As she let herself back into her apartment, she remembered how dear old Ginny and Bob had treated her as if she had some sort of disease. At twelve their niece had been kidnapped and raped by a pedophile. Yet they had acted as if Skye was the one who should be exiled away from society, someone who should be shunned, closeted away from other decent folks.
It hadn’t taken long for Skye to realize her aunt and uncle had been humiliated at what had happened to her. Well, join the club. She’d been plenty embarrassed about it herself at how everyone seemed to know. So much so they hadn’t wanted her to talk about it—least of all to anyone in a public forum—like in a courtroom setting in front of all to see and hear. So as the court date had gotten closer, Aunt Ginny had simply refused to let her cooperate with the district attorney’s office. And since good old Aunt Ginny was her legal guardian, there was nothing Skye could do about it. At one point Ginny had even threatened to take her niece and disappear, anything to keep the girl from testifying in public so that Ginny wouldn’t have to suffer public shame and listen as her niece rehashed what had happened in front of the whole world.
Maybe if Skye had been allowed to put the whole episode behind her then and there, she wouldn’t feel this weight of responsibility now. No matter how Skye worked it out in her head, because of her, Ronny Wayne Whitfield hadn’t gotten fifty years but rather was out, still walking the streets. He’d been paroled after serving only four years in prison and spent a short two years in the parole system. Once that ended, Whitfield had been able to vanish without a trace, a sex offender that the public no longer kept track of or cared about, except maybe for Skye Cree.
Inside her tiny galley she put on a fresh pot of coffee before setting out the makings for a cheese omelet. By the time she sat down at the table with her food, her anger had diminished to a slow simmer and burn along with resignation.
She couldn’t change the past.
After mulling over the entire exchange back in the coffee shop, she wondered if she should have simply opened up to Josh Ander, maybe told him about seeing Whitfield yesterday near Fourth and Cherry. Should she have told him everything, bared her soul so to speak?
The Internet didn’t tell the whole story, not by a long shot. Despite her existence as a loner, she wondered what it would be like to have someone to confide in, really open up and share things with, heartfelt things.
And could a man like Josh, with his wealth and contacts, really help her find scuzzy Whitfield?
She drew in a deep breath. Questions blasted her. Trust was something she didn’t take lightly. At some point, if she worked with him, she’d have to remedy that―and tell him the whole story—eventually. For now, she continued eating her eggs and thought about what the night ahead might yield.
Hopeful, she hurriedly finished her food and cleaned up her mess. To get ready to hit the streets, she decided what she needed was to clear her brain entirely of Josh Ander and let go of her fury. Steeling her mind, shutting away everything else might open up channels so that with Kiya’s help she could focus enough to find Erin Prescott.
According to what she’d seen in the dream, the girl was being held in a rat-infested empty building nearby, which didn’t provide her with a lot of info to work with. Because of the downturn in the economy, there were more vacant buildings in Seattle than she could shake a stick at. It annoyed her on many levels that if she had to dream she didn’t understand why those same dreams couldn’t provide her with addresses, the kind that were front and center, in big bold letters on the sides of buildings that gave her something definitive. That would make her life so much easier, she mused.
There was always a chance she’d get lucky and the likes of Ronny Wayne would make a mistake. Skye had to believe that.
For months now she’d been working on something she hadn’t even shared with Harry. Erin wasn’t the only young girl who had turned up missing in the Seattle area, just the most recent. But for now, Erin was out there somewhere, hurting and scared.
And it was up to Skye Cree and Kiya to find her.
In the misting rain, darkness shielded Skye as she moved away from the lamppost on Columbia and headed toward Cherry via Third. Even though she loved the night, valued the smells that often drifted on the heavy Seattle air, she practiced an eagle-eyed vigil, one a sentry might recognize as obsessive, maybe even anal retentive. But to Skye, details were meant to be paid attention to, scrutinized until you found holes or weaknesses.
Over the distant sound of traffic several blocks away, Skye could make out a party just getting started in one of the neighborhood row houses. Probably college kids, she decided.
A whiff of seafood drifted from the harbor area and reminded her she hadn’t eaten since the omelet that afternoon. She silently promised herself that once she’d made the rounds, she would treat herself to a stack of pancakes at Country Kitchen on Grove. Just the thought made her stomach rumble.
Next to her, as if sensing that, the wolf sniffed the air. As long as Kiya hunted beside her, Skye believed her parents would always be nearby. And the spirit guide would always be a link to her father’s people. Even though Daniel and Jodi lived strong in her heart, Native custom dictated that long after the mortal body died, the spirit still walked the earth in various forms of their choosing. Skye liked to think her connection with Kiya had grown stronger after their deaths. Invisible to others? Absolutely. No one could see the wolf but her. That alone made her different, a freak.
But Skye Cree didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought of her. At least not since middle school, not since Whitfield, and not since her parents had been taken from her too soon.
When the woman and the wolf reached Fairfax, Kiya cut through an alley heading west and Skye trailed after. She overheard a fight ramp up between a man and woman about whose turn it was to take out the trash. From that point, Skye began trying to retrace her steps from Friday night and the area where she was certain she’d spotted Whitfield.
Heading down yet another back street, she took a shortcut to Fourth Avenue, and didn’t stop until she was within a few steps of Jesuit Preparatory Academy. She looked across the empty campus and did her best to visualize how Ronny Wayne might have gotten Erin into his car.
Flashes, hard and fast, came at her in a series of snapshots first, then like a video, it all played again.
Summer. July twenty-second. A Sunday. A picture-perfect day for children to enjoy the open spaces of a city park with family. The sun was out, the temperature in the mid-eighties. For Seattle, it was almost a heat wave. Her parents were enjoying the afternoon with two other couples on a picnic, cooking burgers for themselves and hotdogs for the kids. The adults had formed a circle with their lawn chairs and drank beer from the cooler they’d filled with ice-cold drinks. The talk turned to playing a game of softball later.
Not thirty minutes earlier, her dad had played Frisbee with her and some of the other kids right before her mother had reminded him it was time to start the grill.
Skye had been about to join a group of kids in a game of soccer. She’d been watching them kick the ball around an open field, playing, laughing, and occasionally arguing good-naturedly about calling fouls. She remembered she’d chased after the ball. She’d gone into some bushes to retrieve the thing when it had rolled beyond the cardboard box the other kids had set up as their goal.
The moment she’d stepped into the hedges, a young, rangy man with blond hair had blocked her path. He’d told her he had a little girl who was new in town, who wanted to join the other kids in the game, to play with the other children. But his daughter was shy. Could Skye walk with him to the car and talk her into joining their game?
He’d known her name. Didn’t that mean it was safe to follow?
She remembered getting to the dark green car, remembered looking for the little girl he’d mentioned inside, and not being able to see her. Where was she? Thinking she was perhaps in the backseat, Skye remembered the panic that had begun in her throat, locked t
here, when she hadn’t seen the child sitting where she was supposed to be, waiting, waiting for the strange man to open the door and introduce her to a new friend.
In the next moment, a huge hand had covered her mouth. Just as she’d been about to scream, she’d felt the prick of a needle in her arm, and before she knew what was happening, he’d thrown her into the backseat of the car.
After that, there had been nothing but blackness.
Skye sucked in a breath remembering that terror-stricken, twelve-year-old girl. She forced the memory away.
Concentrate. Focus. Flashbacks wouldn’t do her any good tonight.
Skye knew as well as anyone that the likelihood Ronny Wayne would leave his prize to go out on a Saturday night in the rain was virtually nonexistent. But she had to try. Sitting at home wasn’t an option. It was never an option.
Plus, Skye had nothing better to occupy her time anyway.
God knew it had been more than three years since she’d been out on what any normal person would consider a date. And look how that had turned out? It had ended with the guy—Derek Pierce was his name—wanting to get closer to the woman he’d been attracted to, had taken out to dinner—something most women her age did all the time and thought of as second nature.
All Derek had wanted to do was touch her after their kiss and move to the bedroom to show her how he felt. The kiss she could handle. It was what came next she had a tough time with. When she’d pushed him away, he’d left confused and angry. Her fault. She’d sent out too many mixed signals. Skye couldn’t blame Derek. It wasn’t his fault she couldn’t deal with the touching beyond a certain point.
Any therapist worth his salt would be more than happy to explain all the whys. She didn’t want or appreciate a bunch of psycho-buzzwords at this point in her life trying to figure out why she couldn’t connect with the opposite sex. She knew why.
After the disastrous experience with Derek, she’d decided dating wasn’t worth her time.
Maybe one day…
About that time Skye caught sight of Dee Dee, a sixteen-year-old hooker with a fondness for crystal meth, leaning up against a brick building between Blanchard and Bell. In spite of her habit, Dee Dee was a wealth of information and liked to talk. And lately talk on the street had Skye convinced that someone had himself a lucrative business trafficking young girls in the sex trade.
Dee Dee might be young, might be a speed freak, but if you could catch her at the right point in time, she was more reliable than a neighborhood crime watch commander.
“How’s it going tonight, Dee Dee? You look cold.”
“Hey, Skye, I’m fucking freezing. Where you headin’ anyway? Don’t you ever stay in at night? Ever? I had me a nice home, that’s where I’d be right about now, curled up reading a good book.”
“You know me, Dee Dee. I’m a night owl.”
“Shit, Skye. You’re a hunter, everybody knows that. You been lucky lately? You caught anybody I might know?”
Skye shook her head. “What’ve you got for me tonight?”
Dee Dee bounced in place, either from being cold or high, and blew a breath into her hands to try to warm them up. “I seen that stringy-haired man hanging around the school again. That’s three times. You know the one, hanging around that private school. You’re right. That asshole’s creepy-looking. He’s losing his hair…fast.”
Skye pulled out a twenty from her pocket, handed it off to Dee Dee. Even though she was pretty sure she knew exactly what the cash would be used for, Skye didn’t hesitate to offer the girl something in exchange for information. “When? Exactly when, Dee Dee, don’t hold back. Think. You spoke to him?”
“Yep. He was on foot. Two days ago. He was cruising, looking for a redhead.”
“What time of day?”
“Afternoon. I told him about Lucy but he wasn’t lookin’ for my kind, Skye. He wanted fresh, if you get my drift.”
When a rusted-out, ten-year-old sedan pulled up to the curb, Skye knew she’d lost Dee Dee as soon as the girl’s eyes drifted to the potential john. Sure enough, Dee Dee darted off the wall hoping to score the trick before anyone else beat her to it. Over her shoulder, Dee Dee yelled, “Go get him, Skye. Get that bastard!”
Skye watched Dee Dee haggle for her fee before hopping into the Ford. She watched the vehicle make the right turn at the corner, and Dee Dee was gone.
The reality of life on the streets for a teenager who’d run away from home, Skye thought now. A kid with a major drug problem before she’d even turned fourteen. Sadly, she couldn’t spend the rest of the night dwelling on Dee Dee’s lot in life.
For now, she turned her attention back to the wolf. It circled the school for a second time, trying to pick up Erin’s scent from the day before.
The wolf must’ve picked up something because Kiya left the grounds and headed down another side street, following a trail to a part of town that was more industrial than commercial.
There were plenty of ancient manufacturing buildings. Some Skye was certain hadn’t seen any type of life except for rats and the occasional stray cat or dog in more than thirty years. She should know, since she’d taken the time to explore some of the more isolated ones a time or two.
She continued to walk, scanning the dark, a lamppost in the distance her only means of light. Cautiously gauging her surroundings, she moved from shadow to shadow until she reached into her pocket, took out a penlight, and shone it to be able to see a stingy three feet in front of her face.
She covered another half mile down yet another back street until she lost sight of Kiya. The dead end came upon her suddenly littered with debris along with uneven and broken concrete. This was new terrain, rocky, difficult to maneuver in the dark. She was almost certain she had never made it down to this particular spot before. It was too secluded. The nearest residence or store had to be at least six blocks away.
At the sound of a low growl, Skye turned and spotted the wolf standing some twenty-five feet away, refusing to give ground. Standing stubbornly next to the side of a building, Skye waited for the wolf to decide to yield. But when that didn’t happen and she saw Kiya begin pacing back and forth with no intention of budging, their eyes met in the dark. Skye homed in on the wolf’s instincts. Trust. Skye backtracked, and heard it then, a low moan coming from―somewhere, an open window maybe.
Skye glanced up. It was then Skye spotted the small open window above them about twelve feet off the ground. Even though her long black coat was plenty warm, chills formed along the nape of her neck. She stopped dead still to listen, heard it again. She started moving closer toward Kiya and the source. The wolf hadn’t moved.
Someone was hurting and in trouble.
Like the night before.
Not knowing what she was dealing with, every sense in her body went on alert. She watched now as Kiya began to stalk back and forth, back and forth along the side of the building. Just like Ali Crandon. Just like Hailey Strickland.
Finally Kiya raised her head, those eyes locked with Skye’s.
“Nice work,” Skye said aloud as she stroked Kiya’s head and thick fur. After several long minutes, she heard it again, a low guttural whine and then a voice. Words croaked out, “Is anyone out there? Help me, oh God, please help me.”
Kiya let out another low growl.
“Yeah, yeah, definitely female and in trouble,” Skye reasoned. She looked around for something she could use to boost herself up far enough and onto the narrow ledge, enough to get a look in the window. Eyeing several crates near a Dumpster, she darted over and grabbed one, emptied the contents out on the ground; they looked and smelled like something undefinable and rotting.
Moving back to the brick wall, she set the box in place and hoisted herself up. The ledge was wet and slick from the rain. Damn it, why hadn’t she thought to bring a pair of gloves?
She began to try to pull herself up where she could peer inside.
It took three tries but she finally managed to apply enough pressure wi
th her arms to leverage far enough up to see inside the room. Thank goodness for all that time she’d spent training. She pushed up with her elbows. And saw a girl lying on her side, naked, stretched out on the filthy tile floor of a dirty bathroom.
Skye swallowed hard. The girl had red hair. Erin Prescott had red hair. Skye’s first thought was that maybe the girl was dead. Was she too late? No, she’d heard moaning several minutes earlier. Skye’s heart did a double time in her chest. She slowed down her breathing, tamped down the adrenaline. She forced her mind to clear.
The girl was not dead. Skye pushed everything out of her mind but that one fact.
She raised the window enough so she could get inside. With all her might she swung her leg up and over the ledge and through the open window. At that moment, the girl turned her head to look wide-eyed at Skye.
In a hoarse, gravelly voice as if the she had spent the last twenty-four hours crying, the girl begged, “Help me, please. He’s coming back. He’s…going to kill me. I know he is. He says he won’t, that he has plans for me but…” The girl hiccoughed.
“Erin?” Skye asked in a whisper while at the same time she held a finger up to her lips in a signal to be quiet.
As if understanding, Erin nodded, and in a low voice exclaimed, “Oh God, yes. Please…help me. I want to get out of here.”
Teetering on the window sill, Skye quickly pulled her other leg through the frame and into the small space of the bathroom. On one knee, she leaned down to the girl and put a hand on her forehead. Erin’s body burned with fever. “My name’s Skye. Where is he, Erin? Is he in the next room?” she murmured.
The girl shook her head. “The store…I think. He went to get…food and some medicine…for my stomach. I’ve been sick…throwing up ever since last night. He…he…raped me.”
“He’s a bastard,” Skye replied. “Now listen to me, you’re going to be okay. I know. I’ve been right here where you are now.”
Skye Cree Boxed Set Books 1 - 3 Page 7