Just One Night Together (Flatiron Five Fitness #3) - Deborah Cooke Page 0,100

was open, too.

Talk about one-stop shopping.

Damon tapped on the door of the tattoo shop and the blond woman at the back turned around. She was dressed in black leather with a ton of eyeliner. She wore a torn T-shirt and pink tips on her hair. She looked about as friendly as Haley’s cat so he decided against making any comment about punk rock being dead. “Hi. I’m Damon Perez, one of the F5F partners.”

“Chynna,” she said, offering her hand. Her fingers were cool and her gaze assessing. “You’re the design guy, right?”

“Right.”

“So? What do you think of the result?” She indicated the shop.

“It looks great. Bigger and brighter than I’d expected.” His design had been in black and white, a black floor with the phases of the moon in white on it, and a lot of black glass tiles on the walls that sparkled like they were filled with stars. There were red hearts scattered in key locations. He’d designated one wall for photographs from her portfolio and really liked how they looked, framed in black like the art that they were. Chynna had added full length velvet curtains in deep red, in case a client wanted privacy, and a lot of fairy lights. The shop name, Flatiron Five Tattoo, filled the back wall in red neon and there was even a little neon heart at the end that pulsed.

The tattoo she gave away was a little heart, after all.

“The wall mirror was a great idea, and I love the glass tile mosaic.” Chynna smiled. “You should see it at night when the fairy lights are on.”

Damon nodded. “I will. Are you open?”

“Unofficially. Working out the kinks.”

“When’s the official opening?”

“On the thirty-first. That’ll be the next full moon.”

“Any chance you could do a tattoo for me before that?”

Chynna nodded. “You have a design in mind?”

Damon unfolded his drawing. He’d redrawn the original tattoo from all those years ago, the one covered up by the tribal. “I had this before,” he explained, telling her the story behind it. “I want it on the other arm with a memorial below it.”

“Someone who didn’t come home,” she said, understanding immediately. “Do you have time now?”

“Sure.”

She beckoned to him, new purpose in her manner. “Take off your shirt and let me see the canvas.”

Damon didn’t want to talk to Haley on the phone the first time. He wanted to see her in person. He bought a large bouquet of red roses at a local florist, enduring the comments about love and happily ever after with more good humor than he might have a year before. He flagged down a cab, afraid for the roses in the cold.

The cabbie took one look and smothered a smile. “A bit late for Valentine’s Day, aren’t you?”

“I just hope I’m not too late,” Damon admitted, because it was true.

The cab ride was mercifully short. His heart was racing when they approached Haley’s building and a thousand doubts assailed him. She could be working. She could be out with friends. She could have a date with some other guy.

She could be with some other guy.

It didn’t matter. Even if the best he could do was thank her properly, that was what he’d do. He paid the fare and stood on the sidewalk for a moment, mustering his courage. He looked up at her window and frowned.

There were drapes on the window instead of blinds.

He could see a blue vase filled with sticks and fake flowers that didn’t look like something Haley would have in her apartment.

And there was no cat sitting on the sill.

Had she taken that job, the one near Garrett?

What about her message?

Panic shot through Damon.

He strode to the lobby and checked the board. Haley’s name wasn’t there, not anymore. He rang the super’s unit but there was no answer. He turned around in the foyer of the building, wondering what to do, then caught a glimpse of the super in the foyer beyond. He knocked on the glass and the older man looked up, then smiled in recognition. He leaned his mop against the wall and sauntered toward the security door, taking about a thousand years to do it.

His gaze dropped to the roses, carefully wrapped in clear plastic, then he shook his head. “You’re too late, son. She’s gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“She took a job in another city. I forget where.”

“Illinois,” Damon said through his teeth.

“Maybe. All that mattered to me was that she was moving out, and in a hurry. Too bad really. She was