Chapter 1
“Are you Dustin Spencer?” a hint of an accent there. Slurred consonants, rolling vowels. Not Hispanic. Maybe a bit French. Canadian?
The woman had entered his tattoo parlor a few minutes ago, and spent some time looking around, taking in everything from the heaps of tattoo magazines on the coffee tables to the designs on the walls. Almost as if she was appraising the place.
By that alone, he had strongly suspected she wasn’t here for a tattoo, and he sure as hell didn’t have a woman on his client list for the rest of the day. Just two regulars, and both of them were guys. Consequently, he just let her be, focusing instead on the one or two clients who’d popped in and out since her arrival, to make appointments or consult him on designs.
“Yes, I am. Who’s asking?”
“My name is Chantelle Moreau. Mr. Spencer—Dustin. May I call you Dustin?”
Dustin shrugged in reply and Chantelle continued. “Dustin, there’s a matter of great importance I would like to discuss with you,” she paused and looked around his shop, “somewhere more private.” The voice was low but firm. Assertive came to mind with a husky edge that tickled the ear.
“What matter would that be?” he asked, his interest piqued, even though he was still sure that whatever she was about to say, she was probably directing toward the wrong person.
A young woman with multiple facial piercings stepped up to the counter, paid for the gold navel ring she had selected from a rack, and exited. That left nobody but Squeak, another tattoo artist who rented a chair from him, and his client, a young college kid who was making the dangerous mistake of having his current girlfriend’s face tattooed on his bicep. A move like that could only lead to grief, Dustin figured. But to each his own.
Even Squeak and his client had stopped what they were doing, both staring at the unfolding drama as if it was the most exciting thing to happen to them all day.
Which it probably was.
“The matter is too delicate, to discuss in public.”
She was standing at the counter, hands clasped together, probably refraining from touching his counter. Staring at him as if she wanted to sketch his features.
Dustin stared back impudently. She was inhisspace, after all. Assessing this stranger as openly as she was assessing him. From across the counter, he began his slow examination from the feet up, which was probably unusual for most people who would start from the top. But he was a leg man, and adored pretty feet. Instinctively, his gaze swooped downwards.
The first thing he noticed was that her high heels looked expensive. Not just put-‘em-on-layaway expensive, but out-of-your-league expensive. This meant one of two things. One, this chick knew where to find decent designer knockoffs, or two, she was loaded enough to buy herself the real thing.
The next thing he noticed was that her exposed toenails were painted black, with an exquisite silver design. This presented an additional choice between two options: one, that this chick knew where to get fancy stick-on fake toenails, or two, she was wealthy enough to afford a damn talented pedicurist.
He let his slow regard travel upwards, up along curvaceous calves, to knees and thighs that were covered by an off-white linen skirt, goddammit.Never mind,he consoled himself.There’s lots to see yet.Up, past shapely hips and a neat waist, to a cranberry-colored silk blouse that didn’t even pretend to try to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Nor did she need to. The silky blouse cuddled a perfect pair of apple-sized breasts as if they were sculpted in marble, and covered up for the great unveiling.
Chocolate-colored hair past her shoulders, almost straight with the slightest wave, hanging loose. Toasted almond skin, high cheekbones, a long, shapely nose, and a mouth that gave him dirty thoughts. And those eyes… Eyes that stopped him dead, halted any further examination, because they froze him in place with their icy glare. A light hazel that tended towards green in this light.
Shaken, Dustin looked away, as if suddenly afraid he’d get sucked into the draw of her magnetic, disturbing energy. He didn’t know what a woman like her could possibly have to discuss with him. Except unless she was sent by the hospital to collect the payment for all the money he owed. He fiddled with his equipment.
He took his own sweet time carefully loading his tattoo equipment onto the autoclave trays. They’d already been washed and run through the ultrasonic cleaner, and packaged for sterilization. He was between clients, but that didn’t mean he had nothing to do. He liked to make sure his tattoo parlor was spotless, sanitary, and ready for the next client.
“Did you hear me?” the woman asked impatiently.
“I don’t think there’s anything for us to discuss. I don’t know you.”
The woman glared at them. “You’d be surprised by how closely we’re—joined. Now, is there someplace we could talk?” she asked again impatiently. “In private?”
He was about to say no, when Squeak gave him a silent, horrified look that he interpreted to mean,You’re ignoring a woman who looks like that? Are you insane?
The man had a point, with a shrug, Dustin raised the hinged countertop, unlatched the half door, and allowed her through. Squeak gave him a gleeful look of approval that caused the woman to flush. Dustin figured he’d smack him later.
He immediately discovered that retribution on his part wasn’t necessary, because she immediately gathered her dignity around her like a cloak and sailed past them with a look that had Squeak and his client immediately become very interested in their own business.
The satisfied look on her face said,Yeah, that’s what I thought.
It was clear to Dustin that this woman wasn’t one to be trifled with.
They stepped into the small back office which wasn’t much; just a place to store his art books, archived documents, and computer. He shoved some papers off the one good swivel chair and gestured for her to sit, but she shook her head.