Skin Dancer

by Haines, Carolyn

  “My name is John Henry James. I heard about how you’d gone missing and were likely tied up in the Skin Dancer murders. I seen this cabin two days ago when I was trailin’ a…anyway, I figured this might be the hidey hole where the Skin Dancer was keeping his victims.” He grinned.

  Richard tried to process what was happening. “You came to save me?”

  “That’s right, rich boy.” A hint of amusement touched John Henry’s face. “Looks like you could use some savin’, too.” He unbuttoned the long–sleeved flannel shirt that covered his Tee. “Take this for now. Can’t do nothin’ about the pants or boots. You’re just gonna have to tough it out.”

  “You’re taking me out of here?” Richard felt relief like a sweet bubble that rose from his pelvis, up his body, into his throat. “You’re really here to help me?”

  “Quit your jaw–bonin’ and get on out the door.” John Henry gave him the shirt. “Let’s get a move on. If the Skin Dancer comes back for you, I’m not waitin’ around, no matter how much reward you offer.”

  Richard needed no second request. He grabbed the shirt, buttoning as he hurried out the door, across the porch and into the sunshine. The ground was cold and hard on his bare feet, but he dropped in behind John Henry and started hiking at a brisk pace. His savior didn’t want to linger in the area, and that suited Richard fine.

  “This is a great hidey–hole,” John Henry threw over his shoulder. “Hard to get here through an old mine shaft. Only way in.” He looked behind him for emphasis. “Only way out. So we have to get clear of here before the Skin Dancer comes back.”

  Richard cast one last look at the peaceful valley nestled between steep rock cliffs. No one would ever have found him. He followed John Henry into the dark opening that was the mine shaft. He stumbled into the wall and stubbed his toe, but he kept going.

  “Do you know this Skin Dancer?” Richard asked.

  “Hell no. I still got skin, don’t I?”

  “But you don’t believe it’s a…ghost or demon, do you?”

  John Henry spat. “What else could it be, man? Nobody in his right mind would do the things that’s been done. Has to be that angry Injun spirit.”

  Richard felt a sharp rock pierce the bottom of his foot. There would be a blood trail. The thought worried him, but not enough to make him slow down or even look at his injury.

  They cleared the mine shaft and stepped into the sunshine. The smell of the fir trees was sharp and clean. Richard closed his eyes for a second, inhaling, grateful that against all odds, he was still alive.

  “Move it,” John Henry said. “I don’t want to be caught anywhere near here.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  # # #

  Justine’s chest rose and fell with her shallow, almost non–existent breaths. Derek held her cool hand, his forearms resting on the edge of the bed.

  “Don’t slip away, Justine,” he whispered. “Stay here with me.”

  Her chest stirred slightly, the only response to his plea.

  The sheriff had kicked him loose. There was nothing to show that he’d attacked Justine. He’d confessed to the burning of the car, but that was so far down the sheriff’s priority list that it hadn’t even been a consideration. Besides, they were using him for bait. He knew it, which was why he had to come and talk to Justine one last time.

  “Hang in here with us, Justine. I’m going to catch the killer and then I’m going to find Richard. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll save him for you. Then maybe you’ll see the real Derek Baxter.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her pale cheek. The idea that she might die before he could get back to her was like a knife in his heart. The thought that his life had been an utter waste made him want to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, but he only brushed a strand of her auburn hair from her face. “When you wake up, I’m going to show you the man I really am.”

  He left the room, his legs shaking until he reached the parking lot. As he suspected, a deputy was sitting in a cruiser outside the hospital. To Derek’s amazement, the blue lights began to whirl and the siren went off full blast. The patrol car headed off somewhere in a big hurry.

  Worry gnawed at Derek as he climbed into his vehicle. He had to find Rachel. She was the first step in setting things right.

  The long years of bad choices and bad decisions had created an avalanche, the force of which was pushing him to take an action that would redeem him in the sight of the only person he cared about. Justine.

  He would find Richard, even if it meant that he would never claim Justine for himself. He would find the man she loved and return him to her. If she lived, he would never want anything except her total happiness. For the first time in his life, he was looking beyond his own immediate needs. Surely that would mean something to a god who was reputed to be benevolent.

  CHAPTER TWENTY–EIGHT

  Frankie lifted the field glasses once more. There was no sign of life from the ranch where Harvey Dilson would get the first taste of his fate. Although Harvey had set up perimeter guards, he’d failed to tell them not to let her onto the premises. Most of the ranch hands knew her by sight. They’d waved her through with a smile. A wolf in lamb’s clothing. The thought made her smile.

  It was a pity she couldn’t hang around and watch Harvey discover the head of his old comrade, Hank Welford. But she knew Harvey well enough to know that every action and every thought would be centered on his own preservation.

  It was what she was counting on.

  She checked her watch. Richard was secured in the cabin in the woods. No one would ever find him. Rachel was effectively eliminated by her desire to save Jake. Justine was seriously injured, a necessity in that moment when she went to capture Richard.

  It was odd, but Frankie found that she took no pleasure in hurting women. That’s why it had been so unsatisfying to kill Bettina, while seeing the fear in Jeremy’s eyes had been such a delight. She’d slit his throat before he could even attempt to defend himself. He’d sold his soul to the devil years before when he’d signed on as Harvey’s aide. He’d been a hindrance where Bettina had been an aide.

  Before she died, Bettina had told her what Harvey preferred for breakfast, and then Frankie had made the coffee, arranged the newspapers just so, and left the tray at his door, and a little lagniappe on his patio.

  Next he would find Bettina at the kitchen table and Jeremy sitting on the floor by the front door.

  Soon Harvey would have to make a move. Once he found his loyal servants, he’d have to call for help—which would then require an explanation why he had the head of Hank Welford in his possession. Or, Harvey would pretend that nothing had happened. He would continue to his Rapid City office and check the preparations for the press conference.

  Knowing Harvey’s nature—and the capital he’d invested in Paradise–this was what Frankie had based her entire plan on. While she loathed game hunters, she loved to hunt a worthy opponent. Harvey was that. He was smart, ruthless and willing to do anything in the name of self–preservation. He was thrilling prey, and the chase had just begun.

  She saw movement at the ranch. She lifted the binoculars and zeroed in on Harvey. She could kill him with one rifle shot. That was far too easy. He would suffer more than any of the others. He’d killed her father and he’d shot her in the head. She’d learned the full details of that long–ago day from Hank and Mullet, who’d been only too willing to give up Harvey in the slim hope of saving themselves. But she had a sense of honor. She’d never promised them that she’d let them go. She’d never even hinted that she wouldn’t make them suffer. She’d never led them on. They’d gotten exactly what they deserved.

  In the long hours of questioning them, the only thing she hadn’t discovered was the location of her father’s body. She sincerely believed it was because they didn’t know.

  Harvey was the only one who knew the location, and he would tell her before he died. She was certain of it. Then she’d see that her father’s rem
ains were unearthed and his reputation as a man who abandoned his family during hard times was cleared.

  And after that? She hadn’t completely planned the next step, but it would involve Argentina. She had a yen for a Paso Fino.

  Harvey came out the front door. He looked in all directions, as if he expected someone to leap up from the sand like a reincarnated pharaoh and attack him. He was definitely unnerved.

  Good. She smiled. Fear was the most effective knife in the universe. The things Harvey had done were finally coming home to cut him. In the next twenty–four hours, he would suffer more at his own hands than hers. After that, though, she would wield the knife, and he would know the true meaning of suffering. The skin, the largest organ in the body, contained the most sensitive nerves.

  She followed Harvey’s actions. He was jittery; he dropped the keys to the SUV. He wasn’t used to driving himself. Jeremy had always done that job.

  Harvey jumped into the vehicle and sped down the long driveway toward the main road. Frankie had done her homework. She knew where he was going. Now all she had to do was wait.

  When the time was right, she’d be there with bells on.

  CHAPTER TWENTY–NINE

  The news media had clustered near the north doors of the courthouse, so Rachel slipped out the south side and made her way to the Rover. She was just sliding into the driver’s seat when she felt a hand on her arm.

  “I want to help find Richard Jones.” Derek Baxter met her gaze directly. In the last twenty–four hours, he seemed to have grown from a boy into a man.

  “Why?” she asked, putting the key in the ignition.

  “For Justine. To show her that…that I can do something good.”

  “I’m in a hurry, Baxter. I don’t have time for this.” She started to pull the door shut, but he blocked it.

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in this, but I want to do something right.”

  “I’ll call you when I get back from Custer.” She didn’t know what to tell him and he wasn’t a priority. She had to find Polly Jackson and she had to convince Gordon that Frankie was the killer. Jake’s life hung in the balance.

  “Tell me what to do. Where to look.”

  “If I knew, I’d tell you. Now I’ve got to go.” She pulled the door free and shut it.

  He rapped on the window. “Just tell me where to begin looking. I want to help, but the search parties won’t let me.”

  “Deputies have searched Richard’s house.” She had to get moving. Derek was an obstacle that had to be removed. “Try Dixon Point. That’s where every body has been found. There’s something significant about that area. But if you find something, Derek, don’t fuck it up. Call the sheriff.”

  She put the Rover in reverse and backed up. When she pulled out of the parking lot, Derek was still standing there.

  She drove fast and hard, checking the rearview mirror at regular intervals. If Frankie found out she was looking for her mother…she couldn’t think about that. She hit the highway and pressed the accelerator to the floorboard. The Rover spurted forward, climbing out of the valley. Time was the enemy. The miles disappeared beneath the wheels as she focused on speed and time, not allowing herself to think about Jake or what Frankie could be doing to him.

  Rachel took a curve so sharply she felt the tires of the SUV slide. She avoided the brake, afraid of a deadly spin. When the vehicle righted itself, she sped up again. She was five minutes from Custer and the nursing facility where Polly Jackson had to be. She’d banked everything on this. If she could prove Polly Jackson was alive, she could get Gordon to listen to her. He would believe her about Frankie, and maybe they could save Jake and Richard.

  She made it into town and followed the directions she’d gotten to the nursing facility. When she pulled up in front, the SUV had barely stopped rolling before she was out and running to the front door.

  The smell hit her when she pushed open the front door. Not unclean or dirty, but that peculiar hospital odor that came with warehousing the elderly. A middle–aged woman at the receptionist desk looked up at her.

  “I’m here to see Polly Jackson,” Rachel said.

  The woman stared at her. “I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name.”

  # # #

  Frankie held the telephone against her ear as she drove. She was hungry. She’d been up for what seemed like weeks. Sleep wasn’t necessary, but food was getting to be a high priority. She could taste her body feeding on its own muscle. Ketosis. Not exactly unpleasant, but an omelet or something from Lulu’s would be delicious.

  When the sheriff answered, she put all of her Southern training into her voice. “Gordon, it’s just me. I wondered if there was anything I could do to help. This whole thing with Richard is just awful. Is there any news?”

  “No, and you need to keep Richard’s disappearance under your hat, Frankie.”

  She could hear the tension in his voice. He tried hard to cover it, but Gordon Gray wasn’t close to being an actor. He was a relatively decent man with the ambition to have a lot of money.

  “You think it’s the same person who killed Hank and Mullet?” she asked.

  “God, if there are two of them on the loose…Scott’s there now, checking it out.

  “Is Rachel around?”

  “She’s not here.”

  Frankie felt a twinge of satisfaction. For a moment she’d wondered if Rachel was behaving. But Rachel was smart enough to hold to the bargain they’d made. “Gordon, do you think Richard is still alive? Does the Skin Dancer have him?”

  Gordon hesitated. “Look, reporters are crawling all over the place. Two CNN people just walked in the door with a full camera crew. I can’t talk about that. We’re trying to keep it under wraps for the moment.”

  “If something happens to Richard, the whole Paradise venture is at stake.”

  He didn’t answer, and she smiled at how much that statement worried Gordon. Without Richard, the Paradise development would fall apart at the seams. Richard had the technology, the know–how, the vision. He was “the man” when it came to Paradise. He was also one of a gang of murderers.

  “Call me if I can help,” she said.

  “Will do.” Gordon hung up.

  She swung by Rachel’s. When she saw the deputy’s truck was gone, she felt the first pang of uneasiness.

  # # #

  Derek took the road that went to Richard Jones’s estate. The cops were so over–worked that they’d left yellow crime scene tape over the door and around the charred remains of Justine’s car, but there was no one guarding the premises.

  He drove past the house then parked down a dirt road. It was a long trek back, but he jogged it in under fifteen minutes. Climbing the fence, he vaulted to the ground and headed to the house. If there was any evidence of where Richard had been taken, he’d find it.

  The house was unlocked, and he eased inside, his heart thudding. He had no idea what he hoped to find, but he was smarter than the sheriff and his deputies. And he was more motivated. There had to be some kind of clue as to who took Richard and why.

  He went up the staircase slowly. Though it curved with grace and elegance, it was sturdily built. Not a single step creaked. At the second floor landing, he hesitated. The idea of walking into that bedroom where he’d found Justine, bleeding, was almost more than he could take.

  He forced his feet forward. When he pushed open the door, he inhaled sharply several times. Blood had soaked the mattress and stained the carpet. A lot of blood. Certainly not all of it could be Justine’s.

  He inched slowly into the room. There was something here. Something that would tell him what he needed to know. He got on his hands and knees and began to pat the carpet inch by inch.

  Caught up in his work, he didn’t notice the slender figure that moved through the doorway like a wraith.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  He almost screamed, wheeling so fast that he felt the bones in his neck grind. “What the fuck!” He was on his
feet, facing the woman he recognized as the road crew foreman, Frankie Jackson. “What are you doing here?”

  “That’s exactly the question I asked you.”

  “I’m looking for evidence. So what are you doing here?”

  Frankie leaned against the doorframe. “The same. Richard is a friend of mine. I guess neither of us trusts the competence of the local law enforcement.”

  “Bunch of dorks.” Derek’s gaze slipped back to the floor. He didn’t have time to waste talking to Frankie. From what he could tell, she was up the sheriff’s butt. She was the one who introduced Justine to Richard, and she was also the person pushing the four–lane through the wilderness. He turned away from her. “I got things to do.”

  “I can’t believe they left this place wide open. It’s a crime scene. A serious crime. Kidnapping and assault. They should’ve left someone here to guard it.” Frankie stepped into the room.

  “Right.” Derek sank to the carpet and began his search. “Half the sheriff’s department is headed out of town.”

  “Come on, Gordon wouldn’t give Scott time off in the middle of this case, not even to be with his wife and new baby.”

  Derek’s hands moved over the complex pattern woven into the carpet. Frankie was getting on his last nerve. “Scott didn’t leave. Rachel Redmond did. She told me she was headed over to Custer. Just goes to show she has bad taste in destinations as well as career choices.”

  He searched the carpet for a few seconds, waiting for Frankie to respond. When she didn’t, he looked up. The doorway was empty. There was no sign that she’d ever been there.

  # # #

  Frankie realized she was clenching her jaw and forced her teeth to relax. She concentrated on driving. In a way, Rachel had disappointed her. But in another, she’d made Frankie proud. Rachel hadn’t rolled over like a whipped dog. She hadn’t begged and pleaded. She’d done the unexpected—she’d taken action. And a smart step, at that.

  She didn’t know how the deputy had gotten on to the fact that her mother was still alive, but she knew Rachel was on Polly’s trail. That was the only single thing that could have sent the deputy to the next town at a time when every volunteer was working to find Richard Jones.