Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set (4 page)

I approach her hospital room and nod to the guy working security at her door and show him my badge. He remembers me from earlier today and waves me in. I knock lightly before I open the door.

“Miss Colby, I wondered if I…,”

“Can I help you somehow?” I am cut off by some brown-haired guy sitting at her bedside, looking at me with an attitude. Who the hell is this fucker? Before I can respond, Miss Colby speaks up.

“Detective Pierce?” Her voice is soft and laced with surprise. “Is that you?”

“Yes, it is,” I reply, turning my attention away from the joker with the attitude. “I promised to be in touch after I checked out the car. And I have a few more questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, no I don’t mind,” she says. “Please, come in.” I enter the room still eyeing the guy sitting by the bed and I note, with interest, that he eyes me just as warily. “Detective, this is my brother,” Miss Colby says softly. “Lucas Colby.”

“I’m sorry, Detective,” he says standing up and offering me his hand. “It’s been a small challenge trying to keep the reporters at bay.”

“No problem,” I respond, shaking his hand firmly. “I understand.” The relief I feel with the knowledge that this man is Miss Colby’s brother is very disconcerting to me. Why the fuck do I care?

“I was actually just about to go and cancel my sister’s credit cards but, I’d like to hear about your investigation first,” he says.

“You have news of my car, Detective?” Miss Colby asks.

“Yes, ma’am. We did locate your Maserati,” I answer. Turning to her brother, I add, “And you might want to hold off on canceling those cards for now.”

“Why is that, Detective?” The sound of her voice is alluring for some reason. It’s almost … hypnotic.
Focus on the job, Pierce!

“Miss Colby, we recovered your purse. It was inside your car with most of its contents still in it.”

“My phone?”

“Yes, your cellphone was there. Along with a hairbrush, a chap stick and your wallet.”

“And the credit cards were still there?” Lucas Colby asks with surprise.

“An American Express, a Visa and three department store cards. Along with eighteen dollars cash,” I respond.

“Yes,” Miss Colby says brightly, “that sounds right.”

“You don’t look happy, Detective,” Mr. Colby says. “What aren’t you saying?”

I look at Lucas Colby and then back at his sister. Perhaps it’s a good thing he’s here. It will save me the trouble of tracking him down to ask these questions later. “Miss Colby … we’re a little concerned that both your purse and your car were stolen and then recovered so quickly and almost completely intact.”

“I don’t understand, Detective,” she says softly.

“Well, your car was found parked and locked, just one street over from where you were assaulted. It’s in perfect condition. And, if I’m not mistaken, that’s exactly two streets over from your apartment building.”

“Yes.” She shrugs at me and I can tell it’s still not sinking in. I glance up at her brother and he’s looking at me with dawning apprehension.

“Miss Colby, the only items we still haven’t recovered are your driver’s license and your keys.” I watch her carefully and I slowly see the understanding come.

“But … if they didn’t want my car and they didn’t want my money or my credit cards … well, that means, whoever did this to me … just wanted … to scare me? To terrorize me?”

“It could just be a random, senseless act of violence. Or it could be something else entirely. We think maybe whoever did this is trying to send you some type of message,” I tell her. “We think maybe he followed you to that market last night. That he’s trying to prove that he can get to you whenever he wants.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispers. Her voice is full of fear and I have to fight the urge to wrap my arms around her.
Shit, Pierce! What is your problem?

“Miss Colby, can you think of anyone who might want to harm you?” I ask her softly, trying desperately to focus.

“No,” she says, and her tears are flowing freely from her swollen eye. I take a handkerchief from my pocket and gently place it in her hand. She gasps softly, and I am briefly reminded of the first time our hands touched. I frown at the confusion I’m feeling.

“Thank you,” she whispers, dabbing gently at her swollen eye.

“Miss Colby,” I say, trying hard to concentrate on my job, “this is very important. Are you sure that you can’t think of anyone? Perhaps someone who has a personal grudge against you? Someone you may have argued with recently? Someone you work with?”

“No,” she gasps. “There’s no one.”

“Detective, my sister is the sweetest person in the world,” Mr. Colby says. “Everyone loves her!”

I nod at him. “I understand that, Mr. Colby. But someone assaulted your sister last night and now it’s looking like she may have been targeted specifically. Is there any chance that this could be connected to your family’s business somehow?”

“Colby Coring?” he asks with a look of shock on his face and I nod. Colby Coring, Inc. The place is like an institution around here. The company designs and manufactures specialized, diamond-tipped drilling bits for use in construction, mining, and even off-shore oil rigs. It was founded by Andrew Christopher Colby, or AC for short, back in the mid 1920’s. AC Colby was their great-grandfather, and Colby Coring became one of those industries that helped put Seattle on the map. And from what I was able to determine last night, the company holds the patents on every drill bit they’ve ever designed, which makes their competition pretty much nil, and the Colby family billionaires.

I shrug at him. “An irate business rival perhaps? Maybe someone who has it out for your family?” He frowns at me and I get the feeling he’s thinking about something. I give him a look that lets him know I’m aware he’s mulling something over. “What is it, Mr. Colby?”

“Well, we do receive the occasional piece of hate mail. But it’s usually harmless, environmentalist crap.”

“Are any of them ever threatening?” I know it’s a long shot but, I have to ask.

“Not usually,” he responds. “But the ones that are … they only threaten to blow up oil rigs or the plants where the drill bits are manufactured. Things like that.”

I nod at him. “If it’s all the same to you, sir,” I tell him, “I’d like to have a look at any you’ve received recently.”

“Sure. We usually have our legal department hold on to that kind of thing for a couple months, I think,” he says. “I could have someone messenger it over to the PD tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I respond.

“Detective,” Miss Colby says, “you said this could just be some senseless act of random violence.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Isn’t that more likely than some sinister plot to target me?” Her voice is so hopeful and I want to reassure her that it’s all going to be okay. But I have to be honest with her.

“Miss Colby, there is a good chance that this is all just random. But it is more likely that whoever did this to you had a specific reason.” I know she doesn’t like my response. I don’t like giving it to her. But it’s the truth.

“Detective, you mentioned that my sister’s keys were not recovered?” Lucas Colby asks.

“That’s correct.”

He turns to his sister and says, “Look, Sam … I know you don’t want to hear this but, maybe you should go and stay with Mom for a while after you’re released from the hospital.”

“I am not going to let some lunatic scare me away from my own home,” she says very adamantly. “Besides … if I have to move back in with Mom, one of us will be dead inside of a week.”

I try to stifle a smile but, fail miserably. She’s obviously a very stubborn, very determined young woman with a twisted sense of humor. “You really shouldn’t say things like that in front of a cop, ma’am,” I say, trying to hide my amusement.

“Sorry,” she whispers with a small smile. I think she’s embarrassed and she flushes slightly, although it’s difficult to tell with the bruises.

“If you refuse to leave your place,” I continue, trying to regain my professionalism, “then you might want to consider having your locks changed before you return home.”

“Yes, I’ll see to that,” her brother says. “Thank you, Detective.”

I nod in response. “Also, if it’s okay with you, Miss Colby, I’d like to send a couple of uniformed officers over to your place just to check things out. Make sure this guy hasn’t paid you a visit.”

“Yes, please,” she says quietly.

“I’m going to go now. Miss Colby, you still have my card; please use it if you think of anything else.”

“Yes. Thank you, Detective Pierce,” she says softly.

“You’re most welcome, ma’am.” I nod at her brother once more, then turn and leave the room. Once the door closes behind me I stand for a second and take a deep breath, exhaling slowly.
Get a fucking grip on yourself, Pierce!

Chapter Three

Samantha

I can’t get away! I’m trying. I’m struggling and pulling but I can’t get away, he’s too strong! I push against this faceless monster with my hands. I push his head back as I struggle to free myself from his hold but his grip is like a vice. I push and I push and I see flames. Lots and lots of flames. Everywhere. I smell smoke! Burning. Burning. Then blinding pain.

I wake with a start and I’m sweating and panting. My hospital gown is sticking to my skin. A dream. It was just a dream.
More like a nightmare,
my subconscious smirks at me, and she is totally right. I look around the hospital room and glance up at the clock and see that it is early morning. Gingerly, so as not to hurt my sore ribs, I stretch and yawn when it hits me – I looked up at the clock and I could see it! I can see out of my swollen left eye! It’s such a small thing but it gives me great joy and I know that I will never take my eyesight for granted ever again. It was so strange not being able to see yesterday. When I was here in the hospital room alone, it was very isolating. Almost scary, in a way. But weirdly, I did notice that I paid a lot more attention to the sounds around me than I normally do. I heard things that I usually don’t even begin to consider. In a way, it was fascinating.

As I sit marveling at the wonders of eyesight and hearing, I feel a sudden and urgent need from my bladder, and since I now have at least one good eye, I feel adventurous enough to make the trip to the bathroom by myself. It was so frustrating not being able to do this on my own yesterday, having to depend on the nurse or my mom, or worse – Lucas, to help me. How embarrassing! I couldn’t even feed myself dinner last night; the nurse had to help me with that too.

Cautiously, I climb out of bed and I am happily surprised to find that I don’t hurt nearly as much as I did yesterday. My right shoulder is still a little sore and my ribs have a dull, nagging toothache kind of pain to them. But my head doesn’t hurt this morning and my face feels a lot better. Once I’m on my feet, I take hold of the IV stand and move slowly toward the bathroom. When I finally arrive at my destination and answer nature’s call, I stand to move over to the sink and wash my hands and I am horrified when I look up and into the mirror. My good mood at having my eyesight back quickly evaporates. I look as though I’ve just gone two or three rounds with Mike Tyson. My left eye is still quite swollen, although I can imagine it must have looked ten times worse yesterday. I have a small cut on my bottom lip and the whole upper left side of my face is a really impressive shade of lavender while the upper right side of my face is covered with the bandage over my right eye. Topped off with the eye patch, I look like a demented pirate.

Well, at least your hair is under control,
my subconscious mutters at my reflection. I examine the long brown braid hanging over my left shoulder and smile to myself. That’s something, at least. Usually, my hair and I have a very tumultuous love-hate relationship going on but, right now, it has decided to play nice. Probably because it feels sorry for me.

I find a fresh washcloth and toothbrush in the bathroom and very gently and guardedly wash my face and brush my teeth. I feel loads better when I’ve finished. I give myself another once over in the mirror and decide that it’s as good as it’s going to get. Slowly I make my way back to the bed and climb in just as a nurse ventures in with my breakfast. She checks my vitals and tells me that the doctor will be around soon to determine if the bandages will come off today, and she seems pleased that the swelling in my left eye has gone down enough that I can now see. No doubt happy that I no longer require assistance to eat and pee. As she’s turning to leave, I notice that she has a small tattoo of shooting stars on the inside of her wrist and it triggers something in my brain. I remember the flames. And the smell of smoke.

The nightmare that woke me this morning was about my assault and my attacker had a tattoo … of flames? Yes. Flames and a heart. On his neck, I think? I can’t be sure. The image puzzles me. Was it just a dream or did he actually have a tattoo? And was the smell of smoke real, or just subconsciously connected to the flames? Am I making this up? As I eat my breakfast of oatmeal topped with dried fruit and whole wheat toast, I can’t get the image out of my head. I am obsessed with it. I get an idea and begin looking around the room for a notepad but, there’s nothing and I slump back on the bed, frustrated. I am still thinking about it an hour later when Megan breezes in.

“What is with the muscle at the door?” she asks with a bright smile.

Megan is my very bubbly, very beautiful cousin. She also just happens to be my best friend in the entire world. Megan and I are just a few months apart in age so we were raised like sisters. And since our Dads were twin brothers, we did just about everything together growing up. She is the yin to my yang. We are complete opposites in just about every way. She is fair haired while I’m a brunette. She is chatty and outgoing while I am introverted and often shy. She is movie star pretty while I’m average, at best. I endeavor to stay out of the tabloids while she is a media darling. She is confident and experienced with men while I am … anything but. Meg and I went to the University of Washington together and took a lot of the same classes. But while I focused on my studies, Meg focused on boys. She is now engaged to marry Scott Dublin, son of Jasper Dublin, the media mogul, while I’m working at the art museum. The only thing we really have in common, besides our last name and a fierce loyalty to one another, is the color of our eyes – bright green. A Colby family trait.