47

Veranda stood in the eye of the hurricane. That moment of calm in the center of chaos before the other side of the storm buffeted her. A morning spent in the hot seat at PSB had clarified her situation as nothing else could. Lieutenant Diaz and the Phoenix Police Department would use every ounce of their considerable power to control her. After Diaz dropped her back at the hospital, she’d visited with Agent Rios in his room. Satisfied he would recover, she passed by the gift shop on the way to the parking lot. A Navajo dreamcatcher featuring a howling Timber wolf dangled in the window. Her wolf dream rushed back to her, bringing inspiration with it.

Starting today, she would take back control. And she would begin with her own body.

That had been her plan four hours ago. Now, all sense of control deserted her as she gazed up at the burly man looming over her. He was about to inflict serious pain. Gripping the arms of her chair, her eyes traced the jagged scar climbing up his neck to disappear into his dense beard. She couldn’t understand how anyone had survived such a grievous wound.

The man clearly lived up to his street name, Oso, the Spanish word for “bear.” Intricate body art decorated every inch of his six-foot-five-inch frame not covered by his black leather vest and blue jeans. Even his face bore three dark blue teardrops spilling down from the outer corner of his eye, an obvious prison tatt.

Oso slid a beefy finger, encased in a purple latex glove, under her bra strap. “Take it off.”

Her T-shirt was already draped over a hook on the back of the locked door.

He withdrew his hand to pick up a long steel needle from a tray of instruments and grinned down at her, revealing a gold tooth. “I hope you have a high pain tolerance.”

Transfixed, she watched him insert the sharp instrument into a machine that looked like a drill and switch it on. The high-pitched sound catapulted her nervous system into overdrive. Her body jolted upright in the chair.

Chuy’s voice came from behind her. “Hey mi’jita, what’s up with you?”

Pulse pounding, she twisted around to look at her cousin. “I got a distorted fragment of memory.” She blinked, trying to distinguish between the vision in her mind and the reality around her. “This whole situation …” She swept out a hand to indicate the back room of the tattoo parlor. “Gave me something like a flashback.”

She’d called her favorite cousin before leaving the hospital, finally ready to accept his offer of help with the cartel tattoo over her heart. Once a solution came to her, she couldn’t stand the idea of living with the Villalobos family mark another day.

Chuy had taken her to Oso, the best cover-up tattoo artist in Phoenix. Chuy’s description of his former cellmate on the way to Tiffany’s parents’ house hadn’t done Oso justice.

After serving their respective sentences, Chuy and Oso had both faced the reality that no one was going to hire them. Unlike many of their fellow former inmates, each had beaten the odds to become small business owners.

Oso talked with her for over an hour about her idea, what was achievable, and what was not. Oso worked strictly freehand, explaining that he would create the artwork as he saw fit based on her vision. He’d showed her his portfolio and asked her to trust him. Unfortunately, her trust hadn’t extended to sharing her previous experience regarding tattoos. She should have warned him.

“What kind of flashback did you have?” Chuy asked.

She was far more comfortable baring her skin than her soul. There was no sense hiding either now, and she needed time to collect herself. Chuy knew some of the story, but she was about to confide more than she ever had.

Drawing a deep breath, she pointed at her exposed upper left chest. “A high-ranking member of the Villalobos cartel did this after drugging me. All I have are distorted images and bits of memories. The noise from the machine must have triggered a reaction.”

Concern wrinkled Oso’s heavy brow. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve never been more certian of anything.” She met his eyes, willing him to understand. “People I care about—my former boyfriend, my partner, my family—have been hurt because of me. My department is going to hold a hearing to decide if I should keep my badge.” She hesitated before admitting the final part. “And Hector Villalobos wants me dead.”

Chuy swore under his breath. “While I’m in Mexico, I should take out that pendejo myself.”

“You aren’t going anywhere near him.” She narrowed her eyes. “This is my battle, not yours.”

Chuy showed signs of arguing but seemed to think better of it. Oso was there, and Chuy wasn’t supposed to discuss his new sideline.

Instead, her cousin settled for a menacing scowl. “We aren’t done talking about this, mi’jita.”

She turned her attention back to Oso, whose expression telegraphed skepticism. She would have to prove her commitment.

She reached around behind her back. “Some things I can’t control, but this I can.” She unhooked her bra. “Do I want to do this? No.” She grasped the lacy material and tossed it aside. “But I need to do this.”

Chuy and Oso exchanged glances.

“Okay, I hear you,” Oso said. “Let’s change the ink to make it your own, but are you sure about the design?”

“I had a dream about a gray wolf,” she told him. “Today, it finally clicked. I’m not part of the Villalobos clan, but I’ve been wearing their mark for seven weeks. It’s time I did something about it.”

She reflected on the effect her unwanted body art had on people, picturing the paramedic’s reaction at the storage unit scene when he spotted it. The EMT’s expression echoed the one Cole quickly hid the first time he saw it. Finally, she remembered the full-length mirror at her mother’s house. Tiffany had to cover the black wolf and letter V with body makeup so she wouldn’t mortify the guests or cause her family more pain. She squared her shoulders. After today, the cartel tattoo wouldn’t mar her body anymore.

“We’ve gone over this,” Oso said after a long pause. “But I’ll remind you one more time. This is a substantial piece of work and the tatt you’re changing is black. You’ll sit in this chair a lot over the next couple of weeks. It’s a process. The first session will take a couple of hours and cover a fair amount of fresh skin in some sensitive areas.” He paused to regard her. “I won’t lie. It’ll hurt.” At her nod, he continued. “I’ll use a white ink enhancement first. We’ll see if that gets you where you want to go. If not, I can blend in some lasering to fade the color more.”

The wolf’s head would remain over her heart, but Oso planned to lighten it to gray and soften the face with a ruff of fur. She’d opted to add a full body to the newly redesigned head, insisting Oso make it distinctly female. The gray wolf would cover almost half her torso, from its head on her chest to its bushy tail curled over her hip. Oso had warned her the artwork over her rib cage would cause the most pain.

The red V above the original tattoo symbolized her Villalobos bloodline, a scarlet letter forced on her to bring public scorn and humiliation. Instead of lasering it off to deny her father, she would enhance it to honor her mother, adding letters to create the name Lorena had chosen for her. Veranda.

When the transformation was complete, the new creation would evoke her own personal code. Still lupine, deadly, and fierce, but tempered by compassion and full of heart.

“Any last questions?” Oso asked her.

This felt like the final preflight check. Replaying their discussion in her mind, a small but important detail occurred to her. “Can you make the eyes hazel?” She’d inherited her mother’s eyes, another special bond she wanted to memorialize.

“I’ll match them to yours.” Oso leaned in close. “I see shades of green, brown, and gold. Very pretty.”

“Oye cochino,” Chuy said, thumping his fist into Oso’s shoulder. “Don’t be gazing into my cousin’s eyes like that.”

“Who you calling dirty?” Oso tried to pull off a wounded expression, but only managed to look like he’d swallowed a jalapeño. “I’m a professional.”

Chuy rolled his eyes at Oso before handing her a stick of gum. “You were out of it the last time you got inked, so you don’t know what it feels like. Chew on this and squeeze my hand if you need to. You’ve got to be still no matter how much it hurts.”

All transformation involved pain. Serious transformation left scars, visible and hidden. She smiled. This pain, she had chosen. And she would embrace it. Settling back against the chair, she popped the gum into her mouth and slipped her hand into Chuy’s before turning to Oso. “Bring it on.”

As the needle pierced her skin, she contemplated the forces that had shaped her. Born of her father’s brutal crime. Saved by her mother’s selfless love. The new body art would represent both aspects of her nature, blending shadow and light.

I am the gray wolf.