With a curse, I shed the ridiculous suit and haul my own clothes back on, then step out of the dressing room, shoving the pile of expensive garments at Booth. “These are fine. I’m fucking done shopping.”
I’m out the door and halfway down the block by the time he catches up to me, his breath a white cloud puffing into the chilly air. He just falls into step beside me in silence, and I glance over, slowing when I take in his empty hands.
“Change your mind about the tuxes?” I ask, a spark of hope igniting inside me. Maybe we can skip this stupid party and go straight to the senator on Friday.
“They’ll deliver everything to the hotel. I had to guess your shoe size, though, so I hope I picked right. Fourteen, right? Because of what an enormous dick you are?”
I huff a laugh. “I’m not that big a dick. Size thirteen and a half.”
He flashes that shining white grin at me and fishes out his phone. While he calls the tailor to revise my shoe size, I keep walking, and my gaze catches on a sandwich board on the sidewalk up ahead. The word “tattoo” is rendered in decorative lettering, and beneath it are the names of the artists. I have few vices besides sex and alcohol, but getting inked is one I’ve spent far too long abstaining from.
Booth isn’t paying attention when I turn to go into the shop, and I have to grab his shoulder and redirect him. He looks up, startled.
“I caved to your agenda today. Now you owe me,” I say.
“Hell no. I’m not getting a tattoo.”
“I didn’t say you had to. I need this just as much as you need to get laid while we’re here. Three fucking years, man, for real?”
He glares at me, muttering, “I’m not digging into the last time you got laid, asshole,” as we step into the shop.
A round-faced girl with a pierced lip and purple hair greets us at the counter with a nod. “Can I help you?”
“Just here for some ink,” I say. “Nothing complicated, but I’ve got time.”
“I think Alyssa’s finishing up. Give me a second.”
I scan the place. It’s a narrow little storefront with folding massage tables for the customers, rather than a fancy adjustable chair like my brother has. Past the typical Ed Hardy-style flash art on the walls around the counter, more detailed original art hangs above each of the stations. The girl who greeted us is speaking to a busty, black-haired woman with colorful full sleeves cleaning up in a far corner.
“This is something you just do, isn’t it?” Booth asks. “Like going out for drinks? You get a rush from it?”
“It’s a rush, sure, but I don’t do it without forethought. Every piece of ink on my body means something.”
“How many do you have?”
“You’ve never seen me with my shirt off, have you?” I ask. It never occurred to me that over the past three years, our brief check-ins and heart-to-hearts were always fully clothed. Not that we’d had reasons to disrobe, but in the Navy I spent so much time bare-ass naked in the presence of other men that I wasn’t even surprised when I learned Maddox had gotten hot and heavy with his CO. If there was ever a place to discover latent desires like that, it was in the Navy.
As close as Booth and I are, it’s easy to forget we didn’t serve together, so the most he’s seen of my ink are the bottom halves of the dark half-sleeves covering both my upper arms.
I don’t exactly go showing it off, either way. My tattoos are my most identifying feature, so being under cover it seemed reckless to take my shirt off more than necessary. I’m not taking it off today, either.
“No, I have not had the pleasure,” he drawls. “Not that I’m asking, mind you, but if you ever wind up dead and disfigured, it might not hurt to be able to identify the body.”
He’s only half-joking, but I roll my eyes at him when Alyssa smiles and beckons us back. “You’ll have an easy way soon enough.”
“What can I do for you boys?” she asks.
I slip out of my jacket and roll up my left sleeve. “Just a bit of script here,” I say, pointing at the unmarked expanse of skin inside my forearm.
Alyssa nods and reaches for a binder on a nearby shelf, which she hands to me. “Pick your font and write down what you want. Is he getting one to match?” she asks, nodding at Booth with a grin.
Booth blanches. “Hell no. Keep your needles to yourself.”
“Come on, man. This could be such a bonding moment for us,” I taunt. Opening the binder, I flip through until I find the delicate scrollwork lettering I want for this tattoo. Then I print the name in clear block text on the piece of paper Alyssa hands me. She disappears into another room to prep the transfer.
Booth settles on a spare stool nearby, eyeing me critically. “You’ll tattoo her name on you, but you can’t even call her what she is, can you?”
“Don’t push me. It’s been four fucking days, man. Four days since the two people who were supposed to be her parents died. This is just my promise to myself that I’m not going to stop until she’s safe.”
He sighs and shakes his head, looking entirely out of his element in his suit with his overcoat neatly folded on his lap. “This is your thing, and I get it. Maybe someday I’ll work up the nerve, but that’s not today. But I will make you a deal.” He lowers his voice, looking over his shoulder, then back at me.
