Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set (88 page)

I park the car and glance at the clock, knowing that she’ll be leaving to go have lunch at the club soon with her girlfriends. I take a deep breath as I exit the car and march to the front door with an air of determination. I’m greeted at the door by Juanita, mother’s maid, who smiles politely at me. But I don’t stop for our usual chitchat when I see my mother walk into the entryway wearing a puzzled expression.

“Samantha?” Her voice is a mixture of concealed shock and polished sweetness. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise, darling, but I’m just about to leave for the club. Is everything all right?” She is dressed impeccably, as usual, in smart black and white Chanel suite and she looks beautiful. Beautifully wicked.

“Yes, Mom. Everything is perfect,” I begin, my eyes never wavering from hers. “Don’t worry, I won’t keep you. I just stopped by to let you know that despite your best efforts at blackmail, and your attempt to come between me and Josh, things are great.”

She sighs heavily and puts on her disappointed face. “Samantha, I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why are you always so dramatic?”

“Really, Mom?” I stare at her in disbelief as my voice rises in anger. “You want to play this innocent game?”

“What am I being vilified for now, Samantha?” she asks with a roll of her eyes. “What have I supposedly done to upset you this time?”

“You are actually going to stand there and tell me that you didn’t try to blackmail Josh into leaving me?”

She is silent for a few seconds. And then, “I never offered him a single cent,” she says with a nasty sneer.

“Oh, but you would have if you thought he would have taken it,” I shoot back at her. “But why bother with trying to pay him to go away when you can just go for his jugular instead!” My words hit their mark and I watch as her mask of innocence falls.

“Samantha, that man is a cold-blooded killer who murdered his own father,” she yells at me. “You can’t tell me…”

“That is
not true!”
I scream at her, and my voice echoes through the large entryway we’re standing in. And I can see that my rage has taken my mother by surprise. She gapes at me with wide, startled eyes and appears genuinely shocked at the level of my fury. “Danny Pierce was a cruel, sadistic man who beat Josh and his mother on a daily basis. He tormented the two of them for Josh’s entire life. Josh was a scared, angry teenager who was backed into a corner that night, and he snapped! But he saved his mother’s life in the process. And you are an evil bitch for trying to use his pain against him!”

My body is trembling with anger and I can feel the unshed tears stinging my eyes as I continue to scream at her. “What is
wrong
with you? I don’t even know who you are. You say that you love me and you only want what’s best for me?”

“I do love you, Samantha. The best of everything is all I have ever wanted for you, and that man is not it!”

“Well, listen closely because I will not say this to you again,” I yell, pointing my finger at her to emphasize my point as the tears finally begin to fall. “You don’t ever get to decide what is best for me. We are done! Your little attempt to protect me from Joshua or to save me from myself has just blown up in your face. Because until you can respect the fact that this is my life and that I will decide how I want to live it, you are not welcome to be a part of it! Do you understand me? And if you do anything to hurt Josh’s job, I will never speak to you again!”

“You don’t mean that, Samantha. You cannot cut me out of your life!”

“Watch me!” I scream as I turn and stride to the door, opening it with a jerk and leaving it wide open as I exit and venture out to my car.

*****

I sit in my car in the parking lot of my apartment, feeling a myriad of emotions and not entirely certain about how I got here. I remember screeching out of my mother’s driveway, and I remember the tears. But I don’t remember much else about the drive back. Taking a deep breath, I reach into my glovebox and pull out a few tissues to dab at my eyes. Then I do a quick check of my face in the rearview mirror. Red and blotchy. Lovely.

I roll my eyes at my reflection and grab my purse as I climb out of my car, trying to force thoughts of Mom from my mind and focusing on the task at hand. Part of me misses my place and all of my things. I definitely miss my studio. But another part of me truly dreads the thought of being here. I don’t want to be bombarded by memories and flashbacks of my attack and I know that I will be. It’s unavoidable. And with all I need to accomplish while I’m here today, I may be stuck for at least a few hours.

Walking around to my trunk, I pull out the empty garment bag and suitcase that I’ve brought with me from Josh’s place and head inside. I smile demurely at the doorman on my way to the elevator and as I’m waiting for it, I glance anxiously around the lobby. I assumed Mr. Martin would meet me down here but, I don’t see him.
Well you’re a big girl, Sam. You can manage a few minutes on your own.
I roll my eyes at myself once more as I step into the elevator and the doors close in front of me.

I can do this. I can do this.
I chant to myself as I am whisked up to the top floor, taking several deep breaths and trying to steel myself for what’s about to come. And I’m slightly startled when I step off the lift and Martin is standing at my apartment door, waiting for me expectantly. I feel a small wave of relief. He smiles and nods his head at me as I approach.

“Good morning, Mr. Martin. Thank you for meeting me,” I say quietly.

“Miss Colby.”

I feel a little foolish as I take out my key and unlock the door. He probably thinks this is a ridiculous assignment. “Um, I’m sorry. I know you probably have a million other things you could be doing right now instead of babysitting me. I’m sure this will be a very boring few hours for you. I’ll try to speed things up if I can.”

“My job is to go wherever your brother and your uncle need me to, Miss Colby. I don’t mind being here; you take as long as you need, ma’am.”

I smile at his response and open the door slowly, and step inside. The living room area has been cleaned and there is hardly a trace that anything bad ever took place here. Only the out of place knickknack here or there. And I can smell the scent of cleaning products. I stand for a second or two and take a deep cleansing breath.
I can do this,
I chant once more as I close my eyes and try not to picture Timothy Echols looming over me with his hands grabbing at my body. The scent of cigarette smoke suddenly fills my nostrils and I jump, gasping loudly, glancing around with wide, startled eyes.

“Miss Colby?”

“I’m fine,” I whisper, slightly embarrassed. “Thank you.” Glancing at my watch, I see that I have close to an hour before Lola is due to arrive. I have a few things to take care of before she gets here so, I set my bags down and begin.

First, I head into the kitchen, trying to think of Mr. Martin as a piece of furniture or something. He’s standing near the doorway just looking around the apartment. I set about making a large pot of coffee and then I take three cups from the cupboard and make up the serving tray.

That task finished, I pick up my purse and my discarded luggage and turn to Martin. “Please feel free to help yourself to coffee when it’s ready. I need to take care of something in the other room.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

I take my bags into the bedroom then and set them on the bed and open them up. And then for the next half hour, I fill them both with more clothes and shoes from my closet and drawers. As I’m zipping up my suitcase, my phone buzzes.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby. You at the apartment yet?” His deep soft voice is full of concern, and I smile to myself.

“Yeah, I just got here a short while ago. Are you checking up on me, Detective?”

“I just want to make sure my girl’s all right,” he answers, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Martin’s there with you?”

“Yes, he is. I’m just waiting for Lola to get here.”

“You sure you’re okay,” he asks softly, and I know that I’m not fooling him. He really does know me so well already. But I don’t want to tell him about my run-in with Mom over the phone.

I hesitate for a moment and sigh. “I’m okay,” I say softly. “Just between you and me though … I can’t wait to get out of here and go back home.”

He is quiet for a moment and I can hear him breathing. “Home?” The word is softly spoken and full of mystery and wonder. Possibilities.

“Home,” I repeat softly, suddenly feeling a little anxious. Am I making him nervous by calling his place home?

“I can’t wait to get home myself,” he says softly.

“Are you having a bad day, Detective?”

“No. I just like being with you.” His words make me melt. He has a way of saying the sweetest, most romantic things sometimes.

“Oh, Josh,” I sigh.

“Listen, baby, I have to go. Time to question a suspect.” His voice has taken on that all-business tone he gets when he’s working, and I smile. “You remember what I said … if you need me, don’t hesitate to call, all right?”

“I’ll remember,” I promise, still smiling to myself. “Love you.” The words roll freely and easily off my tongue and, the moment they do, I get an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. What is that about? He already knows that I’m in love with him; I tell him all the time.
Maybe you’re just anxious that he won’t say it back over the phone.
Saying it at all is still very new to him, after all.

There is a brief pause from him, and I can imagine his startled look – eyes wide, blinking rapidly, one or both hands running through his hair. Then he’ll swallow nervously and frown. Yes, perhaps I already know him just as well as he already knows me.

“I love you.”

His words are spoken softly and timidly, almost as if he truly is afraid of them. But they make me smile just the same. He clears his throat then and says, “Call me later. Let me know when you finish up there, okay?”

Part of his strategy, I know, is to change the subject because he feels uncomfortable. But part of this is because he wants to check up on me and make sure I’m okay after spending time in my apartment. I like the fact that he worries about me; it makes me feel like I’m precious to him.

I promise to let him know when I’m finished, and we hang up then. And after I have both bags of luggage stuffed with as many clothes and shoes as I can fit in them, I take them out to the living room, along with both my gray ostrich and brown crocodile Birkins. As I enter, Martin sets his coffee mug down and hurries over from the kitchen.

“Let me get those for you, ma’am,” he says, taking them from me. “Where would you like them?”

“They can just sit by the door until we’re ready to leave. Thank you, Martin.” He nods curtly at me and sets the bags by the door.

“I’m expecting a friend any minute, Miss Lola Thorne. I’ll be upstairs in the studio, if you could show her up, please?”

“Yes, of course, ma’am.” I smile and nod at him and then head for the stairs. He makes me nervous, always hovering. I couldn’t live with security all the time, like this. It would drive me crazy.

I make my way upstairs and begin to pick up where I left off several days ago, going through all of my completed canvases and separating out the nudes. As I work, I realize that I have a few more than I originally thought. Almost two dozen of them in total, and about a third of them are in oil. When Lola arrives, I am standing back, appraising each one and feeling totally inadequate. They all look so amateurish to me. Why on earth anyone would be interested in looking at them is beyond me, but Lola seems to feel otherwise.

“Oh my Gosh, Sam. They are just exquisite,” she whispers in awe. “I wish I had one tenth of your talent!”

“Lola, you can’t be serious,” I say, feeling dismayed. “They look like a five year old painted them.”

“Are you out of your mind? Samantha … they’re beautiful! No five year old could ever come close! Your color palette is vibrant and bold and your subjects always appear so alive and animated. I almost expect them to move at any moment. I keep trying to place your style but it’s too complex. Your subjects are always gorgeous so, naturally I want to say Pre-Raphaelite but … I think that’s too simplistic. Your work is a combination, as if no one category is strong enough to hold you. You refused to be caged in!”

Her words stun me. I am speechless listening to her.

“Your sketches are truly remarkable but … you should paint more. These are magnificent,” she says definitively. Then she sighs heavily and says, “Well, I think I should take them all. We’ll get them back to the gallery and then you and I can go through them and decide which ones we want to include in the show, okay?”

“Okay,” I nod, deferring to her expertise. I head downstairs to get us coffee, and then stand aside and watch as Lola supervises two gallery workers as they carefully cover my canvases and carry them out of the studio, loading them into a waiting van. As they work, I pull out my iPad and show Lola a photograph of the reworked sketch of Josh sleeping that I’ve completed. It’s only slightly less beautiful than the original which shows his handsome face, but Lola flips over it.

“Oh, it’s perfect! And was he okay with it?” she asks, looking at me pointedly. “He’s okay with this version being shown?”

“Yes. As long as he’s not identifiable, it’s good to go,” I assure her.

“Wonderful!”

I chew my bottom lip for a second as I try to decide whether or not to show her something else.
Oh, what the heck!
Taking a deep breath, I scroll to another picture on my iPad. “Lola, I wanted to show you these,” I say somewhat bashfully, wondering what she’ll think. “Um … I know for this show, you’re only interested in my nudes but, I just wondered what you thought of them.”

I show her pictures of the series of sketches I’ve drawn of Josh working out. It’s become one of my favorite things to do, and I now have sketch after sketch to prove it. He’s always such a willing model, I just can’t help myself. Whenever he’s in his exercise room and I wander in, sketchbook in hand, he doesn’t say a word. He’ll just get this small smile on his face and then try to ignore me as I capture every angle of his perfect form. There are sketches of him performing various exercises, like lifting weights, doing push ups, and sit ups, and pull ups. There are even sketches of him running on his treadmill and sparring with a boxing bag.