The Darkest Link (Second Circle Tattoos) (14 page)

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I just wanted to speak to you, but didn’t really have a plan beyond that.”

“There’s still so much to talk about, so much that you don’t know. But I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what you said on Friday evening. And I remember things getting progressively more strained between you and Dad. I just . . . I mean . . . I get why he was mad. I’m hurt, too . . . but to send you away, for a mistake, and for doing what you thought was best, even if it was stupid . . . it hurts, you know?” Harper sniffed, and he hated the quiver in her voice.

Damn.
He hadn’t meant to upset her. He tried to change the topic.

“Tell me why you’re here. You loved Chicago. You loved teaching. Hell, you were the only person I knew over the age of twenty who still built snowmen. And now you’re here, with a different name, and a ring on your finger.”

“I really don’t like to talk about it,” Harper replied.

“Oh,” he said, disappointed he’d hit on another upsetting topic for her. It was clear their relationship was going to be a minefield for a while, but he was willing to do whatever it took to rebuild it. “I’m sorry. I guess I just want to get to know you again, but I get why you may not trust me with it all yet.”

“That’s not it. It was brutal, Reid. And I don’t want to make you feel worse than you clearly already do.”

Reid rested his head back on the sofa and tried to breathe through the vise currently clamping his chest. “Don’t worry about me. I need to man up to my mistakes, Harper, and I need you to let me.”

Harper sighed. “Nathan didn’t stop after he went to prison. With the help of his father, and some gang members he met inside, he started to terrorize me. You remember how helpful the police were thanks to Nathan’s father’s financial contribution to the police retirement fund? Well, it escalated. They even tried to run Mom and Dad off the road. But most of the vitriol was aimed at me. I was terrified that Nathan was going to find me when he got out of prison. You remember how he yelled that I was his, and he was going to find me? So I told Mom and Dad that the only way I was going to be safe was if I just disappeared. We found a way to keep in touch that was untraceable, and I made my way south as soon as I felt well enough.”

“So you made up a new identity and traveled alone? Fuck, that takes balls, sis.”

“Didn’t feel so brave at the time. It wasn’t really until I met Trent that I found my feet at all. I knew that with all Winston’s connections and money, if he wanted to find me he would.”

“How did you and the big guy meet?”

“I asked him for a tattoo.”

“Oh my God. You got ink? You hated tattoos. Let me guess. Some quote by an obscure poet.”

The phone went quiet. Too easily he’d fallen back into an old habit with her, where they’d teased and loved each other in equal measure. He needed to remember to bite his tongue when he was tempted to do that again. Because right now they were barely even friends.

“He tattooed over my scars.”

Suddenly light-headed, he leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. Her back had been a mess of raised red and white scars that had spelled out a shocking message. The tattoos down his own arm had hurt enough, especially the ones near his armpit and over his elbow. He’d wanted the pain, wanted the reminders. The date of Harper’s attack. The day he left Chicago. The lines that marked every hundred days since he’d left his home behind. But he couldn’t begin to imagine what it must feel like to have needles pushed into skin so badly damaged. His head spun.

“Taylor . . .” He couldn’t find the words, couldn’t even remember to call her by the name she preferred.

“Don’t feel sorry for me. It was the one thing I did on my own terms. Without Trent, I never would’ve gotten through it. Somewhere in between asking him on the sidewalk whether tattooing over scars was possible and him finishing the multiple appointments it took to complete it, we fell in love with each other. So if this story has a silver lining, Trent is it.”

While it hurt to know he’d been replaced, he felt an enormous sense of gratitude that Trent had been there for her when he hadn’t. “Then I’m glad you found him.”

“So am I,” she replied. “There’s one other thing. Did you know Nathan was released after four years for good behavior?”

The news hit him like a punch in the stomach. He crouched over farther. He’d deliberately stayed away from the media, figured it was better if he didn’t know what was going on so he could fight the compelling need he had to go back and fix things. “No. Fuck. It’s my fault.”

“I’m sorry, I feel like I should be telling you this face-to-face.”

“Don’t insult me by apologizing to me, Harper. This is all on me. Not a single piece of it is on you. Don’t think that for a moment.”

“When Nathan got out, he found me. He came to Miami and abducted me all over again. Fortunately, I got away without being too seriously hurt. He violated his parole and has already received a sentence that he has to serve in Illinois. But he’s here, being held in Miami without bail, to be tried all over again for the crime he committed in Florida. Once his jail time in Illinois is finished, he’ll be moved here.”

Rage trickled through every part of him. He’d caused her so much more hurt than he’d ever thought possible. With his testimony, Nathan’s sentence would have been longer.
Shit.
If he’d stayed, he might’ve been able to stop the ongoing attacks on his family after sentencing, or at least he could’ve run with her to help keep her safe.

He felt sick to his stomach.

His father had been right all along.

He really
was
a fuckup.

* * *

Lia pulled the long-sleeved blouse over her head. Her tattoos were still visible through the glossy black chiffon sleeves, but the impact was most definitely subdued. She reached into her closet and took out a pair of trousers. She rarely wore pants, preferring skirts and dresses, but she thought of the cream high-waisted trousers as her Katharine Hepburn look.

Dinner on Star Island was most definitely not how she wanted to spend the evening, but the call from her mother earlier on in the day begging her to come spend some time at the house had led her to say yes. And it was on rare days like this that she hated Granny Emmeline for making her promise to take care of her mom, otherwise she’d be at home working on the new artwork that Reid had inspired. It was a collage of classic bikes, an old map of Route 66, and a series of quotes about speed and life on the open road.

On the drive over, she prepared herself for seeing her father. As much as she was excited to tell her mom about the new man in her life, she knew it was too dangerous. Her father already had too much control, and finding out that Lia was dating the brother of an assault victim would be seen as
useful.
Somehow, he’d find a way of spinning it to suit his needs.

She pulled into the driveway and parked alongside an impressive-looking Mercedes. Hopefully her mother hadn’t gotten any stupid ideas into her head. The last time a strange car had been parked outside when she had turned up for dinner, there had been a very mild-mannered accountant named Jeffrey waiting to meet her inside, her mom’s idea of a perfectly matched blind date.

For a woman trapped in a loveless marriage, her mom still believed in the institution enough to wish it for her daughter. Lia couldn’t decide if this was hopelessly romantic or terribly tragic.

At one time, Lia had liked to consider herself an equal opportunity dater. It didn’t really matter what the man did, how he dressed, where he was from, or how he looked. If he was funny and intelligent and charming, she would be captivated.

Her thoughts drifted to Reid. Perhaps it was time to accept that she did indeed have a preference . . .
and what a type it was.
Hardworking with a body to match. Sense of humor nonnegotiable. Oh, and scruff. Not a beard, and not clean-shaven. Just those perfectly short bristles. Lia smiled and placed her key into the lock.

Like clockwork, the hallway had been transformed. September the first marked the transition to fall in her mom’s mind. Everything summer had been put away, replaced with pictures of autumnal leaves and floral arrangements in burnt orange and brown. The rest of the house would follow suit. Gone would be the bright blue-and-white china pattern, and in its place would be cream plates edged in gold.

Voices sounded from down the hallway. She couldn’t hear much, catching every fourth or fifth word, but someone was talking about legislation for foreign income. Her father responded with something about fraud. It seemed odd that he would take such a meeting in his own home. Her father was usually scrupulous about separating
church and state,
as he called it.

Relieved that she wouldn’t have to make nice with her father for any longer than was necessary, Lia wandered into the kitchen where Leo, their chef, was busy making dinner. He had worked for her family for nearly twenty years, and she was closer to him than she was to her real father. Every day after school he had made her a snack and sat and listened to her stories. Over the years, she had asked his advice on everything from boys to art school. Along with Granny Emmeline, he had been fully behind her decision to go study whatever she wanted. The hallway in his condo held eight of her paintings and mixed-media artwork, hung in chronological order. He joked that it was her first installation, and he had titled it
Progress
.

“I made your favorite,” he called out over his shoulder. “Remember to take it with you when you leave.”

On the counter were four dishes with glass lids. She knew that three of them would contain macaroni and cheese, and the other would be a container of lobster.

She walked over to him and he opened his arms to embrace her. “Thank you, Leo. You are still my favorite.”

“Of course I am,” he said. “That’s why there is also a small apple pie in the fridge.”

Lia stepped away and opened the fridge to peer inside. Sure enough, there was a pie with a pastry letter
L
on top. “So what are we really having for dinner tonight?”

“Your father asked for swordfish with mango salsa.”

Lia thought back to Friday evening when she had sat on the balcony with Reid and enjoyed their Italian food. Maybe one night she could cook dinner for him, but she would need help.

“So have you made plans with your friends for your thirtieth birthday yet? You’ll certainly have the funds to make it a big one.”

Granny Emmeline had made provisions in her will for Lia and Ben to receive part of their estate at twenty-one and the rest on their thirtieth birthdays. Ben had already received his, but had left his money in the care of the family accountant. With her birthday less than a month away, she really did need to make plans, even if they were as simple as where she was going to put the money. Perhaps she would speak to her brother. See if he wanted to do some investing together.

“Leo, if I needed to cook a special dinner one day, do you think you could come and help me?”

There was an almighty clatter as Leo dropped the griddle plate onto the burners. “I don’t know what to respond to first. The fact that you need a special dinner or the fact that you are entertaining the idea of cooking. Sit. And talk fast because your mom will figure out you’re here soon.”

“I met a guy.”

“Oh, sweetheart, if I had a dollar for every time I heard you say that.” Leo pulled cilantro and red chilies from the refrigerator and placed them on the cutting board next to the sharp chef’s knife. “Why does he deserve dinner?”

“It’s not
such
a big deal,” Lia whined.

“Who are you kidding? You haven’t cooked a meal since you set fire to your first apartment.” Leo sliced a red chili and removed the seeds.

Lia took an apple out of the fruit bowl and passed it from hand to hand. “It didn’t catch fire.”

“So you just sprayed the fire extinguisher foam all over your oven for no reason?”

“Okay, so maybe it was smoldering. But no firemen were called, so it doesn’t count.” Lia laughed at the memory. It hadn’t been funny at the time, but now she could see the humor in her abject failure to make cupcakes from a box mix.

“Maybe next time you should call 911 as a precaution. Who knows what kind of man will kick down your door and carry you out over his shoulder?” Leo placed the chopped chilies into a bowl.

“Good point.”

“Tell me more about the guy,” Leo said, dropping the vegetables into the pot.

“Well, he’s—”

“Julianna. Darling. Why didn’t you tell me you had arrived?” Her mother joined them at the kitchen island and air-kissed both of her cheeks.

“Sorry, Mom. Leo was just telling me he cooked me my favorites to take home.”

“I think your father’s guest is going to be joining us for dinner. I hope that isn’t a problem for you,” her mother said, smoothing Lia’s hair with her hand and tucking it behind her ear.

Lia brushed her hand away. “As long as this isn’t an attempt to set me up with somebody, because I swear if it is, I’ll leave and go home and eat lobster mac and cheese.”

“Most definitely not. The man is old enough to be your father, and unfortunately, is built in very much the same mold.”

“Dinner will be ready very shortly,” Leo said. “Would you like me to hold off a little while longer for Mr. Carlisle?”

“No,” her mother replied. “I will go tell him that dinner is ready.”

The sound of her mother’s heels echoed away into the distance.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you want to cook a special meal. You just tell me when, and I will come over to make sure you don’t set fire to that lovely condo of yours or poison the poor man.”

Lia laughed. “You’re not as funny as you think, you know.”

“Perhaps not, but at least I can boil water without burning it.”

Lia made her way into the dining room. The formal table could easily seat twelve. A number of chairs had been removed and two places had been set on either side of the table.

She could hear male voices approaching. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach. She hadn’t really wanted to come, let alone sit and play the doting daughter in front of her father’s colleague.