Tattooed (24 page)

After they ate—Kate savouring every delicious bite—Corazon pulled her car keys from her pocket and gave Muriel a brief hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget, you promised to show me how to prune roses.”

Muriel nodded. “Make sure you wear long pants. You don’t want to get pricked.”

Kate walked Corazon to the door. “Thank you.”

Corazon smiled. “She’s a nice lady. Have a good evening.”

Kate closed the door, securing the dead bolt.

“Enid! Enid! Come quickly,” Muriel called. “
Fawlty Towers
is on.”

Kate walked into the sitting room.

Brulée had curled up on Muriel’s lap. “Here’s a little treat for you,” Muriel said, holding a piece of cookie to the cat’s muzzle. He took it from her fingers delicately and ate it, directing a look of superiority at the two dogs who sat at attention at Muriel’s feet.

“Don’t worry, doggies, I saved some for you.” Muriel bit into the cookie and broke off two pieces. “There you go, Charlie. And here’s yours—” she paused, searching her memory for the husky’s name “—handsome.”

She glanced up when Kate walked in. “I thought you were Enid. Where is she?” Her gaze was anxious.

“She’s at the doctor’s.”

Muriel glanced out the window. “But it’s late.”

“She’ll be home soon,” Kate said. “I promise.”

“But when?”

“When the doctor tells her she’s better.”

The canned laughter from the television show caught Muriel’s attention.

While she watched the show, Kate watched her. Every few minutes, she would reach down and stroke the dogs’ ears, being careful to take turns so they each got equal attention.

What if Muriel didn’t have a sister who loved her so much? What if she had a sister or a nephew or a grandchild who wanted this big old house and whatever inheritance she might have tucked away?

What if the law did permit assisted suicide—and she ended up being pushed down that uncertain slope?

Too many what-ifs.

Kate rose to her feet. “Come on, Muriel,” she said. “It’s time for bed.”

28

“N
ice evening, isn’t it, Kenzie?” McNally drawled, satisfaction slicing through him when he saw Kenzie jump. He stood by one of the few trees in the small park next to the hotel where Kenzie stayed. Having watched several dogs relieve themselves against it, he figured Kenzie’s dog would head this way when it was time for his nighttime pee.

He braced himself for some kind of cutting Kenzie-
putdown, but instead she glared at him and spun on her heel.

“Hey!” He grabbed her elbow. “I’m talking to you.”

She shook her arm. But his fingers dug into her flesh.

His heart pounded.

It felt so good.

Her rat of a dog sensed something. He pressed himself against Kenzie’s legs and growled.

McNally stifled the urge to kick it. His time would come. But not now.

“Let go of me, McNally,” she said, her voice low. “Or I’ll call the police.”

He let his gaze travel over her. “Yeah, right. The same police who are investigating the murder of the girl you killed?”

Her eyes widened. She glanced frantically around the green area, but there were no passersby in hearing range. “For God’s sake, shut up.”

“Don’t speak to me like that, Kenzie.” He pulled her closer and let his fingers soften around her arm. “I just want to talk.”

“We have nothing to say to each other.”

Despite his resolve that she would not get the upper hand, her coolness chipped away at his confidence. Surely she had some feeling left for him. After all they had been through…

“That’s not true.” He tried to soften his approach by smiling.

She yanked her elbow out of his grasp. “We shouldn’t be seen together.” She glanced furtively over her shoulder.

“We had some good times, didn’t we, Kenz?” His tone became intimate. “I gave you everything you asked for. I did everything you wanted.” He held his finger against her temple. “Bang, bang, you’re dead.”

“For God’s sake, that was a long time ago.”

“Not for me, it wasn’t.”

“Listen,” she hissed. “You have to stop bothering me. If the police see us together, we are screwed. It’s bad enough that they found the tattoo on Heather’s body.”

He gave a disbelieving laugh. “They found the tattoo? How the fuck could they do that?”

“Because you buried her in a goddamned peat bog. It preserves bodies.”

He felt as if she had just punched him in the stomach. Not just from the information she had revealed, but from the look of contempt in her eyes.

No matter what he did, she still thought she was better than him.

“So what that they found the tattoo? What difference does it make?” His eyes narrowed. “Unless you still have yours.”

“No. I got rid of it a long time ago.” The way she said that pissed him off. “But I wasn’t the only one with the raven.”

“Imogen’s dead, so what are you worried about?”

“Yeah, but her sister is alive and well. She was on the front page of the newspaper. And she’s representing my mother in her assisted suicide campaign.”

A shiver ran along his spine. “So we kill her.” He grinned. “She’s the perfect victim, Kenz. She can take Imogen’s place.”

Kenzie flashed him a look of scorn. But there was a flicker of fear in her eyes. Good. She needed to see that
he
was the one in control. Not her.

“God, McNally, and while we’re at it, why don’t we just shine a spotlight on ourselves for the police. We have to be more subtle than that. Let me think about it.” She pulled on her dog’s leash. “And leave me alone. What happened in the past is in the past. I’m done with it.”

“No, it’s not. It’s just the beginning for us, Kenzie.”

She spun toward the hotel, but he grabbed her arm.
You ain’t leaving me again, baby.

“You think you can cover yourself in tatts, but it doesn’t change who you are. What you want.” His finger trailed down her cheek. “What you need to make you happy.”

She jerked her head back. “Leave me alone.”

His lips twisted into a smile. Or a snarl. He couldn’t tell. She had the power to thrill him and infuriate him at the same time. “I can’t. That’s the problem. You fucked with my head so bad that there’s no one else now. Just you, Kenzie.”

“You can’t have me.”

Her words were so cold, so absolute.

Desperation ripped into his chest. “We never finished what we started, Kenzie.”

“And we never will.”

She pushed by him and hurried toward the hotel, that stupid dog throwing him a final, warning look.

“Yes, we will!” he yelled. “Remember Heather!”

He saw her entire body startle when he yelled their murder victim’s name through the park.

But no one was there to hear him.

And now Kenzie had gone.

Rain began to fall. His tongue reached out to catch a raindrop.

She thought she could just walk away.

She thought he was stupid, that she was smarter than he was.
Let me think about it,
she’d said in that superior voice.

She didn’t know that he already had a plan in motion.

One that would prove to her, once and for all, that he was way smarter than she was.

And that she would never, ever be able to walk away from him again.

He stalked back to his car.

He snatched his phone from the seat and loaded his web browser. The service was slow and it took a few minutes to locate Kenzie’s website.

But it was worth the wait.

Kenzie had listed a cell phone business number in her contact information, because she traveled so frequently to tattoo gigs.

He entered the number in his address book.

And then he texted her:
You’ll never be able to leave me again.

He stared at his phone screen. His fingers gripped the phone so hard that his knuckles were white.

Nothing.

He glanced up at the hotel. Maybe reception was slow.

You have always been mine,
he typed.

He waited. Staring at the hotel as if it would force Kenzie to answer. Well, screw her. He would wait until she came out again. Even if it took all night. But it took only half an hour before he saw the main door open to reveal Kenzie and her dog.

He leaned forward.

She’s coming back to see me.
His heart began to pound.

But then he saw Kenzie walked with a guy. A blond, good-looking guy. He carried her suitcases.

She had checked out of the hotel. Panic seized him. She better not be flying back to New York.

They climbed into the truck, and the blond guy drove them away.

McNally started his engine and pulled into traffic after them.

He would not let Kenzie leave town.

Not again.

Two minutes later, he relaxed. The blond guy drove in the opposite direction of the airport. Several minutes after that, it was obvious that he was taking Kenzie and her dog to his place.

McNally slipped his truck into a parking spot by the condo building Dumpster. He would not let Kenzie out of his sight again.

29

K
enzie shifted on Finn’s sofa. His apartment was bright and airy, with an old brick wall and large windows. The entire place had a Scandinavian flavor. She dug the unfinished pine floors, the furnishings in gray, white, with the odd touch of bold blue.

Finn, she realized, studied her over his beer. “You okay?”

She rubbed her arms. “Yeah. Thanks for letting me come over.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He slung his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I’m sorry that creep was bothering you.”

She shrugged. “Comes with the territory.”

After McNally had approached her in the little park outside the hotel, she had locked herself in her room. But the fact that he knew where to find her freaked her out. She didn’t feel safe.

There was only one person whom she could call.

Finn answered on the first ring. “I was just thinking about you.”

She forced a laugh. “I have a favor to ask…” She told him some crazy fan had approached her at the hotel. He promptly offered to let her stay at his place.

Relieved, she checked out of her hotel.
It’s only for a few days.
She felt at home immediately. So did Foo. After sniffing for a copious amount of time—Finn had a lot of dogs going through his place—he settled down with a long shudder of contentment on the sofa.

Kenzie placed her wineglass on the roughly hewn coffee table. “Want me to take a peek at your tattoo?” she asked.

“Sure.” As fluid as the Foo Dog she had inked into his skin, Finn sprang to his feet and pulled off his
T-shirt. She stood behind him, just inches from his back. She leaned a little closer, aware of the sudden stillness in his body.

She peeled off the bandage and eyed the tattoo. The dog’s body seemed in tune with the muscle and bone for which it stood guard. It really was one of her better efforts, except— She frowned. The lower edge appeared inflamed. “You need some antibiotic cream on this part, Finn,” she said. “Do you have any?”

“It’s in my bedroom. I’ll get some.” He headed up the stairwell to his loft bedroom.

Halfway up the stairs, he threw a look at Kenzie.

When she arrived at the head of the stairs, he took her hand and raised it to his mouth, pressing his lips against the nautilus tattooed at the base of her wrist. His mouth skimmed the waves traveling up her arm. Every nerve in her body quivered. He gripped her hips. She felt as if she were a piece of wood that he was about to bring to life.

She cupped his jaw, tracing his lips. “Where did you say that antibiotic cream was?”

“It’s under my pillow.” He grinned, and pulled her to his bed.

The sheets were cool, as was the night.

She only became aware of that much, much later.

* * *

Who the hell was this guy? Kenzie seemed too friendly—way too friendly—with him.

McNally had been sitting outside the blond guy’s place for at least thirty minutes, and he had not yet drawn the blinds on his windows. He was arrogant. Or stupid. McNally could not decide which. Did he think no one could see them?

The guy rose from his chair and took off his shirt. Kenzie stood behind him, inspecting a tattoo. But she was too close.

The guy walked upstairs.

A minute later she followed him.

McNally knew that look on her face.

He knew that sway in her walk.

She had walked into the basement of Lovett’s grandmother’s house, fiddle case in hand, dressed in a short pleated skirt with a tight white T-shirt and over-the-knee stockings. She glanced around. “I hear you need a fiddle player.”

Matt walked over and put his arm around her shoulder. “Thanks for coming, Kenzie. I think you’ll add a really cool vibe.”

“I’m psyched,” she said, and flipped a mass of glorious red hair back over her shoulder. She crouched to unpack her instrument. Her skirt barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.

She wore a red thong.

When she stood, bow in one hand, fiddle in the other, she flashed McNally a look.

The following weekend, she took him out to the bunker. It was late, about two in the morning. She turned to face him, mouth parted, eyes heavy-lidded.

He had drawn her face with that look a thousand times since. But it had never been for a customer. It had always been for him.

The light in the guy’s apartment went out.

McNally smashed his fist on the dashboard.

No wonder she didn’t want him following her.

I’ll contact you,
she had told him just hours before in the park.

Bull. She would never call him. He knew that now. She was having an affair with another guy.

God. Damn. Her.

He could not wait a moment longer. If he didn’t act soon, he could lose her.

He turned on his engine. It was time to put his plan into high gear.

Nothing like being complicit in a sensational murder to keep a girl loyal.

* * *

Finn now slept. He faced her, his hand curved over the Foo Dog on Kenzie’s hip. She felt safe. Protected. As if his arm connected her Foo Dog to the one she’d inked on his shoulder, creating a pair of guardians.

But could they really guard her?

She studied Finn’s features in the darkness. The finger that had pulled a trigger seventeen years ago smoothed an errant wave of his hair. Tears tightened her throat.

Mr. Right.

He was one of the good guys.

And, thus, not right for her.

* * *

McNally crept around to the backyard of Kate Lange’s house. This was his preliminary scouting mission. He was searching for the best point of entry.

He stepped on a few branches to see if the dogs would bark.

And waited.

But they were silent. The house was completely dark.

He paused in the shadow of a bush.

Maybe she wasn’t home. Maybe she had taken the duffel bag and her dogs to her neighbor’s because she planned to spend the night.

He studied the back of the house. By his estimation, Kate’s bedroom was the second window on the right. These old Victorian homes, with their fussy detail and trims, were perfect for footholds. The bonus was the roof-covered back porch. He could climb on the roof… .

He climbed an old maple tree that grew by the porch and jumped to the narrow porch roof, landing on the balls of his feet. He crawled to the edge of the roof. The blinds to the window on the right were only half-drawn.

The strap of her silky nightgown slipped down her arm. Her face was turned to the side, her hair fanned out on her pillow, revealing her long neck.

She didn’t know he was there. He could watch her limbs move under the sheets, her breathing slow and deep while he imagined his fingers trailing over her.

He crouched down and peered into the window.

The large bed was neatly made. Kate was not in it. But he had been right—this was her room. Her clothes were folded on the chair. Two dog beds—empty—lay at the side of her bed.

He thought of Kate leaving her house with her duffel bag. And the woman from the home-care agency who had left her neighbor’s house as soon as Kate had arrived. His gut told him that Kate was spending the night at her neighbor’s.

He swallowed his disappointment.
You’ve got Plan B, McNally.

And, fortunately, he had come prepared. He slipped the center punch window breaker from his pocket and smashed the window.

The security alarm blared through the air.

Shards of glass fell on him as he swung himself over the windowsill into Kate Lange’s bedroom. He ran straight for the bureau and yanked open the drawer.

His efforts were rewarded.

He scooped up several pairs of panties, shoving them into the pocket of his hoodie, the alarm blaring in his ear.

He calculated it would take the police at least five minutes to respond.

And that was all he needed.

He dropped a folded piece of paper on her bed, threw himself out the window, leaping from the porch overhang onto the deck. All that gym training had paid off.

He sprinted over the fence and through the yard of the house behind hers.

Fifteen minutes later, he sat on a bus and gazed out the window, taking the long way home.

Kate Lange’s panties burned a hole in his pocket.