Temporary (Indelibly Marked #2) (19 page)

Tamsin set her wrist free.

“Are you all right?” Obviously she needed to ask. For at
least a half hour he had been trying to leave and only a small fraction of the
delay was her doing.

“Since you’re making that awesome chicken, I didn’t want to
wreck it and wanted to know what time you needed me home.” Rather than looking
at her, he continued to slide his key in and out of the lock. “I ran real quick
and got you gas. That’s why I haven’t left yet.”

“Thank you.” A glance over at Tamsin netted her the same
expression as before, part amused, part melancholy. “How about seven?”

“That sounds ideal.” He once more backed out over the
threshold. “Please make sure you lock the door when I’m not here.” With that,
he closed and locked the door.

They sat in silence while she took her time applying the
finishing touches to Tamsin’s makeup. The last step of the transformation was a
bit of natural, shimmery gloss. Emily leaned back, assessed her work and held a
mirror out to her. “What do you think?” The best part was the reveal, the
little gasp or smile. None of the models ever reacted to her work. They only
stayed still to help her hurry. She understood why Shane and Ivan loved working
on their customers. It was personal.

Tamsin lifted the mirror. For a moment she simply stared at
her reflection.

“Tam?” She touched her shoulder.

“You are an artist, Pinkie.” She put the mirror down. “I
don’t think I’d ever be able to recreate what you did.”

Her heart swelled. “I can teach you.”

Tamsin pursed her lips and struck a pose. “First I want you
to tell me what the deal is with you and long hair.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’ve never been with anyone who has checked a lock fifteen
times or wanted to make sure they were home in time for dinner. If that doesn’t
say it all, I don’t know what does.”

At Tamsin’s words, no snarky retort came to mind. Suddenly
wanting Ivan to answer her silly girl question seemed ridiculous. “I don’t know
what’s going on and I feel as if I’m just waiting for something horrible to
prevent us from being together.”

As if on cue her phone vibrated and her heart ground to a
halt.

“Maybe that’s Ivan telling you he’s on the sidewalk and
wants you to be careful of the stairs.” Tamsin chuckled.

She picked up her phone. No, not Ivan, instead James texting
her. Her breath stopped short, and she shot up, rushing for the door. “I’ll be
right back.” The words struggled to get out of her throat as she fought with
the damned locked door. At last the lock released, and she ran out like she was
just freed from prison. “Ivan!” She spotted him near his bike.

“Emily! Be careful of the stairs, stay there!” In an
instant, he bolted for her, taking the stairs two at a time until he met her on
the landing. Without hesitation he took her into his arms, and pressed her face
into his shirt. “What’s wrong?”

Once safe, she managed to inhale. Rather than looking up at
him, she stayed put, inhaling the scent of their laundry detergent and soap.
Somehow it smelled better on him. “James said they scheduled the mediation for
Thursday. He said it’s better to get it over with.”

“It’s okay. We have a couple of days and the waiting has to
be worse than what will happen.” He smoothed her hair down.

“I guess I could have texted you.” She toyed with the
buttons on his shirt. “I can’t live with the horrible weight in my stomach
anymore.”

“I’m going to get to work and update Billy. I’ll be home at
seven, okay?” He kept hold of her shoulders, but pushed her back. “It will end
soon.”

There were the words she dreaded but expected were coming.
Funny, when faced with what she feared, the sick, sinking sensation almost
instantly vanished. Yes, it would end soon. The lawsuit, the baby being born,
it would all come to an end. “Ivan?”

“Don’t worry. It’ll be over soon. I’m here and everything
will work out.” Again, he pulled her in, rubbing her back and doing all the
magic things he did. “Let’s just focus on tonight, and dinner and dessert, okay?”

She let his voice wash over her and looked up at him.

“You know what?” He pushed her bangs back.

“What?”

“It’s sort of cool you having a friend over here.” He bent
down and gave her a soft peck.

“Maybe I am lucky.” She shook her head. At the end he did
all the right things and then some. Maybe their luck would hold out and they’d
come out together at the end.

Chapter
Seventeen

Ivan never dreamed he would hit rock bottom sitting at the
back of one of his favorite coffee shops. But when Billy and Dillon joined him
within a few seconds of each other, he might as well have fallen off a hill in
Beachwood Canyon and impaled himself on the jagged rocks.

Both men stared at him.

To make certain he wasn’t bleeding from an injury, Ivan
touched his side. Since no warm goo met his fingers, he faced the fact he had
indeed called Mr. Dillon Elliott for help. Between contacting Shane’s older
brother and sleeping with his sister, Ivan found himself in the sibling
sandwich from hell. Of course, he wasn’t even a member of the Elliott family,
he was the useless parsley garnish to be toss away.

“You called this meeting.” Dillon strummed his fingers on
the table.

“You told your sister you would help.” Maybe he needed to
remind the man of family.

“Which is why I am here.”

“For someone who is dressed for work and always busy, you
sure can drop everything at a moment’s notice.” Of all the things off about the
entire situation, Dillon was near the top.

“You called me.” The man sat back and straightened his tie.

Ivan turned his attention to Billy. “Don’t you have anything
to say?”

“You called me.” Billy batted the saltshaker between his
hands in a bizarre game of loser ping pong.

“The mediation is Thursday. We can’t show up and say yeah,
the guy got infected, that sucks.” He glanced down at his yellow pad of notes.
“No matter what, Jake is running the story on Friday. Is there any way we can
change the ending?”

“What’s James’ advice?” Dillon asked.

Ivan glanced between the men. He’d conjured a band of fools.
Everyone knew what James and everyone else said, yet Dillon asked the question
and Billy continued to play his game. Through gritted teeth he decided to give
them a recap. “So far the strategy is to go to mediation and somehow, I’m not
sure how, contain the damage and the expense.”

“James knows what he’s doing.” Dillon sipped his water.
“With all the evidence and a man who has been in the hospital, that’s probably
the best way to go.”

Ivan inhaled, wanting to get enough power to tell Dillon where
to go. Then he would have to explain his actions to Emily.

“So that’s it!” Billy hit the table. The silverware and
glasses shook and water splashed across the table. “We’re supposed to just go
and apologize for doing nothing wrong! What’s the use of attorneys and
everything else? All we’ve done is sit by and do nothing while a bunch of suits
tell us our business.”

Part of Ivan wanted to cheer and high five Billy for finally
growing a set, the other part wanted to beat the crap out of him for just being
him. “What the hell have you done besides pray that our connections would save
your sorry ass? You keep saying you’re going to do something!”

“What’s he supposed to do?” Dillon sopped up the water.
“What can be done, except what we’re doing?”

“Something seems so wrong,” Ivan said. “None of us have ever
had a problem before. Even the little things that happen, we’ve always resolved
them ourselves. Hell, people even go to Billy to fix what others screw up.”

“I don’t understand.” Dillon turned to Billy.

Ivan reached down to his bag and pulled out a file folder,
opened it and thrust it across the table to Dillon.

“Yellow pads, file folders, I didn’t realize you used paper
for anything besides coloring.” Dillon thumbed through the pages.

“Look, besides the portraits, he does cover up work.” Ivan
ignored Dillon’s words and leaned over the table to point to a few pictures
he’d printed out. “Here’s a case where a tattoo was mangled by an infection and
a scar, and Billy transformed it. A D-list celebrity even flew to Billy in New
York to do the work Twisted Tattoo messed up. Something just doesn’t add up on
this guy.”

“The tattoo you did for Gary Lipson. Wasn’t that just some
simple lettering?” Dillon lifted one of the pages.

“Yes.” Billy retrieved a laptop out of his bag. “I have the
art here. It was just the typical Old English font, said ‘Every Dog has Its
Day’ and some scroll work.”

Ivan slid his chair over and skimmed the screen. Not the
art, but the files, all neatly labeled in digital folders. “Do you save all of
your clients’ artwork?”

“Yes, even if it’s flash, I scan it and save it.”

For someone who had what seemed to be hundreds of files, it
was strange for consents to go missing.

“Don’t you find it odd that Mr. Lipson went to an artist
clearly known for extensive detail work, for such a basic tattoo?” Dillon
asked. “That would be like going to you for stick figures or my brother for
flash. Carson passed this level long ago.”

Whoa, since when did Dillon Elliott know what they did for a
living? “The guy even made an appointment, specifically asking for Billy.”

“What do we know about Mr. Gary Lipson? What do you know
about any of your clients?” Dillon rubbed his chin.

“Sometimes they come in wanting a star to do their work.”
Ivan met Billy’s eyes. Damn them for not seeing the whole picture sooner. They
were all too worried and too scared, but now at rock bottom they had nowhere
else to go. “If they wanted a star, they would have had Billy do a portrait.
This was a rush.”

“He made the appointment and waited while I did the art at
the light table.” Once more Billy slammed his palm into the table and began
clicking away on the computer. “I’ve told you from the beginning something was
off, but you just wanted to believe I practically injected that guy with bacteria.”

Ivan held his breath, his mind running like the whirling
hard drive in Billy’s computer. If they could find something, anything that
proved the lawsuit was planned or that the guy tampered with the tattoo, they
would have a case. “We were told not to talk to the guy ourselves.”

“No one’s talking, everyone’s caving.” Billy hunched closer
to the screen.

“How could we get to him?” Dillon said. “I wish I could have
a few minutes with him, but he wouldn’t admit anything.”

“We need to get to the source. I wish we had his computer.”
Adrenaline pumped through Ivan, he wanted to jump up to find Greg Lipson
himself.

“Bingo.” Billy turned the computer around.

Both he and Dillon moved toward the screen displaying Mr.
Lipson’s place of residence.

“We need to go there.” Dillon slid the computer closer to
Ivan.

“What? And confront him?” Ivan would do whatever it took to
prove he could run the shop and take care of his family.

“He won’t speak.” Billy slammed the computer shut. “He’s a
liar. Liars leave trails, trails we can follow without ever saying a word. We
need to go there.”

“We need to do our own investigation,.” Dillon agreed. “Give
James enough to snag the guy on Thursday. But Ivan’s in charge of the shop, he
makes the decision.”

They turned to him. Should they break into the asshole’s
apartment and find what he hid? “We are aware that is illegal, correct?”

“If our intuition is correct, then Mr. Lipson is the one who
is doing something illegal.” Billy put his computer away.

Ivan shifted his focus to Dillon. Dillon in the suit, Dillon
who knew business, Dillon without the tattoos.

Shane’s brother pursed his lips, pausing a few moments. “I
don’t want my niece or nephew to start life with this if we could have
prevented it.”

“What if we’re wrong?” Like always, the
what ifs
began. Ivan’s life seemed ruled by those two words.

“What if we’re not?” Dillon countered.

He pinched his lower lip, pulling until that strange
pleasure/pain radiated through him; the same sort of sensation as receiving a
tattoo or a piercing. Maybe they were all deranged. The thugs Emily begged them
not to be.

“We can’t let anyone know what we’re doing.” Burning bile
rose in his throat at his own words. The one thing he had with Emily was he
told her everything, even to the point of breaking her heart over and over
again.

“Damn, I was just going to buy a billboard on Sunset
Boulevard.” Billy chuckled.

Dillon simply shook his head.

What if they were caught?

What if there wasn’t anything to be found and they’re only
making these connections because they’re desperate?

What if he did nothing when he could do something?

He wanted to be able to tell Emily that he fixed the
problem, go home, have dinner and make love to her. Most of all he wanted to
tell Shane he succeeded, and since he saved the business, he could be trusted
with his best friend’s baby sister.

~~*~~

The hot water ran over Ivan, but no matter how long he stood
there, the shower brought no answers. Should they take matters into their own
hands, or wait to see how things panned out? Had they really sunk so low that
the only option was breaking and entering? What if they found nothing? Worse,
what if they got caught?

He blasted the water in his face. One important question
needed to be answered before he could decide the next step.

“You okay?” Emily called through the door. “Dinner’s ready.
I switched up the menu for tonight.”

The question just called him to dinner and sported pink
hair. “I’ll be right there.” He wiped his eyes. The answer remained to be seen.
The only way he would risk doing anything of such magnitude, was for her.

“I put your clothes out on the bed.”

He shut off the water, and stood in the shower with the last
few droplets falling to the floor in a funny little chime until his skin
chilled. He hoped she picked out a set of pajamas for him. Maybe they needed to
spend the night watching crap television and numbing their minds, but maybe
dinner and letting Emily control the remote was a bit more than he was ready
for. What happened to hot sex and a midnight snack?

Still, he dried off and tossed his used towel into the new
hamper that appeared the other day. Guys didn’t own hampers. He pulled the
towel out of the basket and dropped it on the floor. With a nod he opened the
cabinet under the sink to retrieve his hair gel and froze at the items that
greeted him.

Aside from the stock of toilet paper, a container of
cleanser, and a few items too large to fit into the medicine cabinet, and a
whole host of feminine products stared right back at him. He narrowed his eyes
as he took them all in, lifted one box and gave a quick glance the
instructions. Did girls need directions?

He shrugged and put the box back in its spot, frowning that
it had a spot. Figuring he would leave his hair without any product, he opened
the bathroom door and stomped into the bedroom to find a brand new black robe
on the bed.

After putting on the really soft and perfectly fitting gift,
he backed up and threw the stupid towel in the stupid hamper before heading
into the living room commando style. Hey, she didn’t leave any underwear out.
Sometimes a man needed to be free and easy.

“Where are we eating?” He searched the dim room wondering if
a bulb burned out somewhere. Rather than the television playing, she opted for
playing soft rock music, the kind he would never admit he listened to, except
in front of Emily.

“Sit in the big chair, I’ll be right out.” Her voice rang
out, sing song and light.

“Fine.” He plopped down in the overstuffed chair, tapped his
foot and waited.

“Are you hungry?” At last she finally emerged from the
kitchen carrying a large overflowing tray.

“Do you need help?” He prepared to get up.

“Sit, Mr. Harlow.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

He obeyed, but leaned over trying to figure out what was
going on.

She placed the tray on the table, and leaned way forward.

His mouth literally fell open at the view she provided.

She wore an apron—one of those vintage aprons, all frilly in
a light yellow checkerboard pattern. However, she appeared to be wearing only
the apron and upon bending down to adjust her tray, he received an eyeful of
cleavage. All of her cleavage.

“I made us a drink.” With her breasts practically hanging
over the tray, she poured them each some yellowish liquid from a pitcher and
garnished the tall glasses with a lemon slice. “It’s called a Tom Collins.”

“Okay.” He raised his glass to her and gulped the drink
down, barely taking time to appreciate the carbonated treat with a bit of bite.

“More?” She held the pitcher to her chest and looked up at
him.

While she may have forgotten some of her clothes, she didn’t
forget the makeup or the hair. She was all dolled up with bright red juicy lips
and her hair pulled up to show off her face.

“Yeah.”

She came around the table and poured more of the drink into
his glass. “After your hard day at work, you must be famished.”

Honestly, his hunger had waned. “If you say so.” Again, he
tried to inspect her outfit.

“Sit back and relax.” She moved in front of him, turned her
back to him and bent over the table.

“Em?” As fast as possible he put his glass on the side table
and gripped the arms of the chair. Apparently Emily decided nothing at all
needed to go under the apron. Her backside beckoned him and his mouth watered.

“Oh you poor thing.” She spun back around with a plate in
her hand.

He stared at her, his body already reacting with that one of
a kind sizzle, and saw a whole different kind of feast.

“Here, let me help you.” Without dropping a morsel, she
straddled his lap with only the plate between them. “Do you want to tell me
about your day?”

He shook his head. No, he didn’t want to tell her about his
day or the decision he had to make. He would rather stare at her and find out
what other surprises she had in store.

“Okay, I have anything you want tonight.” She busied herself
with the offerings on the plate; a whole host of his favorite little
appetizers. No utensils required. “Do you want a mushroom?”