We hang up with a promise to speak again soon, and Thomas finds us a parking spot near the shop. The bell jangles as Oliver holds the door open, allowing me to enter before him, both following close behind. The wall is decked out in art of all styles, showing off the range of what the artists can do, and the air is filled with the familiar scent of antiseptic.
There’s no receptionist, with Tasha being expected to do that as part of her job, but I can hear guns buzzing, so I patiently wait for her. Thomas takes a seat in the waiting area as I look over the range of piercing jewelry and merchandise. There’s a wall that separates the reception area from the front and the back, with a glass window in it so that Tasha can look out for potential clients while those same clients check out what’s going on in the rest of the studio. I can see Tasha working on a client while her boyfriend drawing at a lighted table, completely ignoring us despite Tasha saying something to him. Whatever he says, she rolls her eyes, turns off her gun, and speaks to her client before taking off her gloves and coming out to the front.
“Hi, sorry to keep you waiting,” she says before she realizes it’s me. “Harlow! Hey, girl, shit! Haven't you been keeping busy.” She comes around the display counter and gives me a hug, but her body stiffens once she takes a peek at my bodyguards—I mean, adoring and justslightlyprotective boyfriends.
“Holy shit!” Yep, I missed Tasha.
“Hey, Tasha, this is my boyfriend Oliver.”
“Summers. Yeah, I know. It’s a pleasure to meet you; I love your work,” she all but gushes as they shake hands. Oliver is smiling genuinely, not the bland professional one he had in place when he interviewed that woman at his shop.
“Hey, Tasha, the pleasure is all mine. Your work is the reason I begged Harlow to bring me here. Her tats are incredible, and she says you did them all. Listen, I wanted to offer you a job in my new place that’s opening in New York. We would help with the cost of relocation, and we’ve converted the aboveground levels of the warehouse into accommodation for the staff, so they don't have to find any.”
Tasha’s eyes widen in surprise, then she bites her lip and looks back through the glass into the back. Her boyfriend’s watching, and when he stands up, she whirls back around to face us.
“Shit, please don't say anything when he comes out here,” she quietly begs as the guy comes out the front, frowning.
“Tasha, your client is waiting,” he all but growls, reminding me of how I feel about him. I don’t like this man; he’s never got anything nice to say, is super critical of everything Tasha does, and he puts off this aura of intimidation like everyone around him should bend to his will and get out of his space. I always make sure my appointments are scheduled when he’s having a day off. Last time I was in, Tasha had told me that her client list was growing, making her responsible for sixty percent of the shop’s clientele, while the other three artists brought in the remaining forty. Instead of being proud of her good work, her asshole boyfriend raised her seat price to compensate for his loss of revenue. So, basically, she’s paying more than anyone else simply because she’s a better artist and a nicer human being. Not sure why she stays with the ass, to be honest.
Oliver holds up his hands and plasters his professional smile on his face. “Hey, sorry, man, I just wanted to drop in and give Tasha my card.”
“What the fuck for?” the asshole grunts back. I can tell he recognizes Oliver, but the look he gives Tasha is positively frightening.
“Oh, she’s done all my girlfriend’s work, and Harlow’s keen to have some more stuff done, but she’s relocating to California to be with me. I was giving Tasha my card to give me a call if she ever comes out there. She can use my shop to do Harlow’s work.”
Oliver easily pulls the bullshit excuse out of thin air. The guy looks suspicious because of course, why wouldn't I get my boyfriend to do the work, but he doesn't say anything as she takes the card and tucks it into a pocket of her denim shorts. I know for a fact that it’s Jonah’s card, not his, but the asshole doesn't need to know that.
“I don’t think I’ll be coming out there any time soon, but I’ll be sure to let you know if I do,” Tasha says to the both of us, her eyes practically pleading for us not to make a big deal of the situation.
“Okay, well, like Oli said, I’m moving, so I just came to say goodbye and tell you you’re welcome to visit whenever.” I pull her into a hug. “Call me if you need help. Any time,” I whisper to her before pulling away, and she gives me a small, nearly imperceptible nod. We say our goodbyes and leave, but before the door can close, I catch him grabbing her by the arm and squeezing. Instead of the big personality I usually see, Tasha is practically cowering before him. I start to turn around, ready to storm back in there, but Thomas puts his hand on the door to stop me.
“Don’t, you’ll probably only make it worse. Call her later and check on her, but let it go for now.” I grit my teeth in anger but allow them to pull me back to the car.
I’m silently stewing in my rage on the ride home when my phone rings. The name on the screen brings a smile to my face, though, so I accept the call. “Doc Davies, what a lovely surprise! How are you?”
“Harlow, my girl, I saw that you were home. I have a situation, but I can’t get there right now. Are you at your place?” The usually jovial man sounds stressed, which has me sitting up straighter, ready to pay attention.
“We’re about ten minutes out. What can I do to help?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I got a phone call from a woman, quite distressed, saying a wild cat had attacked her. She was locked inside her car, and the cat was still there. Have you got a tranq gun? I thought you might keep one on hand in case the bobcats get too close to the horses.” He sounds upset, and I know it’s because he has an obligation to report it to Animal Control. Unlike our tranqs, they’ll be coming with real guns because a bobcat attack during the day raises rabies suspicions. He’s such a softy and doesn’t like any animal to get hurt, let alone killed for something out of their control.
“Yeah, I do,” I tell him, thinking about which box it’s packed in.
“Can you take care of it for me? I’ll be there as soon as I can, with a cage to transport it in.”
“Absolutely,” I reply, feeling pretty confident until he gives me the address.
“Isn’t this that really weird place about ten minutes or so from the Bostons’? It has all the barbed wire surrounding it and those keep out signs?”
“Yeah, it is. Harlow, be careful, okay? I’ve heard conflicting things about the people who live there, and I’ve never actually been called out there before.”
I assure him I will before I hang up and fill the guys in.
“I’m coming, too,” Thomas says before I’ve even finished, and I roll my eyes.
“I wasn’t going to exclude you. I’ve actually got two tranq guns, so I was figuring you could be back-up in case I miss. Also, not knowing what we’re walking into makes me more cautious than if this was a bobcat bothering the horses.”
“Yeah, and I might bring Declan along to protect our backs from the human element in case there’s more than just the woman trapped in her car. He shoots almost as well as I do.”
