Skin Dancer (36 page)

“What's going on here?” Nancy Howard was red–faced and angry as she stood in the hallway with two big orderlies.

“We're so sorry,” Frankie said sweetly. “My friend here is an epileptic. She had a seizure.” She came to Rachel's side and put an arm around her. “When she fell in the restroom she chipped a tooth and cut her lip.”

“Oh, my. Is she going to be okay?”

Rachel could tell that Mrs. Howard completely bought into Frankie's story. That was Frankie's true genius. She could sell matches in hell.

“Do you need a doctor?” the director asked.

“She's fine. I'll drive her home, make sure she takes her medicine. She gets so caught up in her job that sometimes she forgets.”

“Epilepsy can be dangerous.”

“Don't we know.” Frankie smiled as she pushed Rachel forward with the barrel of the gun. “Thank y'all for your concern.”

Rachel tried to balk, but Frankie punched hard with the barrel. “Don't make me hurt them,” Frankie whispered.

Rachel knew Frankie would kill them. She'd spent her life building this plan, creating this revenge, acquiring the skills necessary to make it happen.

She walked out the front door and into the warmth of the June day. Frankie escorted her to the driver's side of a truck Rachel didn't recognize. She opened the door and motioned for Rachel to slide through. Mrs. Howard and several others were standing outside the building watching. Frankie could easily pick all of them off if she wanted to. Now wasn't the time to try anything. She maneuvered against the window. Frankie got in, slammed the doors and set the locks.

“I think I understand most of this, but how did you know you'd be hired to work on the four–lane this year?” Rachel kept her voice calm, conversational. She had to try to lull Frankie into a sense of security.

Frankie arched an eyebrow. “The plans for Paradise were in the works when my father was alive. Richard was much younger, but he had the dream. He'd spent the summer interning with Bill Gates. He idolized Gates and what he'd created. Then he had the idea for using technology in DNA and stem cell studies, and he made his fortune. Paradise was just an extension of his success. And Richard, for all of his narrowness, loves South Dakota. I knew he'd build Paradise in Criss County because he honestly wants to help the economy.”

“You got a college degree in engineering on the slim chance you'd be offered this particular job?”

“Not slim. I'm not that much of a gambler. I kept up my contacts with the Lakota people. I did my civic duties by guiding Harvey's re–election campaigns and helping him side–step tough voter issues. Want to hear something funny? Richard doesn't want or need the four–lane to Paradise. This is all for Harvey. He stands to make millions on land right–of–ways in the northern part of the county. I told Harvey I'd make sure the road happened if he'd guarantee to hire me to act as liaison with the Sioux and project manager.”

“You've been so helpful to him. Without you, he might have been defeated in an election.”

Frankie laughed softly. “You are naïve, Rachel. Harvey is a hometown hero. He presents himself as a concerned rancher, a resident of South Dakota, a man who loves the wilderness, which, by the way, he's sold out in every vote in Congress over the past twelve years. Logging, mining, slapping back alternative energy research. Harvey couldn't be deeper in big oil and big corporation pockets.”

Rachel said nothing. She was naïve. Her focus on politics had been local. She'd never considered the bigger picture.

“How did you put it all together? These men covered their tracks.”

“Those damn boot clips led me to Hank. After I was shot, he stood beside me. I couldn't lift my head, but I could hear them talking. I knew there were several of them. I opened my eyes and that boot clip was right in my face and I memorized it, every whorl and curve. It was branded in my mind.

“When I couldn't talk, I'd lay in bed, remembering it and trying to figure out if it meant anything. Once I could get around, I started searching. I'll admit, it took a while. I checked boot companies, silversmiths, western organizations, everywhere I could think. Then one day in the Bisonville paper, which I subscribed to, there's Hank, standing beside a dead elk, grinning like a possum. To get the big elk in the photo, it was a full body shot of Hank. He was wearing fancy cowboy boots with silver ornamentation on the toes. The design wasn't distinct, but it was worth some effort to find out for sure, so I got a copy of the photo from the newspaper and did some digital enlarging. I had the first of the men who'd killed my father and left me to die. Once I had Hank, he gave me the others.”

“Dilson will be impossible to get to. You could escape to Mexico or South America. Change your name and get a new identity. You don't have to kill Jake or Richard Jones. You don't have to die, Frankie, and Dilson will have every federal agent he can get after you.”

“No, he won't.” She laughed softly as she passed the Custer city limits and headed back to Bisonville. “He won't risk his reputation. He'll try to kill me himself. And I don't have to kill Jake and Richard, but I want to.” Her smile revealed perfect teeth. “I like killing them. I like cutting the skin, then pulling it free of the fat and fascia. Most of all, I like hearing them scream.”

Rachel looked out the window. The scenery, which should had been familiar, rushed by. She'd lost her sense of time and place. She was caught in a nightmare. “I'm sorry about your father, Frankie. The betrayal must be difficult.”

“I suspected something between Harvey and my mother, but I couldn't be certain.” She patted Rachel's leg. “You got it out of her, didn't you? She would never have told me. She would have died screaming rather than tell me.”

“You didn't have to kill her.”

“Oh, I disagree.” She stood up. “That kind of betrayal is the worst. But you're going to find that out for yourself. When you do, you can tell me if physical suffering is enough.”

“She was your mother. She helped you heal.”

Frankie glanced at Rachel. “That's the one advantage of my condition. I'm not limited by certain feelings.” 

Rachel took a slow breath. Frankie had no remorse about harming people, and at this stage in her madness, she viewed any excuse as good enough.

Rachel forced herself to relax back in the seat. Once they stopped moving, she'd find the opportunity to take Frankie down. She had to.

 

Harvey hefted the hunting rifle, feeling the weight, the balance. He sighted through the scope, a powerful one that brought images a quarter mile away up close and personal. It was perfect. Almost as good as his own weapons, which he'd left in his rush to leave the ranch and the horror of his dead employees. Frankie, that little bitch, had put him on the run. But that was over. He was taking the offensive.

“I'll take it. And the pistol with the ankle holster, too.”

“Sir, there're laws—”

“I'm a U.S. Senator.” He brought out his wallet with his congressional identification. “This is an emergency.”

The clerk looked confused. “Maybe I should call—”

“Don't call anyone. This is top secret.”

The clerk, who was tall and thin, looked alarmed. “Terrorists?”

“Exactly,” Harvey said softly. “Law enforcement officers have been informed, but we can't start a panic. Now work with me, and I'll see that you're mentioned in the media as a special volunteer.”

“You betcha,” the clerk answered. He brought a box of shells out from under the counter. “You'll need these.”

“Thanks.” Harvey whipped out a roll of cash.

While the clerk rang up the transaction, Harvey thought of his next move. So much depended on what Frankie had learned. Dub's death was such a long time ago, he'd forgotten the details. Polly had been a pliant bed partner, a woman who bloomed with the slightest attention.

Unlike most of the women he slept with—the prostitutes and women on the climb for personal favors—Polly had been eager to please him, not for personal gain, but merely for an evening of his time. At first, he'd been completely deluded by the fantasy of her.

Had he hinted that he wanted to marry her? He didn't think so. Somewhere, though, she'd gotten the idea that she was going to tell Dub about them, confess, make a clean break, divorce. That had been impossible.

After he'd killed Dub, he accepted that he'd wanted him dead, wanted him out of the way. Dub was the kind of man who'd make it a point to ruin Harvey's future. The kid. Shit, he'd acted in desperation. He'd shot her without even meaning to. He saw her, the rifle went up, bam! She was hit in the head. And she should have died.

A second gunshot would have looked deliberate. As would bashing in her head with a rock or smothering her. Forensics were too good. So he'd opted to let her die on her own, just another terrible shooting accident in the wilderness. Some fool out with his .22 target shooting.

It should have worked, too. Frankie wasn't capable of getting up on her horse. So how had she done it? He must have asked himself that question a million times. He thought he had the answer, and if he could kill Richard Jones personally, he would. The bastard must have gone back and lifted Frankie onto her horse. That was the only explanation.

Now Harvey had some serious questions for the doctors who'd explained to him that Frankie would be a vegetable, and then the doctors who'd told him she'd never remember a thing, and then the doctors who'd assured him that the past was a complete blank for her.

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! They'd been wrong on all counts. Not only could Frankie remember, she was mad as hell, and she meant to kill him. If she hadn't remembered every detail, she'd tortured it out of Hank and Mullet. She knew. And she was out for vengeance.

So he'd have to take care of it himself.

“Senator Dilson. Senator Dilson!”

The clerk was waving the receipt in his face. He took it and picked up his weapons. He had to kill her and get it over with.

# # #

Instead of heading out to Dilson's place, Frankie turned west before she got into Bisonville.

“Where are we going?” Rachel asked.

“To the place where everything is going to end.”

“Will Dilson be there?”

Frankie was amused at Rachel's question. The deputy hadn't given up. She still thought she could affect the outcome. “Yes. I'll make sure of it.”

She pulled her cell phone out and dialed as she drove. When Harvey answered, his voice was terse as he said her name.

“You've been expecting me, haven't you?” she asked.

“We can strike a bargain, Frankie. I can make you a rich woman.”

“My mother gave up her child and her husband for you, Harvey. How many times did you visit her in Alabama? Once, I think, but that wasn't about her, was it? That was to make sure I didn't react when I saw you.”

“What do you want?”

“You remember the old hunting cabin? I fixed it up. Meet me there,” she said. “Richard is waiting for us. I want to finish this.”

“You think I'm stupid enough to go to a hunting cabin with you?” Harvey asked.

“If you don't, I have the evidence I need to prove you're a murderer and a thief. Your career will be over, and you'll spend your last days in jail.”

“And that's worth my life?” Harvey asked.

“Of course it is. We both know that. Besides, I have Richard. Without him, you have no future. He
is
Paradise.” She hung up. Rachel was watching her, trying to read the outcome of the conversation in her face. “Harvey won't be at the cabin, but I know where he'll be,” she told Rachel. “Harvey has the heart of a hunter, and he views me as the prey. We're alike now. And he thinks I'll go to ground.”

The sun had begun to set. “Mother told you about the hunting cabin. You enter through a mine shaft. Imagine, I've been there dozens of times in the past week, but I never thought my father was so close. They put him in a mine shaft. He would hate that. I'll bury him on the range, a place he loves.”

“Are we going to the mountains?” Rachel asked.

“No.” Frankie checked her gun. “We're going to my place.”

Rachel tensed. She was trying to act relaxed, but Frankie knew she was waiting for an opportunity, a chance. They were so much alike. Frankie wouldn't stop until she was dead.

“Is Jake at your place?” Rachel asked.

“Maybe.” Frankie checked the clip in her gun. It was fully loaded. 

“Frankie, is Jake still alive?”

She was surprised by the question. “Of course.”

“Is there anyone else involved in this? Hank and Mullet are dead. Richard is your captive. Dilson knows he's a target. Is that the end of it?”

“Oh, I think there's one more twist you're really going to appreciate.”

“Not Jake.”

Frankie smiled. “Jake's life is in your hands. I have nothing against Jake. Don't complicate this for me and I won't hurt him. Any more.”

Rachel inhaled long and slow.

“One thing you have to remember, Rachel. These men have earned their fates. All you have to do is let this play out. I don't want to kill you. I don't want to kill Jake. I don't even want to kill Richard. He's a coward, but he tried to do what was right. Anyway, you do what I say and maybe the three of you will get out of this alive.”

“Frankie, I can put Dilson behind bars for the rest of his life. I can recover your father's body and clear his name of all the taint that Dilson stained it with. I can—”

“Not good enough.” She put the gun in the holster under her arm. A knife was sheathed between her shoulder blades. She reached behind her back and brought it out, the wicked blade glinting in the slant of the late afternoon light. “I'm going to hurt him. I'm going to make him suffer in ways he never imagined.”