“I’m not eighty.”
She giggled. “It seems you’ve been off since I showed up at the shelter.”
Maybe if I wasn’t still processing you and Kelton dancing, which meant groping each other, then I might have a clear head. Or maybe I could think if I didn’t feel responsible for Nadine, or you weren’t driving me mad with the urge to fuck your brains out.
I gently unhooked her hand from my arm.
She frowned.
“Business before pleasure.” I tipped my head at the Skins and Needles sign as I opened the door for her.
The bell dinged.
Shrugging, she sashayed in with a smile. “I like working with you.”
And I want to see you writhing underneath me as we roll around on the matted floor, naked, sweaty, and enjoying the heck out of each other.
Following her inside to an empty shop, I mentally slapped myself and kept slapping myself as I ogled her ass.
The light aroma of cigars trickled up my nose, probably from the shop next door. The buzz of the tattoo machine filtered in from behind the curtained-off room directly ahead of us.
Maggie planted her hands on the glass-enclosed counter that had sketches of colorful artwork displayed inside, much like a jewelry case. She glanced down while I moseyed over to the loveseat near the curtain. Above the loveseat hung the business owner’s license. Syd Wells was the name on the fancy paper.
“Hello,” I said to no one.
“They’re probably busy,” Maggie added, checking out sketches as though she were deciding which tattoo she wanted. “I’m sure they heard the bell.”
“I’ll be right out,” a male voice said.
I sauntered over to Maggie. “Which one do you want?” I wondered if she was sporting any tats underneath her clothes.
Her head came up. “Oh, hell no. I hate needles.” She touched her neck.
I imagined that Cory was the reason she didn’t like sharp objects. I didn’t get a chance to ponder or speculate before a large man with scraggly blond hair emerged.
He wiped his hands on a towel. “How can I help?”
“Are you Syd?” I asked.
His beady hazel eyes shifted back and forth between us. “Who’s asking? Are you two cops?”
“I get that a lot,” Maggie said. “No.”
I snatched my wallet and produced Grace’s photo. “I’m looking for my sister, Grace Hart. We have reason to believe someone in this shop did some artwork on her. Have you seen her?”
Lowering his shoulders, Syd studied the photo while he scrubbed his dirty nails down his jaw. “That mark on her neck.” His head bobbed. “Her name isn't Grace. She goes by Emily.”
I swore an eighteen-wheeler came out of nowhere and smashed into me. I listed to one side.
Maggie’s hands were on me. “Easy, big guy.”
Syd threw his towel on the counter along with Grace’s photo. “Take him to the couch.”
Maggie guided me to the dilapidated couch, while Syd rummaged around in a cabinet near the curtain.
I sat down, staring at the dirty tiled floor. “You said her name was Emily.”
Sitting down, Maggie wrapped one arm around my back and put her other hand on my bicep.
