“A couple sessions, about four hours each, minimum.”

“So a long time.”

“Not really.”

Avery leaned forward as if contemplating a true decision about giving a tattoo as a gift. “How much would this run?”

Zelda told her.

“Oh. I didn’t realize it cost that much.”

Zelda wasn’t amused. “You get what you pay for. Any guy who has that on his arm isn’t paying a set price but by the hour. By all means, check out more than one parlor. Be careful of anyone who says it will cost less or you’ll end up with him.” Zelda pointed to a cartoon character in the shape of a spider.

“We wouldn’t want that. Have you ever seen a tattoo like this on anyone? I wouldn’t want to suggest something that everyone else has.”

Zelda shrugged. “I haven’t. Not on a forearm.”

Avery felt she was on a roll. “Is there anyone in the city that specializes in spiders?”

“Are you asking for the name of my competition?”

Avery took the picture back and put it in her folder. “I guess that wouldn’t be a smart business practice. I don’t want to make a mistake in the establishment I pick. Things are going really well with my guy, ya know? I would have to pull extra shifts for this kind of money.”

Zelda sighed. “Listen, there is a guy in the Meatpacking District. But he is always six months out in his appointments, and his prices reflect that. He specializes in things like spiders and anything that crawls. But I’m telling you. We can do this.” Zelda pulled her card out and wrote a name on the back. “If you want this for a fair price, you’ll be back.”

Avery tapped the card against her palm. “Thank you. You’ve been so helpful.”

An hour later she was in the Meatpacking District, in front of yet another walking piece of art, asking questions.

“Yeah, Van can do that.”

“Can I talk to him? It’s a big decision . . .” Yadda, yadda. My boyfriend. Avery repeated all the lies she’d used to get her there.

“You can make an appointment. I have room in April.”

“I’d like to talk to him first.”

“Yeah, well, he isn’t here. There’s a big expo in Chicago this weekend.”

The euphoria of an hour before quickly faded. “Well, can you tell me if he’s done anything like this before?”

The clerk glanced at the walls with testimonials everywhere showing spider art. “It’s what he does.”

“Exactly this. Has he done this tattoo before?”

Did he just roll his eyes?

“Every tattoo is going to be unique due to the canvas you’re putting it on.”

Avery shoved the paper in front of him. “This?”

He shook his head as if done with the entire conversation. “Yes. Maybe. It looks a little familiar, but that doesn’t mean it’s common. I see spiders in my sleep after working here.”

Not a confirmation, but not a denial. “How much will this cost?”

Zelda was right. This Van Lynch guy wanted triple.

Avery smiled and gathered her papers. “You get what you pay for, right?”

“Right. So do you want the appointment in April?”

“I need to check with my boyfriend.”

The clerk seemed annoyed that she’d wasted his time.

Once again it was after two and she hadn’t eaten. Avery made her way uptown and walked through Central Park while eating a hot dog. Food on the go. That’s what she needed, nothing fancy, and certainly no liquor to accompany anything.

Sitting on a park bench, she watched as people walked by, normal people doing normal things while Spider was out there. Avery judged every woman. Could they handle themselves if Spider attacked them? Would they freeze and cower on the ground while a boot flew into their face?

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It had been doing that a lot.

She pulled it out. Four messages.

The first was Brenda. “You missed your appointment. Don’t think I won’t charge you. We’ll work harder on Friday.”

Then there was Liam. “Hey, Princess.” He paused. “Do you like dogs? I mean. Never mind. I hope everything is going well in Seattle. Call me when you have a second.”

She squeezed her eyes shut when she heard his voice. He didn’t deserve her lies.

The next two messages were from Sheldon. “Hey, Avery. I hired an exterminator. Take care of that little issue upstairs.” Thoughtful. She was actually a little impressed. Only his next message wiped all that away. “Two days and you’re not here. Are you planning on coming back?” His voice was angry. “Call me.”

She’d take care of Brenda later.

There was no way she was going to talk to Liam. She chickened out of a phone call and sent a text. Super busy. Up early, back late. Damn phone battery isn’t holding a charge. Sorry. She hit send and stared at her message. Lame and lies. She wanted to add that she’d call him. But she wouldn’t. Not yet.

Sheldon picked up on the second ring. She was really hoping for a voice mail.

“I’m sorry,” she said after they said hello.

“I’m not sure how you’re going to get the job done on time if you’re not here.”

“I understand. The spider thing freaked me out. Took a whole day to stop shaking.” She faked a flirty laugh. “I’m a girl sometimes.”

Sheldon’s voice softened. “I can understand that.”

Avery kicked herself for using her breathy voice. “Then something really important came up. It’s not avoidable.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“It’s my aunt. She’s sick. I’m in Seattle helping her out.” And the lies kept coming.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I guess there isn’t a huge hurry if I’m renovating. Did you talk to your contractor?”

Avery tossed a silent fist in the air and winced. Jesus. “Yes. I gave him your number. But he’s busy, Sheldon. I’m not sure if he can help you out, but he might be able to recommend someone who can.”

“Do you have his number on you? I can call him.”

She bit her lip. “Nope. Left that back in LA. I’m sure he’ll call soon. He’s reliable.” Unlike me.

“Okay. Let me know when you’re back so I know when to expect people around.”

“I will absolutely do that.” The only nonlie that left her mouth. “Thank you for understanding.”

She hung up the phone and damn near tossed it across the park. “‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave.’” How poetic.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Sorry?” From the woman who said she’d said she was sorry five times in her whole life and actually meant it. He understood work, completely got being so busy you don’t stop. Her phone not holding a charge was what stumped him. Something about that didn’t feel right. Yeah, it happened . . . but what did it take to send a quick hello, I miss you?

Had he scared her off so completely that she was running away? I don’t do relationships. I don’t date. Her mantra since they met had been broken through over the last two weeks, yet now she was pulling away. The thought made his chest ache.

“She’s just busy working,” he told himself.

Yet the other voice, his inside voice, said he was fooling himself. There was more to it.

Avery started back toward her hotel and walked past Bergdorf Goodman. She stopped and tilted her head to take in the high-rise department store. It was one of her favorite stomping grounds when she was in New York. The last time she’d been there was the day of the attack.

Someone bumped into her while walking by, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Sorry,” the guy said, walking away.

“No problem . . .” Her words trailed off when her eyes landed on the parking garage she was attacked in.

Without thought, she followed the rush of people crossing on the not quite green light until she stood where she had been nearly a year before.

She walked in and down the ramp, ignoring the fact that her heart sped up and her palms started to sweat. There had been no anxiety when she’d walked in before. She had finished her first real day of work, and the mom bag she’d used to carry all of Trina’s late husband’s treasures had been empty. Having several hundred thousand dollars of watches and pens had made her feel like a target. The irony wasn’t lost on her now.

Fluorescent lights hummed above her head and attempted to stay lit. The flickering sparked a memory. She glanced up. Fire sprinkler lines crisscrossed the concrete ceiling, which served as a floor for what sat above. Black stains from smog-producing engines stained the dingy white walls. Well, they were once white, though now they sported a dirty gray patina that couldn’t be duplicated with a can of paint. You would think a garage on Fifth Avenue would be better maintained. Then again, the garage would always be full, and the people leaving their cars there would pay a premium regardless of how pretty it was or wasn’t.

The low ceiling started to weigh on her as she walked deeper. Anyone watching would probably think she was staking out a car. Normally she looked like she belonged there. Fancy shoes, nice skirt, sunglasses that cost what those college kids made in a month. Today she wore black leggings, a comfortable flat boot, a T-shirt, and a short-waist jacket. No makeup and not one accessory. She hadn’t even packed a pair of earrings for her trip.