Chapter Seven
“Hey, honey, I’m hoo-oome.” Trent walked into the studio, clutching Harper’s hand as she followed.
“Quick, Pix. Hide the booze and get rid of the hookers,” Cujo yelled as he stood and hugged the man he thought of as a brother.
When he told Drea they shouldn’t compare how well they knew their BFFs, he wasn’t kidding.
And in those twenty-seven years, he could honestly say he’d never seen his best friend so fucking happy.
Trent took a good look around. “Good to see you didn’t trash the place.”
“We did—just finished the repairs. Can’t you smell the paint?”
He moved to Harper and drew her into a bear hug. When they’d first met five months ago, she’d been scared of any physical contact as a result of a brutal assault by her former boyfriend. It pleased Cujo more than he’d ever let her know that she let him hug her without flinching.
“Want to stop hitting on my girl there, man?”
“She’s technically not yours until you guys are married. Run away with me Harper. Surely you’re over him by now.” Harper blushed as he let her go.
“Not sure I’ll ever be over him.” She rubbed her hand over Cujo’s hair. “I like it longer.”
He stepped out of the way as Pixie and Lia squealed their hellos.
“How was it, bro?” Cujo continued drawing a tattoo for the client who had left for a quick coffee run. It was a Roy Lichtenstein-esque bullet exploding with a giant WHAM in vivid color.
“Man, Tahiti was fucking incredible. Never seen anything like it.” Trent grabbed a packet of red licorice from the dish behind the counter.
“D’you get any ink?” Cujo asked, Polynesia being the home of tattooing.
“Nah. Thought about it. How’s the party coming along? Did you guys bankrupt me?”
“Did you guys say party?” Harper joined them and Trent draped his arm round her shoulders.
Cujo bit back a smile. They looked so fucking sweet his teeth hurt.
“Party’s good. Venue, food, bar, and a million other little things Drea deemed essential.” He turned to Trent. “She texted me at four o’clock one morning to tell me I needed to find a bulk dealer for sparklers.”
“Have you avoided killing each other?” Harper asked.
“Yes. But someone else nearly killed both of us,” Cujo answered.
Harper’s mouth dropped open as she grabbed his arm.
“For real?” Trent asked.
“Yeah. It’s a really long story, but for you guys, I can keep it real short. Two men chased a woman out of the café. Drea witnessed it. Couple of days later—”
“Wait, is Drea okay?” Harper interrupted.
“She’s fine. Shook up, but good. So the dude came back the other night. Tied us up tighter than is kinky.” Cujo winked at Harper. He’d put that stricken look on her face, and he wanted to remove it.
“Fuck. That’s—” Trent shook his head.
“Yeah, well. Gun. Closet. He leaves. We cut ourselves free and called the police.”
“I’m going to call Drea.” Harper walked toward the office.
“How’re you doing? That must have fucked you up,” Trent said.
Cujo stopped any pretense of still drawing. He rubbed his hand over his head. “Felt fucking useless. We couldn’t get the cable ties off. Couldn’t get a go at the guy.” He tried not to think about it too much, and wasn’t about to admit he’d lost sleep over it.
“How’d Drea hold up?”
Cujo smiled at the thought of her. “Solid. Didn’t freak out once.”
Trent chuckled. “Please tell me you didn’t…”
Sleep with Drea, Cujo finished the sentence mentally. “I didn’t, scout’s honor.” He raised his fingers in salute. Not that he hadn’t thought about it once or twice. Like maybe this morning when he woke up. Or last night before he fell asleep. Or in the car on the way to work.
“Well, if you’d ever been a scout, I still wouldn’t believe it.”
“You are about to cross over a line?” Cujo said.
“The fact there’s a line scares me a little,” Trent said with a grimace.
Cujo looked toward his best friend and raised his eyebrows.
“Wow. This is too much of a fucking head spin for our first day back.” Trent popped a candy in his mouth. “So what else has been happening?”
He thought of telling Trent about his mom, but it deserved more time. Later, when no one else was around. Over a beer. Or a six-pack. The girl waiting for the tattoo he was drawing walked into the studio holding a giant coffee. He picked up his pencil and added the final touches.
“Can we chat later? Maybe grab a drink?” Cujo asked.
“Definitely, man. Was going to suggest it.”
“In other news, we had a visit from the city. I tattooed a stupid underage kid, three months from being legal and just couldn’t wait, but we had all the docs to prove she gave us fake ID. And thanks to the cameras, we can show her giving it to us.”
“So no fallout?”
“Unlikely. The inspectors took copies away. Tell me more about Tahiti.”
As Trent explained, Harper joined them, her phone to her ear.
“Oh, Drea, I’m sorry. What does that mean?
Do you know how long?” Harper’s voice was etched with worry.
There was a pause. “Well, I’m at the studio.
Can you come over when you’re done, before our shift starts, so we can catch up? ” Another pause. “Great.”
Drea was on her way over. And he was just about to start a solid three-hour tattoo. He couldn’t decide if that was good or not.
* * *
Drea closed her phone. Harper was back and it was a relief to hear her voice. She walked from the police station, where she’d attempted to talk to Detective Carter with no success, toward Second Circle. The desk officer promised to have the detective contact her when his shift started.
Her best friend was home. Drea excitedly threw the door open a little harder than intended. The glass in the window rattled as the handle hit the wall.
“You’re back!” she cried, running to hug Harper. She grabbed Harper’s hand and pretended to be blinded by the bling of her engagement ring.
Cujo laughed from his chair where he was applying a tattoo to the top of his client’s thigh. Only he wasn’t paying attention to Drea. The flutter of jealousy was unwarranted. He was free to flirt.
“Oh my goodness, Drea, I can’t believe what happened. Are you sure you’re okay?” Harper asked.
“If you’re looking for bullet holes, nothing so dramatic happened.” She eyed Cujo. “But it was really scary.”
“I bet. And what is going on with your mom?” Harper led her in the direction of Cujo’s chair.
Drea shook her head. “Not looking too good. She doesn’t qualify for a transplant. It’s only a matter of time.”
Cujo looked up as they walked by, his eyes intensely focused on her. She gave him a weak smile. They moved to the office and sat down.
“Working at José’s isn’t too scary after what happened?” Harper looked worried.
Drea had always let other members of the café staff leave a few minutes early if there weren’t any customers, but she’d stopped that habit.
Keeping her phone in her apron, along with a small pocketknife when she was alone in the café, had become a must. José was worried, but said nothing when she put the baseball bat she picked up at a charity store in the cupboard along with stashing flashlights around the place so she would never get caught in the dark again.
“It can’t be. I need the job. I’ll get over it.
” Drea filled Harper in. She told her about the woman being chased from José’s, and the flash drive in the laundry.
Having Harper home to objectively listen to her was just what she needed.
By the time she’d finished explaining about Gilliam Gillespie and Mike MacArthur, Harper’s face was gray.
“I was just at the police station when you called,” Drea said.
“Are you with Detective Lopes? Because he was so helpful on my case,” Harper said referring to her own recent trouble.
“No, Detective Carter. Different unit, or whatever it is they’re called. He’s really nice.”
“Nice as in he’s an effective officer? Or…?” Harper fanned herself dramatically and flopped back into the sofa.
Drea laughed. “Both.”
“Ohh. Exciting.” Harper’s green eyes sparkled with mischief and the color rushed back to her cheeks.
“He asked me out.” She still owed him an answer to his question.
“He did not! What did you say?”
“I rain-checked him,” Drea replied, fiddling with the end of her ponytail.
“Why did you do that? Good Lord, girl, you deserve a little bit of fun.”
The idea of a fun-filled evening without responsibilities sounded heavenly, assuming she ever got a night off. But if she could, she doubted it was Ryan she’d want to see.
“Cujo and I kissed.”
Harper paused mouth open. Then she laughed. Which was not good, because it wasn’t her happy laugh. It was more of a nervous giggle.
“Really?… You … with him?… No.”
“My sentiments exactly.” Drea blew out a breath. “But he pushed me away afterward.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. Cujo walked in, and from the frown on his face, he was pissed. Another person followed him into the room, and Drea immediately knew the reason for Cujo’s irritated expression.
“Ryan! I mean Detective Carter,” she said, standing quickly. Couldn’t she catch a break?
“Hey, Drea. I got the message you left at the station,” Carter replied. “Thought I’d swing by and see what you needed. You look great today, by the way.”
“Is this about the case?” Cujo asked abruptly and folded his arms across his chest.
“Perhaps if we could talk privately first?” Carter asked, a broad smile on his face. “Drea and I have a few things to discuss.”
Cujo was leaning against the wall, his posture stiff. Harper was looking between the two men with amused fascination.
“This happens to be my studio, and I take care of the people in it.”
“I’m sure you do, Mr. Matthews, but I take confidentiality real serious.” Carter stood firm under the weight of Cujo’s glare. It was like a grown-up game of chicken.
“I’d like Cujo … I mean, Brody, to stay. He doesn’t know what’s going on. Let me bring him up to speed.” One look at the two of them side by side made it crystal clear. It was Cujo who made her heart skip a beat, even if he was being a sullen ass.