INK: Fine Lines (Book 1) (24 page)

With Eli, I really thought he and I had a future together. He stopped putting up with my bullshit and that was sexy as hell. He’s always honest with me and he’s reliable. I really didn’t see this Taffy thing coming. I guess he moved on. I have to respect that. I have to wish him all the luck and happiness in the world with her. I ponder that tidbit a moment too long.

The fuck I do, she’s all wrong for him. I will pop the saline out of her implants. We may not be meant for each other but I’m not leaving him in her clutches. Slut.

Time to get ready. I slip off the bed and Aiden stirs at the movement. I stand in the bedroom watching him stretch while brushing my teeth. “Rise and shine, boy scout!” I sing-song. He rolls over and stares at me long enough to make me feel self-conscious. I go into the bathroom, spit and rinse, get dressed and rejoin him in the bedroom. “Hey, I’m all packed except for a few things. I say we get outta here and get something to eat, I’m starving.” I rub my belly.

“Awesome plan.” Aiden rouses himself out of bed slowly. On the way to the bathroom he brushes by me, planting a quick kiss on my cheek. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Hey, none of that.” I give him the evil eye.

“You said I had to behave in the 
bed
, you said nothing about when you were upright.” He flashes his wry grin, grazes me with those smoldering eyes and disappears into the bathroom. Damn it, why does he have to be so gorgeous. He’s the kind of hot that doesn’t seem possible in nature. His silky hair, tiger’s-eye orbs and sun-kissed muscle tone are enough to create conflict in the most chaste of women. So I’m totally screwed trying to resist him.

I’m reminded of the less-attractive aspects of all men by way of the noises coming from the bathroom. I pack the last of my things and bring them to the living room. I take a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and notice the absence of beer. Wow, they hit those pretty hard. I can’t contain a laugh at the heart attack Raphael will have when he gets the bill. Not that it really matters. I’m likely already out of a job anyway.

Waiting for Aiden on the couch, I notice my art bag. I swear it’s mocking me about the failure of my last sketch session. I have enough time to get a few panels outlined before Aiden is out of the shower. I’m going to conquer this beast. Get it out of me.

With a hint of malice I dig through my art bag and pull out the wooden box that holds my antique pen set. Opening it, I expose the worn velvet lining, which is mostly threadbare. There’s another pen missing. God, it’s almost as though Elise were alive again. She had a bad case of sticky fingers.

The first time two pens went missing. I questioned her about it and she swore she didn’t take them, but I know she did. Probably sold them for drug money, like she did with everything else she stole from me the many times she needed somewhere to crash.

Elise knew how to manipulate me, which buttons to push. She was so in tune with my desire to have a close relationship with her. Her fallback was always the argument that it was our chance to finally grow close. Be besties.

It never worked, though. As soon as her toothbrush was in the holder she wouldn’t say another word to me other than asking to borrow money. We never once sat and talked, ever.

When she took four more of the pens I confronted her, but she lied. That was one of Elise’s biggest downfalls, she was a lousy liar. How could she possibly be so bad at it when it seems that’s all she did? That’s when I finally threw her out. I told her I was done, that I wasn’t going to be an enabler. A dry laugh rattles through me. As luck would have it, I turned out to be the ultimate enabler.

I catch myself falling too deep in the pit of Elise’s despair and have to quickly claw my way out before I’m rendered completely useless and find myself only drawing her. Again.

I rifle through the bag, hoping Aiden just threw it in with all the commotion at the signing. But that’s not really like him; he would have taken care with the set. It’s not in here. Damn it!

Pushing aside my remorse for ever bringing them out at the signing, I muster as much determination as I can, laying out a Bristol sheet on the new dining table next to the bar. Recalling the scene from my dream feels painful, the horror pulling at my stomach. Taffy’s screams echo in my mind. I take a breath, really that’s all the inspiration I need.

The ink from my pen flows more freely than the other day with McNab. I feel the dark energy of that scene from my nightmare flow down my arm, into my hands and out my fingers like puss from a wound. Relief takes the place of the pent-up horror of the scene.

The panels come into focus; they vividly depict the disturbing events in my dream. I feel queasy looking at the page, seeing Taffy with the two red stains on her shirt. Gabriel is present and accounted for and there is the Specter in all his evil glory. His face is fully formed of the worst kind of evil. His expressions are never angry, only ever-excited, like a child at Christmas. I cringe looking at him.

Taking a moment to study my scenes, I realize that I didn’t see the Specter in my dream, yet here he is large as life on the page. Like he belongs there. I need to talk to McNab.

“What are you doing?” Aiden barks from the doorway.

I jump what seems like ten feet, spilling the inkwell on the Bristol board. “Jesus, Aiden you scared the shit out of me.” I try to sop up the ink, to no avail. “Shit! I’m going to have to redo this one.”

“No you won’t. Eli and both agree that until all of this is figured out you should not be working on that damned comic.” Aiden sounds firm, like my father.

“What? You and 
Eli
 agreed? When was I consulted?” My hands are balled into fists at my side. I’ve been independent for a while now and I’m having some trouble adjusting to not calling the shots anymore. This is not going to last long. I won’t let it.

“We were going to talk to you about it when we got back. The simple truth is that if you draw another murder that happens it’s only going to look worse.” He was speaking to me in a calm tone, hoping to keep me from losing it.

“Aiden, I wasn’t born into a family with gobs of money they just throw at me to shut me up. I have to work, and if I don’t produce I don’t get paid.” I try explaining the finer points of the common man’s woes. “Besides, if I don’t stay with this while it’s hot, 
they
 forget. If 
they
 forget, I don’t sell comics. If I don’t sell comics I don’t eat.”

“Shay you know that I would never let that happen. You know I would take care of you.” I can tell he wants to move closer to me, but is taking a good amount of time to consider how to make it work. Where did he buy that little bit of wisdom?

“Maybe I don’t want to be taken care of. Maybe I want to take care of myself. Have you considered that?” It doesn’t matter that I need help right now, that doesn’t make me the classic damsel; it just makes me human.

“This isn’t long-term and we aren’t saying that you can’t draw or do artwork, just not this comic.” He takes two steps toward me, with his eyes fixed on the floor. “Harry’s worried about the other comic issues. If he was able to find the other murders, it’s only a matter of time before they connect the dots straight to those issues.” He explains coming to a stop in front of me. Looking at the scene he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Whoa whoa whoa, what do you mean, other murders?” His news hits me so hard I stumble back a step. What Dad said at Eli’s wafts through my memory. It didn’t register then, but it is now.

Aiden grimaces, searching for the best way to explain what he knows. “Harry was doing some research on the case and discovered that for each issue of the comic, there is a corresponding murder.”

“What?” the whisper escapes me. I feel like I’ve just been kicked in the stomach. The wind has been knocked out of me and I’m forced to slump into the chair behind me. This confirms everything that I’ve been afraid of since finding out about Gary and Alice. I try to catch my breath and look at Aiden, pleading with him to say it isn’t so.

“Vancouver, Chicago, New York City, San Diego—there were murders corresponding with the comics in all of those cities.” Aiden listing the cities sinks me deeper into the depths of tunnel vision.

“Oh my God, Aiden, what am I going to do?” I can’t hold it in anymore, my eyes spill over with tears. I hate being the weak little girl that cries at the drop of a hat. But the thought of people actually dying the way they did in my comic is too much to bear.

Aiden takes me into his arms and envelopes me with his safety and calm. “That’s why you can’t draw this.” He blows a breath out heavy with fear.

Unable to speak, I nod with my head pressed up against his chest, sobbing.

“Shh, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to make this all okay.” Aiden reassures me. “Come sit down.” He guides me to the couch and sits, holding me until I can regain my composure.

“Aiden, if she dies, I’m totally screwed,” I say, wiping my tears.

“I know, but listen. If she were dead Eli would have mentioned it when he called last night.” Aiden cups my face in his rough hands. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

I collapse further into his strength and draw from it so I can keep moving through this day.

Shay

Aiden goes to the front desk to check out. I go to the lobby seating area in the middle of the room. I can hear a commotion, but don’t really care. I pick up a paper that has my face plastered all over it. Damn it! I peer around a fern toward the noise and see the press clamoring outside the door.

I open the paper to the page with my story. My head starts spinning as I’m looking at images of Aiden sitting in the hallway of the hotel with all of his battle wounds from his scuffle with Eli. The headline burns across the page in bold block letters: “The Mistress of Murder Has No Bounds.” I’m reading it when Aiden rejoins me. “Aiden, this is full of pictures of you! And there is so much detail in this story. How do they know so much about me? About us?” I’m horrified. My only thought is that someone, one of my friends, gave me up on a silver platter. I didn’t think it was necessary to ask everyone not to do that. I thought it was a no-brainer. “Someone talked to the press.”

Aiden studies the article; noticing the byline, he crumples the paper with one hand and hisses in anger, “Nigel.”

“Nigel? How do you know Nigel?” I can feel an attack of hysteria bubbling just below the remnants of my calm.

“The hallway, he brought a six pack and we were just commiserating about our crazy…” he stops himself short, realizing his next word could be his last. “Wives.” He just let it go like the rope on my life preserver.

This is exactly the brand of stupid that prompts me to beg for an empty bed at night. I’m so glad Aiden’s here to ‘help.’ I suck in a deep breath to keep from unhinging my jaw and ripping him to shreds. I’m very conscious of the prying cameras out front and Jason’s voice glides through my mind—
no outbursts
.

“Aiden, Nigel is a reporter. A reporter that totally worked you with a six pack of beer.” I toss the paper down on the table. “I can’t believe you sold me out for some beer.” I’m hurt and angry.

“Shay, I didn’t know he was a reporter or I wouldn’t have told him anything.” Aiden pleaded with me with those honey-colored spheres.

“Well, you did get worked. You were pumped for information. They’re implying that I did this to you!” I motion to his face, my expression a mixture of sadness and pain. “He’s not even married.” Like that matters.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I didn’t even realize I was talking about you. I definitely didn’t tell him that you did this to me. Well, not the black eye.” He hangs his head, recalling the conversation, realizing how much he did say to Nigel. “Seriously Shay, I had no idea. You have to know that.” He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. He’s wearing the tension of the situation like a mask.

“Let’s just try to figure out how the hell we’re going to get out of here with that mob outside.” I look around for another way out, half-tempted to leave him behind and slip out. But that would do no good. It’s me they’re looking for.

Aiden takes my hand and drags me with him to the front desk, asking the wide-eyed clerk, “Hey, is there another way we can get into the garage?”

“Yes, we have a service entrance around back near the restaurant.” He picks up a phone, pushing the number pad. “Hey, I’ve got some guests that need a back door exit to the parking deck.” He thrums his fingers on the counter impatiently. “Okay, they’ll be around in a moment.”

He hangs up the phone and directs us to the back entrance, where we’re met by security to escort us and our bags to the truck. Aiden lifts the cover on the truck bed and throws the bags in quickly while I get into the truck and get buckled. In a few short minutes we’re on the highway, heading east.

I’m completely beside myself with anger and disappointment. I know that Aiden didn’t do this on purpose. I just don’t know what possessed him to do it at all. Judging from the story in the paper, he talked more to Nigel than he ever does to me.

“Aiden?” I regulate my voice in an attempt to keep from screaming at him.

“Yes.” He says it low, full of shame.

“What in the world got into you? I’ve never seen you have a conversation with anyone that was the least bit personal, yet you completely spill your guts to a perfect stranger.” In trying to control myself from having an outburst, my voice reaches a lower register.