“I don’t know about reasons. Fears, yeah. My dad was raised by quiet Chinese immigrants; my mom comes from an affluent family of accountants in Spain. They’ve always had strong opinions about Ned’s clientele.”

“Are any of those opinions warranted?”

“Well . . .” Ivy has shifted her body to focus on the midsection of the tattoo. I can just barely catch the way her lips twist with hesitation in the mirror.

“The guy yesterday, in the back. The biker who wanted his arm done. I’d say that your parents’ opinions of him might be warranted.” All this talk of parents makes me think of mine, something I never do when I’m on an assignment. They’re no more than a fifteen-minute drive from here.

She smirks. “So you knew who he was when you tried to provoke a fight.”

“Just like you knew who he was when you stepped between us.” Her tiny body, her delicate fingers, pressing into my stomach. The girl doesn’t back down, even when she’s afraid.

In the mirror’s reflection, I see her smile. “I guess it would make sense that you recognize those kind of people, given what you do for a living.”

“It would. And I wasn’t provoking anything.”

“Sure you weren’t.” She pauses to adjust something on her machine. “But I guess it’s all about who you associate with, right? My uncle Ned, he was just trying to run his business and didn’t really give a shit about what anyone did as long as they didn’t bring it into the shop. But he’s been painted with an ugly brush by my parents. And now the cops are only too eager to somehow pin the blame for what happened to him right back on him. Whoever did this is going to get away with killing two innocent men. Or at least one. I didn’t know the other guy.”

Her expression, her voice, the way her shoulders seem to sag with the weight of that reality—she really believes that her uncle was needlessly murdered, probably collateral damage in a burglary gone wrong. And if she believes that, then there’s no way she knows anything about the blackmail scheme.

“What’s wrong?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Your whole body just . . . relaxed. Not that it wasn’t unusually relaxed before, but I felt it shift.”

Because now I know that I don’t have to kill you. I smile. “Yeah, I guess it did.”

FIFTEEN

IVY

HOUR THREE

“Why are you selling the shop if you love this job so much?”

So much for “small talk,” though there hasn’t been much in the first two hours as it is. Sebastian is finally opening up to conversation, but the questions are pointed, the topics hard-hitting. And every time he turns his head to watch me with that penetrating gaze of his, I feel compelled to answer him.

“Because my cousin can’t run it. He lives abroad and he has a lot of commitments over there.” I keep my eyes on my work. I’m more than halfway through the outline already. Another hour and I should be ready to begin filling in.

It’s going to look incredible.

“Then why don’t you run it? Too many other commitments as well?”

“No. I don’t have any, actually.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not?” I frown. “I don’t know why not. I guess I’ve avoided having them up until now.”

“All commitments?”

“As much as possible.”

“Why?”

“You already asked me that,” I mutter.

He pauses, seems to ponder that. “I thought all women wanted commitment.”

I chuckle at the generalization. For someone who must rely on good intuition on a daily basis, he’s still such a guy. “Maybe all the women you associate with. I guess I’m not like the kind of women you’re used to.”

He cranes his head to see my face. “And what kind of women am I used to?” There’s amusement in his voice now.

I reach over and shove his face back down. “Oklahoma State beauty pageant winners? Cocktail waitresses with boob jobs? I don’t know. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Why?”

“Morbid curiosity.”

He opens his mouth and I think he’s actually going to answer. “Why do you avoid commitment?”

I guess Sebastian will not be sharing his preferences in females today. Maybe that’s for the best, because I don’t want to hear about the future stay-at-home, childrearing, Pinterest mommies he regularly screws. “Because I’ve always liked to be able to pick up and go whenever I want. I like living out of a suitcase and not answering to anyone. I love doing my own thing and being my own person.” It helps that he’s not looking at me right now. It’s kind of like being in a confessional, when you’re telling all your sins to the mysterious voice behind the curtain.

Although I’m committing another sin while saying these words. I’m lying. I actually was enjoying staying in one place. It was nice having four walls and a door that felt like they belonged to me. And I didn’t have to sacrifice doing my own thing and being my own person to have that.

“What about your family?”

“What about them?” He asks like he knows my family.

“They’re okay with your lifestyle?”

“The way I see it, they have their own lives to lead however they want. They don’t get to lead mine for me, too. It doesn’t work like that.”

“That’s a good answer. I like it.”

I smile. His validation feels good.

“But what about when you get married and have kids?”

I start to laugh. “Do you always get this personal with people you don’t know?”

“Only the ones who tell me to unzip my pants.”

I duck away to get a fresh paper towel from the roll and hide my smile. Sebastian is witty, and witty people excite me. And he’s really beginning to open up, probably because I am, too. It’s easier for me to do here, while I’m working. I’m in my element.

So, do I answer truthfully? Will answering truthfully crush any chance I have of getting his pants all the way off him tonight?

I’m beginning to see why Amber says I think like a guy.

Fair enough, but I don’t want to lie like one just to get laid.

“I don’t have a maternal bone in my body, and I have yet to meet a man who can hold my interest for more than a night.” He’s dissecting me with his gaze. I roll my eyes. “Why are you asking?”

“I’m trying to figure you out.”

“Why?”

His mouth twitches. “Because I find you fascinating.”

“Fascinating, like an exotic animal at the zoo fascinating?”

“No. Not like that at all.” His gaze dips a little, to my baggy shirt that leaves everything to the imagination. Working in a place like this, it’s smarter to keep at least somewhat covered up. I want business because of my talent, not my boobs. Plus, it creeps me out to have guys like Bobby ogling me.

But a guy like Sebastian . . .

This back room has suddenly grown hot. I thought that talking would make these hours manageable. I’m not so sure now. “Get back on your side,” I demand.

His eyes linger on me for another moment before reassuming his position with a smile, allowing me to finish tracing the outline of my design on his body while reading too much into his words. “You’re obviously capable of obligating yourself when you want to.”

“Why do you say that?”

I pause to run my gloved fingertip over the man that hangs on his shoulder blade. “Don’t all you guys live for God and country and family?” I haven’t pushed with questions about his time serving overseas, though I’m dying to. I could easily slap a quid pro quo on him for his earlier interrogation about my choice to become a tattoo artist. I’ll bide my time, though, and slip in casual questions and comments to help me figure him out.

He doesn’t answer. I take it as a sign that that topic is still not okay.

“How old are you?” Something I’d know if I had him fill out his paperwork.