him as he carefully makes his way out towards me. “I want to go home.”
“I will, Sasha.” He’s only a few paces away when he stops walking. “I will. But I told you I’d show you everything I had on Nick. And this is where I have it.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s a trick. You’re tricking me.”
He takes those final few steps and places the umbrella over my head. The cool prickles of rain stop misting my bare skin and I realize just how cold it is. “You’re all wet now. Come on, let’s go inside and I’ll show you why you’re here. This is my safe house. It’s FBI-sanctioned. It’s only a secret to outsiders. I swear,” he says, crossing his heart with his free hand. “They know you’re here with me. I called it in last night. I’ll show you inside.”
“You turned me in?”
“Sasha,” he says, blowing out some air like he’s getting frustrated. “I already explained to you. Months ago. We don’t want to arrest you, we only want your help. They’re not gonna come take you away. No one is going to hurt you here. That’s why we call it a safe house. This is where I keep all my reconnaissance on Nick. And if you come inside, it will take one flip of a light switch to prove that everything I just said is true.”
I stand still as I consider this.
“Come on,” he insists, taking my arm and pulling me back towards the house. “It’s wet and cold out here. Let’s go back inside and I’ll explain everything.”
I allow him to lead me back to the house. What choice do I have? I’m half-naked and in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.
When we get to the door I hesitate for a moment, but he doesn’t ask me again. Just tugs me back inside and closes the door behind us.
“Just…” He hesitates, making me look up at his face. I can’t see much since there are no lights on, but I can tell his reluctance is due to what’s coming.
“Just tell me, Jax.”
And then his fingertips find a light switch on the wall and the room illuminates.
Everywhere I look, there is nothing but Nick.
“What the fuck is this?”
It’s a stupid question. I know what this is. A full-fledged case study on Nick Tate. The wall in front of me is filled with pictures of him. It starts on one end, the corner nearest the front of the house, and fills the entire wall. There are even a few pictures and notes pasted over the corner on the far end of the room.
He ages in the images on the wall. They start out with Nick as a young teen, before I met him. Then Nick the same age as I remember him from when we were working together, the golden-haired, brown-eyed surfer boy. And then, at less than a quarter of the way across the montage, he begins to morph in appearance. Head shaved almost bald. A scar across his cheek. One tattoo. Spanish lettering arched across the front of his chest with the words Mara Perro in old English calligraphy.
Then slightly longer hair. More tattoos. Skulls and crossbones. Dogs snarling, their teeth dripping with saliva. Chains encircle his neck and arms. His wrists have thick links inked on them, like he’s a prisoner.
My eyes move on, taking in the next set of pictures. His hair is long now, past his shoulders. And it’s the same bright yellow I remember from when we were kids. The tattoos are more religious. There’s a picture on his back, a man with his head illuminated like an icon. The word Santino rides the space between his shoulders. This one in a pretty script writing. There are flowers and children sitting at his feet.
The two sides of his body couldn’t be more different.
I walk over to that image and touch his back. Tracing a line down his spine.
“That’s him.”
I figured.
My eyes leave that image and move on to the next set of pictures. I take it all in as he ages before my eyes. More or less hair. More scars. More tattoos. And when I get to the end, he is nothing but ink. Every question I had about him is laid out on this wall. A decade’s worth of answers.
“When I said I had more information, I meant it.” Jax is frowning. “You said you wanted to know, right?”
I nod.
“Well, then let me walk you through it.”
I hug myself as