Dead Ink (Karma #4)

by Donna Augustine

  “Well?” she asked, waiting for a reply.

  “I don’t know? Maybe I paid the bill when I was drunk one night?” He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant when all he was thinking about was wrapping his hands around her small waist, lifting her onto the counter and stepping in between her legs. Why did she always have to look so damn adorable all the time?

  “With what? The ink you buy is ridiculously expensive. You pay top dollar for everything in here. And don’t say you don’t, because I checked the prices on my phone. Your customers’ checks are bouncing left and right. And that’s if they get deposited! You’ve got a pile of checks shoved in here that are too old to even cash anymore!”

  He watched her run a hand through that thick blonde hair of hers. He wondered what it would look like hanging down her bare back, or trailing over her full breasts. His hand itched to curl his fingers into it, take a large hank of it and yank her head back, lifting her face to his. He’d like to find out if she’d squirm against him or cling and let all her inhibitions fall away.

  The alarming part was he found himself thinking back to how she looked when she slept. How he enjoyed seeing her sleep in his bed, like she was his and meant to be there. He’d never even let a woman stay over long enough for anything more than a catnap in between sessions before.

  “Are you listening to me?” Her voice pitched higher. Not as high as it would of if he was having his way with her but enough to get his attention back to the fact she was speaking. “Lars?” It was an admonishment.

  “Is there a Faith here?”

  Lars whipped around toward the door, alarmed that he’d been so engrossed in her that he hadn’t realized someone had walked in. Then it registered that the guy had called her by name. How the hell did he know her name?

  Lars didn’t take his eyes off him, and quickly positioned himself in front of Faith.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he asked, realizing the kid wasn’t much past twenty and scrawny to boot. The stench of an unkempt human clung to him.

  The kid threw his hands up, palms outward, and was trembling slightly, which revealed forearms with track marks. “Hey, man, I’m not looking for trouble.”

  “Who sent you here?” Lars asked.

  “Some guy a few blocks away from here threw me a hundred bucks to deliver her something.”

  “What was his name? What did he look like?” His gut twisted, already knowing the answer.

  “I don’t know, ‘bout forty and rich looking? I didn’t much care,” he said, his hand going to scratch his arm as if bugs were crawling on him.

  “What is it?”

  “I have a package for her.” The kid moved his hand toward his back pocket slowly, waiting until Lars nodded to proceed before he pulled out a small box.

  Lars reached forward and snatched the small box from his fingers.

  “Give it to me.” Faith had come around to his side and pulled the package from his fingers before he realized what she’d intended.

  The kid took off running the minute Lars turned toward Faith. He watched as she shot into his office, as he was torn between who to follow. He already knew who had sent the delivery and he was sure the kid wasn’t involved. First off, the kid was human. And secondly, he was way too rattled. This wasn’t a normal gig for him. He was just a junky looking for a quick buck. Even if he hadn’t seen the evidence, he would’ve known from the sickly smell of him.

  Lars dug out his phone as he stepped outside the shop and tried to get an idea on where the kid had taken off to. He dialed Bic, who he knew was in the area this afternoon, and relayed the information. Then hurried back in to find Faith.

  Chapter 19

  He found her sitting at his desk and trying to cut open the taped seams of the package but the scissors kept slipping. It had probably been what had bought him some time.

  “Let me,” Lars said but she wrenched the package back toward her.

  “No.” Her gaze shot to him. “You guys tell me where to sleep, eat and work. It’s enough. This was delivered for me and I’m going to be the one to open it.” She stared at him, making it clear she was going to stand her ground on this.

  He was at a loss. He knew that he and his guys were, in essence, micromanaging her life but she hadn’t complained once. And he didn’t think this was so much about opening a package that was surely going to carry a bad message as her needing to gain some tiny bit of control back. He didn’t like it but she was right. If he respected her then he had to let her do it.

  But he couldn’t quiet down this pesky urge he had to protect her. He walked around the desk and hovered over her but he didn’t make another move to take the box.

  She didn’t seem to notice or care where he was; as all of her attention focused on the package. Scissors in hand, she cut the rest of the taped seams and the top of the cardboard box flapped open. A folded note, which she withdrew, lay on top.

  I really wish you’d reconsider.

  Keith

  A ring box lay below. Keith had sent her jewelry? She lifted the box out of the tissue paper padding and flipped open the top. Lars barely got a glance at the ring inside before it fell from her hands with a gasp.

  He knew it was a man’s. He smelled the dried blood it was coated in. It had belonged to a healthy male in his twenties, suspiciously like the blood on Cutty’s guest room ceiling.

  He quickly grabbed a pen from his desk and used it to pick up the fallen ring, having no desire to touch it. It was a college class ring. He slid it into the box that had also dropped to the ground and closed the lid.

  “Faith?” After the initial gasp, she’d fallen silent and completely still. He lowered himself until he was sitting back on his heels and could get a better look at her face. All the color had drained from her cheeks, and her eyes didn’t look right, as if they weren’t focused and she were somewhere else right now.

  “Faith?” he repeated, softer this time.

  Her eyes, shifted to his with a crazed look. “I need my phone.”

  “Whose ring was that?” he asked.

  “I need my phone,” she repeated, as if she hadn’t heard his question. Her voice had a strained quality.

  “Stay here. I’ll get it.” He went into the other room and dug the phone the guys had gotten her out of her purse and brought it back.

  He thought she was going to try and call someone but instead she was trying to search the Internet on it. He had a computer in the office but it was stored in the cabinet, gathering dust, and she probably didn’t realize it was there.

  He watched as she tried to type. Her fingers would hit a few letters that didn’t form anything coherent before erasing them. She did this repeatedly before he decided he had to step in.

  “Let me,” Lars said, slowly easing the phone from her hands. “What are you trying to type?”

  “Arthur Dover.”

  Same last name but, according to her, she’d never been married. He walked a few feet away from where she was sitting, thinking it was best if he could try and skim whatever information he found first. He didn’t need to be a genius to put the ring to the name and know that if something came up, it was going to be bad.

  He didn’t get far. She stood and followed him across the small expanse of the room, grabbing his wrist to keep the phone where she could see. Her hand, ice cold and shaking as it was, locked down on him like an iron vise.

  He typed the name in as she stood, looking over his arm. News articles about a man mutilated and killed flashed across the small screen, complete with images.

  His thumb went to close it but stopped when she barked out the word, “No.”

  He angled it toward her. Whatever had happened, she had a right to know.

  Her eyes scanned the screen but she didn’t make any attempt to take it from him. She just read it, her grip on his arm getting weaker until her hand finally dropped to her side. She took a step backward and she collided with the wall, and then slid down it. She ended up sitting on the ground, the sheetr
ock being the only thing keeping her upright. But her face looked like she’d slid all the way to the depths of Hell.

  He quickly scanned the phone for more information. The police had no suspects and there had been no known enemies. They’d determined he’d been kidnapped by one of the gangs that had popped up everywhere.

  “Who was this to you?” he asked her.

  “My brother.” She reached out a hand for the phone. He shut down the screen and then gave it to her. She didn’t look at it but grasped it in a firm grip as she held it to her chest. A few tears escaped her watery eyes to trail down her cheeks.

  When he’d met her, she’d looked like she’d been through hell. He’d scared the crap out of her that first afternoon she’d shown up here. Then the guys had come and piled on as well. Couple nights later, she’d woken to blood dripping on her from above. But she hadn’t looked broken until now.

  He’d never consoled a crying woman before, not in all his years, and it wasn’t from lack of opportunity. When they fell apart at the seams, he walked away and sent one of the other guys to deal with them. Or he just walked away and left them alone. But he always walked.

  And now, after too many years to count, he wasn’t heading toward the door ready to jump ship. It wasn’t that the instinct had disappeared or that the response to a situation like this, engrained in him after so long, didn’t swell up. He looked at the door but his stupid feet wouldn’t move.

  He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and scrolled down to Cutty’s number. He hit dial but, for no reason he understood, hung up after the first ring.

  He stared down at her. The tears had stopped but there seemed to be puddles forming along the edges of her eyelids, just waiting for further provocation to spill over.

  He was frozen. He wanted to leave. He really did. So why wasn’t his body moving?

  His phone rang where it still sat in his hand. He answered without looking. “Yeah?”

  “I’m with Bic looking for him now. Everything okay there?” Cutty asked.

  “I’ll explain when I see you,” Lars said, not wanting to repeat anything in earshot of Faith.

  “Then why did you call?” Cutty asked.

  He looked at her sitting there; deep sorrow clung to every line of her form. “It was a mistake.”

  “Like last time? Do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “Fuck her already. I can’t deal with your head all messed up. Not right now.”

  Lars hung up on Cutty, not wanting to hear his shit. His head wasn’t messed up.

  He pocketed his phone as he watched her. He wanted to comfort her and he didn’t know the first damn thing about how to do it.

  He looked around, trying to figure out a plan. He could handle this. He should probably get her off the floor first. In all the movies he’d seen, they never left them sitting on the floor.

  He felt her stiffen as his hand grabbed her wrist but it didn’t matter. He needed to get her up so he could move on to the next part of what he’d seen them do. He tugged her upward and across the room until he got to his desk chair in the office. He sat and then tugged her roughly down onto his lap where he proceeded to wrap both arms around her.

  “What are you doing?” She tried to shove off his chest. He wrapped around her firmly, knowing the squirming could lead to an altogether different type of physical comfort. She didn’t seem to be appreciating his efforts but he was confident he was doing it right.

  The urge to use some of his old talents swelled. She needed it. It was the only way he knew he could calm her down.

  He could feel the misery coming off of her and, for the first time since near forever, he gave into the urges. He let the ability stir within and build until his voice was calm with an eerie quality to it. The power of that voice was addictive. It was a voice he hadn’t used since he’d retired. It was the voice he once used to calm the humans who didn’t want to die. It felt achingly familiar to his tongue, leaving a sweet warm flavor in its wake.

  Chapter 20

  Lars tucked her in to his body until she felt surrounded by him. She didn’t have the energy to keep fighting. She wasn’t sure exactly what Lars was trying to do but it didn’t matter. All her energy was being sapped by the image of Arthur, dead and mutilated.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” he said.

  “He was my brother, and now he’s dead because he was related to me.” She hated crying. Always had. She resented the unwanted tears that sporadically escaped and drifted down. She ran her sleeve across her face, eliminating the evidence, only to have to do it again and again. Then they were picking up steam and her body started to shudder.

  Through her crying she heard Lars whisper strange words that were lyrical in nature and a language she’d never heard. The tension and fright she’d felt constantly over the last two weeks, culminating at this moment, seemed to be easing from her. Her body felt heavier and she relaxed into him, letting her head completely rest in the crook of his neck. She breathed in his clean scent. He was so warm and she felt so cold.

  “That’s it, just relax.” His voice was soothing as his hand ran over her hair repeatedly and then trailed down her spine, pulling her in closer to him as it did.

  “Are you doing something to me?” The pain was fading, the hurt and worry, as if she’d merely shrugged them off like a bad chill that he was warming. Logic dictated that he must be doing something to her but she couldn’t muster up any alarm. She felt as incapable of worry.

  “Nothing bad,” he said, and she could feel his voice vibrate through his chest where her body was pressed against him. Each sweep of his hand down her back lulled her deeper into bliss. She couldn’t remember feeling this content and secure since she’d been a child, and maybe not even then.

  “Lars?”

  She heard Cutty’s voice yell out to him from the main room.

  “Gimme a minute,” Lars replied.

  Lars rose, lifting her with him as he stood. She wrapped her arms around his neck as if it were completely natural, like she belonged with him. Faith knew this might appear strange to Cutty but she simply didn’t care. Didn’t feel the need to try and stand, or even worry about where they were heading, as he walked in the other room, carrying her with him.

  Cutty looked at her and she nodded. “Hi, Cutty.”

  “Hi,” he said, sounding not nearly as cordial as her. “Lars? Why does she look all fucked up?”

  “I think I am,” Faith responded. “I think he did something to me.”

  “Come upstairs,” was the only answer Lars gave.

  They climbed the stairs to Lars’ place and she felt the bed underneath her.

  “Rest,” Lars said as he tucked the covers around her.

  She nodded. “Sure. That sounds good.”

  ***

  Cutty looked over to the bed as he stood beside Lars at the opposite end of the apartment from where Faith was sleeping.

  “We won’t wake her. She’ll be out of it for a while,” Lars told him, seeing the concern in his gaze.

  Cutty took a few steps away from Lars and then took another one back to him, as if he were torn about something. “Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did? Tell me this was something else.”

  Lars crossed his arms, feet shoulder width apart. “I can’t. This is exactly what you think it is.” And he’d do it again. He had no regrets, or at least not yet. He wouldn’t rule out the possibility that they wouldn’t come slamming back at him.

  “That’s fucking creepy.” Cutty looked over at Faith and did a little shudder.

  “You didn’t see what she was like,” Lars snapped back.

  “If she wasn’t dying, I stand by what I said. It’s. Fucking. Creepy. You said you didn’t do that shit anymore.”

  “I don’t. It was a one-time thing.”

  Cutty took another couple steps away from Lars, as if he needed to get a better visual on him. His eyes squinted and he shook his head. “She’s got you all twisted, worse than I eve
n realized if you’re doing this crap.” He kept shaking his head as if he still didn’t believe what he was seeing.

  “No. She doesn’t. I did what the situation required.” Lars dropped his arms to his side and shrugged off Cutty’s words, even as the first seed of doubt started to plant itself. But he’d had to do it. “I was stuck with her. What else was I supposed to do?”

  “Walk out, like you always do when some chick is having a meltdown, and then send me in after?”

  Lars walked away from him and went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. He offered one to Cutty.

  “Beer ain’t cutting it for me. You know that.” Cutty reached into his cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Cutty Sark whiskey, which he was so fond of that it had become his nickname after he quit the agency.

  “I didn’t have time. You didn’t see what she was like. She was going to crack.” Or was he the one cracking? He took a long swig of the bitter brew, trying to erase the caramel flavor that using the death voice always left, not because it was unpleasant but because it was too tempting. It was exactly the way he remembered, addictive as ever. The beer seemed to accentuate the taste of the voice and Lars motioned a hand towards the bottle of whiskey. Cutty poured him a glass. Lars took a sip and let it sit on his taste buds, hoping to burn off the other taste.

  “I’ve seen some serious messes you’ve left me to clean up. Don’t tell me she was worse than some of those. Don’t give me that bullshit. You haven’t done that kind of mojo since you left the agency. You’ve never said why you stopped doing it but I know there’s a good reason.”

  Finding some relief, Lars took another sip of whiskey and leaned against the counter, not wanting to discuss why he stopped using most of his talents and the urges that came with them to take a life.