Yup. She did know something.

“Look, Wendy, I care about Marj very much, and I care about her brothers. Is there anything else you can possibly tell me?”

Wendy licked her lips, seemingly lost in thought. Then, “Maybe it’s time. I did some things at Brad’s request, things I didn’t necessarily agree with, but I loved him and I wanted him happy. I can only tell you this much. Around twenty-five years ago, something happened in the Steel family.”

Twenty-five years ago. That was about the time of the five-million-dollar transfer that didn’t make any sense in the documents. “What happened exactly?” I asked.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds and then re-opened them. “Something abominable, appalling. Between my clout with the media and Brad’s money, we were able to keep it quiet. I didn’t agree then, because it meant a lot of sick people got away with some really heinous crimes, but I agree with him now.” She regarded me, her blue eyes sunken and pleading. “Please don’t dredge up the past, Jade. So many people will get hurt.”

Chapter Fifteen

Talon

The next day I drove to Grand Junction to meet with Robert Prendergast, otherwise known as Biker Bob, who owned one of the top tattoo parlors in the city. Safe in a Ziploc was the photo of the tattoo that I remembered from my past. I’d put it in an envelope so I didn’t have to see it. Seeing it was…bad.

I had called Bob ahead of time, and he’d agreed to meet me at his shop. Of course, I’d had to promise to make it worth his while. Waive a few dollars around, and most people ended up exactly where you wanted them. Surreal.

This shop was state of the art, nothing like the little hole in Snow Creek. I walked in, and several artists were working in the back, their tattoo guns buzzing.

The receptionist, platinum blond and heavily tattooed, nodded at me. “Help you?”

“I’m here to see Bob. He’s expecting me. Talon Steel.”

She smiled and stood. “I’ll get him for you.”

The receptionist returned with a massive mountain of a man wearing a leather vest, a studded leather belt, and jeans. His hair was wrapped up in a do-rag, and a graying braid hung out from it all the way down to his ass crack, which was, unfortunately, visible when he turned to whisper something to the receptionist.

He held out his hand. “I’m Bob.”

I shook his meaty paw. “Great to meet you. Is there a place we can talk? Maybe get a cup of coffee?”

“How about a beer?”

I twisted my lips. “Even better.”

We walked a few shops down to a little Irish pub. When I found out they didn’t have Peach Street or Breckenridge, I ordered a Jameson. Biker Bob went Guinness all the way, along with an order of onion rings. It was early yet, so the place wasn’t too rowdy, and we could actually hear each other talk.

“So what can I help you with?” Bob asked.

“It’s about the tattoo parlor you used to own in Snow Creek. Toby Jackson owns it now.”

“Yeah, good guy, Toby. Talented artist, too.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You mean you’re a virgin?”

What the hell? I must’ve looked as confused as I was, because he let out a guffaw.

“I mean a virgin body. No tats.”

“Nope, no tats.” And it was going to stay that way.

“I could fix you up. A good-looking guy like you, all those muscles. You got a special lady?”

I kept myself from nodding. “Nope.”

“Shoot. She’d love her name on one of those triceps.”

The way Bob was eyeing me freaked me out a little. My guts started to churn. “I don’t think so. And stop staring at me.” I looked away from him.

“Cool down. I’m a ladies’ man all the way. But I look at everyone’s body. It’s a canvas to me, ya know?”

Whatever. I wanted to get back to the subject at hand. “I was going through one of the books from your old place, and I found a tattoo that I remember seeing a long time ago. How long did you own the shop in Snow Creek?”

“About five years.”

Shit. Then he might not know who the hell this guy was either.

“But I worked there from the time I was eighteen and an apprentice.”

Eureka.

“Cool. So how long were you there altogether?”

“Fifteen years, all told. Bought it about ten years in, sold it to Toby about fifteen years ago.”

Thirty years ago. Interesting. The timing was right. I pulled the photo safely ensconced in its plastic bag out of my pocket. “Do you recognize this work?”

He pulled the photo out of the envelope and his eyes lit up. “Recognize it? That’s my work. One of my finest designs, if I do say so myself.”

My heart raced. “Did anybody else in the shop do that particular design?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Most artists don’t use other artist’s designs, unless someone comes in wanting that particular tattoo and the originating artist isn’t available. Kind of a professional courtesy. But I left copies of my work with Toby at his request, in case someone came in looking for something I was known for. It was part of our deal.”

That explained why Toby had the photo. “Do you remember the guy in this photo?”

“That was a long time ago, man. Lots of people loved that design. I used it a lot.”

“Did they all have it done on their forearm like this?”

He shook his head. “Most of them had it on their shoulder or lower back. Some on the upper arm. I’m trying to recollect…”

The waitress came by and took an order for another drink for each of us. Bob ordered another plate of rings.

“There was one guy who wanted it on his forearm. That might’ve been the first time I did this particular design. But then I think there was one other guy who wanted it on the forearm because the picture showed it that way. Obviously. Then there might have been another, too.”

And maybe another. Was I wasting my time here? “Do you remember the names of any of the guys who had it done on the forearm?”

“Man, I wish I could help you. But it was a damn long time ago.”

“Have you come across this design anytime else in your career?”