“Anyone ever tell you you’re a silver-linings kind of guy?” Hammer asked.
Ghost grinned. “I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”
Butcher slammed down the gavel. “Meeting adjourned.”
Chairs scraped against the floor as men rose to their feet. Hammer pushed off the wall and unfolded his arms as he felt his phone vibrate. He hung back and took the call. “Yeah?”
He heard his mother’s frantic voice over the line. It was high-pitched, and she talked a mile a minute, so he had a hard time understanding her, but her tone was unmistakable. His body stiffened, and the hair on his arms stood up. “Ma, what’s wrong?”
CHAPTER TWO
Tink climbed in her VW Beetle and tossed her backpack onto the passenger seat. She pulled out of the parking lot in front of the College of Health Sciences on Samford’s campus and headed to an interview for a part time job. If she hurried, she’d make it on time.
Her cell rang, and she reached over and dug it out of her bag. Glancing down she saw the caller ID. Mom. Great.
She put it on speaker. “Hey, Mom. I can’t talk long. I just left class, and I have to be somewhere. What’s up?”
“I wanted to let you know your sister’s back in town.”
Every cell in Tink’s body came to attention. “What?”
“Yes, she’s back home again, where she belongs. Isn’t that wonderful?”
No, it was not! Fucking hell. Tink bit her lip, a million curse words streaming through her head. She wanted to scream them all. She wanted to throw her phone across the car and slam her hand against the steering wheel.
Instead she blew out a calming breath. “Oh, really?”
“Yes! I’m so happy, aren’t you?”
“Right. So happy.”
“Anyway, you should come home for dinner tomorrow night.”
“I don’t know, Mom. With classes and work—”
“Baby, please.”
She heard her sister’s voice in the background. “Told you she wouldn’t come. Really, Mom, when will you stop kowtowing to her? It’s pathetic.”
Tink rolled her eyes. The fucking bitch.
“Please, Tink,” her mother pleaded.
“I’ll try, Mom.” Tink hated to let her mother down, but the last thing she wanted to do was spend any time with her bitchy sister, much less sit across the table from her.
Turning up a long drive, Tink rolled to a stop by the large house at the end. She yanked the emergency brake and stared at the sleek modern architecture that looked like something out of a magazine. Wow. Her mouth formed the silent word.
“So you’ll be here? 7:00 pm sharp. You know your father likes to eat on time. Ada is making Chicken Divan and her famous bread pudding with bourbon sauce. You know it’s your favorite.”
“Okay, okay, I promise I’ll be there. I’ve got to go.”
“I love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you, too, Mom.” Tink disconnected, tossed her phone in her bag, and climbed out of her car. She stood a moment in the open door, hand gripping the frame, and bit her lip. The ad said 39 Azalea Lane, and that’s what the mailbox said at the end of the drive. Brass numbers near the door also confirmed she was in the right spot, but this home had to be worth at least a million, if not more. It wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d imagined a struggling artist in some tiny studio.
Tink slammed her car door and hiked her bag over her shoulder. No sense dawdling. Strolling up to the massive wooden door, she pressed the round button, and a melody of chimes rang inside the home. Frosted and beveled vertical windows on either side of the carved wooden door revealed movement and a shadowy figure approach. The lock clicked, and the door swung open.
He was older than she’d anticipated—in his mid-forties if she were to guess. He wore a faded blue, chambray shirt, the sleeves rolled up, revealing what looked like an expensive watch. Jeans and bare feet completed the outfit. His hair was long, dark, and pulled back in a ponytail. He had brown eyes and some scruff on his face that was coming in grayer than his hair.
“Alexandra?”
She stuck her hand out. “Yes, sir.”
He took it in his, smiling broadly as his eyes swept over her. “Clay Ashton. It’s very nice to meet you.” He stepped back. “Please, come in.”
She crossed the threshold into a huge, Spanish tiled entryway.
“Did you have any trouble finding the place?”
“Not at all. Your directions were great.”
“Good.” He extended his arm. “This way.”
They moved into a huge living room with modern furniture in golden tans, creams, and beiges. He indicated a pair of overstuffed chairs near a sleek fireplace. “Have you ever done any art modeling before?”
Tink sat, pulling her bag from her shoulder, and shook her head. “No. Is that a problem?”
He propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and rubbed his hand over his mouth, studying her again.
When he didn’t answer at first, her shoulders slumped. Had this trip been a waste of time? Damn it, she really needed this job. The money he’d offered was better than anything she could find, and besides, he’d indicated he could work around her class schedule.
He slowly shook his head. “Not as long as you’re comfortable maintaining one position for long periods of time.”
She perked up. “I do yoga, so hopefully it won’t be an issue.”
“Excellent.” He nodded.
“You said it would pay between fifteen to thirty dollars an hour, depending.”
“That’s right.”
“Depending on what?”
“On whether or not you model nude or clothed.”
“Nude?”
“Yes. I want to do a series of nudes for a gallery showing I have coming in January.”
“I didn’t realize nudity was a requirement.”
“It doesn’t have to be. When you texted me your photograph, I knew I wanted to work with you regardless of whether it was for that series or a different project. You’re really quite striking.”
She flushed. “Thank you.”
“You indicated you’re available Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons?”
“Yes, that works with my class schedule.”
He nodded. “Would you like to see the studio?”
“I’d love to.”
He stood, and she followed him down a hall.
“Do you know anything about art, Alexandra?” he asked over his shoulder.
She shrugged. “I took some classes one summer.”
“I see. And did they involve any life drawing?”
“Life drawing?”
“The human body.”
“Oh.” She flushed again. “No. Just still life and a bit of watercolor painting.”
“I work in oils. Never been a fan of watercolors, but I understand the appeal.” He smiled and ushered her into a room.
It wasn’t a room at all, but a solarium made entirely of glass. The walls and the ceiling were all built of many paned windows.
Tall plants and ferns surrounded the perimeter of the large room. The ceiling was vaulted, and all those windows let in tons of light. She supposed that would be important to a painter. Stacks of canvases leaned against the wall along with several incomplete projects that looked as if they’d been cast aside. There were two easels with drapes over them, hiding his work from view.
He moved to one and pulled the canvas off. “What do you think?”
It was a woman standing in a garden in the moonlight, fully nude. It was done in soft muted colors and was stunningly beautiful. “It’s gorgeous.”
“My model, Giselle. She’s lovely. I use her often. Unfortunately, she’s studying abroad this fall.”
“Oh.”
“Could you see yourself in that painting, Alexandra?”
“You mean modeling for something like that?”
“Yes.”
She studied the painting and bit her lip. “Did you… Was she sta
nding like that outside?”
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t ask you to model anywhere but in this studio.”
Her gaze strayed to the glass windows that surrounded them.
“The grounds are very private. No one will see in, I assure you.”
She glanced around the studio again. “You do several projects at once?”
“Yes. I work best that way. So, Alexandra, what do you think? Would you be comfortable modeling nude?”
She hesitated, staring at the woman in the garden painting. Could she really do that? Could she take her clothes off for this man and just stand there for hours while he worked? The famous scene from Titanic popped into her head. Did she have that kind of self-confidence? Was she that brave? She tried to imagine pulling her clothing off right now, and her stomach knotted.
She glanced at Clay. He waited patiently for her to decide. Finally, she shook her head. “I…I don’t think so.”
He nodded. “Understood. Perhaps in time you’ll change your mind. In any case, as I said, I’d still like to use you for another project. Do you have a few minutes now?”
“Yes.”
He pulled a rolling stool over. “Sit, please.”
She did as he bid.
He lifted her face with a finger under her chin, tilting her toward the afternoon light. Then he grabbed up a pad of paper and a charcoal pencil and began sketching.
“What are you doing?” she asked, holding her head in position, her eyes trying to shift to the side toward him.
“Shh. This won’t take long.”
Tink sat there quietly for a few minutes. True to his word, he finished quickly and turned the pad around to show her what he’d drawn. “Like it?”
It was just her head and shoulders, but it was lovely. “Wow.” The word was soft and breathy, even to her own ears.
“You have a long graceful neck and fabulous bone structure. Quite lovely, really.” He smiled at her, watching her a moment, then ripped the page off the pad and held it out to her. “Here.”
Her eyes widened, and she touched a hand to her chest. “For me?”
He nodded.
She reached out and took it. “Thank you. No one’s ever drawn me before.”
He winked. “Well, I hope to paint you as well.”
She stood. “I’ll treasure it.”
He set the items aside. “I’ll show you out.”
She followed him back to the entryway. He opened the door and paused. “It was wonderful meeting you, Alexandra. I’ll see you Wednesday at 2:00 pm?”
“Yes. I’ll be here.” She extended her hand. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Ashton.”
“Call me, Clay.”
“Goodbye then, Clay.” She moved through the doorway.
“Alexandra?”
She turned back, hiking her bag on her shoulder. “Yes?”
“I’ll up the price to a hundred dollars an hour if you pose nude.”
Her mouth parted.
He smiled. “Just something to mull over between now and Wednesday.”
The door slowly swung closed, and she stared at the carved wood.
Holy shit.
CHAPTER THREE
It took Hammer twenty minutes to get from the clubhouse to his mother’s place. He rolled up Clairmont Avenue and made a left on 39th Street, climbing the hill and parking his bike at the curb two blocks up. It was an older neighborhood, one filled with classic, southern homes with big front porches and mature trees.
The screen door creaked as his boots tromped up the stairs, and his eyes lifted. His mother stood there, a baby in her arms. “She’s gone.”
Hammer stepped through the door, scooped the fifteen-month-old up, and tucked him in the crook of one arm. “How’s my little buddy doing?”
The boy’s cherub cheeks lifted with a smile, and his bright blue eyes locked with Hammer’s. Then he patted his cheek, giggling at the stubble on Hammer’s jaw like it tickled.
Hammer chuckled, grasped the child’s hand and kissed the palm, determined to keep calm for the baby’s sake. He turned to his mother. She was in her mid-sixties, thin as a rail and suffering from emphysema. Something a two-pack a day habit had brought about. “You okay?”
Her chest lifted and fell with her struggle to breathe. “She can’t keep doing this to me, son. I’m not well. She knows that.”
“She doesn’t care.”
His ma took two more breaths and nodded. “I know.”
“What’d she say this time?”
“What she always says. She just needed to run out and could I watch him for a few minutes. Promised she’d be right back. That was two days ago.”
“Did you call her?”
“Yes, she doesn’t answer. I’ve left messages.” She paused and pulled a tissue from her faded housecoat pocket and wiped her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Hammer put his arm around her. “Let’s sit down.”
She nodded. “Come back to the kitchen. I made your favorite.”
“Banana pudding?” Hammer asked hopefully.
She shuffled before him. “Of course.”
He followed her through the old house to the kitchen. It was the only room in the house that had been updated, and that had only been because he and a couple of the boys had pitched in and done the work themselves, installing new cabinets and countertops. His ma loved to cook, and seeing how happy the renovation made her made it worth all the work.
Hammer took a seat at the banquet table in the bay window alcove that looked out over the backyard. He bounced the baby on his knee like a pony ride. The boy squealed with delight. “He walkin’, yet?”
His mother set a bowl of banana pudding and a spoon before him. “Oh, yeah. He’s toddlin’ all around the place.”
“He talkin’?”
“Says a few words; ‘Mama’ and ‘uppie’ when he wants you to pick him up. I get the feelin’ Josie hasn’t spent too much time readin’ to him and such.”
Hammer grunted and shook his head. “She’s got no business raisin’ a kid.”
“That’s the God’s truth, but here we are.”
“No, seems here you are. She’s always dumpin’ him on you and takin’ off. It’s not right.”
“I’m afraid she’s up to no good… Fallin’ back into her old ways.”
“She’s usin’ again?” Hammer frowned.
His mother’s eyes glazed over. “I think so.”
“Aw, Ma.”
“I tried my best with both you children. I really did.” She swiped at her eyes.
“It wasn’t you. It was never you, Ma. It was Dad.”
“Your daddy did the best he could.”
“I know you think that, but he didn’t. He was a mean old cuss who only cared about money to gamble.” When his mother got quiet, Hammer reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “You deserved better. We all did.”
She nodded, looking down. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s over now.”
“No.” She shook her head and met his eyes. “Not for Josie, it’s not.”
Hammer let out a slow breath. She spoke the truth. “If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself for what he did to her. I wish I’d known it was happening back then.”
“I didn’t know, son. I swear to you I would have gotten the cast iron skillet and caved his head in while he slept if I’d known he was hurting my baby girl—” She broke off and covered her mouth to muffle her sobs.
The baby watched everything with wide eyes. “Nana?”
Hammer bounced him on his knee. “Shh, Ethan. It’s okay. Here, you want some of Nana’s banana pudding?” He scooped up a small amount and fed it to him.
Ethan pointed with his index finger to his palm.
Hammer frowned, his gaze meeting his mother’s. “What’s that mean?”
“He wants more. Guess the daycare back in Montgomery taught it to him. That’s what Josie said anyway. They teach the little ones basic signs so they can co
mmunicate before they learn to talk.”
“Huh. How ‘bout that.” He scooped up another bite and fed it to Ethan.
“When he twists his hands at his wrist it means all done.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
“Yeah.”
Hammer fed him half the bowl before Ethan waved his hands and climbed off his knee to toddle over to his toy blocks. He sat on the kitchen floor and played.
“He loves those blocks,” his mother murmured, watching him.
Hammer finished off the bowl of pudding. Between bites, he asked, “Where do you think she went?”
She smoothed her palm over the plastic tablecloth. “Wherever she can party, I guess.”
“I tried calling her several times. Goes straight to voicemail.”
His mother nodded.
“You worried?” Hammer asked.
“Of course I’m worried. You should be too.” She stared at him. “I’m scared to death for her, and I’m scared to death for that baby.”
“If she’s up to her old tricks, then that boy’s better off with you.”
“Not sayin’ he ain’t, but I’m not young anymore. It’s too much for me. What are we going to do if something happens to Josie? What if she doesn’t come back? She was never good with responsibility, even as a child.”
“Is there anyone in the neighborhood who can babysit?”
“I don’t know half the people in this neighborhood anymore. Mary Johnson next store and her husband are on a cruise for two weeks.”
“Anyone at church?”
“I hate to have them hear all the dirt about your sister. It’s humiliating.”
“Ma, they’re supposed to be good Christians.”
“Yeah, well you know how the congregation likes to gossip.”
“I’ll try to find Josie. Get her back here.”
His mother nodded. “Thank you, son, but what about now? You think you could take him?”
“Me?” Hammer’s brows shot up.
“You got two strong arms, don’t you? Why not you?”
“Ma, I don’t know shit about kids.”
“So, you can learn, can’t you?”
“With my lifestyle? It wouldn’t work.”
“You got a woman yet?”
“I’ve got lots of women.”
Hammer Page 2
