“You have any problem working with women?” I blurted out.
“No, not at all.” His lips tilted into another dangerous smile. “I like women.”
My heart slammed against my chest. Not good. I so didn’t need this right now-not ever.
Doing my best to pretend every inch of my body wasn’t tingling with awareness, I stood up and held out his portfolio. “Very nice, but I have a few more candidates to consider. I have your number. I’ll be in touch either way.”
He leveled an assessing stare in my direction before accepting the portfolio. “Let me give you my cell-phone number. I’m out a lot.” Reaching inside the leather case, he pulled out the sheet with the wolf portrait on it, then, before I could object, scribbled a number along the bottom.
“I have notepaper,” I replied, staring at the sample of his work. I knew it was only a copy, that he had to keep an original somewhere else, but the depiction of the wolf was so accurate, the eyes so piercing, it seemed criminal to use it casually for scrap. It didn’t help that the wolf was the traditional symbol for my clan. In fact, on the small of my back was a tattoo eerily similar to the one resting on the desk in front of me.
“But this is more memorable. I don’t want you to forget me. Besides, I can see you like wolves.” His gaze dropped to the wolf fetish nestled between my breasts, then flicked back to my face.
I stiffened in response. With a grin, he slid the paper across my desk toward me.
My eyes jumped from the image of the wolf to his tan face. Brown eyes filled with shrewd assessment stared back at me-like he expected something more, a reaction of some sort. A flutter of disquiet passed through me.
Without pausing to think, I placed my hand palm down onto the image, then held my breath, waiting. I’m not sure what I expected. It was silly, really. He was a man, and men just didn’t have the power needed to convert ink into something more. And even a priestess couldn’t create an image on paper capable of containing energy. Tattoos could only contain energy when attached to a living, breathing being, making it all the stranger that the dead girls’ tattoos had been removed. Realizing I was back to thinking about the teens and making assumptions about what the killer knew, I frowned, then knocked the thoughts aside. Back to the problem at hand.
Under my palm, the paper felt cool and smooth-not even an indentation where the drawing was. Because it’s just a copy, dimwit. Feeling silly, I jerked my palm up and balled my hand at my side.
“Well, thanks. Like I said, I’ll be in touch.”
He hesitated, long enough I thought he might argue, but he just slid his portfolio under his arm, flicked one long piece of unruly hair out of his eyes, and stood to leave.
I glanced at the wolf. Its gray eyes gleamed back at me, urging me to stop this man from going. I shoved the paper under a folder and plastered an efficient smile on my face. “Should know by the end of the week.” The sentence sounded false even to my ears, but my applicant just smiled and turned to leave.
“Wait.” The word passed my lips before my common sense could stop it.
He paused, his expression unreadable.
“The dragon. Do you think I could have a copy of that too? I’d like to show these”-I gestured to the folder that now hid the wolf from view-“to my partner, my mother. In case it’s a close decision.” Technically, my mother was my business partner, but I ran the place. I had no more intention of showing her his work than I did of giving Harmony a tattoo. But it was a good excuse, and I really wanted another look at that dragon.
If he thought my request odd, he didn’t show it. Just pulled out the Celtic dragon image and held it out toward my desk. I reached for it, but he dropped it too quickly. In a graceful zigzag motion it floated like a feather caught on a breeze before landing faceup in front of me.
I refused to look at it again until he left. So, I stood there waiting while he nodded a last good-bye and wandered from my office. When I was sure he was gone, I strode to the door and pushed it closed with a click.
Back behind my desk, I pulled out the wolf and stared down at both pictures. They were fantastic-no doubt about that-but mystical? I ran one finger over the surface of the dragon. Nothing. Just ink and paper. I let out a breath in a relieved puff; obviously, the tension of the past few weeks was getting to me.
Nothing like letting your imagination run wild.
Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I held the dragon up to the window. Still, there was something about his work that was familiar. The thought nagged at me, knocking around in my head like a discarded soda can in the back of a pickup truck.
Try as I might, I couldn’t shake anything solid loose. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t hiring him no matter how talented he was.
Forcing myself not to give either piece another look, I balled up the images and tossed them in the trash.
Chapter Four
Candidate number four dressed like she was trying out for some rock-chick reality show. Unfortunately, she was over forty and the black eyeliner didn’t do her crow’s feet any favors. However, she was also prompt and female. What more could I ask for?
“I don’t do feet,” she announced, plopping down into a chair. “And I don’t do cover-ups. Not my job to be fixing someone else’s mistake.”
Okay. Feet didn’t tend to be anyone’s favorite part of the body to tattoo, and I could understand her stance on trying to cover up someone else’s work-kind of.
“Maybe we should talk about what you do do.” I riffled through her file, searching for her résumé. I pulled it out and scanned it. “You have a very impressive list of experience here.”
“I know my stuff.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wooden office chair. Her slashed tee slipped off one shoulder.
“So, what you do…” I prompted.
“’Bout anything. I’m not picky. If they can pay, I’ll tattoo ’em.” She reached up to pat the shell of hair spray that kept her streaked hair in its high-rise ponytail. “Oh, except memorials. Can’t stand memorials. Had a guy a few years ago who was blubbering before I even had the stencil on him. It was embarrassing.”
Okay. No feet, no cover-ups, and no memorials. She had just described 40 percent of our business.
“Well, let’s look at what you brought with you.” I held out my hand for the manila envelope she had shoved into the chair beside her.
As she pried it out from beneath a leather-covered thigh, I tried to maintain a positive outlook. I just needed an extra set of hands. So, she had a few self-imposed limits. I could work around that.
Ignoring the coffee stains on the outside of the envelope, I pulled out a stack of papers. On the top was a giant red rose with a feather dangling from one leaf.
“Nice,” I commented and flipped to the next page. A group of yellow roses designed to fit onto the lower back. I smiled and turned to the next one. A rose wrapped around a heart. I was beginning to see a theme. Giving my guest a weak smile, I spread the remaining pages across my desktop. Nothing but roses in the entire bunch.
“You like roses.”
She gave me a surprised look. “Of course; it’s my thing.”
At my blank stare, she continued, “Rose.” She pointed to herself.
Oh yeah, her name-Rose. “But you do other things, right?” I tried to keep the statement positive.
“Sure, sure. I told you. I do it all.”
“Except feet, cover-ups, and memorials,” I couldn’t help but add.
“That’s right.” She nodded her head, a look of complete sincerity on her face.
While I was trying to decide if Rose was worth her numerous thorns, Bubbe appeared by the open door. When she saw I was inside the office, she disappeared. She was quick, but not quick enough. There was no missing the ancient bone knife she grasped in one hand, or the squirming rabbit dangling from the other.