“There’s only a couch, but it’s comfortable.”

“That’ll work. This is Harper. Harper, this is Pari.”

“Hey, Harper,” she said, but before Harper could respond, a shower of sparks lit the area. A rustling sounded from under the desk and was followed by a solid thud as Pari slammed into the underside of it for the umpteenth time.

Doubtful that phone lines sparked like that, I leaned over again. “Seriously, what are you doing?”

“Did you see a spark?”

“I’m going to show Harper to her room. Try not to kill yourself before I get back.”

“Okay, lock the door on the way out.”

“O—”

“Wait!” She popped up again, an idea lighting her face. Her heavy liner narrowed as she patted the desk, searching for her sunglasses again. I let her get them that time. She slid them onto her face, then said, “I’m doing you a favor.”

I hitched my hip back onto her desk. “Yes.”

“And favors need to be repaid, right?”

Wondering where she was going with this, I said, “Yes.”

“Go on a date with me.”

“You’re not really my type.”

“Come on, Chuck. One date and I’ll never ask again.”

“No, really, you’re not my type.”

“You know how you have this incredible gift for being able to tell when someone is lying?”

I glanced at Harper. She seemed very interested all of a sudden. I shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Well, I’m thinking about dating this guy, but I can’t quite get a read on him. You know, I can’t tell if he’s being truthful with me or not.”

“Do you suspect him of anything in particular?”

“Not really. I just thought you could show up—” She added air quotes to emphasize the deception “—then just sit with us a minute. You know, just long enough to get a read on him.”

“I don’t really read people.”

“Feel him, then.”

“Fun, yet awkward.”

“You know what I mean. Tit for tat, lady. Take it or leave it.” She looked past me. “No offense, Harper.”

“Oh, none tak—”

“So?” Pari said, interrupting poor Harper, who was finally getting a word in. “My couch for your mad skill.”

“Well, since you put it that way.”

“Sweet. I’ll text you the place and time.”

“Wonderful. I’m going to show Harper the couch.”

“Okay.”

I figured our conversation was over, but no sooner had she ducked behind the desk than she popped right back up again. She reminded me of a toaster pastry minus the icing.

“Wait a minute. Where have you been?”

“Around. Just kind of hanging out in my apartment.”

“For two months?”

“Pretty much.”

“Hmm. Okay, well, lock the door!” she yelled. She was so pushy.

“She’s interesting.”

“Yes, she is.” I led Harper around a tight corner, made tighter by the boxes of supplies, and into a small back room. “It’s not much, but no one will think to look for you here, I’m certain of it.”

She took it all in with a gracious nod. I could tell she wanted to scrunch her nose in distaste, but refrained out of kindness. “This is perfect,” she said instead. What a great sport.

“Okay, I’m off to do investigative stuff. I’ll come back later tonight. You gonna be okay here?”

“Sure, I’ll be fine.”

I put a hand on her arm to draw her attention away from her new surroundings. “I’ll do everything in my power to find whoever is doing this to you. I promise.”

A tiny smile lit her face, and if I wasn’t mistaken, she was a little relieved. “Thank you.”

After leaving Harper standing in the middle of the tiny room, I spotted Pari’s apprentice, Tre. He was working on a girl’s tat who looked torn between anguish and desire. I could hardly blame her. Tre was like a Long Island iced tea: tall, unassuming, delicious enough to wet your whistle as well as other places, and packed a lethal punch when you least expected it.

“Hey, Chuck,” he said, nodding at me between buzzes of the needle. The fact that deep down inside, tattoo artists must enjoy the infliction of pain on others was not lost on me. I wondered if that trait spilled over into his personal life. I could handle pain if that’s what he was into. Not a lot, but …

“Hey, you,” I said, only a little worried I’d make him mess up. Mistakes were so permanent. Like nine-months-after-prom permanent.

He paused his efforts to ask, “Do you just call me you because you can’t remember my name?”

My shoulders wilted. “Darn. You caught me. No, wait, it’s here somewhere.” I tapped my temple in thought as he went back to his task. “Oh, right, is it Serving Tray?”

He shook his head, his brows drawn in concentration.

“Is it Lunch Tray?”

“No,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“Is it Ashtray?”

He paused again, and the girl shot daggers at me with her huge dark eyes. She was either jealous or in so much pain, she just wanted it over with, and I kept interrupting.

“Forget I asked,” he said, a boyish smile lighting his features.

What a heartbreaker. No wonder Pari’s female client base had tripled since he started working with her.