The Darkest Link (Second Circle Tattoos) (2 page)

Tyrell Banks was on his mind. The nine-year-old boy was a mechanic in the making for sure. Like some of the other young boys Reid mentored through a program at the local community center in Fort Pierce, Tyrell brought to the shop a sense of curiosity that was contagious. But the split lip he’d sported the previous evening kept making its way into Reid’s thoughts. And the explanation Tyrell had given him was highly plausible. Every young boy had fallen off his bike at some point. Had Tyrell not had fingermarks on his arm two days earlier and a bruise beneath his eye the week before, Reid might have been convinced.

He let the throttle loose and picked up speed, allowing the noise of the bike and the air rushing around his helmet to drown out the compelling need to go over to Tyrell’s father’s place and challenge him. He’d talk to Donyell, the social worker attached to the boys’ club, and sound her out, try to fix things legally. How could he be an example to these boys if he just jumped in with both feet without thinking? That was what had gotten him into his own mess, part of the reason he was over twelve hundred miles away from his family without any contact. These days he tried to suppress the urge to charge headfirst into problems and tried to think about all the possible outcomes first. It still didn’t feel natural, though, even after nearly six years of trying to be a better man.

Speeding down Ocean Drive with thoughts of stopping for a beer along the beach, he saw legs. A sexy-as-fuck pair of legs in spectacular shoes. He pulled the brake a little too late to get a good look, only slowing long enough to realize the hood was up on an equally hot classic car. As he drove past, he caught the owner of the incredibly fine legs lift the umbrella that had been obscuring her face. Damn, he was a sucker for red lips and high cheekbones. A glorious redhead in distress. At least he hoped she was in distress, preferably the kind he could fix. She leaned against the car, and he had envy. She could rest that sexy ass of hers against him anytime. He slowed down and pulled his bike around to head back in her direction. This time he approached slowly, giving himself time to appreciate the way the blue dress she wore hugged the curve of her hip, and
holy shit,
she had the perkiest-looking rack. He pulled his bike in behind her car, reluctant to remove the helmet too quickly. The reflective visor gave him a chance to check her out discreetly.

She grinned confidently at him, but never moved from her position, just twirled that damn umbrella as if she usually hung out on the side of the road.

With a booted foot, he lowered the kickstand to the roadside gravel and removed his helmet, never taking his eyes off the woman in front of him. Jesus fucking Christ. That hair was even more glorious without the filter of his visor, and her eyes were the palest gray. Everything about her screamed fifties pinup, which, combined with the tattoos running down her arms, gave his dick ideas.

Reid shook his head as he placed his helmet on the seat in front of him and then unzipped his leather jacket, hot after the long hard ride. And speaking of long hard rides . . . What he wouldn’t give to turn her around and hitch that skirt up her thighs.

The smile she was giving him was brighter than the flash of an arc welder.

“You need some help?” He got off his bike, ditched his jacket, and walked toward her.

“My Cherry broke and I don’t know why. If you know the name of a towing company or a local garage, I’d be really grateful. I’m Lia,” she said, holding out her hand toward him. Reid took it, savoring the way her slim fingers brushed against his. And so what if he held onto it for a moment longer than was probably polite before he released her?

Reid pointed to the logo for Kenny’s Auto Shop on his polo shirt. Technically, he hated polo shirts, but he wanted the garage to look professional, so uniforms it was. “I own this place. Did you just call your car Cherry?”

“Of course. Doesn’t she look like a Cherry to you?” She deadpanned the question, but her eyes sparkled with humor.

“I kinda wish the hood was down,” he said with a grin.

“And why’s that?” she asked, lifting off the car to stand up straight in front of him, and damn if those lips didn’t look even more kissable close up. She rested the umbrella on her shoulder.

“Because then I could ask if I could pop your Cherry.”

Lia laughed and smacked his arm. “Don’t make suggestive innuendoes about my baby.”

Reid laughed, rubbing his arm as if she’d actually hurt him. “If I can’t fix it here on the road, I can take you and Cherry back to the garage in Fort Pierce. Can I take a look?”

“Be my guest, Kenny,” Lia said, indicating the front of the car with her hand, although her eyes remained solidly locked on his pecs, and he stood a little taller in response. “You’re lucky I even knew how to pop the hood.”

Reid laughed and didn’t bother to correct her. Most people called him Kenny, unaware that it was really his surname. Kennedy. And it gave him distance from the person he used to be. “I’m sure you have other talents. Want to give me the keys and let me turn it over?”

Lia hesitated and bit her lower lip. “How about I turn it over, and you look under the hood?”

Smart girl.
Cars often got stolen by people masquerading as Good Samaritans. “Whatever makes you most comfortable,” he said. He walked around to the driver’s side and opened the door for her, watching discreetly as she sat down on the seat with both feet still on the ground, before twisting in the seat while keeping her feet together. It was a classy move. His first observation was accurate: she had great legs.

Lia looked up, pinning him with those expressive eyes of hers, which clearly said she had him pegged. “Ready when you are.”

She turned the key, and the car made a knocking sound that told him all he needed to know. He mentally ran through a litany of tests he would need to do, none of which could be done roadside, since he only kept basic tools with the bike. If he wasn’t mistaken, the engine had a busted valve spring. Reid had a soft spot for Plymouths. A million years ago, he’d promised to fix one up for his sister, Taylor. But that was before . . .

“So what’s the verdict, doc? Will Cherry live?” Lia asked, surprising him as she appeared next to the car. Damn, she smelled good enough to eat. She stood close enough to him that her umbrella offered him some shade from the baking Florida sun. It was one of the things he actually missed about Chicago. The seasons actually changed. Fort Pierce was hot and dry, or hot and wet. He missed snow. Or at least the nostalgic thought of snow. He cleared his head of the melancholy thoughts.

“I can bring anything back to life,” he said, checking the connection to the alternator one last time. He looked up to find her staring at his hands, and she blushed. Wiping them on the back of his jeans, he stood up to face her, forcing her to lift the umbrella higher. Reid took a half-step closer to her. She didn’t step away, but she did arch a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. In her tall heels, she was likely five feet nine or ten, still inches shorter than his own six two, but he liked the way she was looking up at him right now. Until her nose crinkled a little across the bridge.

He stepped back with a grin. “Sorry, long day, hot ride, was heading home for a shower.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry for holding you up. Look, I can call someone else to—”

“No,” Reid interrupted a little too hastily, reaching for her hand. “I was just explaining why I smell like day-old garbage.”

“I don’t know . . . there’s something very attractive about the smell of a man who knows how to work hard. And it was the sun behind you that made me squint, not the smell.” The corner of Lia’s mouth twitched with a smile, those perfectly made-up red lips making him think all kinds of thoughts he shouldn’t.

“I’ll have to remember that,” he said, studying her for a moment before pulling out his phone. She was flirting with him, and he found he liked that kind of confidence a lot. He stayed in place as he dialed the garage and studied her. “Jarod, can you bring the truck out to Ocean Drive, about a half mile north of Hutchinson Island? Look for the bike and a red Plymouth.” Reid gave Jarod the rest of the information and asked him to get Shaun to follow him in the loaner. He should have asked them to bring out tools, see if he couldn’t fix what was going on roadside first, but in truth, he wanted the lovely Lia to himself for a little while longer and he was pretty certain anyway that the knocking was a broken valve spring. It had been a while since he’d allowed himself the pleasure of a woman’s company, and he liked this one.

“Truck’s on its way,” he said, tucking his phone back in his pocket.

“So, what do we do now?” Lia asked, resting the umbrella on her shoulder and twirling it in what seemed a flirty yet almost mindless action.

“You want an honest answer to that?” he asked.

Lia looked up and him and nodded. “Always.”

“I figured we could take a walk to the beach while we wait . . . and chat.”

“Chat?”

“Yeah. Chat. It’s a euphemism for wanting to get to know you.”

* * *

Effervescent bubbles of excitement ran up and down Lia’s arms. Watching Kenny under the hood of her car was the sexiest thing she had ever seen. Actually, no. Watching him lower the kickstand, take of his helmet, and ease himself off his bike had been glorious. So what if his dark shaggy hair was wet with sweat? Or that his gray polo shirt was stained with grease and damp patches? Lia had always been attracted to hardworking men, guys who were ripped through manual labor rather than hours logged in an air-conditioned strip mall gym while standing around talking about
gains.

Oh, the places she’d let his dirty hands go if he asked nicely.

He studied her with eyes the color of her favorite Americano, and she itched to run her fingertips along the short scruff that emphasized his strong jaw.

“It’s a euphemism for wanting to get to know you.”

His words reverberated through her like an invitation to let the bad-girl side of her take over. The impulsive side her father always tried to quash. She wondered if Kenny would think her rude for trying to clarify whether his definition of
getting to know each other
was the same as hers.

“Don’t overthink it, Lia,” he said, running the tip of his finger along the exposed skin of her shoulder. It made her shiver in a whole bunch of places she thoroughly enjoyed shivering in. “You’re safe with me, I promise. Lock the car up.”

Something about the confident, almost cocky way he told her what to do had her insides tingling, and when he held out his hand toward her, she took it and followed him. As they reached the sand, Lia bent forward to unfasten her shoes and Kenny steadied her. For the briefest moment, she had a flicker of panic. Nobody knew where she was. The detour hadn’t been in the plans she’d passed along to Trent, and it was ridiculously reckless to take a narrow footpath to a secluded beach with a man she didn’t know.

He started to walk again, but she stayed rooted to the hot, white sand. He tugged her arm and quickly stopped. “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

He didn’t strike her as crazy, but then again, women had been charmed by Ted Bundy. She slipped her hand from his. “Wait. Say cheese,” she said, taking a photo of him with her phone. Ignoring the two missed calls and three texts from her father, she quickly fired it off to her best friend and former roommate, Pixie, who was also manager of Second Circle, with a note stating his name and where he worked.

“What was that about?”

“Insurance,” she replied, a little embarrassed by what she’d just done.

“For what?”

“In case you are a mechanic serial killer.”

“A mechanic serial killer? Really?” Kenny laughed, and the deep rich tone resonated through her. “If I ever become a serial killer, I want a better name than that. Not that I am, of course. But that lacks all kinds of originality.”

“Most of the best names do. Like the BTK Killer. Bind, torture, kill was pretty literal,” she said.

“True . . . but maybe given I’m already doing a crappy job of trying to convince you to take a walk on the beach with me, we should can the serial killer talk. We can head back to your car if waiting up there makes you feel more comfortable,” he said.

Lia sensed nothing but sincerity behind his words. In fact,
he’d
probably be the one to feel uncomfortable if he knew how many times she’d already imagined him naked.

She made a living from assessing the people she tattooed . . . their tolerance for pain, the truths they wanted their tattoos to reveal. Sincerity radiated from Kenny. Nothing about him raised any flags, and Pixie now knew where she was and who she was with. She looked down at her phone.

Lucky bitch!

Lia laughed and looked back up to where Kenny was waiting patiently, his eyes focused on her intently. “Let’s go,” she said, ignoring the little shiver when he placed his hand on her lower back.

“So you know what I do, but what do you do, Lia?” he asked as they walked, his warm hand guiding her around the uneven ground. The shrubs began to thin as the pathway opened out onto the beach.

“I’m a tattoo artist in Miami. I’m on my way to an event in Orlando. I need to figure out how to get there once I know what is happening with my car.”

“What’s in Orlando?” he asked, finding a smooth log overlooking the water for them to sit on. With a steadfast grip on her hand, he helped her sit before joining her. “You off to see your boyfriend?” He grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Subtle. And no. No boyfriend, anywhere.”

“Well, the guys in Miami are morons.”

“And the men in Fort Pierce are . . . ?”

Kenny raised his eyebrows. “You really want me to answer that, Red?”

Lia giggled, grateful that the narrow band of soft sand with a steep slope into the water that was a placid sea green was mostly desolate. They were very much alone, just how she liked it.

“Should I find an equally awkward-slash-obvious way to ask you if you have a girlfriend?”

“I can be many things, but subtle isn’t one of them. And the answer is no. But the prospects just looked up.”