Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set

by Lashell Collins

  The nightmare that woke me this morning was about my assault and my attacker had a tattoo … of flames? Yes. Flames and a heart. On his neck, I think? I can’t be sure. The image puzzles me. Was it just a dream or did he actually have a tattoo? And was the smell of smoke real, or just subconsciously connected to the flames? Am I making this up? As I eat my breakfast of oatmeal topped with dried fruit and whole wheat toast, I can’t get the image out of my head. I am obsessed with it. I get an idea and begin looking around the room for a notepad but, there’s nothing and I slump back on the bed, frustrated. I am still thinking about it an hour later when Megan breezes in.

  “What is with the muscle at the door?” she asks with a bright smile.

  Megan is my very bubbly, very beautiful cousin. She also just happens to be my best friend in the entire world. Megan and I are just a few months apart in age so we were raised like sisters. And since our Dads were twin brothers, we did just about everything together growing up. She is the yin to my yang. We are complete opposites in just about every way. She is fair haired while I’m a brunette. She is chatty and outgoing while I am introverted and often shy. She is movie star pretty while I’m average, at best. I endeavor to stay out of the tabloids while she is a media darling. She is confident and experienced with men while I am … anything but. Meg and I went to the University of Washington together and took a lot of the same classes. But while I focused on my studies, Meg focused on boys. She is now engaged to marry Scott Dublin, son of Jasper Dublin, the media mogul, while I’m working at the art museum. The only thing we really have in common, besides our last name and a fierce loyalty to one another, is the color of our eyes – bright green. A Colby family trait.

  “Lucas insisted on posting security at my door. I guess there were some reporters roaming the halls yesterday,” I explain.

  “Yikes! Oh, you poor thing,” Megan exclaims. “That’s all you’d need!”

  “Tell me about it.” I roll my eye at the thought. “Megan do you have a notepad I can borrow?” I’m obsessed with the image of the flames and I am desperate to sketch it.

  “Sure.” She answers me with a puzzled look and fishes a notepad and pencil out of her violet, ostrich Birkin bag. Then she perches at the end of my bed and watches as I begin to draw. “So how are you feeling, Sam?”

  “Oh, much better than I did yesterday,” I tell her. “Waking up here was disturbing.”

  “I can imagine,” she responds. “I was so shocked when I got the phone call from Lucas. I’m sorry I didn’t come yesterday but Aunt Lois said you needed to rest so…”

  “Hmm. Mom was actually being very motherly yesterday,” I tell her. “She even braided my hair.” I show off my braid like I’m Vanna White and Megan giggles.

  “So, Lucas said something about your car and purse being found but that the police see that as a bad thing?”

  I sigh and put the pencil down as I look at her. “It’s not that it’s definitely a bad thing,” I say slowly, remembering Detective Pierce’s words of caution. “It could be bad. Or it could just be totally random. They’re not sure yet.”

  Meg is silent for a second and then says, “I don’t like the sound of that, Sam.”

  “I don’t either,” I say quietly, after a slight hesitation. Then I eagerly change the subject. “You know, it was weird when I couldn’t see anything yesterday. Scary even.”

  “I’m sure it was,” Meg responds.

  “In a strange way though, it made sounds more … I don’t know, more prominent or something. Like I could hear things that I would never have paid attention to before, you know? Like even the emotions in the sound of someone’s voice.”

  “Yeah, well, they say that when one of the senses is compromised, the others step it up a notch, to sort of make up for it,” Megan reasons.

  “Yeah,” I say distractedly. “You know, the detective that’s been working on my case? He has this amazing speaking voice.”

  “How do you mean?” Meg asks.

  “I don’t know. It’s really deep and soft … velvety,” I say, feeling silly all of a sudden. I shrug, “I don’t know … I just wonder if maybe it sounded so … intriguing to me because I couldn’t actually see him, you know?”

  “Hmm,” is Megan’s only response. “So has Aunt Lois demanded that you quit your job yet?” she says with a grin.

  I groan. “Only every chance she gets. Of course she’s going to use this assault like it’s some kind of proof that I shouldn’t be working.”

  Megan is quiet for a moment and I can see her mind working. Then says, “God, I bet you were so scared, Sam.”

  I return her concerned gaze but, I say nothing. “So, how is Scott?” I ask, deliberately changing the subject and getting back to my sketch. I don’t want to think about my predicament any more than I have to right now. The whole thing freaks me out. And asking about Scott does the trick. In no time at all, Meg is going on and on about the wedding plans and it feels really good to have a little normal conversation and focus on someone else’s problems for a while. She laments to me about Scott’s futile opposition to wearing a purple vest with his tux and I have to laugh at her impersonation of him. “Oh, please don’t make me laugh,” I say clutching my ribs. “It hurts too much.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes wide with alarm.

  We chat amiably then about nothing in particular, just enjoying each other’s company. Megan always knows how to make me feel better in any situation. Visiting with her lifts my spirits tremendously.

  Roughly an hour goes by while we talk and then there is a soft knock on the door and in steps a young man carrying a small, plain brown paper bag. I notice immediately how good looking he is: he is tall, with dark brown wavy hair that I just want to run my fingers through. He has slightly rugged, chiseled features and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. There is light stubble in the mustache and goatee area, framing what is a most perfect, sculptured set of lips. He is dressed simply in a nice pair of dark blue jeans and a crisp white shirt that seems tailor made for his impressive form. Over the shirt he wears a navy blazer. When he looks at me, his eyes register slight surprise.

  “Good morning, Miss Colby,” he says in a soft, deep voice, and I hear myself gasp softly.

  “Detective Pierce?”

  Even I can hear the surprise in my voice and I wonder idly if anyone can tell I’m blushing through the bruises on my face. I knew that his voice was alluring but, I had no idea Detective Pierce would be so incredibly handsome. And how old is he? He can’t be as young as he looks.

  “You’re looking much better this morning, ma’am,” he says politely, a slight smile on his face.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, suddenly feeling ridiculously self-conscious. Nervously, I bring my hand up to my swollen left eye and I know that I’m blushing profusely. And I become acutely aware that Megan is staring at me as if I’ve suddenly grown three heads.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asks, and I can hear the concern in his voice. That enchanting, deep, rhythmic voice of his.

  “Yes, I am,” I manage. “I can actually see you this morning now that the swelling has receded some.”

  “That’s wonderful news,” he smiles, and my heart stops as I lose all train of thought. What did he just say?

  “Um … hi,” Megan speaks up. “I’m Megan Colby,” she stretches out her hand and Detective Pierce takes it with another smile.

  “Detective Pierce, Seattle PD,” he says.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, finally finding my voice. “Megan is my cousin, Detective,” I say by way of explanation and he nods.

  “Nice to meet you.” In an instant, he is all business as he turns to me and says, “Miss Colby, I came to tell you that your car has been processed and it’s ready for pick up when you get out of here.”

  “Oh?” This news surprises me. “That was fast. I thought you’d hold on to it longer.”

  “We got what we need,” he says with a shrug. “Dusted it for fingerprints, chec
ked for fibers. Oh, and I also brought you this.”

  He hands me the brown paper bag he’s carrying and I take it from his hands feeling a mixture of puzzlement and wonder. Reaching in, my hand closes around the familiar, supple material and I pull out my small, olive green, crocodile Birkin bag. The joy I feel is indescribable. I know that it’s just a purse but … it is so not just a purse! And I was afraid that it might take forever for the police to give it back to me, and sick with worry over what condition I would get it back in! Opening it up, I find all of its contents inside. I am shocked.

  “You brought my purse to me!” What a nice thing for him to do. Why would he come all this way just to return my purse?

  “Like I said,” he shrugs, “we got what we needed from it.”

  “That was really nice of you, Detective,” Megan says with a trace of suspicion in her voice.

  “Well, I had to come by anyway,” he says, and his voice suddenly takes on an agitated tone. “I needed to ask if you had remembered anything else about your attacker?”

  He pierces me with an intense blue gaze and I am momentarily speechless again. I open my mouth to speak but, nothing comes out. I have to take a breath and compose myself for a second. He really is strikingly handsome. It’s very distracting. I have to look away before I can answer him.

  “Um … actually I have something for you,” I say quietly. I tear off the piece of notepad paper I’ve drawn the sketch on and hand it to him. He takes the piece of paper with a long-fingered hand, and he looks at it with a puzzled expression. Then he looks back at me, his eyes asking a silent question. “It’s a sketch of a tattoo. I think he had that tattoo on his neck,” I say softly.

  “A tattoo on his neck? Are you sure?” he asks me. His voice is full of surprise and I think he looks pleased.

  “I … I don’t know how sure I am,” I mutter, feeling a bit silly. “It came to me in a pretty frightening nightmare. But I think it’s real. I’m sorry I can’t be more certain,” I finish apologetically.

  “No, no, Miss Colby, this is great,” he says, and his eyes register his happiness at my offering. They are the most amazing shade of blue. “Where at on his neck, exactly?” he asks.

  “Um, right about here,” I say, motioning to the right side of my own neck.

  “This is excellent,” he says, looking at me and smiling again. “Can I take this with me?”

  “Yes, of course.” I feel myself smiling at him, pleased that he’s happy with me.

  “Is there anything else you remember?”

  I think again for a moment, wondering about the smoke, and I frown.

  “Miss Colby?”

  “Um … smoke,” I say simply.

  “Smoke?”

  I nod my head and then shrug. “In my nightmare … there was a really strong smell of smoke.” He is quiet for a second as he looks at me with a puzzled expression, and I can see him thinking. His silence makes me nervous and I begin to chatter nervously. “In my nightmare, I was dreaming about the flames on that burning heart image … only in my dream the flames were real, and everywhere I turned. Maybe that’s where the smoke came from…”

  “Or maybe your attacker is a heavy smoker,” he says slowly, as his mind works out the information I’m giving him. “Your brain may have registered the smell of cigarette smoke on his clothing and your subconscious put it together with the flames in your nightmare.”

  Oh. Cigarette smoke! “Yes!” It’s a revelation that brings images of my attack flooding back to my mind and I clutch at the blanket on the hospital bed. “Oh, my God, it was everywhere! So strong it made me cough as I struggled to get away from him. How did you know that?”

  He looks at me, his eyebrows raised in surprise at my frightened outburst. “It was just an educated guess, ma’am,” he says in a very self-deprecating way as he smiles slightly. “It’s good information to have though. Now we know we’re looking for a white, tattooed smoker. That’s something at least.”

  He folds the sketch and puts it in the inside pocket of his jacket. As he does, I get a glimpse of his shoulder holster and the butt of a gun, and it surprises me. Although I don’t know why: he is a cop. Of course he’s going to carry a gun. I also notice for the first time that he’s wearing a badge clipped to the side of his belt. Slowly, I allow my one good eye to travel up from his belt, taking him in, inch by inch. He is gorgeous. Am I drooling? Reflexively, I bring my hand up to my mouth and run my fingers over the corners, just to make sure. I am such an idiot. I glance nervously over a Meg and she is eyeing me speculatively. I try to ignore her.

  “Can you remember anything else?”

  My mind replays the scenes from that night over again. “Um … I remember a man, sitting in an old beat up car outside the store. He was smoking. But a lot of people smoke … it doesn’t mean it was him.”

  “What do you remember about this man, besides the fact that he was smoking?” Detective Pierce asks, with a very determined scowl and an intense edge to his voice. He takes out a small notepad and pen and begins to scribble as I talk.

  I think hard. What do I remember? I shrug my shoulders, “He was bald … I think.”

  “White man?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he have any tattoos?”

  “Not that I could see from where I was standing.”

  “Age?”

  “I don’t know,” I shake my head. “Maybe late twenties, early thirties.”

  “Did you make eye contact with this man?”

  “Um … I…,” I think hard. Did we make eye contact? “I can’t remember. Maybe.”

  “What kind of car was it?”

  “I don’t really know,” I say apologetically. “It was a beat-up old clunker, light green I think, but covered in rust and primer. Four door.”

  “Okay,” he sighs. He scribbles some more and then puts the notepad and pen away. His voice has lost its intense edge and it softens, as do his eyes, and he smiles at me. “When you’re released, Miss Colby, perhaps we can have you come to the station and look at a few mugshots.”

  “Okay.” My voice sounds too eager.

  “For now I’ll run this sketch by my colleagues, maybe take it to a few of the local tattoo shops, see if it strikes a chord with anyone.” He looks at me and his gaze holds mine for several seconds. I get the feeling he wants to say something more but, he doesn’t. Then he abruptly looks away and I think he’s nervous. “Well, I should get going,” he says hastily. “I’ll be in touch if the sketch turns up anything.”

  “Okay,” I say again, because I can’t think of anything more intelligent right now.

  “And please,” he says as he moves toward the door, “call if you remember anything more.” He looks back at me and hesitates.

  “I will,” I promise.

  He glances over at Megan and then back at me, and again I get the feeling he wants to say more but, he doesn’t. He nods at me and turns. And then he’s gone.

  “Wow.” Megan says the instant he leaves the room.

  “Yeah, I know, right?” My voice is laced with disbelief. “He’s a little bit … yummy.”

  “Oh. My. God.” I turn to Meg and she is looking at me as if she can’t believe her eyes. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed this!”

  “What?” I am puzzled by her statement.

  “Samantha Mae Colby. You have a crush on the good detective,” she exclaims.

  “Don’t be silly,” I protest. “I don’t have a crush on him. I was just responding to your ‘wow’ comment.”

  “Sam,” she looks at me in amazement. “When I said ‘wow,’ I was talking about you, not him!”

  Oh, shit. Busted, my subconscious whispers to me. I ignore her and continue my protest. “Megan, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The hell, I don’t,” she giggles at me. “Sam, I know you better than anyone. And I have never seen you go ga-ga over a man before. Until now.”

  “Megan,” I begin,
but I clam up. The truth is, I don’t know how to respond to her. She’s right. Megan does know me as well as she knows herself, and I have never really been interested in a man before. Not that I’ve never dated. I have. There were a few boys during college that I enjoyed hanging out with; one or two of them even tried to get me to go further but … I just couldn’t. I wasn’t into them that way and I would never make such a big move with someone I wasn’t totally into. But I’m not into Detective Pierce, either. I don’t even know him.

  “He’s just a nice police officer who’s helping to look into my case. That’s all. I don’t even know him; I’ve never even seen him before today,” I tell her.

  “You may not have been physically able to see him before today,” Megan reasons, “but that doesn’t matter. You were taken by him even without the visual. Before you knew what he looked like, the sound of his voice had you practically salivating, Sam. You admitted that much to me when I first got here!”

  “I didn’t say his voice had me salivating,” I respond. “I said I found it … intriguing.”

  “You said it was soft like velvet!” She is looking at me with a ‘you can’t fool me’ grin and I know that I can’t fool her.

  “All right, fine.” I concede with a slump of my shoulders. “I thought his voice was … dreamy, okay?” God, I am so embarrassed. “Can we just keep this between us, please? It’s not like anything will ever come of it anyway.”

  “And why would you say that?” she asks with a puzzled expression.