The Strongest Steel (27 page)

“Thank you, darlin’,” he whispered.

“I miss you, baby.” Her sleepy voice made him smile. What he wouldn’t give for her to be wrapped in his arms right now. Spooned up behind her, feeling her soft ass push up tight against him.

“Not half as much as I’m missing you. I lo—” The beep in his ear informed him his cell phone had died.

Probably for the best that he got cut off. He wanted to be able to remember the first time he told Harper he loved her.

Chapter Eighteen

Was it wrong that an expandable file folder could bring a person so much happiness? Taking a brand new red gel pen out of the pack on the coffee table—because let’s face it, what teacher didn’t use a red pen?—Harper picked up the folder tabs and wrote their names: Joanie, Milo, Anton.

After attaching the tabs, she inserted the carefully crafted lesson plans and the learning objectives of her three students into their respective pockets. She was teaching again, and it was the most glorious feeling in the world. She looked at the remaining nine slots in the folder and wondered what she would have to do to fill them all.

Harper opened her laptop and viewed the first of three messages. José had sent her the schedule for the coming week, and she added the times to her calendar. The next was from Trent. A short message,
Thinking of you,
and a link to an article from his favorite tattooing industry magazine titled “Reasons We Love Girls with Ink.” She grinned as she read it. The final one was from the Miami-Dade library promoting a Children’s Literature Festival that sounded like fun. She made a note of the date.

Harper lifted her cup of tea and leaned back against the sofa. The ways in which her life was changing were endless. Self-defense lessons, teaching, falling in love. Heck, even phone sex. She touched her cheek with the back of her hand and grimaced at the heat of her embarrassment.

Not being able to teach had been one of the worst parts of fleeing, but the seed of an idea was growing: She might be able to tutor privately without having to disclose everything about her past.

There was a strong, thoughtful man in her life and a fun group of friends developing. If there was no maniacal, cryptic, stalker ex in the picture, it would be perfect.

Later that afternoon, she wasn’t feeling quite so perfect as Frankie laid out how the session was going to go.

“It’s gonna feel a bit uncomfortable, I know. But I wouldn’t be training you properly if I didn’t push you.”

Harper looked out of Frankie’s office window at the two guys warming up in the ring closest to the office. The idea of them touching her made her stomach roil but Frankie was right. She needed to get used to people touching her.

“Okay, Frankie,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

Frankie bounced out of his chair, way more excited about the next hour than she was. Harper followed Frankie to the door. He turned to look at her. “I have your back, kiddo, no matter what. You say stop, and it all stops. Okay?”

Harper chewed the inside of her lip and nodded.

“Jace. Leon. Want you to meet Harper, a friend of Trent’s.” Both guys smiled at her.

“Happy to help, Harper,” Leon said, and stepped forward to shake her hand. Every inch of his skin was covered in the most colorful tattoos, even his neck and the shaved side of his skull.

“You too, Leon, at least I think so.”

Jace laughed as he took her hand in a firm shake. “Go easy on us, Harper. Frankie tells us you got skills, girl.” Her hand looked tiny in his and he towered over her. Harper tried to ignore the realization that he could easily push her down and keep her there.

“Okay, Harper.” Frankie interrupted the direction her thoughts had taken. “Let’s go take these pussies down.”

Harper breathed deeply, the scent of sweat and disinfectant burning her nose. Jace faced her, bouncing gently from foot to foot. He was coming for her, that was the purpose of the exercise, but he grinned at her and Harper found his attempt to put her at ease charming.

The tight grip of his large hands around her biceps startled her, the move so sudden, Harper couldn’t move, frozen to the spot.

Somewhere in the distance, Frankie yelled at her, and she needed to focus on what he was telling her.

Softest part to hardest part
. Harper focused on Jace’s face and concentrated on ignoring the physical contact between them. Using the heel of her hand, she jammed her hand up hard under his chin.

Jace took a quick step or two back. “Man, Harper. Frankie is going to need to pay me danger money, girl. I should have worn my mouth guard.”

A laugh escaped and the weight pressing down on her chest lifted slightly.

“Okay, lightweight,” Leon said as he jumped over the ropes of the ring and shoved Jace. “Move out of the way and let a real man have a go.”

Leon winked at her as he ducked and weaved around her, his feet moving so quickly and silently, it was hard to figure out where he was going. Arms were around her middle, his hard chest slamming up against her back before she had a chance to breathe.

Harper looked over to Frankie who said, “You got this.” And she did. Harper, buoyed by Frankie’s confidence and the high of making Jace stumble, delivered a swift elbow to Leon’s ribs. Able to break free of his arms, Harper spun quickly with her leg extended. The sharp pain ricocheted up her leg as her shin hit the back of his knees, but it quickly vanished when she took in Leon’s prostrate form on the mat.

“I did it, Frankie,” she said, shocked.

Frankie was laughing, loudly. “Yeah, you did good, kid.” He turned to look at Leon who was getting up from the mat. “Told you she was a natural.”

“Oh my goodness, sorry,” Harper said, offering Leon a hand. The least she could do was help him up.

“No worries, Rocky,” he replied with a grimace.

It was close to closing and the gym was quiet. A knock on the window of Frankie’s office startled her as she walked past it, heading for the front door. Frankie waved at her to come in.

“Hey, Harper, sorry to grab you before you go, but I wondered if I could talk to you about Anton.”

“Of course, Frankie, what’s up?”

Frankie reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a handwritten assignment with a B+ in red at the top. “Best grade he ever got, and he tells me it’s because of you.”

“Well, that’s very kind of him, but he did all the hard work. I just helped him figure out an approach.” Helping him had been the high point of an already eventful week. She’d loved every minute of it.

“You’re being humble, lady. The kid was a D student all the way. He didn’t just get better on his own.” Frankie leaned back in his chair, spinning it slightly from left to right.

“Sometimes kids just need to figure out how they learn. In a large classroom, it’s a little hard for the teacher to figure it out for every child.” Explaining something to each child in a way he or she could understand had been hard, but definitely the most rewarding part of the job.

Harper walked up the steps of her building feeling happy and sore. Feeling stronger was a gratifying sensation. She couldn’t wait to call Trent to tell him how it had gone. She could feel her face going red as she thought about their last phone call.

“Harper Connelly?”

“Yes?” She turned to see a floral delivery van stopping by the curb, the driver shouting through the window.

“Wait up. I have a delivery for you.” The driver, a gangly young man with slightly greasy hair, had tattoos covering the upper half of each arm. He walked toward her with a huge white floral arrangement.

“I like your tattoos,” she said as he handed her the vase.

“Thanks. Got ’em done at Second Circle. Guy named Trent. Sick artist. I could hook you up if you want.”

Harper hid her smile behind the flowers. “I’m all right. Thanks, though.”

Practically dancing into her apartment, she put the flowers down on the counter and reached for the card. Trent was so thoughtful. He knew how much she’d loved the yellow roses he’d sent her before.

In Memoriam.
What the heck? The card had a white rose resting on a silver-and-white bible.
So sorry to hear about your loss.
Harper looked back at the envelope. It was definitely addressed to Harper Connelly. A wave of nausea washed over her as she turned the envelope and card over, looking for clues.

She reached for her phone.

“Hello, Practical Posies. This is Addison, how can I help you?”

“I just got a delivery and there is no name on the card. I have no idea who it’s from, and I was wondering if you could tell me.”

Harper provided the pertinent delivery details and after a few moments on hold, Addison picked up again.

“I’m sorry, but there was no name given to us for the card, and we aren’t allowed to give out personal information.”

Harper put down the phone. She was in trouble. Real trouble.

*   *   *

“You look about as good as I feel, brother.” Dred sat on the sofa in the studio makeup area, head in his hands, dark hair covering his face, and a large bottle of water between his feet.

Trent collapsed down next to him, pulling his sunglasses off and tucking them into his jacket pocket. “I swear I can still taste tequila.” He took another swig of his coffee. Not as strong as he liked it, but the best he could do.

Dred sat back up. “Christ, man, the world is still fucking spinning.”

If Trent weren’t so hungover, he would have protested all the makeup they were putting on him. That brown goop, foundation or whatever they called it. Good thing Cujo wasn’t here to witness his humiliation.

“Let’s go rock this shit,” Dred said as they were guided to the studio. They were met by an officious-looking woman, her hair in a tight bun and wearing bizarre, pointy glasses.

“Okay guys, I’m Pam. I need the two of you to sit in the chairs over there and just talk to each other.” She waved her clipboard in the general direction of two chairs. “Just click your microphones on.”

Trent looked around for the microphone. Dred reached around him and clicked something on the little black thing attached to the back of his jeans.

“You’d better buy me dinner if you wanna be getting that close,” Trent said, laughing as Dred pulled away.

“You kidding me? Don’t you know about rock stars? We can get any ass we want for free.”

“Not this one you couldn’t. This is a class ass. I’d need at least a visit to Olive Garden before I put out.”

“Hooters?”

“Deal.”

They killed fifteen minutes ripping on each other, much to the amusement of the sound crew.

“Okay, Trent, Dred. Thanks for that.” Pam was back, looking slightly more harassed than the last time they’d seen her. “We have some tattooers set up for you to—”

“Tattoo artists,” Trent corrected.

“Sorry,” Pam said. “
Tattoo artists
set up for you to work with to see how you would interact with the contestants.”

It was a total mixed bag. A kid, Johnno, who didn’t look much older than twenty and an older guy, Buck, who had been tattooing most of his life. A woman, Daisy, who reminded him so much of Lia it was uncanny.

“You don’t need to change from your liner to your shader if you’re doing such a small touch-up on the line there. Just turn it sideways so the needles line up straight, like this,” Trent instructed, motioning for Daisy to move out of her chair so he could sit. He picked up the shader to show her what he meant.

“Need to win a tattoo parlor, buddy?” Dred laughed at him for sitting in the contestant’s chair.

“Come over and learn something so you can stop with all the ‘That looks deadly, man’ crap you’ve been spouting all afternoon.”

One face wash with industrial-strength soap and a few hours later, he was back with Michael.

“You did awesome today. I’m really pleased with what I saw. We gotta put the tapes in front of our target audience, but you brought just the kind of vibe to the set that we hoped you would. We managed to get everything we need today, so we don’t need you to come in again tomorrow. Safe trip back, Trent. I have a feeling I’ll be back in touch with very good news soon.”

Thankful that Michael’s assistant had been able to get him onto the earlier flight the next morning, Trent turned down Dred’s invite for another night of drinking and opted for an early night at the hotel. Half asleep, his thoughts drifted to Harper.

Hours later, he was rudely awakened by the shrill ringtone of his cell phone. He opened one eye to look at the clock on the nightstand. Five o’clock. He grabbed the phone and saw Cujo’s ugly mug staring up at him. With one arm over his eyes, he answered.

“This better be good, Cuj,” he answered groggily.

“Sorry to wake you, man, but the front of the studio was vandalized overnight. Just got here to open up.” Christ. He rubbed his hand over his face to wake up.

“How bad? Did they smash the glass?”

“No,” Cujo responded. “Just some spray paint on the glass outside. We’ll try and scrub it off.”

“What did they spray?” He hoped it wasn’t something totally offensive. Tattoo shops weren’t always the most wanted stores as neighbors, the middle-America crowd a little scared of the kind of clientele they could sometimes attract.

“That’s the weird part, it seems like Italian.
Amor condusse noi ad una morte,
” Cujo offered in a butchered Italian accent.

“Could be worse, I suppose.” Trent yawned. “Hate to do this but we should call it in to the police. If it doesn’t come off, we’ll need a police report for the insurance I guess.”

“Junior would be disappointed in you.” Cujo laughed.

“Yeah, well. If the little shit who did it had stuck around, maybe you could have offered him an apprenticeship.”

Once a cleanup plan was agreed upon, Trent hung up. At least whoever did it had shown a little bit of class.
Love brought us to one death
. A famous quote by Francesca in the second circle, canto five. If he weren’t so pissed off, he’d be impressed.

*   *   *

“It’s him, Lydia. I know it is,” Harper said into the phone. She paced the break room, dragging a hand through her hair.