Skinbound (13 page)

Cabin lay flat on his back, his tuxedo shirt collar balled in his clenched fist. Sweat glistened on his features, taut with pain.

She dropped on the floor next to him.

“Cabin? Cabin, can you hear me? I’ll get help.” She rose from his side.

He clutched her hand and pulled her back down. “No. Please stay here,” he said, his voice shaking.

Finding him in this state confirmed her worst fear. She traced his closed eyelids, terrified to lose him...his suffering proving she already had.

He had betrayed her with Scarlett.

Now he was paying for it.

“Cabin, where is your phone, we have to get you to the hosp—” She widened her eyes as his body went lax beneath her fingers.

“No! Cabin, wake up.” She tapped his cheeks, then shook his limp shoulders. “Oh, please just hang on... I’ll find help.”

She backed gently from him, leapt to her feet and ran from the pool house, just in time to see a dark figure scurry over the privacy fence.
Liz
. A small, rectangular object clattered to the tile below.

The French doors rattled, and a large coral blur rushed by, charging toward the fence.

“Call 911!” Darcy screamed. “Help us, please! Dr. Creighton is hurt.”

Edith stooped for her abandoned cell phone, lost balance, and came down hard on her backside, sailing the phone across the tile where it teetered on the edge of the pool.

Darcy scrambled to the phone and snatched it up, her hands shaking so hard she could barely push the buttons. Her breath tore in and out of her body, exhausting her ribs.

Frantically, her gaze searched the water.

Scarlett was gone.

“911—what is the nature of your emergency?”

Chapter Ten

Scarlett snapped another picture of the ugly thing, wishing she could snap it to pieces instead.

“But then you wouldn’t make me any money, would you?”

She tossed the doll to the burgundy carpeting beneath her desk before sliding her SD card into the slot of her office computer. She clicked through the pictures, landing on a photo of her and Malcolm which she furiously deleted.

She rolled her shoulders as she searched, pissed at the soreness. The tumble she’d taken into the pool the night before had done a number on her body. And to make matters worse, the chlorine had given a green cast to her highlights.

Finally, the antique doll’s image filled the screen. She didn’t know why anyone would want the ridiculous relic, but took hope in the fact similar bone-carved dolls sold online for hundreds, even thousands. “And
you
have something they don’t,” she crooned to the yellowed bones at her feet. “A botched boob job. That strange little rose in the middle of your chest.”

She chose the picture that best accented the dolls features—the black eyes, clouded with age, the chipped nose, the cracked and faded rosebud lips. And, of course, the rose.

Logging into her alias account, she uploaded the photo and added a description, sure to mention the “curse of betrayal” as told by her dear dead great-grandmother. People loved that kind of crap. Now, what was it her sister called the thing... “Shaw,” yes, that was it. She posted its silly name, hoping to endear the schmucks to it, then finished by initiating the bidding at two thousand dollars.

After submitting the information, she surfed the web, waiting for it to load. Killing time on the clock. Who cared? She hated wasting her talent in this dead-end company anyway. But she’d have the last laugh. By the time Landon realized the rainy day fund was depleted, she’d be long gone.

Scarlett thought back, her mind settling on her ex-boss, Carla. Jealous cow had set her up, enticing her with company funds, knowing she would take the bait. Carla had all but stuffed the money into Scarlett’s purse, then turned her in for extortion.

But Scarlett had gotten even. Her mouth twisted into a smile, the stench of Carla’s fear still lingering in her nostrils. The ten months she’d spent in a Los Angeles psyche ward had been worth it. She only wished she’d finished the job.

“Ouch!” A sharp pain pricked her left foot. She rubbed a finger over the small silver scar where her greedy parasite-twin had siphoned her soul away.

Suddenly, a pounding fist shook her closed office door, rattling it on the hinges. She wondered which jerk already had their panties in a wad at nine-thirty on a Monday morning.

“Come in,” she called calmly, kicking the doll further under the desk and clicking out of the auction site.

“Valerie—” Landon glanced back into the hallway before shutting the door behind him. “If it’s true, you have to get out of here...now.” He stepped around her desk and logged onto her computer, whispering frantically.

“What on earth are you talking about?” she asked with a bored yawn.

“
This
.” He pointed to the computer. A picture of Scarlett—unfortunately, not a very good one—filled the screen. Beneath the photograph was an article detailing her escape from Renewals mental hospital, and a California-issued warrant for her arrest.

“It popped up about five minutes ago on every computer in the office—every computer in the whole damn building, for all I know.”

“Landon, dear, you’re so dramatic,” she replied.

“I could say the same for you. I would call breaking out of a court-appointed mental rehab quite dramatic—and a serious offense. Look, Valerie, I mean,
Scarlett
, I’m only giving you a heads-up because I consider you a friend.”

“And
I
consider
you
an easy lay.”

He winced. “Well, I’m sure we’d both agree I
am
your boss, and I must report you to the authorities...it’s just a matter of time, anyway. The ladies downstairs are probably knocking one another over as we speak, diving for the phone like a bunch of old maids fighting over a wedding bouquet.”

Scarlett picked up the doll. “Landon, you’re so colorful...are you certain you’re not gay?”

His face reddened.

She crammed the doll into her purse, then sauntered to the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “Who, may I ask, sent the tell-tell e-mail?”

“Someone named ‘Shaw.’”

****

The cowbell clanged noisily against the glass door of Pawnderings. Scarlett curled her nose at the stale air.

“Can I help you, Ma’am?” An unintelligent looking man in a greasy baseball cap asked.

“Why, I certainly hope so, Mr...what is your name?” She lowered her eyes to his chest, searching for a name badge.

The man shook his head, making a humming sound. “Corkey,” he said.

“Corkey... I like that,” she murmured. “So,
Corkey
, tell me, is this your pawn shop?”

“No ma’am, I just work here, helpin’ my dad.”

“I bet you work
so hard
.”

Corkey nodded.

“Well, I’m going to make sure you get the credit you deserve. I’m going to tell all of my girlfriends about you, how cute you are, and what a great deal you gave me on this beautiful little doll.” She pulled the doll from her purse by the hair and laid it on the countertop.

He blushed, picking the doll up in his dirty hand. “What’s it made out of?”

“She’s made of real whale bone. It’s called, scrimshaw, can you say that?” she asked, forming the words slowly.

“S-Scrimshaw,” he repeated. “I’ll have to ask my dad. Be right back.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes as he left the room, disgusted she’d wasted her time flirting with
numb-brain
, when she should have saved it for his father—the one with the money.

Corkey returned with a military-type old man, jaw set, shoulders squared, no nonsense. Flirting would get her nowhere.

“Yeah?” he asked without greeting her.

“Yes, hello.” She held a manicured hand to him.

He pumped it once, seemingly uninterested.

“I wondered how much you might offer me for this wonderful little doll my great-grandmother gave to me. It’s scrimshaw, that means it’s carved from bone—”

“I know what scrimshaw is,” he interrupted. “Stuff’s getting kinda popular again.” He picked up the doll, turning it over.

Scarlett licked her lips, excited. The doll was in demand. “So, how much will you give me for her?” she asked, straining her ears. Had she heard a faint siren?

“Things pretty tattered.” He frowned at it. “I’ll give you a hundred.”

“A hundred? As in
one
hundred dollars? You said yourself scrimshaw is in high demand.” She touched her forehead lightly. Definitely a siren.

“I also said it’s tattered,” he said, slamming it back down to the counter. “I’ve got a whole shelf full of bone-carvings, every piece in better shape than this one.”

“But this one is unique.” She pulled the raggedy black dress up to reveal the intricate carved rose. “You see, she’s like two carvings in one.”

He narrowed his eyes at the rose. “That’s different,” he admitted. “I’ll give you a hundred twenty.”

She seethed. “There’s a legend that goes with her too. It’s been said that whosoever—”

“One hundred and twenty. Final.”

The sirens were closer now, possibly around the block. Scarlett shoved the doll to him across the counter. “Fine, take her. Give me the money, I’m in a hurry.” She could at least fill her tank in Texas, on the way to Mexico. Cash was untraceable.

Sirens blared, maddeningly
close
.

The old man gave her a form to sign, then punched his grease-caked fingernails onto the old fashioned cash register, opening the till. She slapped the form onto the counter and jerked the money from his hand, shoving it into her wallet, next to her passport.

“Hey, I need to see your I.D.,” he yelled after her.

“Fraid not. Have a nice day.” She waved her middle finger at him on the way out.

****

Unable to pace even one more step, Darcy dropped into the nearest waiting room chair, her injured knee too swollen to bend. It was ten a.m., and Cabin was still unconscious.

She whispered the same three-layered prayer, asking God to let Cabin live, to help him recuperate quickly and to give her a sign, letting her know if Cabin loved her, or had feelings for Scarlett. The latter part of the prayer felt self-centered, but she asked anyway, hoping God would understand how important the knowledge was to her. And how, for Cabin, the answer could truly mean the difference between life and death.

Footsteps sounded and Darcy raised hopeful eyes, disappointed when Sheriff Watkins approached, instead of the doctor.

“How’s he doing?”

Darcy sniffed. “I don’t know yet.”

“He’ll be okay.” The sheriff gave her a meager smile, then cleared his throat. “Listen, much as I hate to bring this up right now, do you have any idea where I can find your sister?”

“No, I haven’t heard from her since she took off after Cabin’s…incident.” Meeting his gaze, she jolted upright in her chair. “Why? Did you find Malcolm?” Her eyes widened with the question, hoping to God he’d found Bessie’s killer.

“In a sense.”

Darcy frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I found out Malcolm Claypool died six months ago.”

“Six months…but that’s impossible...he was at my…” Blood rushed through Darcy’s head. “Oh my God…” She couldn’t wrap her mind around it, even though she’d just experienced a crash course in what Scarlett was capable of.

Sheriff Watkins nodded. “It appears your sister suffocated Bessie Roberts, and vandalized your house.”

She fought to catch her breath. Behind her eyes, images of Scarlett smashing a pillow into Bessie’s sweet face spun like a horror movie reel. “But why would Scarlett hurt Bessie—?” Chill bumps chased up her spine.
Because she needed a place to live
. Darcy’s stomach rolled with the realization.

“We’re pretty anxious to find her.”

She tightened her jaw until her teeth ached. “Not as anxious as I am,” she bit out. If Cabin died, she’d smash Scarlett’s face with something much harder than a pillow.

“Ms. Vaughan?”

Darcy jumped from her skin at the sound of her own name.

“Dr. Creighton is asking for you.”

“He’s awake?” She leapt from her chair, swollen knee forgotten. “Good luck, Sheriff. Let me know if you find her.” Without waiting for a reply, she brushed past the nurse who held the door, then hurried down the hallway.

“Doctor Fourman will be in shortly,” the nurse called after her.

Darcy wanted to run to his bedside but instead walked, afraid of disturbing him. His chest rose and fell under the thin hospital blanket, flooding her with relief. Tubes and wires poked from his body, affixed to his pale skin with surgical tape. She massaged the side of her neck as she watched numbers blink across the machines, wondering what they meant.

“It drives me wild when you do that,” Cabin said, his voice weak.

She gasped and swung her gaze to his eyes, now somehow a paler shade of blue.

“How are you, beautiful?” he asked softly.

“I’m not the one tethered by tubes to a hospital bed,” she answered, closing her hand around his.

God, I need a sign
...

“I didn’t know,” Cabin whispered, as if reading her mind. He tightened his grip on her hand. “I thought I was holding you. I didn’t know it was Scarlett until it was too late.”

She prayed his words were true.

“Do you believe me?” He steadied his gaze on hers.

Her eyes misted. “I want to.”

“Trust me. Please.” His gaze softened along with his words. “I love you, Darcy. I want you to be my wife.”

Darcy’s face tingled as if Gigi had kissed her cheek. “Oh, Cabin, I love you too.”

“Enough to marry me?”

She leaned over and kissed his cool lips. “Yes.”

His skin instantly warmed to her touch, the color restoring. Her gaze met his, the intensity returning to his aqua blue eyes. She could feel them taking her in, loving her.