Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set

by Lashell Collins

  I give her a ‘don’t be stupid’ look and answer, “What do you mean, ‘why would I say that?’ Because I’m being realistic, Megan. That’s why. He would never be interested in me!”

  “Sam, I don’t know what hospital room you were in just now,” Meg says, “but the one I was in, I saw a man very much interested in you.”

  Now it’s my turn to look at her as if she has three heads. “Megan, he’s just doing his job.”

  “Coming all the way over here just to return your purse? That’s not just doing his job, Sam,” she says. “That’s an excuse to come by and see you!”

  “You are being ridiculous,” I say with an aggravated sigh.

  “No, Sam.” She takes my hands in her own and gives me a serious look, then proceeds to speak slowly, as if she wants her words to really sink in. “You are being ridiculous. That yummy man just made up a really lame excuse to come by and see you. And I’m guessing that he was pretty disappointed that I was here and he couldn’t have you all to himself for a few minutes.”

  “Megan, you are such a romantic, I swear.” I shake my head at her. “Look at me. There is no way he could find me remotely attractive with the state I’m in right now. And even if he did … he’s just doing his job. I’m a case for him, nothing more!”

  “Samantha, will you buy a clue!” She rolls her eyes at me. “You are gorgeous, even roughed up with a black eye.”

  “Black eye! Have you seen my face,” I practically yell at her. “It looks like hamburger!”

  “Oh, my God. You are so dramatic!” She rolls her eyes at me, again. “How do I put up with you? Sam, you’re sitting here in an ugly hospital gown, with a bandage and a black eye, and you look like a sex kitten from some teenaged horror movie. You’re beautiful and you know it. Or, at least you should!”

  I say nothing and just sigh as I shake my head at her again. Megan is always trying to pump up my self-esteem by telling me how pretty I am but the truth is, I am nowhere near her league. All through high school and college, she had boys falling at her feet. They take one look at her and they’re in love. I’m not even a close second. “You’re very sweet, Megan,” I tell her quietly. “But this conversation is pointless because he’s not interested in me.”

  “You’re right. It is pointless,” she says a little smugly. “Because if he were interested in you … you’d be too afraid to do anything about it anyway.”

  She gives me a pointed look and I know she’s issuing me a silent challenge. She’s waiting for me to protest or to call her on it but, I say nothing. I can’t. I open my mouth to respond but quickly close it again. Megan often accuses me of being afraid of guys. She says that I find fault with every guy who’s ever been interested in me in order to keep myself from getting close to anyone. I don’t think she’s right. I just haven’t met anyone who does it for me yet.

  I stare down at the pattern on my ugly blue and white hospital gown as Megan gathers up her things and rises from her seat at the end of my bed. She bends and kisses my bandaged forehead.

  “Now that you’ve got your cellphone back, I’ll call you later,” she says.

  “Don’t bother,” I mumble, “I’m not talking to you. I don’t like you anymore.”

  “You love me and you know it,” she says with a smile.

  I reluctantly return her smile with a shake of my head. Yes, I do love her. She tells me the truth, even when I don’t want to hear it.

  “Thanks for coming by, Meg.” She blows me a kiss and then she’s gone.

  Chapter Four

  Joshua

  I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore. All day yesterday, I had to practically sit on my hands to keep myself from driving back over to the hospital to see her a second time. I had come up with the excuse of returning her purse on Thursday morning, and it worked like a charm. It was a legitimate reason … sort of. And it turns out, it was a good thing I was there anyway since she had drawn a sketch of that flaming heart tattoo, and all the new details she remembered. If I hadn’t gone there … she probably wouldn’t have called about it. So it was a good thing I went.

  Who am I kidding? It was just a lucky fluke that she had remembered that tattoo. Otherwise my going over there would have looked really inappropriate. And the info about the smoking guy sitting in a beat-up old car … that may or may not turn out to be relevant. I don’t know what I’m doing. I am certainly not acting like me, that’s for sure. But since catching this case two days ago, I have not been thinking straight and I don’t understand why. It’s like this girl has gotten under my skin somehow and I don’t like it.

  All of my adult life, I have avoided any emotional entanglements. I don’t get romantically involved, ever. I have only one use for women and I don’t make any apologies for it. I am honest with them up front, I take what I need and I’m done. There are never any strings, never any attachments and never any hurt feelings. At least not on my part. Of course, that usually means there are rarely any second dates. If you could even call what I do dating. I don’t. I call it what it is – fucking. I get an itch, I find someone to scratch it. End of story. Not that the ladies don’t enjoy the ride too. They do. I make sure of that. But relationships … they don’t work. Frankly, I don’t know why anybody tries. Everybody always ends up hurting everybody else, whether they mean to or not. Growing up, I never saw a single good relationship. Not one. Starting with my parents. They were so damn dysfunctional it’s not even funny. I can still hear their fights in my dreams, and my nightmares are littered with images of my mom lying bruised and bloodied on the kitchen floor … or wherever else he happened to knock her.

  I shake my head to rid it of the image and get back to the arrest report I’ve been staring at for nearly an hour. I can’t seem to concentrate on anything unless it’s related to the Colby case. And unfortunately, there’s not much going on with the Colby case for me to concentrate on. I did exactly as I told her I would yesterday: I showed that sketch of the tattoo around the house hoping that maybe one of the boys had come across the bearer of it during some other crime. But so far, it hasn’t appeared to ring a bell with anyone. Then Conner and I spent a couple of hours yesterday afternoon driving around to some of the local tattoo parlors in Seattle to see if anyone remembered giving it or maybe happened to know who it belonged to. We came up completely empty handed, and with no leads in this case, I’m starting to wonder if maybe my theory that Miss Colby was targeted specifically was totally off the mark. That wouldn’t be like me either. It’s not like I haven’t been wrong before. I have. But my average is a little better than most. Maybe this girl really has gotten under my skin and she has me all screwed up to where I can’t even trust my own judgment anymore.

  Fuck, I hate this. And it just doesn’t make any sense! I don’t even know this girl. I know nothing about her except as it relates to this case. So why can’t I stop thinking about her? So she’s pretty, so what? It’s not like I haven’t seen a pretty girl before. Hell, it’s not even like I haven’t had my share of pretty in the past, because I have. Not that I’m trying to toot my own horn but, I’m perfectly aware that I would have no trouble at all walking into any bar in Seattle and walking right back out with my pick of pretty, female companionship if I wanted it. Shit, that’s my usual M.O. whenever I get that itch. A fucking string of one night stands with an endless stream of pretty. I can have a different flavor of pretty every night of the week, if I want it. And I have, on more than one occasion – blonde, brunette, redhead, Black, Hispanic, Asian. Hell, I’m a fucking connoisseur when it comes to ‘pretty.’ But it is always on my terms – no strings, no attachments. I don’t get involved with them and I don’t think about them afterwards. I protect my safety, and theirs, I get what I want and I’m gone. Simple. So why is it that I suddenly can’t stop thinking about pretty little Miss Colby?

  The question irritates me. Probably because I don’t have an answer for it. What’s more … it’s not even like I could pursue this woman if I wanted to. First
of all, it would completely compromise my integrity on the job. It’s rule number one as a detective, you don’t get involved with anyone you’re investigating. Secondly, this girl is much too young for me. She’s barely twenty-two years old, that’s almost a ten year age difference. That’s gotta be a bad idea, right? And third, even if I wanted to pursue her – which I don’t – there is no way in hell she would ever be interested in someone like me. She’s an heiress for crying out loud, born with a silver spoon in her delectable mouth. And I’m just a working stiff, an amateur mechanic with a cop’s salary. Yeah, I’m sure she’d find that all types of attractive.

  Fuck. This is getting me nowhere. I sigh heavily and look up. To my surprise and consternation, Conner, who’s desk butts right up against mine, is staring right back at me and he’s wearing a look that says he’s onto me. That’s all I need.

  “What is up with you today, man?” he asks, shaking his head.

  I shake my head without responding, trying to ignore him. But he won’t take the hint and keeps on pressing.

  “You know, you’ve been acting strange for the past two days now, Guy,” he says. “This got something to do with the Colby case? I know you’re frustrated that we seem to be hitting a wall there.”

  “Yeah,” I say distractedly. Maybe if I just agree with him, he’ll leave it alone. “Just pisses me off. I hate lose ends.”

  He studies me for a moment and then narrows his dark brown eyes a bit. “Yeah, I know you don’t like to sour your record but … I’m thinking it’s more than just being irked that we can’t catch a break on this one. Something else has got you pretty frazzled but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Yeah, well, do me a favor and stop trying to figure me out, will you?” I snap at him.

  “Okay, okay,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “You don’t have to be so touchy.” He keeps eyeing me and then gets a sly smile on his face. “You know what I think?”

  I roll my eyes to indicate that I don’t give a fuck what he thinks, then I give him a blank stare, hoping to intimidate him into silence. It doesn’t work.

  “I think you seriously need a woman, my friend,” he says with a slight chuckle.

  “Fuck off, Conner. I get all the snatch I need,” I mumble.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he answers. “You got no problem picking up women, you lucky fuck. But that’s not what I’m talking about. See, that’s your problem. Too many one night stands. It’s starting to wear you down.”

  “Hey, you’re coming tonight, right Guy?” Turner asks as he strolls by my desk.

  “Yeah, Carl, I’ll be there,” I answer with a smile. “Save me a slab.” He laughs as he walks away.

  I turn back to Conner and stare at him like I can’t believe what I’m hearing, and he continues to run off at the mouth.

  “See, the endless uncertainty is starting to get to you.” His voice sounds like he’s channeling Dr. Phil or somebody. “What you need is a woman who cares about you. Someone to come home to at night and share your life with. Someone to wake up with in the morning and greet the day with. Someone who makes you happy.”

  I stare at him and he is dead serious. Of course he is, I remind myself. Conner just celebrated his first anniversary with his new wife, Lindy, which means he’s now one of those ridiculously happy saps who want everyone around them to be coupled up and paired off, just like them. I laugh at him and shake my head. “Yeah, that’s all I need, Conner. To be as whipped as you are. Besides, you took the last available good woman, remember.”

  “Yep. That I did, my friend,” he answers smugly, lacing his fingers together and placing them behind his head as he leans back in his chair. I smile at him. He and Lindy really are perfect together and they do seem happy. For now, poor suckers. “But, you know, my lovely wife has several very lovely friends that she is more than happy to introduce you to.”

  I sigh and shake my head again. Yes, I know. Conner and Lindy have been hounding me for months now, wanting to set me up with various friends of hers. I don’t know how many times I have politely declined Lindy’s invitations to dinner, knowing full well that those dinners would include a fourth person of the female persuasion who just happens to be beautiful, unattached and available.

  “Damn it, Dave,” I say. “How many times do we have to have this conversation, man? You know I’m not interested in a relationship. I don’t want to be fixed up with any of Lindy’s friends. I appreciate it; I really do. But please, just stop.”

  “You’re fooling yourself, Guy,” he says to me. Then he runs a hand over his spiked black hair and fixes me with a serious expression and says, “Look, I don’t know what you’re running from, man. I’ve heard the whispers. I know the old timers talk about some kind of trouble in your childhood but … I’ve never asked questions and I don’t intend to. Your past is your past; it’s none of my business. But something is keeping you from even thinking about looking for happiness. It’s almost like you don’t think you deserve it. But you’re wrong. Everyone deserves a little happiness, Guy.”

  His words make me uncomfortable and I glance nervously around the detective’s bull pen but, no one’s paying us any attention. I look back at him with a ‘back off now’ expression and this time he takes the hint. He says nothing as he again raises his hands as if in surrender.

  “You’re my friend, Guy,” he says quietly. “I just want to help you.”

  “I’ll let you know when I need help, Conner.” I shoot him a pissed off grimace and he looks away, disgusted. I sigh and roll my eyes. He’s the one who’s overstepping here so why the hell do I feel guilty? Because he is your friend, that’s why. “I’m sorry, man,” I mumble.

  “Nope. No need,” he says. “Just think about what I said. And are you gonna sit on that arrest report all damn day or what? Gimme that thing!” He snatches the report from my hands with a grin and waves me off. Just as well, since I certainly wasn’t able to concentrate on it. But for the next hour, all I can concentrate on are his words about happiness and I know what my problem is. It’s not that I don’t think I deserve happiness. I just don’t believe it exists. Not the kind he’s talking about.

  At lunchtime, I mumble something about heading downtown to grab a sandwich and I slip out of the station unnoticed. I may grab something for lunch. But as soon as I ease behind the wheel of the cruiser I know that my intended destination is the hospital. I have fought the urge all morning long and now I can’t fight it anymore. I have to see her and I don’t even know why. I don’t have an excuse this time; I have no idea what I’m going to say to her, what reason I’m going to give her for my being there. But I don’t give a shit. Right now, I couldn’t care less about saving face. Right now, all that matters is seeing her.

  I pull into the hospital parking lot and run my hands through my hair in agitation. Or maybe it’s nervousness, I don’t know. What the hell am I doing here? What the hell am I doing here? I take a deep breath and exit the car. As I walk through the hospital corridors, I suddenly have the strangest sense of … something, in my stomach. Like a fluttering sensation. Fuck. Butterflies? Really? Is this what I’ve been reduced to? Like some fucking love-struck teenager? Whoa, slow down, cowboy! Who the fuck said anything about love? The thought halts me in my tracks.

  Okay. This is seriously beginning to freak me out. I stand in the middle of a hospital corridor and run my hands through my hair once more. What the fuck am I doing here? Why have I come? What do I expect to happen? What do you want to happen, Pierce? Hell of a question to ask when I’m standing just a few yards away from her room. And I still can’t even begin to form an articulate response. I feel so out of my depth right now. “Fuck it,” I sigh, and continue on to her room.

  I nod to the security guy, who waves me on through, and knock lightly on the door. I slowly push open the door and step in, only she’s not in the bed. If she wasn’t in the room the security guy surely would have known that. The covers on the bed are messed up and I hear music. Glancing arou
nd, I notice that the television is tuned to a video station and John Rzeznik is singing about how he’d give up forever to touch her. I think I know exactly how he feels right now. I turn to head back out of the room but I hear what sounds like splashing water coming from the bathroom. “Miss Colby,” I call out.

  Just then, the water stops and the door opens abruptly and she walks out pushing her IV stand with her. Wow, she looks great. She’s wearing a white tank top and a pair of thin, light blue sweat pants. The kind that hugs a woman low around the hips and ties in the front, showing off a flat stomach and whatever she’s packing in the rear – which in Miss Colby’s case appears to be a sweet little piece. But the real revelation is her face. The swelling over her left eye has improved greatly. It’s still slightly puffy around her eyebrow and still a bit discolored but, now I can clearly see her amazing green eyes. Both of them, since the bandage over her right eye has been removed. Her chestnut brown hair is no longer confined to a braid and it’s flowing over shoulders in soft waves. Wow! That photo I found of her online did not do her justice. Miss Colby is not merely pretty, she is a full-fledged knock out.

  “Detective!” Her voice registers her surprise at seeing me.

  “Hello, Miss Colby. You look … really well,” I say distractedly.

  “Thank you,” she says softly. She pushes a strand of her long, silky looking hair behind her ear and blushes slightly. “The doctor removed the bandage and examined my eye just this morning. She said it looks great. There’s talk of releasing me as early as this evening.”

  “That is wonderful news,” I say, smiling at her. And I really am happy for her. Even though I know it means once she leaves the hospital I won’t have an excuse to see her anymore. Unless maybe I lure her to the station under the pretense of talking about her case. My smile fades as that realization sets in.

  “Did you have news on my case?” she asks as she moves over to the bed and slowly climbs up on top of the covers and silences the TV.