Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set

by Lashell Collins

  I stop off in the kitchen and take a few minutes to toast a blueberry bagel and spread a little cream cheese on it. Then I grab an orange from the fridge and stuff it into my purse for lunch and I am out the door. Despite the light rain, the drive to the museum is only about fifteen minutes – twenty on a day with heavier traffic – and I make great time. Sundays are typically a pretty bustling day for us so, I know that I will be much too busy to worry about my attacker/car and purse thief/possible stalker/menacing phone caller person.

  As I park the car and head into the museum, I replay my morning’s conversation with Josh over in my head and wonder for the hundredth time since he uttered the words, what on earth he meant when he said that the job had nothing to do with him wanting to know if I decided to change my cell number. I know that Megan would be rolling her eyes at me right now, which is probably why I didn’t call her on my way here like I started to. Although I know that I will break down and call her at lunchtime. I have to. I have to know what he meant. It’s going to drive me crazy until I do.

  I enter the museum and head straight for the gift shop and I am delighted to find that Peggy, my supervisor, is already there because it means the gift shop doors are already opened. Since my key to the gift shop doors were stolen, I would have had to wait to get in otherwise.

  “Good morning, Peggy,” I say with a smile.

  “Morning, Sam,” she says brightly. “Oh, you poor thing, how are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay, really,” I say, trying to reassure her. “I’m just happy to be back.”

  “Well, I’m happy you weren’t more seriously hurt,” she says.

  “Thanks,” I mutter as I put my things away in the back room. “Um, Peggy … I did mention that my key to the gift shop doors was stolen along with all my personal keys, right?”

  “Yes, you did.” She looks at me from over top of her librarian-style glasses that hang from her neck on a chain. “But anyone wanting to get in here would have to first break into the museum itself so, I think we’re safe.”

  I giggle at her comment. “Yes, but I’m going to need a replacement for it.”

  “Oh, why is that, dear?” she asks and she looks at me as if I’ve lost my marbles. Perhaps I have.

  “Um … because I won’t be able to get in without one,” I say slowly with a puzzled expression.

  “Well, why would you want to do that?” she asks with a laugh. “I thought this was your last day working in the gift shop.”

  What? Did I skip a chapter? “My last day?” I question, somewhat startled.

  “Well, Laura Clark from human resources told me this morning that they’re going to hire two new clerks for the gift shop instead of one because you’re being offered the docent position,” she says as if I should already know this. “I start training my new people on Tuesday.”

  I am standing open mouthed, in shock. “I got the job?” My voice is a high-pitched squeal. “Really!” She smiles at me and I know that I must be wearing a ridiculous grin on my face.

  “Oh heavens,” she says apologetically, “I’m afraid I’ve overstepped myself. I was supposed to give you this note asking you to go and see her first thing this morning,” she says, handing me a note from her pocket.

  Taking the note from her hand, I actually jump up and down a couple of times and repeat my squeal of joy. Jeez, Sam. How old are you, five? Peggy just smiles at me indulgently. She knows how badly I’ve wanted this position.

  “I’m happy for you, dear,” she winks at me. “Now run along and see her so that you can get back here. It’s time to open up and it’s just you and me until lunchtime.”

  I head out of the gift shop and venture down to the non-public area of the museum where all the business offices are and knock softly on Ms. Clark’s door. She ushers me into her office and we talk for close to half an hour about the position and what it entails. She gives me a manual that I will have to study in preparation for my training and asks me if I am able to stay late this evening in order to meet with my new supervisor to go over things. The thought makes me a little uneasy because it means I will have to venture out into a fairly deserted, dark parking lot after hours. But I smile and tell her that I’d be happy to, even though I’m silently panicking inside. She doesn’t notice my discomfort and proceeds to tell me that I will begin my actual training on Tuesday morning by shadowing another, experienced docent while they give private tours of the museum.

  Despite the turmoil I feel over staying late tonight, I’m so excited as I leave her office, I can hardly contain myself. I want to wander aimlessly through the museum and look at all the wonderful works of art on display and imagine myself giving the tours, but I know that I can’t. Peggy needs me in the gift shop so, I hurry back and get to work.

  At lunchtime, I head down to the large employee break room and take a seat. My head is full of jumbled thoughts about my new job and starting training and dark parking lots and Joshua Pierce. It’s been a busy day in the gift shop but my mind has never strayed far from him through it all, and I’m still wondering about his words this morning. I am contemplating calling Megan to ask her advice when my cellphone rings, startling me. I wipe the juice from the orange I’ve been peeling off my hands and glance at the caller ID. It reads: ‘Detective Pierce calling’ and my heart free falls into my stomach.

  Chapter Eight

  Joshua

  I sit at my desk in the detective’s bull pen pouring over Sam’s cellphone records and cursing under my breath. This was, so far, our only good shot at getting a real lead on the asshole who’s terrorizing her, and it’s fallen through. I still got nothing and it’s really pissing me off. And it means this guy is no dummy. He made that call this morning from one of those throw away, pre-paid, disposable cellphones. The kind that we can’t trace.

  “Fuck,” I mutter in frustration, tossing a pencil across my desk. It bounces and lands on Conner’s desk, right in front of him.

  “No good, huh?” Conner asks me with a frown.

  “No.” My voice is clipped and angry. “Call came from a fucking throw away.” I can feel the anger coursing through my blood and my fists clench involuntarily. My jaw is tight and I am seeing red.

  “Hey,” Conner begins hesitantly. “So … you said she called you when this call came in, right Guy?”

  “Yeah,” I say distractedly, not looking at him. I’m too busy worrying about what I’m going to say to Samantha. How am I going to tell her this lead didn’t pan out? She was so hopeful this morning.

  “So … two-thirty in the morning,” Conner continues to fish, “why’d she call you at that hour? Why not just wait until morning instead of waking you? Or better yet … why not just call 911?”

  I glare at him and say nothing. Then I shoot him an exaggerated shrug. I know what he’s driving at and I don’t want to give him anything to go on.

  He shrugs in response. “I’m just asking,” he says. “Seems an odd thing to do, you know? I would think most people would just call 911.”

  “I don’t know, Conner,” I shrug again, my voice aggravated. “Maybe she feels comfortable with me ’cause she’s been dealing with me since she got assaulted.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” he says studying me. I roll my eyes at him. I know he’s not going to let this go. Conner is like a dog with a bone sometimes. Even if he drops it right now, he’s not going to let it go.

  “What, Conner?” I bark at him, knowing that I don’t really want him to answer the question.

  “Nothing, Guy,” he says watching me closely. “You just seem to care an awful lot about this one, that’s all. Like you got something invested in this case.”

  “It’s called doing my job, Dave!”

  He nods at me. “Okay.” He goes back to the report he’s been working on for a separate case and I let out an uneasy sigh. Keeping his eyes on his paperwork, he says, “You’d let me know if I needed to be concerned though, right?”

  Fuck. “Concerned about what, Dave?”

 
“About my partner getting too involved with our victim,” he says looking me right in the eye.

  I stare back at him impassively but my jaw is set and my fists are clenched so tight I can feel my fingernails biting into my palms. “Yeah, I’d let you know,” I say, keeping my voice as even as I can manage. I know that I’m not fooling him. And I know that I’m in way over my head but, I can’t turn back now. He stares at me for a beat and then goes back to his paperwork again.

  The rest of the morning, I am on autopilot, going about my day in a daze. I can’t get Samantha off of my mind and I wonder how her first day back at work is going. I think about last night and how scared she sounded on the phone. I swear, the sound of her crying over the phone just crushed me. I would have done anything in that moment to make her world all right again. Hell, I did do anything. I jumped into my Charger and headed out into the night, knowing that it was going to rain. When I left Sam’s building this morning, it was pouring! Coming down in buckets and my baby had sat there in the rain for God knows how long! I had been in such a hurry to get to Samantha last night, I hadn’t even bothered to cover the Charger. So, needless to say, I know what I’ll be doing on my next day off. Shit, I might not even wait that long. I may wash and wax her in the garage after work tonight.

  I smirk to myself and shake my head. What the fuck is wrong with you, Pierce? You let the Charger sit out in the rain all night long, because of a girl. And what’s more … you didn’t even get pissed about it. Like the girl was more important. I frown at the thought. That has never happened before. And as I sit thinking about it, a vision of sitting on Sam’s couch wiping her tears away comes to my mind. And kissing her on the balcony. And laughing with her over dinner. And being in her bedroom watching her as she slept.

  I know I must have sat there at her bedside for at least an hour after she had fallen asleep. I just sat there and watched. Mesmerized. She looked so beautiful, her hair fanned out across the pillow. Like a goddess. And at one point, I wanted to reach out and touch her but, I didn’t want to wake her. I wanted to touch her creamy, flawless skin and find out if it’s as soft as it looks. I wanted to bury my nose in her hair and see if it smells as sweet as I imagine. And I desperately wanted to bury myself inside her and see if she feels as good as I have dreamed. But I knew that I couldn’t. It was like the sweetest torture on the planet. And I know that I would gladly sit at her bedside and watch her sleep every night for the rest of my life if she asked.

  Fuck, Pierce. Please, snap out of it! I place my hands behind my head and lean back in my chair, stretching the tight muscles of my back and neck. I am way too tense; this thing with Samantha has me tied up in knots. What is this? I shake my head as if to clear it, and I am reminded of repeating the same action several times this morning as I left her apartment, right after I practically admitted that I’m interested in her – job be damned. It was as if I could hear the words coming out of my mouth but I couldn’t make them stop. I can never seem to control myself around her. What the hell is that? My professionalism just completely flies out the window whenever I’m near her. Conner is right to be worried. I should let him know. Just tell him that he was right and that I have gotten way too involved with this girl.

  But even as I look at him, sitting at his desk, I know full well that I’m not going to say a damn word. Because if I do, he could try to talk me into removing myself from this case, and then we’d have a real knock down, drag out fight on our hands ’cause, that’s just not going to happen. I would be ordered to stay away from Samantha until the case was finished and who knows how long that could take? Nope. Not doing it.

  At lunchtime, I leave the building and wander outside to my truck. She’s nothing fancy. Just a beat up old 1974 Chevy pickup I drive on days too wet for the Charger. She’s not much to look at. She was white, once upon a time, but now she’s spotted with rust and primer. But her interior’s in good shape and I keep a nice 350 in her and excellent tires so, she’s dependable. It’s also a nice quiet place to make a private phone call.

  I don’t plan on going anywhere for lunch. I just needed to get out of the station and clear my head for a bit. Since nothing panned out on those cellphone records, and it is Sunday and technically my day off, I could just go home. But I figure I might as well work. Might keep me from thinking too much. Anyway, I want to take that sketch of the tattoo Samantha drew to a few more tattoo parlors after lunch. There are still several we haven’t checked yet and some of them are open on Sundays. Plus there may be someone at a shop we’ve already been to who wasn’t there the last time so … it couldn’t hurt.

  I sit in the cab of the truck and eat a small bag of chips I got out of the machine and wash ’em down with a bottle of water. And as I sit inside and watch the rain come down on the windshield, I pull out my cellphone and dial Samantha’s number.

  “Hello?” Her voice is soft and she sounds anxious.

  “Hi, Samantha, it’s Josh,” I say a bit hesitantly, “uh … Pierce. Detective Pierce.” Shit, why is this awkward?

  “Yes. Hi Josh,” she responds lightly, and I think she’s laughing slightly. At me? I smirk at myself. Of course, at me.

  “I see you didn’t change your number,” I say jokingly and she giggles. It’s a nice sound.

  “I haven’t exactly had time,” she says. “What about you? Did you get my cellphone records?”

  She sounds so happy, I don’t want to give her my discouraging news but, I know I have to. “Yes, I did. I’m sorry, Sam. The bastard made that call from one of those pre-paid cellphones. We have no way of tracing those.”

  “Oh.” She is quiet for several seconds and I feel like a jerk. I should have better news. I hear her sigh heavily.

  “I am not giving up, Sam,” I say quietly.

  “I know,” she says softly.

  “So, how’s your day going?” I ask after a pause, trying to lighten the mood again, and knowing full well that the question is not professional.

  “It’s actually going really well,” she says, brightening a little. “I just found out I got the docent position I wanted.”

  “The docent position?” I ask with a frown.

  “Yes. You know,” she gushes, “the person who gives tours of the museum to private groups and school children on field trips and such?”

  “Oh, okay.” I smile at her enthusiasm.

  “Well, I interviewed for this job several weeks ago and today I learned that I got it! At some museums it’s a volunteer job but, here it’s an actual paid position. Of course, the pay is peanuts but, I don’t need the money, I just want the experience. I start training for it on Tuesday.”

  “That’s great, Samantha,” I tell her. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you,” I say, shaking my head. She’s a freaking heiress and yet she’s so excited about a job giving museum tours to small children. The thought makes me smile.

  “Thanks, Josh.” Her voice is wistful all of a sudden. And then she’s silent for a moment and I get the feeling something’s up.

  “What’s wrong, Samantha?”

  “Um.” She hesitates and I start to get worried.

  “Sam,” my voice is soft but stern. “Talk to me.”

  “It’s just that, I have to stay after hours today in order to have a meeting with the lady who’s going to be my new supervisor,” she says, and all of her earlier enthusiasm is gone.

  “Is that a problem?” I ask, puzzled.

  “No. It’s not a problem,” she says. Only she doesn’t sound convincing. “But it means that the parking lot will be sort of dark and deserted when I leave, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I see,” I answer quietly. “The parking lot there, is it well lit?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. I’m just being silly because of what happened to me. I know I’ll be fine,” she says sadly. And I can hear the dread and the slight edge of fear in her voice.

  “So, how late do you think this meeting will run?” I ask her.

  “I’m really not sure,” she answer
s. “It could only be a few minutes. It could be a couple of hours.”

  “Well, what time does it start?” I ask.

  “Starts at seven,” she says.

  “Well, don’t worry too much about it, Sam,” I tell her. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah,” she says quietly.

  Through my windshield I can see a couple of the guys who headed out for lunch returning and I glance at my watch. Time to head back inside. “Listen, Samantha … I’m afraid my lunchtime’s over so, I gotta hang up. But I meant what I said. Don’t worry about the parking lot thing. You’ll be fine okay? You just go to your meeting and don’t think about it. All right?”

  “Okay,” she says softly.

  “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye, Josh,” she whispers.

  “Bye, Sam.” So much for washing and waxing the Charger tonight.

  *****

  When I finally leave the station at four, I have to dodge a million questions from Conner about my plans for the evening. He even tries to tempt me with an impromptu invitation to join him and Lindy at a local pub for wings and beer, promising it would be just the three of us – no fix ups. After I turn him down for what seems like the millionth time, I hop into my truck and head home. Once I get there, I make myself a sandwich and wash it down with a glass of milk. Then I piddle around in the garage for a while. When I get tired of that, I come inside and flip through the channels on the TV for a bit. I’m killing time. Finally at about 6:35 I get back into my truck and head out.

  I’ve never been inside the Pryor Art Museum. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever been inside any of the art museums in Seattle. No, I take that back; I went inside one of them once but that was on an alarm call several years back when I was still in uniform. Turned out to be a false alarm, tripped by a worker who was in there after hours for some odd reason. I’ve always thought I didn’t like art but the truth is, I don’t really know anything about it. In fact, until meeting Samantha, I never really thought about it much. But some of the paintings and drawings on the walls at her apartment are … nice. Intriguing even.