Hidden Sins (18 page)

I knew I’d told myself I’d turn around if she were busy, but I couldn’t. I was anchored to the floor, anchored to her process, anchored to her unveiling. I needed to watch her work. I needed to see the layers as they were peeled back, my layers.

Mia’s head bobbed up and down slightly, as her brush touched the canvas, bringing swirls of crimson alive next to my hair. Another brush, a different stroke added a streak of black along the base. But the eyes, she wasn’t touching the eyes. I didn’t even know how long I’d stood there. Nothing shook me from my position. I was mesmerized until I heard her mutter that she had finished. Even with that admission, I still couldn’t move. I needed answers. I wanted to know how she saw that in me. I felt so exposed. Not violated, just unmasked by an almost stranger.

There were so many evils in this world, many of which I carried close to my heart, and it was as if her painting caught them all, exposed them all to the world in a violent blaze of color. A shiver ran through me as I watched her clean her brushes. Every so often she’d glance at the piece, and I wondered what she was thinking, what drove her to paint it, to paint me. I didn’t have enough courage to ask, not yet. Not to mention I already felt as if I were prying, watching a personal dance between artist and work.

“Hey,” Mia’s voice was kind. “You okay?”

I looked away from the painting, my eyes focusing on Mia. “How do you know? How did you capture it?”

“I’m sorry?” Mia asked, not following my line of questioning. She wiped her hands on a towel and walked over to me. “You can come in.” She bit her lip and held out her hand, which I took. She led me through the studio. There were various sized canvases stacked along different tables, along with tubes of paint, pencil sketches, and other works in different stages of completion.

“It’s just…” I began. “I don’t know how you captured everything…everything I feel, think.”

Mia squeezed my hand before letting it go as we stood in front of the painting. “I apologize for not getting your permission to paint you. I just had to get it on canvas before the inspiration left, literally.” Mia stopped herself. “I shouldn’t have.”

“Please don’t apologize. I’m in complete awe. I don’t understand how you saw this, all this.” I gestured to the emotion rolling off the canvas.

Mia smiled. “It’s not as difficult as you might think to read you, Hannah. You wear your emotions for everyone to see, or in some cases, lack of emotion.”

“Oh,” I whispered.

Mia turned to face me. “Do you know what bothered my brother more than walking in on Sean and me?”

“What?” I asked, shaking my head.

“Seeing this painting. It wasn’t finished when he saw it, but it was the portrait that tore him up. Sean just happens to be the poor guy he’ll take it out on. And believe me, he’ll take it out on him.”

I laughed. “I don’t doubt that. He was pretty upset about Sean. I don’t think it was the painting.”

Mia shook her head. “Nope. That’s how I operate. I don’t do relationships and sometimes certain things need to be taken care of. I’m sure you can relate. My brother and I don’t go there in conversation, but he’s well aware of my late-night tendencies for a booty call. So whatever he led you to believe, my dear, is not the case. It was the painting that caught him off-guard. It’s you that catches him off-guard.”

My mouth was dry with her confession. It was such personal information to share with someone she barely knew. Not to mention, I never would’ve guessed it. She seemed like the relationship-type girl.

“Sorry. I hope that wasn’t too much information,” Mia replied, grinning. “I’m pretty open about it, but I’m getting the feeling you’re not…”

I shook my head. “I actually...” I stopped speaking and looked back at the painting. “I can’t really relate. I’ve never felt the need for anything to be taken care of, so to speak.”

I can’t believe I just told an almost stranger about my bedroom leanings, or lack thereof.

“Oh. I had no idea. I didn’t even think…” She reached out and touched my arm. “Sorry. I shouldn’t assume everyone is as emotionally bankrupt as I am.”

I let out a laugh. “That’s impossible.”

“What’s impossible?”

“You being emotionally bankrupt. I mean look at your work. You capture the very essence of being human, having emotion. You couldn’t do that if you were bankrupt.”

Mia laughed, “Touché.”

Besides, I was the one emotionally bankrupt.

“The eyes. Is that really how you see them, see mine?” I asked, glancing back at the painting.

“At times.” She nodded, crossing her arms. “I know there’s a lot of pain you’re carrying around. I recognize it because I was there once, where you are. I’m sure there are different causes for each of us, but I see it. So did my brother. I’m sure that’s what messed him up at Starbucks when he ran into you. He’s very perceptive, to a fault. He’s got an amazing heart, and he always wants to fix things, fix people.”

“Some situations can’t be fixed. Some people can’t be fixed,” I said, pressing my lips together.

“True. And that’s something I’ve been trying to tell him for a long time.” She bent down and turned off the music. “Has he told you anything about why he started the business?”

“The security firm?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I shook my head.

“Well, that’s his story to share, but I can share my story with you. Maybe that will stop you from running away from us. At least so soon.”

Her words were like a blade to the soul. She knew I wanted to run. I really was transparent.

I shook my head and followed her out of the studio, back down to the kitchen.

“I don’t know about you, but I need some white tea, or I’ll never get to sleep tonight,” she said, her voice cheerful.

“Sounds great,” I said, sliding onto the stool. “It probably didn’t help that I had coffee.”

She put a kettle of water on the stove and grabbed loose tea from the pantry, sprinkling it into the infusers.

“My brother filled me in briefly about you. Or at least what he thinks he’s learned about you. Sometimes data retrieval and triangulation isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Humans are complex beings.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I won’t pretend to know that I understand your views on anything, your reasons for wanting to hide. But I can tell you that I understand feeling like you can’t trust anyone.” She poured the boiling water into the mugs and placed one in front of me. I looked at the colorful pieces floating around, imagining what she was going to tell me. Nothing came to mind.

“There’s a method to my brother’s madness. We all have our ways of dealing with fear. It takes some of us longer than others to come to terms with it,” Mia said, sitting next to me.

“Agreed,” I said, taking the infuser out of the mug.

“Our parents were murdered,” Mia replied bluntly, her gaze landing on mine. “By our aunt and uncle. More specifically, my dad’s brother and sister-in-law were the murderers. Truth be told, we don’t even know who all was involved, how many family members. Hence, Fort Knox and my brother’s obsession with security.”

A lump formed in the back of my throat as grief entered me from every direction. My mind flashed to my sister and my best friend; the loss I’d been doing so well at pushing out, but even with keeping it in the proper compartment, it was daring to expose itself.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice hoarse as I attempted to hold back the tears.

“It’s okay. It was many years ago. We’ve had years to work through it. Although, I say work through it rather loosely since apparently my brother and I can’t form personal meaningful relationships, for the most part.” She smiled, trying to infuse humor, but I felt the pain—understood the pain—she was talking about.

“Grief is a difficult thing to understand,” I whispered.

“I’m not sure it’s meant to be understood,” she replied. “But it certainly does mold us, doesn’t it?”

I nodded, thinking about my mom. I left her, but I couldn’t trust her. I couldn’t trust anyone. But that didn’t make the pain any less. It wasn’t like I could just cut them off from my memory. It wasn’t like I didn’t have good memories to go along with the bad ones.

“I never would’ve guessed my aunt and uncle could be so evil. Blood relatives willing to kill their own brother and his wife?” Mia shook her head. “It made me think about being human in much different terms. Therapist after therapist and nothing felt better. I felt no better. It was as if language betrayed me. I could find no words, so I began painting, and I’ve never stopped.” Mia let out a sigh before taking a sip of tea.

“And grief for the living. That’s almost worse isn’t it?” she asked, looking at me.

That was it! That was what she captured in the painting; my grief for the living—the ghosts of my past that wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t stop following me no matter how far I ran. I thought of my mom and the life I’d left behind. It didn’t matter what reason drove me to leave, I still missed them, or the idea of who I wanted them to be.

“Yeah. Grief for the living can be worse,” I confessed, taking a sip of my tea and praying that there was a way to leave it all far behind.

Luke

I was at the office, going through paperwork for one of our jobs that had just ended, trying to distract myself from the encounter with Hannah several nights earlier. Work was usually all-absorbing, and that was what I counted on, especially this morning. But I was just exhausted, mentally fatigued. And instead of letting go of Hannah like I should have, I placed a guy on her. Something told me she was about to flee, and the least I could do was make sure that wherever she ran to, she’d arrive safely. What was the old saying? If you love something? I laughed at myself. Loved? Lack of sleep certainly wasn’t a stabilizing force in my life.

I turned my attention back to the case I was marking as closed. It had brought us a lot of money, and it had a happy ending. I should be elated. A man we’d been tailing had finally been arrested before anything devastating happened. In my mind, one of the little flaws of our criminal justice system was waiting for the worst-case scenario to occur before any actual law enforcement happened. That was the benefit of hiring private security firms, but how many people could actually afford to do so? Very few.

Stalkers generally got slapped on their hands as if they were just being naughty, and it wasn’t until someone was hurt that the law was really enforced. When had a piece of paper ever defended someone who really needed protection? When had it deterred someone who wanted to cause harm to someone else? It was a travesty. The general public only heard of the high-profile celebrity cases, but the truth was that with social media and other ways of creating connections, average citizens were the bulk of reported cases. Unfortunately, because they didn’t have the celebrity presence behind them, their cases didn’t always end so favorably. And that was exactly what I didn’t want to have happen to Hannah. It wasn’t a case of stalking so much as attempted kidnapping. Or at least that was my assumption based on the evidence at hand. She knew something that someone wanted kept quiet and people were trying to make that happen. What I needed was to find out more information, but I kept hitting quite a few dead ends. If she would only open up, I’d have a shot.

My laptop beeped, and I saw a status update had just come in from Kenneth about the senator and his mistress. Apparently the wife didn’t take very kindly to having the mistress guarded by our team. She was planning on going to the tabloids and didn’t care who all went down with her. In my book, she was definitely the one who’d sent the letters to the mistress. The senator still wanted Kenneth working on the case, so we would comply. It was definitely going to make the national news. The senator was going to need a good PR firm too.

My phone rang and I saw Sean’s number coming in on the hardline. Did I really want to talk to him?

Not really.

Was I really mad at him about my sister?

Doubtful.

They were both consenting adults. It was just bad timing.

 I ignored the call and thought back to the portrait my sister was painting, the one that stopped me in my tracks when I went into her studio. It wasn’t completed, but I knew it was Hannah. I had no idea what possessed my sister to paint it, but she was always an amazing visionary when it came to capturing life’s moments on canvas. I just wasn’t sure how Hannah would feel if she discovered it. Another thing I shouldn’t be giving the time of day to, I supposed. I needed to quit thinking of Hannah in terms of personal association. She’d made things quite clear by not returning any of my texts over the last several days. It also didn’t help my ego to find out that she hadn’t mentioned me once, not once, to Mia. My sister tried to let me down easily, but it didn’t work. If I’d heard that about any other woman, I seriously doubted I’d care. But with Hannah, the news was crushing. Crushing enough to make me want a cigarette, and I’d never picked up the habit.

My assistant, Kimberly, stuck her head in the office and smiled. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” I laughed, glancing in her direction. She was an attractive woman with long dark hair and a slim physique. Kimberly was working her way through law school. She worked harder than anyone I knew, and because of that I afforded her the flexibility in her work schedule for classes and studying. I didn’t care if she got her work done at noon or midnight; I knew I could count on her to do it, and that was what I valued more than regular hours.