Skin

by Karin Tabke

  His words sunk in fast. She nodded. She’d live like she was dying.

  Frankie and Reese walked from the barn to the house. She felt the stretch of her inner thighs from the unaccustomed exercise on the horse and from Reese.

  “I’m going to need supplies,” she said, turning her mind back toward Reese.

  “Supplies?”

  “To develop my film.”

  “Can we send it out?”

  She stopped and looked at him. “Hardly. I don’t want to take a chance some clerk will report me for lascivious content.”

  “Didn’t consider that. How about if you give me the list and I have Midas pick up what you need?”

  “That’ll work. I really don’t feel like driving anywhere. I like the tranquility here.”

  Reese looked at her strangely. “That’ll only last a few days, then the cabin fever will set in.”

  Maybe. She looked at him just as strangely. He didn’t know her well. Or maybe he did. “Maybe,” she said. Maybe she didn’t know herself.

  She steered clear of Angie when she came riding back. Even when Reese headed back to the main barn after a quick lunch where she knew Angie lurked, Frankie kept her cool. She ignored the pangs of jealousy that gnawed at her. She could not change another person’s desires, only her own. It was easier saying those words than living by them.

  “Hey, wiseguy, got any news for me?” Reese asked on the barn phone.

  “Lots. You secure?”

  “As I can be, I’m calling on a land line.”

  “Okay, good, here’s what I have. Anthony is tearing San Francisco apart looking for his sister. He’s crying foul and swearing he’ll kill whoever damages a hair on her head.”

  “Interesting.”

  “It gets better. He had it out with his uncle last night. The old bastard accused the young Turk of embezzling over six million dollars. Had the cooked books to prove it. Said if the old man knew, he’d come back from the grave and slit the punk’s throat. Anthony insisted it was his sister thwarting the old man.”

  “Judas bitch” echoed in his ears. Reese’s skin warmed. No, Frankie wasn’t like that. If he had been hit in the gut with a baseball bat, he couldn’t have been more stunned by his revelation. Was he making excuses for her?

  Shit!

  “If he’s so sure she cheated him out of the money, then why does he want her safe?”

  “I think he wants to do the deed himself.”

  “Frankie doesn’t have the money.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “She doesn’t have it in her.”

  “You’re getting too close to the crack, man.”

  Reese shook his head in denial. It wasn’t like that. He hadn’t lost his objectivity. He swiped a hand across the stubble on his chin and wondered if he was being honest with himself.

  He recalled the two thugs at the Carmel house, the same two who took out the out-of-towners, and the conversation he’d overheard. Someone was misdirecting. He’d always been a gut guy. His gut told him Frankie wasn’t involved. Regardless of what he overheard and Jase’s innuendo.

  “No, I’m not. I have a hunch. The old man knew who was ripping him off and he must have confronted them or made noises about it. That person killed him.”

  “I have it different.”

  “How?”

  “Didn’t his only daughter and he have it out the day before he died? Word is he disowned her, told her he was changing his will. Immediately.”

  The hair on the back of Reese’s neck spiked. “I know they argued.”

  “Yeah, well, a Loretta Wilson crawled out of a crack this morning scared to death, demanding a signed witness protection contract before she said a word.”

  Reese’s gut twisted painfully. “And?”

  “We gave it to her. She said Donatello and his daughter had a knock-down, drag-out fight the morning before he died. The daughter told the old man he was dead to her.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, I feel your pain, man.”

  “I can’t believe —”

  “Dude, we have the accounts, even though she buried two of them. They double back to her. She had motive, means, and opportunity. Who else knew the old man was traveling without his usual goons to the restaurant that morning? And who else could get that close to him to off him?”

  “Then who is trying to kill her?”

  “Nobody.”

  Reese’s blood ran cold through his veins.

  “She set it up to look like her brother, so her uncle would take care of him. Carmine almost did. According to the Wilson woman, the old man was going to change the will, leave it all to his son.”

  “I don’t buy it, too many close calls.”

  “Really? Let’s take it apart. First she gets winged in the arm at her uncle’s. She could easily have set it up. Tell her shooter where and when, then make it look like what it looked like. Next, she has someone trash her house, then, to make sure those guys keep their mouths shut, she hires more guys to off them.”

  Reese’s scowl deepened. “What about the car?”

  “What about it? She knew what was coming, she would have managed to get out of its way if Superman hadn’t shown up.”

  “So I guess she called those two bozos who showed up at the Carmel house and instructed them to shoot at her.”

  “Bingo. Same with the hotel shooter. How convenient — and not even a knick. It’s just a matter of time before someone shows up there.”

  “She doesn’t know where she is.”

  “The hell she doesn’t. I’ll bet you my new house she’s already sent the signal. Mark my words, buddy. Goombahs will show up, coz she’ll get the word out.”

  Reese stared, unseeing, at the knots in the wood of the small office he stood in. Inch by inch his brain absorbed Jase’s words. Looking at this objectively, void of emotion or libido, every puzzle piece fit.

  “And there’s one more thing.”

  Reese took a deep breath. “What?”

  “Tawny, the secretary, came forward about an hour ago. We’re waiting for her lawyer to show up, but she says she can prove big sister tried to kill little brother. Apparently, she has a recorded phone conversation.”

  Reese’s blood chilled. “I have some work left to do.”

  “Watch your back, man. She’s dangerous with a capital D.”

  “Right.” Slowly Reese replaced the phone in its cradle. He felt sick to his stomach. His gut screamed no, it wasn’t true, but his brain, the one that had analyzed hundreds of cases, told him every piece of evidence pointed at Frankie. Glaringly so. What better way to get back at the person who shunned you privately, who put your brother first, who never bothered with you? And what a perfect way to take out the sibling that garnered all of the attention? Pit him against the new head of the family, the loving uncle, the one with all of the power, and make him look like the bad guy.

  He punched the wall, the wood splintering beneath his knuckles. He barely flinched as sharp pieces dug into his skin. “Son of a bitch! How could I be so damn blind?”

  He punched the wall again, this time feeling pain. It resonated to his heart. He gritted his teeth. At least when his mother deserted him, she was honest about her reasons, shitty as they were. Francesca manipulated everyone and everything around her. He sat down in the rickety old chair and hung his head. His innards twisted in agonizing pain. When, he asked himself, did he begin to have feelings for her?

  “Fuck.” He stood. He’d fallen hard for a cold-blooded killer. And what was worse, now he wanted to hurt her, like she hurt him. Worse than that…he still wanted her — despite the mounting evidence.

  Jase was right. He’d lost his objectivity. He’d gone soft; he let his dick think for him and then his emotions followed blindly behind like a damn puppy on a leash. He should pull himself off the case right now — but the thought of that stung deep. He couldn’t.

  And so he did what any person in denial did. His heart interceded and he ratio
nalized this situation.

  Maybe there was a way around this. If she came clean. Maybe if she was granted leniency, she’d tell him the truth. He shook his head. No, there would be no clemency for premeditated murder. What if she turned state’s evidence? The courts could be massaged.

  A sudden thought came to him. Maybe she was in fear of her life, maybe the old man tried to kill her; self-defense was pardonable. There was still the hit out on her brother and the embezzlement.

  For long moments Reese tried to convince himself that if he told Frankie how much he cared, she’d come around, and if she turned state’s evidence, the DA would cut her a deal.

  No. No damn deal! Reality hit him hard in the gut. How could he have been so blind? Feeling like he’d been hollowed out like a jack-o’-lantern, he turned to leave the room.

  “Hey, cowboy,” Angie purred, blocking his exit. His shirt hung around her bare shoulders. She must have picked it up when he went after Frankie. It was all she wore at the moment.

  “I’m not interested.”

  She rubbed her hand down the length of his fly and pressed her substantial breasts against his bare chest. “You were earlier. I saw how you stared at me.”

  He was a lot of things earlier, including the schmuck he still was. Anger flared. Damn Frankie for playing him like a fool. He gave Angie a second look. He forced a smile. “Maybe I am after all.”

  He pulled her back into the office and slammed the door shut with the heel of his boot. Then he slammed her against the wall he’d punched. Her fingers worked fast. She had his pants unbuttoned and her hand pulling him out before she let him change his mind.

  “Reese,” she panted, “I’ve missed you for so long. Why didn’t you come back for me?”

  He couldn’t come back for himself, how could he for her? Besides, there was no one to come back to. His mother ran off, he killed his sister, and his father disowned him. Sadness welled in his heart. Sadness for a family lost, and he realized sadness for what would never be with Frankie.

  He grabbed Angie’s hand from his dick. Gently he pushed her away and pulled up his pants. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  He buttoned his pants and stepped past her.

  “Is she that good, Reese, or am I that bad?”

  He turned to look at her, emotions he couldn’t put a name to roiling within his chest. “Neither.”

  He walked to the tack room and crossed to the sink. Angie’s cloistering scent clung to him like a weed. He turned on the water, stuck his head under the faucet, and let the icy water numb his brain.

  Throwing his head back, he let the water run down to his chest. His shirt lay on the wooden horse beside him. He smiled wanly. At least Angie wasn’t a screaming bitch about it. He mopped his face and chest dry with his shirt. When he opened it up to put it on, he laughed. The back was ripped in half. Okay, so she was a woman scorned. He slipped it on anyway, grateful for the modicum of warmth it would give him on the short walk to the house. The house where a murderer played caring photographer.

  He walked out to the open end of the barn and stood and watched Angie get into her truck. Her eyes caught his and he stared back. She’d make some man a fine wife. He just wasn’t the man.

  He’d always wondered if he was forever ruined for marriage because of what happened with his mother and sister. Frankie left no doubt now. His lifestyle suited him more than he cared to admit.

  Undercover work provided him a place where he would never lay down roots, only a temporary stay. He’d always prided himself on not becoming involved on an emotional level in his cases. So much for his arrogance in thinking no one could get under his skin. He’d thought his feelings were dead.

  He looked up at the house and watched the upstairs curtains to the guest room sway. So, she was watching, was she? In a monumental effort, he pushed the emptiness from his heart and painted on a smile. He had a charade to continue and he hadn’t earned his nickname “Ice” for nothing.

  Frankie stepped back from the window. Her hands shook as she watched Angie step out of the barn. The blonde looked up at the house and casually smoothed back her long hair before securing the top button of her shirt. As she tucked her loose shirt into her jeans, Frankie grabbed her hands, twisting them to keep them from shaking. Reese emerged from the barn several minutes later, his hair wet, shrugging on his shirt, the shirt he left behind, the shirt Angie obviously gave him in the barn, after their little tryst. It didn’t take a PhD to figure out what happened.

  Emotions collided so violently in her chest, she felt as if a three-hundred-pound man had sat on top of her. She watched Reese watch Angie get in her truck and the longing look they gave each other before she drove away. When Reese looked up at her standing at the window, her heart squeezed so hard she thought she was actually having a heart attack.

  “Oh, my God!” she cried. When had she fallen in love with him?

  Reese entered the house half expecting Frankie to mouth off about what he suspected she witnessed and her own drawn conclusions. As much as he wanted to hurt her back, he had to keep his cool. The case was far from closed. He’d continue what started as a charade, enjoy the benefits, then go in for the kill.

  Silence met him as he walked into the kitchen. He was glad for it. He wanted to shower, he wanted time to collect his emotions before he came face-to-face with Frankie. He knew he’d never be able to look at her the same again. Little by little he closed his heart to her. He told himself she was a criminal of the highest order. A murdering bitch.

  As he was about to strip, the sound of racing hoofbeats startled him out of his thoughts. He hurried to the window to see Frankie riding Rosie bareback in a mad dash toward the trail they had taken that morning.

  His vision blurred. Time pulled him back fifteen years.

  “Missy!” he yelled, then raced down the hallway and down the stairway in a blind panic.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The ends of her long hair whipped across Frankie’s cheeks, stinging her sensitive skin. Tears blinded her vision. Huge sobs racked her chest. She cried like a little girl who was lost in a big department store. And that was how she felt. Lost. Alone. And terrified.

  In the past week she’d come to depend on Reese, to trust him. “Stupid!” she screamed at the wind. Rosie’s ears twitched back and forth, her gait steadily eating up ground. Frankie headed toward the same trail she and Reese took that morning. She had no idea where she was going, only that she wanted to get away from other humans. Humans did hurtful things to each other. Humans were selfish and self-serving. She was tired of trying to be what everyone wanted her to be.

  When would she do what she wanted for herself? She laughed harshly. She’d indulged in Reese, and look what that got her. Who the hell was she kidding when she told herself she could indulge all she wanted and not get emotionally involved? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. The minute another woman wagged her tits in his face, he was off. What the hell was it with men and always wanting more?

  She crested the hill and the small, tranquil clearing she had admired earlier unfolded before her. Long, lazy afternoon shadows crept across the blue water of the inlet. Invisible birds chortled an afternoon greeting in the high branches of the trees. The rush of the stream water had slowed. She could easily cross now. And then what? she asked herself. Stay out here and freeze her ass off? She looked longingly over her shoulder, wishing Reese would ride up, tell her she was mistaken, that no other woman mattered.

  She choked back a laugh when off in the distance what started as a black speck turned into a man on a black horse. Zorro. And Reese. No, she wouldn’t slow for him, she wouldn’t fall for his lies again. She faced forward and urged Rosie on. The mare took her time wading through the chilly water, enough time for Reese to catch up. Just as she cleared the other side, Zorro lunged into the water. Frankie kicked the mare into a gallop.

  “Frankie!” Reese yelled. She didn’t look back. She hunched low over the mare’s neck and held on as Rosie took off as if the ho
unds of hell bit at their heels.

  “Frankie!” Reese called, his voice shrill, the sound of desperation in it.

  She ignored it, kicking Rosie’s sides again. The mare’s powerful haunches carried them up the slight embankment, where they crested.

  She realized they were moving too fast down the other side of the embankment, Frankie knew that if they continued at their current pace, they would roll. She pulled back on the reins but the mare had taken the bit into her mouth, refusing to stop.

  Rosie galloped headlong down the hill. Panic filled Frankie’s senses. Reese’s voice called her name again, behind her, this time closer. She held on tight, the leather reins biting into her palm.

  The mare stumbled just as the earth flattened out. In the blink of an eye Frankie’s life flashed before her, and she had more than a few regrets. As the mare dug her hooves into the hard earth, Frankie catapulted from the saddle. As if in slow motion, Frankie tumbled over Rosie’s withers. She saw the sky, the sun, and the trees.

  Then. Blackness.

  “Frankie!” Reese screamed as he jumped from Zorro to run to the unmoving form lying on the ground. Rosie whinnied and backed up as Reese raced toward her fallen rider.

  “God, please, not again.”

  He slid on his knees as he dropped to the hard earth at her side. Desperately he felt her jugular for a pulse, and although she was out cold, her pulse beat strong. He breathed a sigh of relief. Gulping for air in an effort to catch his breath, he trailed his finger slowly over her scalp, looking for bumps or cuts. As he passed over her head for the second time, finding nothing of significance, his breath steadied. Her chest rose and fell evenly.

  Her long black lashes lay thick, a dark blanket over her creamy, smooth skin. Her cheeks glowed a rosy pink. Her nostrils flared slightly and her full lips parted, her pearly-white teeth peeking out from behind. Such a waste.

  His heart thudded heavily against his chest wall. He brushed the dirt from her cheek, and wished with all his heart she wasn’t the killer she was.

  For the second time in his life Reese wished he could change fate. That day, he told Missy the truth about their mother. This day, he learned the woman he was falling in love with murdered her father. He swiped a hand through his hair and sat back on his haunches. Shit, he didn’t even know what the hell love was anymore.