it on his thigh. “I don’t know what you went through growing up, Hawke, and I don’t know what our future holds. But I want you to know, I’m always here for you. In whatever capacity that ends up being—friend…something more than a friend. You are not alone, and you don’t have to carry the weight by yourself.”

  His eyes softened for a moment and he placed his hand over mine before his eyes flashed back to steel as we turned onto a private lane. We pulled up to a home that looked like a stone mansion, complete with turrets, and tucked back on the middle of a sprawling estate. It was incredible and I’d never seen anything like it.

  Hawke looked over at me. “Try not to say too much and follow my lead. You’re here as my date, but I’m counting on you to be my eyes and ears as well.” The valet opened the R8’s door and Hawke flashed him a solid gold ticket with black writing on it. We’d entered the world of Willy Wonka. I glanced around for the river of chocolate—not that I’d be able to drink it in this dress, but still. The valet nodded and Hawke handed him the keys before he got out and came around to open my door. Hawke helped me out of the car, and I managed to keep my slit in place for the maneuver. I took Hawke’s elbow and followed him in to the mansion.

  We met a woman with impeccable hair and makeup, wearing a dress almost as form fitting as mine, and followed her down the hall to a large room where about fifty chairs were arranged in five lines with an aisle down the middle. There was a stage at the front of the room with a stand and microphone in front of it. We were led to our seats and I glanced around the room. Everyone in sight was dressed as exquisitely as we were, and I was fairly certain there wasn’t a person in the room worth less than a million dollars—except me. I recognized several of the attendees—politicians, celebrities, and prominent members of the predominant religion.

  A voice came over the loud speaker. “Bidding will begin in five minutes. Please take your seats.”

  There was a lot of shuffling while people moved around, sat, and got settled. I’d never been to an auction before so my idea of what to expect came mostly from movies, and this seemed far more intense than anything Hollywood had come up with.

  An auctioneer went to the front of the room. “We’ll open the bidding tonight with a piece from a sixteenth century master artist. This piece is well known and while a copy hangs in a popular museum in Europe, this is the original, and documentation verifying that will come with the piece.”

  Bids started shooting up around the room. The total climbed to over five million dollars before a man sitting on the row in front of us won. My mouth dropped and I quickly picked it back up so it would seem like I was actually supposed to be at this fancy auction and wasn’t an interloper.

  The auction continued in the same fashion for an hour.

  Hawke bid on a piece of glass art by a master artisan who had worked in Murano, the glass island near Venice, Italy. The glass had a portrait of a face inside the piece and the level of detail was unreal. It looked like a special effect, but it wasn’t. The artist developed the particular style of glasswork and his method died with him. Hawke paid a hundred thousand dollars for it. The house I rented wasn’t even worth that much.

  Another piece was brought out and displayed. “This is a sculpture by the well-known western artist, Ron Storm.” My eyes widened and I sat up straighter to see it. I glanced at Hawke. He nodded in response. “This piece is called Ride of Thunder, and features Ron’s trademark mountain landscape overshadowed by clouds. Ron Storm’s pieces are all original, numbered, and have been highly sought after by collectors. We expect their value to skyrocket in the years to come. We’ll start the bid at twenty thousand dollars.”

  Hands immediately shot up and the bids increased exponentially. By the time bidding was finished, the final price came to eighty-five thousand dollars. I had no idea Ron Storm sculptures sold for that asking price.

  I needed to check and see if it was one of the pieces that had gone missing or been stolen. Maybe Aaron had arranged for the auction.

  The auction ended and Hawke placed his hand on my lower back as he escorted me out of the room, stopping to speak with a few people, including the ones I’d recognized. Hawke knew everyone, and everyone seemed to know him.

  We made our way out of the auction and into the hall,

  “Did you know a Ron Storm sculpture would be sold tonight?”

  “No. An item preview wasn’t included with the invitation. I was as surprised as you were.”

  “It seems coincidental,” I mused.

  “I agree,” he said.

  We continued down the hall. A door opened, laughter floating out of the room, and I saw a flash of something that looked a lot like naked skin. “What’s going on in there?” I asked, craning my neck to try and see through the slit in the door before it snicked shut.

  “All kinds of things,” Hawke said.

  “Eyes Wide Shut things?” I asked.

  He stopped and gave me all of his attention. He pushed me against the wall, caging me with his huge arms and body the size of a tank. One hand came up to my cheek and his eyes looked like they were on fire. He pressed his lips to mine, hot and full of want. My mouth opened for him and electricity shot through me, pooling low in my stomach. Suddenly his hand was between my thighs, inching up, and I vaguely remember hearing my dress rip right before he got to the good spot. He pulled back, his gaze searching mine as my breath came in uneven gasps. “Do you want to find out?”

  Yes.

  Absolutely.

  With every one of my ovaries and some of my friend’s ovaries too.

  “No.” I shook my head, trying to convince myself as much as him. “No.” As much as I wanted that, with every fiber of my body, I knew it wasn’t the right call. I still had no idea what I wanted when it came to relationships, and Hawke’s revelations about his past and the litany of questions his history predicated were all things I needed to deal with. If I gave into my hormones and had sex with him, especially Eyes Wide Shut sex with him, it would cloud my judgment one-thousand percent.

  We waited for Hawke’s R8 outside and when it pulled up, he opened the door for me before handing the valet a hundred dollar bill and getting in the driver’s seat.

  “Did you get what you needed tonight?” I asked, still uncertain about what exactly he’d been hoping to accomplish.

  His eyes met mine, looking like they were on fire from within. “For work, yes.” The implication that I had something he needed was obvious.

  I would not have sex with Hawke. No. No. No. I needed to figure my shit out first.

  “Are Ron Storm sculptures common in private auctions like this?” I asked.

  Hawke settled into his seat, relaxing more the farther away from the mansion we got. “They’re collector’s items and the right buyers would see value in them.”

  “I didn’t realize they commanded that high of a price.”

  “Neither did I.”

  I needed to look into the sculptures more. I was now even more convinced that they were the reason for the string of robberies. There was some connection and I needed to figure out what it was.

  “Oh, I traced the names of the users on the Not Just Junk site,” Hawke said.

  My ears perked up. “Were they connected?”

  Hawke shook his head. “Not at all. One was based in Wisconsin and the other in Florida.”

  Dammit. I knew it was a long shot, but it had seemed like such a coincidence that the stuffed animals and VHS tapes had been stolen and then the same items had gone up for sale on Not Just Junk later that week. But even my mom still had those VHS tapes—I’d checked during one of Gandalf’s pick-ups. And the stuffed animals were also common.

  We drove in silence the rest of the way back to Branson Falls. So much had happened and I was still trying to process the information Hawke had told me earlier about his past.

  Hawke glanced over at me as we cruised into town. Several people stopped and stared. If we’d been i
n the Ferrari, the story would have landed on the front page of the Tribune whether I approved it or not.

  “I forgot to tell you, you can’t use any information you gleaned tonight for articles,” Hawke said.

  I stared at him, slack jawed. “You’re kidding me, right? Do you know who some of those people were?”

  He gave me a dangerous look. “I know exactly who every person in that room was. And that’s why you can’t do anything with the information. I’m scary, but I’m not nearly as scary as half of those people. I’m not telling you this for their protection. I’m telling it to you for yours.”

  Well that wasn’t the least bit comforting.

  He pulled his super car into my driveway and walked me to the door. I stared at the R8 longingly. “That’s a really pretty car.”

  His eyebrow arched. “Maybe I’ll let you drive it sometime.”

  My eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Oh my goddesses. Please let me drive it right past The Ladies. Multiple times.”

  He laughed. “I can make that happen.”

  I flashed him a huge smile before turning to unlock my front door. “Ryker Hawkins, making dreams come true.”

  I turned around and he was right there, our noses practically touching. He reached over and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear before pressing his lips lightly to mine. “I never really cared about dreams…until I met you.”

  He walked away, and I spent the rest of the night thinking about Hawke, his past, and what I could and couldn’t live with. I didn’t get any answers.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I stopped in to see Gandalf at my mom and dad’s house on my way to work the next morning.

  My mom met me at the door, eyes slitted. Even her shoulder towel looked perturbed. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you about this yet, but you made quite a scene with Drake at the carnival.”

  “Good morning to you too, Mom,” I answered with a smile. Gandalf came running over and I fell to the ground giving him pets and loves that he returned with licks and spins. “Hi little buddy! I missed you so much! Did you have tons of fun sleeping over with grandma and grandpa?”

  He responded with multiple jumps and brought me a toy.

  “What was happening with Drake?” my mom asked, undeterred by my efforts to deter her. I knew the look she was currently sporting. She was prepared to stand there until I answered, or the end of time, whichever came first. “Are you two dating?”

  She asked me this at least once a week. She asked me the same question about Hawke nearly as often. She routinely got the same response about him that I was about to give her regarding Drake.

  “We were there together. I was working. He was walking with me. I don’t really think it fits the traditional definition of a date.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “You were mauling your breasts in front of him and the whole state! And Drake looked more than willing to help!”

  “He offered,” I said, throwing Gandalf’s ball.

  My mom sputtered something nonsensical. She gathered her wits and tried again. “What was going on?”

  “There was a Rice Krispie situation. Some chocolate escaped down my shirt, and then I tripped,” I explained.

  She shook her head. “I’m talking about the two of you looking like you wanted to rip each other’s clothes off in the middle of a public event with small children present.”

  I gave her a dubious look. “If we looked like that, I’m sure it was an error in perception.”

  She smacked me with her shoulder towel. “I’ve been around a lot longer than you, Katherine Violet Saxee. I know exactly what that look meant.”

  “Have you come up with an emoji for it?”

  She rolled her eyes. Hard.

  “And don’t even get me started about Hawke,” she said. “I’ve seen those photos.”

  My uh-oh sensor immediately went off. “What photos?” I asked, concerned.

  “The photos of you at your house last night.” She looked like she might pop a vein in her forehead. “I thought I was going to see parts of you I haven’t seen since I changed your diapers.”

  My mouth dropped open. “There are photos? Where?”

  She gave me a look. “I was sent copies by no less than ten people asking me if I knew what my daughter was doing and if I’d seen her outfit.”

  “Dammit!” I hissed. I was so irate that I didn’t even care that I’d sworn in front of her.

  “You grew up here, Kate. You know how small towns work. Almost every move you make is the subject of gossip. You should know to be careful.”

  “I shouldn’t have to be careful when all I’m doing is walking out my front door.”

  My mom gave me a look. “When you’re walking out your front door in a dress that barely covers your who-ha, you should be prepared for the consequences.”

  Blood boiled in my veins and I seriously wanted to murder The Ladies. I’d seen the flash of light the night before when Hawke picked me up, and knew they’d probably had someone staking out my house like usual. I was sick of living under this microscope and trying to adjust my life to fit their expectations and dilute who I really was, and the person I was continuing to become. “No,” I said with steel in my voice as I shook my head. “I refuse to be peer pressured into living someone else’s life—a life they agree with. I’m going to continue to do my own thing and people, especially the asshat Ladies, can suck it.”

  My mom bristled at the swear and shook her head. “Oh, I’m sure they’ll talk about that too.” She paused. “Your dress was something.”

  I smiled at that. “Hawke thought so.”

  She raised a brow. “I’m sure he did.”

  “He picked it out.”

  Her other brow followed. “Where did you go?”

  “I actually can’t say because I was sworn to secrecy. But it wasn’t a date. It was to help Hawke with something for his business.”

  She eyed me like she knew better. “I have a feeling that dress didn’t last long.”

  My cheeks pinked. “It’s still in perfect shape.” Well, almost perfect. It probably needed a few things mended after the kiss against the wall at the auction.

  “Sure it is. Bring it over when you get a chance and I’ll fix anything that got torn…any more than it was already torn with that slit.”

  I was about a block from the Tribune when I got a call from Spence. “Another robbery on Oaktree. It’s the Skinner house.”

  I wasn’t far from there so it didn’t take me long to arrive. Bobby was outside.

  “Hey,” I said. “Spence called me. Did the robbery happen last night or today?”

  “Last night. The Skinners were out and didn’t even know about it until this mornin’. It looks like it was a botched attempt though because the thief didn’t get in the house.”

  I raised my brows. “How do you know?”

  Bobby walked me over to a side door of the garage. “I always tell people not to put these dumb doors in when they build homes. Every door is an access point and another place you have to secure. The harder you make it for people to get in, the better.” Good to know. I’d make sure my next house was located in a tree. He showed me the frame of the door, cracked, but not broken through. “Standard doors are usually pretty easy to break into, but the Skinners were smart and put longer screws into the faceplate and through the frame, which makes the door more secure. The robber tried to kick it open and couldn’t. He must’ve given up after a while.”

  Larry Skinner came out of the house. “So you found the damage this morning?” I asked him.

  Larry nodded. “I know it wasn’t there when we left last night because I went out this door. Our neighbor has a great guard dog and they said he was barking around nine o’clock. They checked on him and said they saw someone in a dark outfit running through the backyard, past the trees and into the alley.”

  “Any idea what they might have been looking for?” I
asked.

  Bobby shook his head and Larry raised his arms in an “I don’t know” gesture. I lifted my brow with interest as a thought occurred to me. “You don’t happen to own a Ron Storm sculpture, do you?”

  Larry gave me a funny look, but answered. “Actually, I do.”

  I looked at Bobby and his eyes went wide. “If that’s what they were looking for, they’ll probably try again,” I said.

  “They want my sculpture?” Larry asked, confusion in his tone.

  “I’m not sure, but you’re not the first house with a Ron Storm sculpture to be targeted.”

  “We’ll put extra patrols on your house, Larry,” Bobby reassured him.

  I took some photos of the damage, then Bobby walked me to my Jeep. “He has a Ron Storm sculpture. I don’t think that’s a fluke.”

  He pressed his lips together. “I don’t think so either. Do you have any leads?”

  I might. “Let me check into some things.”

  I got to the office and after going through my inbox and taking care of a few items for the paper, I called Aaron Storm.

  “Hi, Aaron. This is Kate Saxee again.”

  “Hi, Kate. What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if you could tell me the names of your dad’s sculptures that have gone missing or have been stolen. I know he names his pieces.”

  Aaron paused on the other end like he was trying to come up with an answer. Or maybe he was busy or caught off-guard by my question. That’s what I hated about the phone—I couldn’t read voice reactions as well as I could by watching expressions in person. “Sure. I’ll have to look them up, but I can email you later today.”

  “Great!” I answered, and gave him my email address.

  “Can I ask what this is about?” Aaron said, his tone wary.

  “I’m trying to figure out what’s happening with the robberies. I think there might be a connection to the recent robberies and your dad’s pieces.”

  Aaron sounded stunned. “Really?”

  “I’m not certain, so don’t get your hopes up. I’m trying to do some more research and cover all my bases.”