Sky dissolved into him, groaning with pure animal release. The tears followed, she couldn’t seem to stem the flood, something inside had been dammed up and now it broke free, joy or sorrow, or maybe both.
Dawn broke pink through the trees as Butch carried her from the water, her body limp with exhaustion. They collapsed on the blanket together and fell asleep, legs and arms entwined like wanton children in paradise.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Butch’s lips tickled Sky’s ear. “Get dressed,” he whispered, dropping clothes on her bare belly.
Sky yawned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Butch, look.” Sky pointed to an immense thunderhead engulfing the western horizon. White lobes sprouted like giant toadstools along the roiling base of the towering vertical mass. “The liquor store clerk was right. A storm’s coming.”
“Hurry, sweet thing.” Butch gestured toward the trees. “I think we got company.”
Sky slipped her shorts on and tied her halter. She was still half asleep. “What time is it?” she asked, pulling on the red boots.
“Morning, folks.” A man stepped from the trees cradling a rifle under one arm. His face was weathered from years in the sun and he wore an oily Stetson creased deep on the crown. A younger rat-faced man with stringy hair slinked behind him dangling a lone Budweiser from a six pack’s plastic ring.
“Morning, Harlan.” Butch got to his feet and offered Sky a hand up. “What’s with the rifle?”
“Hey Butch.” Harlan nodded affably and spat on the ground with pursed lips.
“What’s with the rifle?” Butch repeated, slipping an arm around Sky. “Ain’t that the Remington my daddy gave you?”
“The self-same.” Harlan issued a genial grunt. “How is your daddy? I gone on to greener pastures, even got my brother Dicky workin’ with me. Gonna turn yourself around, ain’t you, compadre?” Harlan gave the rat-faced man a jovial clap on the back. “I harbor your daddy no ill will.”
“Why would you?” Butch didn’t bother to disguise his contempt. “He should’a pressed charges.”
“Your word against mine, son.” Harlan rearranged the bulge beneath his lower lip. “Can’t fault your daddy none for siding with you, blood bein’ blood.” He eyed the horse blanket with an amused expression. “You and this little gal enjoying some delight? Gettin’ you a little pussy at the pond?”
“You’re a liar and a thief, Harlan. Guess I’ll add pervert to the list. Get out of here. You’re drunk.”
“You ain’t my boss no more, Butch. Them days is over.” Harlan glanced at the watch on his wrist. “Furthermore, you’re trespassin’.”
“I’ve been coming to this pond since I was a kid. Everybody comes here.”
“This is private property, nonetheless.” Harlan poked the brim of the Stetson up with a finger, exposing a pale line of forehead. “Belongs to Miss Olivia Porter.”
Sky struggled to keep her composure as the fact registered; Olivia Porter owned Hollow Pond. Sky could hardly believe her own stupidity. It hadn’t occurred to her to check county property records.
“Yep, this young lady has an appointment with destiny.” Harlan offered Sky something resembling a smile, jagged teeth pocked with stain. “Me ‘an Dicky been sittin’ all night, just waitin’ for y’all to leave.” His body swayed drunkenly. “We was havin’ us a few beers when it occurred to me, why not kill two birds with one stone?” He snickered at his own wordplay. “Yessiree, why not let Golden Boy take the rap? A murder-suicide.” Harlan peered at the thunderhead. “Storm’s gonna break soon,” he said, motioning to Sky. “Come on, gal. Come over by me.”
“Fuck you, Harlan.” Butch’s arm tightened around Sky.
“I’ve been tasked, son. Can’t go back empty-handed.” Harlan’s eyes narrowed. “My new boss ain’t the forgivin’ sort. Not like your daddy.” He hugged the rifle stock against his side and leveled the barrel at Butch’s heart.
Sky watched Harlan’s finger move to the safety catch and a burst of adrenaline catapulted her mind into freefall. Butch was young and hard and strong but Harlan had the rifle and they were going to die because she was stupid.
‘So stop being stupid.’ Monk’s voice insinuated itself and Sky almost smiled at the intrusion. ‘Stop being stupid right now,’ Monk ordered. ‘Evaluate your options.’
Calm descended and Sky scanned their small universe.
Harlan and his brother blocked the straightest line to Butch’s pickup, the Ram was parked just behind the trees. To the south, she saw a path leading to the highway, two pickup trucks were parked at the pond turn-off maybe a quarter mile away. The highway was just a dusty ribbon of road cutting east to west. No barns or houses, nothing but flat Texas scrub as far as the eye could see.
“I’ll come with you, Harlan,” Sky heard herself say. “Can I kiss him goodbye first?”
“Ain’t that sweet?” Harlan spat a stream of brown juice from the side of his mouth. “Make it quick.”
“Give me a hug, honey.” Sky wrapped her arms around Butch’s warm neck and pulled his head down. “I’m going for the rifle,” she whispered. She gave Butch a kiss, ignoring the fear in his blue eyes.
“I’m ready,” Sky said.
“Hold up, gal.” Harlan nodded to his brother. “Frisk Butch first. Make sure he ain’t armed. Tie his hands and feet with these.” Harlan fingered a packet of zip ties from his shirt pocket and tossed them to Dicky.
Dicky chewed his lip and gave Butch a furtive look.
“Go on, compadre.” Harlan chuckled and spat. “I gotcha covered.”
Dicky skulked over, reeking of alcohol and urine. “Hands up,” he ordered, not meeting Butch’s eyes.
“Do like Dicky says.” Harlan jiggled the rifle for emphasis and pointed the barrel skyward.
Butch slowly raised his hands and Dicky patted him down with a tentative touch, as though Butch might explode at any moment.
“Check his boots, compadre. He’s known to carry a switchblade.” Harlan gave Sky a sideways nod. “Come here, gal. Come here by me.”
Sky took a half dozen slow steps with her hands clasped together in a gesture of submission.
“Ain’t you a pretty little thing in them red boots? Probably never been with a real man.” Harlan stared at her with bloodshot eyes and rubbed his crotch with his free hand. “I think maybe we’ll have us some fun.” His voice grew husky. “How ‘bout that, Dicky? A little pussy is just what the doctor ordered. You like it rough, gal?” Harlan snaked an arm out and hooked Sky’s neck.
Her head wrenched back, something sharp gouged her jaw as Harlan’s tongue slid along her lips. The stink of him was nauseating, sweat and booze and the putrid taste of saliva saturated with chewing tobacco.
Sky jerked her right knee up hard between Harlan’s legs and drove the blow home.
Harlan grunted in pain, pulling his arm from around her neck. He reflexively cupped his crotch as a blast came from his rifle. Dicky flew into Butch, driving both men to the ground.
Dicky was sprawled across Butch’s body.
Neither man was moving.
Harlan stared at the stain blooming across his brother’s back. “Dicky, you all right?”
Sky ignored the roaring in her ears and pivoted hard, jerking her arms upward with a bone-bruising bump against the barrel of the Remington. The rifle flew from Harlan’s grasp and rotated in an arc above them before gravity pulled it back to earth with a solid thump.
Sky dove for the Remington before the dust settled around it and hugged the rifle to her body. She rolled across the grass and got to her feet, braced for Harlan’s next move.
But Harlan seemed disoriented. Whimpering like a scared child, he stumbled to the fallen men and tucked his arms beneath his brother’s chest, gently lifting him off Butch. He laid Dicky face-up on the grass and shook his shoulders. “Dicky?”
Dicky wasn’t moving.
Neither was Butch.
“You little bitch,” Harlan growle
d. “What’d you make me do?” He turned and lunged toward Sky, his face distorted with rage.
Sky gripped the rifle barrel like a baseball bat.
When Harlan reached striking distance, she swung high and hard.
The wooden butt of the Remington cracked against Harlan’s ear, just below the greasy cowboy hat. He staggered sideways and Sky darted in the opposite direction, poised to swing again.
Harlan flailed an arm and his eyes rolled up as he sank to his knees in slow motion. He dropped face forward to the ground and the Stetson flipped off, revealing a cranium as pale and hairless as a mushroom.
Fumbling the rifle into a proper grip, Sky backed up to where Butch lay.
Blood saturated the white oxford shirt. She could see his chest rise and fall in a measured rhythm. He was alive.
Sky dropped to her knees and plucked at the bloody mess with a trembling hand, searching for an entrance wound.
A blast exploded and Sky jerked her head up.
“Drop your weapon and step away, you Yankee bitch.” A young woman with razor-wire eyes was bearing down on the scene. The skirt of her black and white sundress belled out and she was aiming her rifle directly at Sky.
Sky laid the Remington on the ground and pointed at Harlan. “He shot Butch.”
“I saw what happened,” the woman snapped. “I knew Harlan was dumb. Just didn’t think he was dumb enough to shoot his own brother. Else I would’ve intervened earlier.” She reached Butch’s body and paused briefly, seeming to take Sky’s measure.
A look passed between the women, some kind of inchoate understanding.
“You took Harlan out,” the woman nodded a grudging respect. “I’ll give you that much.” She glanced at Sky’s jaw. “That’ll need stitches. You gonna pass out on me?”
“I’m fine,” Sky lied.
“Good. Take this. I don’t trust that piece of shit Remington.” The woman handed Sky her rifle. “Cover Harlan. Pull the trigger if he moves.” The woman started unbuttoning Butch’s shirt.
Sky hefted the rifle. It was lighter than the Remington, easier to handle. With Harlan in her sights, she pulled her cell from the back pocket of her cut-offs and dialed 911. She managed a disjointed account of the accident, overiding the dispatcher’s disembodied voice with a demand for an ambulance and the sheriff.
Sky disconnected and slipped the phone back into her pocket.
“Here it is. Right shoulder. Probably worse than it looks.” The woman bit at the hem of her sundress and ripped it to the waist, sawing furiously at the threads with a shard of rock until she had hacked free a panel of fabric. She folded the material twice and placed the makeshift bandage on the bloody shoulder.
Butch groaned at the contact and shifted his body and Sky felt sick with relief. Her legs started shaking and she had to sit. “You knew Butch was here,” she said to the woman. “How?”
“Three so-called friends called to tell me he was havin’ dinner last night with some bitch in black at the Deadwood.” The woman gave Sky a sharp look. “I drove to town this morning, didn’t see Butch’s Ram in the Deadwood parking lot. Went to the Triple Y, he wasn’t there either. Figured he might be here.” Her eyes darted to the horse blanket and back to Sky. “FYI, you’re not the first chick he ever brought to Hollow Pond. When I got to the turnoff I saw Harlan’s truck, thought somethin’ might be up – there’s bad blood between ‘em. Sure didn’t expect this shitfest.”
Impressions swirled through Sky’s mind. Silly impressions that she was having trouble sorting out. She cut her gaze from the unmoving Harlan to study the woman.
The clerk at the liquor store was right. Nadine was pretty. More than pretty. Green eyes, hair the color of dark mahogany and dimples made to break hearts.
Butch opened his eyes. “Nadine?” He blinked with confusion and rolled himself awkwardly to a seated position. “Sky?”
“Lay down,” Nadine ordered. “You’re losin’ too much blood.”
Butch did as he was told.
“Keep up the pressure.” Nadine pulled Sky’s right hand from the rifle grip and placed it over the bloody square of fabric on Butch’s shoulder. “I think I have an ice pack in the cooler. I need to stop this bleeding.” She jutted her chin at Sky and whispered, “This ain’t over between us. And be warned, I play dirty.” She headed for the trees.
“Ready to tell me what’s goin’ on, sweet thing?” Butch winced. “Your appointment with destiny?”
“I’m sorry,” Sky whispered. She increased the pressure on Butch’s shoulder but the bandage was already spongy with his blood. “This is my fault and I’m sorry.”
“I’m not sorry. Means you owe me.” Butch grinned and closed his eyes. “You owe me big time. And I intend to collect.”
Butch said something else but his words were drowned out by the rotating blades of the sheriff’s helicopter descending from the western sky.
The storm broke late Sunday afternoon, spawning tornadoes from Waco to Lampasas and complicating crime scene analysis at Hollow Pond. Police interviews consumed Sunday and most of Monday. As far as the county sheriff’s office was concerned, they were dealing with a case of trespassing gone terribly wrong. Butch delivered his version of events from a bed at Raleigh Porter Medical Center. The gash beneath Sky’s jaw required a round of antibiotics and an ugly row of stitches in the ER. Harlan faced possible charges of involuntary manslaughter in the death of his brother, attempted murder and aggravated assault, the DA hadn’t yet decided. No trespassing charges were filed against Sky or Butch, something about insufficient posting on the property. Sky checked out of the Deadwood, shipped the new clothes to her grandmother’s place in Back Bay, and returned to Raleigh Porter. She and Nadine sat vigil in the hospital lounge with Butch’s mother, an imposing woman who had little time for either of them. Early Wednesday morning, Butch’s surgeon appeared, informing them that although Butch still faced reconstructive surgery and months of physical therapy, he was out of danger. Sky went to his room to say goodbye.
“Look out for me, sweet thing,” Butch cautioned from his hospital bed. “I’ll be comin’ to collect what’s mine.”
BOSTON
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“Give me your money. All of it.” The man loomed over the flimsy restaurant table with an intimidating leer. “I know you both speak English. Probably the only ones in here that do. Hand it over.”
Sky and Axelrod had just taken a seat in McDonald’s, the one at the corner of Kneeland and Washington, in Chinatown.
“Sure thing, buddy.” Axelrod blinked up at the intruder with a Boy Scout expression. “I have some cash in my pocket. It’s all yours.” The rookie detective flipped open the left lapel of his navy peacoat to reveal a holstered baby Glock. “Go ahead,” he said. “Make my day.”
At the sight of the firearm, the thug jerked back and beat a comic exit into the wet street.
“I’ve always wanted to say that.” Axelrod unwrapped a Big Mac and eyed Sky. “What happened to your face?”
“Rough weekend.”
The stitches ran beneath her left jaw and snaked up her chin like a tiny black hook. The swelling was down but Sky knew she looked ragged. After saying goodbye to Butch at seven that morning, she’d made the three hour drive to Dallas through brutal heat, then another five hours on the plane to Boston. The first thing she did when she landed was call Axelrod from Logan Airport, told him to meet her in Chinatown. “I’ll buy you dinner,” she’d offered, hoping to lure the rookie with a free meal. It worked.
So here they sat. It was nearly six o’clock and the eatery was packed with the dinner crowd. Smelled like Chinese take-out but it looked like your standard red and yellow McDonald’s. And the thug was right, Sky and Axelrod appeared to be the only customers speaking English.
“You have a sense of humor, Axelrod. I didn’t know that.” Sky realized she didn’t know much about the rookie at all. He was always so quiet around her. She studied his tray: two Big Macs, a tub of chicken McN
uggets, supersized fries, chocolate chip cookies in a sleeve, and a bucket of Coke. “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Sarah.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s an office manager in the financial district.”
“Do you live together?”
“That’s a big step, Doctor S.” Axelrod finished off the burger in two bites. “I live with my mother in Arlington. My father died before I was born. It’s always been just me and my mom.” He unwrapped the second Big Mac. “I probably shouldn’t be here. But I’m on my own time,” he shrugged. “I thought maybe I could ask you a few questions about your dad. If you don’t mind, that is.” He bit into the second burger with a hopeful look.
Sky found the newbie’s innocence refreshing.
Jake and Kyle were hardened detectives, cynical and pessimistic. They baited and taunted Axelrod at every turn. Part of the male hazing process, she got that. But Axelrod always bounced back, eager as a pup. Sky felt an unexpected rush of protectiveness toward the rookie.
“What do you want to know about Monk?” she offered.
“Why did he go into law enforcement?”
“I don’t know. A girl disappeared when he was a kid, she lived next door. I think her name was Faith. They never found her. That bothered him a lot. Monk tried to reopen the investigation, I don’t know what came of it.”
Axelrod nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve read quite a bit of his work. The stuff on covert alteration of the environment? You know, to see how a suspect responds? Brilliant, really. But I …” he hesitated.
“What? Go ahead, ask me.”
“What was he like? As a dad, I mean.”
“Well,” Sky said, surprised at the wistfulness in Axelrod’s voice. “He was incredibly patient. Overprotective to a fault. He drove me crazy when I was a teenager. I think he ran a background check on every guy I ever went out with.” Sky studied the boyish face. “He was quiet. Attentive. You’ll probably be a lot like him when you’re a father, Axelrod.”
The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) Page 41