Protective Ink (Urban Fantasy) (9 page)

“First, I’m going to shower, and then I’ll tell you.” She jumped and cursed when the teakettle whistled from the kitchen. “Three sugars and a dash of cream. I’ll make it a quick shower.”

He approached the stove, trying very hard to concentrate on the gravity of the situation and not being distracted by the thought of her in the shower.

* * *

Lissa let the hot water scald her back as hot tears scalded her cheeks. She banged her fist against the wall of the shower once and then again before she got herself back under control.

Toweling off, she raked a comb through her hair and piled it into a messy knot on top of her head. She dragged on her most comfortable T-shirt and shorts before putting a robe over the whole thing.

On her way through her bedroom she snagged the biggest T-shirt she could find, which she threw at Jackson once she returned to the living room. She was most definitely not having a conversation with him while he was naked to the waist.

“Put that on.”

“But it’s pink.”

“You’ll be fine. I won’t tell anyone.” She curled up into her chair, dragging the hem of the terry cloth robe over her knees and down around her toes. If only she could get warm.

She tried not to look as he shrugged the shirt over his head, but the bunch and play of his washboard abs was hard not to notice. She snapped her eyes away as his head poked out of the borrowed shirt then struggled not to laugh when she realized which T-shirt she had given him. It said
You named your stake? Remind me to get you a stuffed animal
, and it had a picture of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on it.

Jackson looked down at the too-tight shirt that ended three inches above the waistband of his cargo pants and groaned. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

He plucked the shirt away from his skin like it was leaving a mark, but she wasn’t about to back down. That swatch of skin was enough to make her insides quiver, so she would not be able to handle the whole bare chest thing.

He harrumphed as he sat on the chair opposite her. “Tell me what happened.” He tugged at the neckline, but she had no sympathy for him.

“I went downstairs because I couldn’t sleep. I thought I was alone, but then some guy came at me like a torpedo. I gave as good as I got for about a minute until I realized he was too big and too fast. He knocked me to the floor and I woke up here.”

“What time did you go down?”

“I didn’t look at a clock of anything, but I couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes. Did you see who it was?”

“Hardly even a glimpse. All I could tell was that it was a guy. He took off when I broke your back window.”

“You broke my…” She half rose from the couch then made herself sit back down. He’d done what he needed to do. She should be grateful. But, damn, she did not like the thought of anyone being able to get into the shop.

“How do you think I lost my shirt? I’m going to put up a piece of plywood as soon as we’re done talking. But first, tell me everything you know about the attacker. I’m going to go get him.” His voice dropped until she shivered with every menacing word. “And when I’m done, what’s left of him will be carted off to jail, and I’ll come back here to stay.”

That statement made her pause in the act of bringing her teacup to her lips. “You can’t stay here.” The cup rattled against the end table as she carefully placed it on its coaster. “I don’t have any room.”

“You’ll make room. For God’s sake, don’t argue with me, Lissa. Just this once.”

Chapter Eight

“I can’t work with you fidgeting like that.” Lissa put the tattooing gun down on the Formica table and stepped back from Garrett’s ribs. The stylized claddagh he had asked for with Dory’s name in the half circle above the clasped hands was something he’d brought her just this morning. After his punch incident, they’d moved his appointment up to today. It wasn’t the design she’d come up with to protect him; it was better.

After last night’s trouble, Jackson and Garrett had apparently met in Garret’s war room to discuss what should be done. Everyone could tell that something other than a turf war was going on. Garrett was determined to do everything he could to protect Dory, no matter what. And since she still refused to get another tattoo, Garrett would have to rely on the one Lissa was giving him.

“I’m not fidgeting. I just can’t settle in for some reason. The needle feels different.”

She looked at his skin to make sure he wasn’t having an adverse reaction. He never had in the past, but she checked him every time just to be sure. No rash was forming, no more redness than usual. Jackson poked his head in the door, but she ignored him.

“It’s the same kind of needle I’ve used before. Do you want to take a break?”

“No, get it done. I’m fine.”

Dory sat in her red vinyl visitor’s chair sipping a soda. “You don’t have to do this, Garrett.”

“I want to. Let’s go, Lissa, give me your most powerful mojo.”

She dug back into her task. The vibration of the gun in her hand grounded her as she outlined the curves and curls he’d requested: the tiny rosebud in the hook of Dory’s name, the hands clasped over the heart instead of merely holding it.

Her mother Bridgette McLaughlin had done this, and her mother before her, going several generations back, all the way to mud and wattle huts in the olden days. When her great-great-grandmother had come over on the boat from Ireland, she’d brought this skill with her, as well as her blue woad dyes. Once the tattoo machine was created in 1891, Lissa’s ancestress Margaret Finley, the local wise woman of her time, had recognized it as a way to permanently strengthen a warrior, and she’d taught her daughter the art of tattoo, who had then taught her daughter and so on, down through the ages. It was beautiful to come from such a long lineage, knowing that your talents were intertwined with your heritage.

Over the years, she had used her talent to enhance the positives in people when she could. She did worry, though, that something was wrong with her. After all, the one time she had consciously tried to instill greatness in someone, it had ended badly. But Garrett’s mother had asked Lissa to design his first marking so that she could control him. That had to be why his powers were tainted. At the time, Lissa hadn’t had the years behind her to understand that Garrett’s mother was playing her for a fool. She and Garrett had paid for that naiveté.

An hour later, she was almost done when Garrett started to shake violently. She jerked the gun away from his skin then watched in horror as foam rimmed his mouth.

“Christ, give me that magazine, Dory,” she yelled over some sort of high-pitched electric whine. It ended just as the magazine was thrust into her hand. She shoved it into Garrett’s mouth in time to save him from severing his tongue with his teeth. Garrett’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head. Was he having a seizure? What the hell was happening?

“Put your hands on him. Jackson! Where are you?”

Dory started to chant her words of healing. Her eyes were wide with terror and her words were jumbled, but Lissa couldn’t help her. She rushed for the doorway and nearly collided with Jackson. He had been practically glued to her side since her attack, thank goodness.

“What happened?” he demanded as he strode into the room where Garrett appeared to have exhausted himself.

“He’s still alive. I can feel him in there, but it’s like there’s a wall between us.” Dory stared up at them with eyes rimmed in red and filled with panic.

“We have to call the police. An ambulance. 911. Something.”

“Do it, Lissa. Dory and I will stay with him until they get here. He looks like he’s in shock.”

Less than two minutes later, Wicked Ink was a hive of activity as police and paramedics burst in the doors. They wheeled Garrett out on a stretcher. He had regained consciousness for long enough to demand Dory be allowed in the ambulance with him. His pulse was good and no one could tell what had happened.

Lissa called Jarren, a fellow tattoo artist from her last place, and asked her to cover for her in the shop. She’d work longer hours another day. Right now she had to be with her family.

And her family was going to be at the hospital, all praying and hoping for Garrett to come back from wherever he’d gone.

“Let’s go,” Jackson said with his keys in hand. “I’m driving.”

She was shaking as she climbed into the car, and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep from flying apart.

He pulled out of the lot and hit the main drag within seconds. But it wasn’t quick enough.

“Can’t you make this thing go faster?”

“If we get a ticket, it’ll slow us down even more. The cops are too busy to put a stop to this drug turf war, but they’re determined to ticket us all to death.” He glanced at her with those incredible green eyes before returning his eyes to the road. “He’s going to be okay, you know.”

“And what if he’s not, Jackson? What if I put so much power behind that tattoo that it kills him?” Sobs racked her frame. Her arms were no longer holding her together. But Jackson’s were. Somehow he’d whipped them over to the side of the road and gathered her up in his strong embrace. He kissed the top of her head as he stroked her back.

* * *

God, if Garrett died, Jackson had no idea how he’d deal. He ran a hand over Lissa’s back as she cried, huge racking sobs that broke his heart. This was not getting them to the hospital any faster, but he couldn’t make himself pull away. Lissa was a strong woman and seeing her this way was tearing him apart.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll find out what happened. We’ll make this right. He’s not going anywhere but home. I promise you.”

She shook as the sobs kept pouring out of her. Tightening his arms around her, he ignored the gearshift in his stomach and held on.

“What did I do to him?”

The words were muffled, but he understood them fine. “Nothing. You did nothing. We’ll figure this out. He’s going to need you and me and Dory to get through this, though, so you’re going to have to pull yourself together, sweetheart.”

“But I keep hurting him. First with the original tattoo that made him so powerful—that made him do all those bad things—and then every one after that. He had to shock himself with electricity for years because of me! And the new tattoo might have killed him. What did I do to him?”

“Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing. He chose a life of helping other people because of the tattoos you gave him.” He kissed the top of her head. “But we’ll talk about this after we make sure he’s okay and you calm down. I promise.”

And then she was looking up at him, her navy blue eyes red and swollen, the black lashes crystallized with tears. He caressed the side of her face, taking comfort in the feel of her smooth cheek under his skin.

Later he would not be able to tell what had possessed him, but in that moment all he could do was touch his lips to hers, a soft brush meant to comfort. But it didn’t stay comforting. Her sweet, salty taste and the tears coating her soft lips brought him down a different path. He dove in as she locked her fingers behind his head. Their tongues tangled, seeking, searching. For what he didn’t know, but heaven was the first thing that came to mind.

A sharp rap on the driver’s side window had them breaking apart. Outside stood one of their town’s finest, dressed in khaki with mirror glasses shielding his eyes.

Jackson rolled down the window.

“You’re going to want to move this along, my friend.” The officer smirked.

“Of course. No problem.” Jackson released the emergency brake, not looking at Lissa, and gently shifted into first and put his foot on the gas pedal.

They drove in silence the rest of the way but Lissa’s hand crept over his on the shifter, entwining their fingers with a surprisingly strong grip as they drove the rest of the way to the hospital.

* * *

Lissa offered to help Jackson find a parking space, but he dropped her off at the front door of the hospital. Vacillating between waiting for him on the sidewalk and going inside, she finally made a break for the sliding doors. Somewhere in this warren of rooms, Dory was separated from her love and Lissa might very well be the reason for that.

Except she couldn’t think like that, or it would tear her apart. And there was far too much to be accomplished for her to give in to her panicked feelings.

Striding down the pristine white halls, she found her way to the E.R. and asked after Garrett.

“They’re running some tests on him in the back. Are you a relative?”

Was she? In her heart, he was a mixture of brother and son to her.

“I’m his aunt. His mother’s dead and I’m standing for her. Now, please tell me where I can find him.”

She was led down a corridor to a waiting room where Dory sat sobbing. Lissa rushed into the seat next to her and took her into her arms. The other woman clung to her like a vine, wetting the front of Lissa’s shirt with a river of tears. She gasped so hard, Lissa was afraid she would choke herself.

“Dory, you have to calm down, honey. Come on. Garrett is going to be okay.” It would have sounded more convincing if she believed it wholeheartedly herself.

“I need to get in there.” Dory looked up with shining eyes, tears spilling down her red cheeks. “They won’t let me touch him. If only they’d let me touch him, I could do something. I know it.”

Jackson’s invisibility power flashed into Lissa’s mind. She didn’t know if the plan that was spinning through her head would work, but it was worth a try.

She held Dory until Jackson strode into the room, his eyes dark and his forehead set in frown lines.

“They won’t tell me anything,” he said.

“I don’t think they know anything yet.” She stroked Dory’s back. The sobs were more muffled, and the endless stream of tears had become a series of small gasps, each one tearing at Lissa’s heart.

“That’s ridiculous. This is one of the top hospitals in the area. How can they not know anything?” He paced. His six-foot plus frame made the small waiting room feel even smaller.

Halting him with one hand, her mind latched onto his aura without her even seeking it out. And it flashed on to something she hadn’t seen ever. Jackson was more than she had thought and his tattoo was more than she’d considered.