Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set (7 page)

“You’re my friend, Guy,” he says quietly. “I just want to help you.”

“I’ll let you know when I need help, Conner.” I shoot him a pissed off grimace and he looks away, disgusted. I sigh and roll my eyes. He’s the one who’s overstepping here so why the hell do I feel guilty?
Because he is your friend, that’s why.
“I’m sorry, man,” I mumble.

“Nope. No need,” he says. “Just think about what I said. And are you gonna sit on that arrest report all damn day or what? Gimme that thing!” He snatches the report from my hands with a grin and waves me off. Just as well, since I certainly wasn’t able to concentrate on it. But for the next hour, all I can concentrate on are his words about happiness and I know what my problem is. It’s not that I don’t think I deserve happiness. I just don’t believe it exists. Not the kind he’s talking about.

At lunchtime, I mumble something about heading downtown to grab a sandwich and I slip out of the station unnoticed. I may grab something for lunch. But as soon as I ease behind the wheel of the cruiser I know that my intended destination is the hospital. I have fought the urge all morning long and now I can’t fight it anymore. I have to see her and I don’t even know why. I don’t have an excuse this time; I have no idea what I’m going to say to her, what reason I’m going to give her for my being there. But I don’t give a shit. Right now, I couldn’t care less about saving face. Right now, all that matters is seeing her.

I pull into the hospital parking lot and run my hands through my hair in agitation. Or maybe it’s nervousness, I don’t know. What the hell am I doing here?
What the hell am I doing here?
I take a deep breath and exit the car. As I walk through the hospital corridors, I suddenly have the strangest sense of … something, in my stomach. Like a fluttering sensation. Fuck. Butterflies? Really? Is this what I’ve been reduced to? Like some fucking love-struck teenager?
Whoa, slow down, cowboy!
Who the fuck said
anything
about love? The thought halts me in my tracks.

Okay. This is seriously beginning to freak me out. I stand in the middle of a hospital corridor and run my hands through my hair once more. What the fuck am I doing here? Why have I come? What do I expect to happen?
What do you want to happen, Pierce?
Hell of a question to ask when I’m standing just a few yards away from her room. And I still can’t even begin to form an articulate response. I feel so out of my depth right now. “Fuck it,” I sigh, and continue on to her room.

I nod to the security guy, who waves me on through, and knock lightly on the door. I slowly push open the door and step in, only she’s not in the bed. If she wasn’t in the room the security guy surely would have known that. The covers on the bed are messed up and I hear music. Glancing around, I notice that the television is tuned to a video station and John Rzeznik is singing about how he’d give up forever to touch her.
I think I know exactly how he feels right now.
I turn to head back out of the room but I hear what sounds like splashing water coming from the bathroom. “Miss Colby,” I call out.

Just then, the water stops and the door opens abruptly and she walks out pushing her IV stand with her.
Wow, she looks great.
She’s wearing a white tank top and a pair of thin, light blue sweat pants. The kind that hugs a woman low around the hips and ties in the front, showing off a flat stomach and whatever she’s packing in the rear – which in Miss Colby’s case appears to be a sweet little piece. But the real revelation is her face. The swelling over her left eye has improved greatly. It’s still slightly puffy around her eyebrow and still a bit discolored but, now I can clearly see her amazing green eyes. Both of them, since the bandage over her right eye has been removed. Her chestnut brown hair is no longer confined to a braid and it’s flowing over shoulders in soft waves.
Wow!
That photo I found of her online did not do her justice. Miss Colby is not merely pretty, she is a full-fledged knock out.

“Detective!” Her voice registers her surprise at seeing me.

“Hello, Miss Colby. You look … really well,” I say distractedly.

“Thank you,” she says softly. She pushes a strand of her long, silky looking hair behind her ear and blushes slightly. “The doctor removed the bandage and examined my eye just this morning. She said it looks great. There’s talk of releasing me as early as this evening.”

“That is wonderful news,” I say, smiling at her. And I really am happy for her. Even though I know it means once she leaves the hospital I won’t have an excuse to see her anymore. Unless maybe I lure her to the station under the pretense of talking about her case. My smile fades as that realization sets in.

“Did you have news on my case?” she asks as she moves over to the bed and slowly climbs up on top of the covers and silences the TV.

“Well, yes and no,” I respond walking further into the room and coming to a stop near the end of the bed. “The prints we lifted off your car and purse don’t match any we have already on file. The hate mail from your family’s company didn’t turn up anything interesting, and the sweep we did of your apartment didn’t turn up anything either. I did show your sketch of the tattoo around the station hoping that maybe one of the guys might recognize it. My partner and I also canvased some of the local tattoo shops but, to no avail. No one seemed to know anything.”

“But, how can that be?” she asks sort of mournfully. “I had another nightmare about the attack last night,” she says softly. “I’m more certain than ever that he had that tattoo.” Her voice is full of sadness and I am momentarily distracted by her pout.

“It doesn’t mean that you were wrong about the tattoo, Miss Colby,” I try to reassure her. “It could just mean that our guy didn’t get the tat from one of the local shops. He could have gotten it anywhere,” I shrug. “Or it could mean that we just didn’t run across the right shop or the right person yesterday. There are a lot of tattoo parlors in this city and we’ve only hit a handful of them so far.”

She nods at my explanations and then appears to be thinking something over. Her pout deepens and I have to stifle a groan when she gently bites down on her bottom lip, clearly deep in thought. And I am lost trying to figure out why that simple gesture was so freaking hot when I hear her softly say, “We may never know who did this.”

I blink at her words and I suddenly feel so useless. And I realize in that moment, that I would do anything to make this all right for her. To find the asshole who hurt her and put him away in order to make her feel safe again. Hell, that’s why I got into this line of work in the first place, wasn’t it? To help protect those who weren’t big enough or strong enough to protect themselves. And out of nowhere, an image of my mother lying crumpled and bloodied on the living room floor flashes briefly and unbidden through my mind. That was the night he broke her jaw. I feel anger course throughout my body and my fists involuntarily clench at my sides.
Calm down, Pierce. It’s just a memory.
I take a couple of deep breaths and try to rein it in.

“Miss Colby … I would love to promise you that I will find whoever did this to you,” I say quietly. “But I can’t make that promise. All I can promise is that I’ll do my job to the best of my ability.” I hold her gaze for what feels like an eternity and I think she is assessing my earnestness.

She nods slowly. “Thank you, Detective,” she says softly.

“You said that you had another nightmare last night. Did you remember anything else?” I ask her. “Some detail about his facial features, maybe?”

She is quiet for several seconds and then says apologetically, “No, I’m sorry. I just keep seeing that tattoo on his neck and smelling the cigarette smoke.”

“If you remembered anything more we could maybe have you work with a sketch artist,” I tell her. “But until we have something more to go on … I’m afraid there’s not much we can do.”

She looks so sad and I watch as she silently wipes a few stray tears from her cheeks. I feel like a bastard for telling her this but, it’s the truth.

“Do you still think this was done to me purposely?” she asks.

I give her a shrug of my shoulders and a shake of my head. “Honestly, Miss Colby, I’m just not sure. But without more to go on, it is looking more like a random incident.” But even as I say the words I can feel that gnawing at my gut again. Something about her assault just doesn’t make any sense and I know that I’m not wrong, but I don’t want to give her any false hope or scare her needlessly. “This doesn’t mean we’re finished. I will continue to canvas the area tattoo parlors. And if you remember anything else … like maybe a make and model of the beat-up car the smoking man was in … or anything else, anything at all, no matter how unimportant you think it might be, please call me.”

She looks up at me and smiles slightly. It’s a sad sort of smile that beckons to me somehow and again, I find myself fighting the urge to wrap my arms around her. Involuntarily, I take a step back away from the bed.

“Thank you for all you’ve done, Detective,” she says softly.

“You are most welcome, ma’am.” I stare at her for a beat too long and suddenly feel like an idiot. “I should go. You take care of yourself.” She nods but says nothing and I head for the door. I glance back and give her a small smile, then open the door and leave.

*****

I can hear the music playing from the street as I get out of my car. Sly and the Family Stone singing about the skin they’re in. Not loud enough to call the cops but, loud enough to know that the party is in full swing. It’s early evening and it’s nice out, not a cloud in the sky so, I give an affectionate pat to the hood of my Charger and head toward the front yard. Usually, whenever I take her anywhere where she’s going to be out of my sight for a few hours, I would lock her up and cover her before walking away. But tonight, I don’t plan to be out long. I promised Turner that I would stop by tonight so, I’m here just to make an appearance. Plus, he barbeques a mean rib so, it won’t be too bad.

Actually, I don’t mind coming to these things, these old timers’ gatherings. Back in the day, they used to refer to them as ‘choir practice,’ or maybe ‘poker night.’ Idly, I wonder if they still call them that. It’s nothing formal. Just every so often, all the older cops pick someone’s house and bring a bunch of booze and some food, and they hang out telling tall tales and reliving the exciting cases and generally blowing off some steam. Sometimes they can get pretty wild. People get drunk and say all sorts of shit you may or may not want your spouse, girlfriend, or significant other to hear so, there are never any spouses, girlfriends, or significant others in attendance. Just the guys – or girls, as long as that girl is also on the job. Choir practice is an equal opportunity event; as long as everyone there is a cop, what gender you are doesn’t matter. In the last few years though, they have become sort of ‘invitation only.’

I’ll never forget the first time I came to one of these things. It was at Detective Lee Parson’s place and he had asked me himself. Came right up to me in the locker room. I had only been on the job maybe four or five months, and in that time only a few of the old timers had even acknowledged my presence. I was just another rookie to them. I was more than a little nervous, wondering if any of them knew who I was or if they would even remember me. When Parson came up to me and invited me to his place later that night, I was still left wondering. But when I got there, all the questions soon got answered…

~~~~~~~~

The first thing I notice when I step into Parson’s backyard and take a look around is that I seem to be the only rookie here. And then the more I look around, it quickly dawns on me that not only am I the only rookie, but I’m the only young guy here too. Everyone else is older, not even any of the seasoned younger guys from the station seem to be here. Nervously, I run a hand through my hair and walk a little further into the yard feeling extremely self-conscious.

There are a few old patio tables in the yard and guys sitting around drinking and shooting the breeze. A few of them look up when they see me and some of them nod in greeting. Others just stare like they’re waiting for my first act to begin. Yeah, I guess you could say that I feel like I’m on display.

“
Hey, kid, want a beer?” someone asks me and I glance over to where one of the guys is standing by a big cooler.

“
Yeah, sure,” I mumble gratefully and walk over to examine the contents of the cooler. It’s full to the brim with just about every brand you can think of. “Nice variety,” I mumble with raised eyebrows.

“
That’s because it’s all confiscated,” he says with a smirk. “Why pay for beer for a party when we can just collect it?”

I chuckle as I grab a Corona and open it up, wishing I had a slice of lime. “Thanks,” I say to the guy that offered. As I take a swig, I realize that I recognize this guy as one of the cops that used to come to my house a lot when I was a kid. The thought is a little sobering and I take a few moments to look around the yard, examining the faces in attendance. And as I do, I realize that there are many faces here that I remember. They’re all a little older now but, so am I. And I find myself wondering again for about the hundredth time if any of these guys remember all the shit that went down in my house when I was a kid.

I notice that there’s an empty table off to the side so I saunter over and take a seat. I’m looking around and wondering what the hell I’m doing here when suddenly Parson and Marcos both take a seat at the table.

“
So, how have you been, Guy?” Parson looks me right in the eye and uses a name I have not heard in several years. The name they all used to call me when I was a kid. And all of a sudden my heart is pounding in my chest and I start to sweat. I look from one man to the other and they both return my nervous gaze just as calm as you please, and I think I see a smile playing at the corners of Parson’s mouth.

“
Um … I’ve … I’ve been okay,” I mumble. I swallow nervously, and I realize that I’m clutching my bottle of Corona like my life depends on it. Marcos smiles at my response and Parson watches me closely.