Page 30 of Dead Drift

Hedging her bets, she went with her gut instinct. “Did you see that gorgeous white Escalade in the parking lot?”

Tanya beamed.

Bingo.

“It’s mine,” Tanya said, lifting the needle, wiping it, and dipping it in the yellow ink before returning to Kate’s shoulder blade.

“You’re kidding. Man, I’d love a vehicle like that.”

“Hank bought it for me last week for our tenth anniversary.”

“Wow! I wish Garrett could afford gifts like that. I had no idea owning a tattoo studio paid so well. Maybe my guy should switch professions.” Using the term of affection she’d used so often for Luke stung more than the bobbing needle. He was no longer her guy, despite the scenario they were playing today.

“It pays the bills,” Tanya said with a disinterested shrug.

The needle continued pricking her skin like a bee stinging the same area relentlessly, making the area raw and tender.

“Sometimes you need to find other ways to supplement your income,” Tanya finally said.

“Like selling Mary Kay?” she asked, trying to play the fool.

Tanya laughed. “Not exactly.”

Kate frowned.

Tanya looked over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “Let’s just say you find a need—one that people are willing to pay high dollar for in exchange for their autonomy.”

“Like what? Jewelry? I have a friend who works for Ross-Keller as a jewelry rep. She throws parties in her home. Last year she even won a car. . . .”

Tanya chuckled. “Hon, there’s a lot easier ways to make money. You just gotta be willing to take the risks and, no offense, but your boyfriend doesn’t exactly look like the high-risk type.”

Kate swallowed her laughter. If Tanya only knew.

He had been young. It was so long ago, before he was exposed to the cruel truth. And she had been beautiful—long, blond hair, vibrant green eyes the shade of the Aegean Sea—and so kind and attentive. He was a college student on exchange and boarding in her home. She was a professor at the Sorbonne, and seven years older than him, yet she treated him like a man. Something his father had never managed to do.

They’d talked—oh, how they’d talked—long discussions about his love for history, archaeology, and the great antiquities of the world, how he longed to dig some forgotten artifacts out of the ground with his own hands one day.

And that’s when it began. That moment. It was so clear in his mind, his hand even tingled the way it did that day so many years ago, when she took it in hers and led him to her bedroom.

On that day, she became his lover. For nearly six months, it had been idyllic.

His parents never would have approved, but they’d never approved of anything about him. He hadn’t joined their crazy, extremist faith. He was open to all cultures of the world.

He’d studied ancient art rather than the Quran. He would never be an extremist like his father . . . or so he’d thought.

A knock rapped on Khaled Ebeid’s door, pulling him from days long past.

“Sir.” Brandt, his new right-hand man, stuck his head in.

“Yes? What is it?”

“She’s here.”

“Perfect. Show her in.” Now to offer a contract fee high enough to entice her to take the job.

She entered the room with a cold, calculated expression on her beautiful face. “Let’s make this quick. I have somewhere I need to be.”

“With pleasure.” He liked a woman who got straight to the point. “We just need to agree on a price.”