The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) (51 page)

“We’ll go early,” Butch pressed, “before it gets hot. I got a real sweet thoroughbred, Quo Vadis.” The cowboy’s gaze lingered on Sky’s legs. “He’ll fit you just right.”

“Maybe.” Sky dropped her cell into the pink Valentino clutch and pivoted on titanium heels. “Right now, I’m ravenous.”

“I can fix that,” Butch promised with a slow smile.

It was well after midnight.

Moonbeams glinted across the black waves of Hollow Pond.

Sky sat next to Butch on the east bank and gazed across the water. Dinner had been lovely, steak and wine and candlelight. Butch did most of the talking, tales from the Triple Y. He hadn’t asked any questions, he seemed content simply to be in Sky’s company. After a dessert of peach pie she’d gone back to the hotel room and changed into shorts, halter and the red cowboy boots for the ride to Hollow Pond. Butch drove his pickup, a battered Dodge Ram.

“So how does a Boston psychologist know about Hollow Pond?” Butch asked, after a while.

“Research.” Sky picked at a strap of the horse blanket they sat on. Butch had pulled the blanket from the back of the pickup and spread it on the pond bank. It was made of pale fleece and carried the unexpected scent of flowers. “I’ve never seen a white horse blanket before,” she said.

“It ain’t white. It’s pink,” Butch said with distaste. “Belongs to my baby sister. Even got the name of her horse on it. Zeus. Poor bastard. I found it wadded up in the meadow.”

“The same meadow where you picked my bluebonnets?”

“The very same.”

“Why did you and Nadine break off your engagement?”

“How’d you know about that?”

“Research,” she said. “And I protect my sources.”

“You sure work fast, sweet thing. You must be real good at whatever it is you do.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Nadine was pregnant. I stepped up, tried to do the right thing.” Butch tossed a rock into the black water. Ripples spread in slow, concentric circles. “It all happened so fast. I mentioned marriage and she ran with it, wanted to get hitched right away. We went to Dallas so Nadine could pick out her china pattern and whatnot. When I found empty Tampax wrappers in the hotel bathroom –”

“Never mind,” Sky interrupted. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I’m glad you did.” Butch gave her that smile. “Means you care about me.”

“I don’t care about you. Not in the least.”

Butch laughed, as though she’d said something terribly amusing. He grew quiet after a while and tossed another rock in the pond. “I am troubled. Something ain’t right. You’re in some kind of danger.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Don’t take a rocket scientist, sweet thing. You met me at the door wearing brass knuckles.”

Sky didn’t have an answer for that one.

“Maybe you oughta stay at the ranch,” Butch offered.

“Your ranch? The Triple Y?”

Butch nodded. “You’ll be safe there. It’s a big place. You ever see that old TV series
Dallas
they run on cable sometimes? That show had an unnatural effect on my mama. She sorta recreated the main house in that image. Kind of embarrassing. But it’s got lots of rooms. ‘Course, you’ll have to put up with the hounds.”

“What kind of hounds?”

“There’s my daddy’s favorite hunting dog, Beau. A Weimareiner crossed with a German shorthair. Then there’s Jack, my mama’s Basset hound. Jack is the ranch mascot. Never takes his nose off the ground.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” Sky thought about Savannah Lane’s murder, covered up for thirty years.

Porter Manville strangled Savannah Lane right here, at this very pond. He sliced a piece of skin from her scalp with a knife, just as he’d carved the tattoo from Nicolette’s dead body. Finally, Sky had something And she intended to use it.

“Hey.” Butch stroked her cheek with a finger. “I don’t know where you are right now, but it ain’t with me.”

“Sorry.” Sky pushed away thoughts of Savannah and Nicolette. She intended to enjoy her remaining few hours in Texas with this kind, beautiful man. “Thanks for your help, Butch.”

“No thanks necessary.” Butch paused. “There’s something about you, sweet thing. Makes me want to take care of you. Let’s get out of here. Go somewhere. How about New Orleans? It’s a nice town.”

“Go away with you?” Sky peered hard at his face, expecting a smart-ass grin or a wink. But Butch looked quite serious. “You’re out of your mind,” she said with conviction.

“That’s one way to put it.” Butch leaned back and Sky felt a tug on the red bandana halter. The top loosened and fell, exposing her pale breasts to moonlight.

“Do you believe in love at first sight, Sky?”

“No.” She straddled Butch’s lap and began unbuttoning the white oxford shirt. “And furthermore, I’d never go to New Orleans with you.” She breathed in his smell of sweat and soap and freshly washed linen. “Or anywhere, for that matter.” She unbuckled his thick leather belt.

“Just you wait, sweet thing.” Butch lifted Sky from his lap and settled her on the blanket. He pulled off her boots, one by one, then his own. “I’ll change your mind,” he promised. “You’ll be beggin’ to go everywhere with me.”

Sky giggled. The giggle turned to laugher. She laughed so hard she could barely speak. “Give it your best shot, cowboy,” she managed to say.

Sky kept laughing as she kicked off her shorts and leaned back on the horse blanket. It felt good to laugh. It felt good to feel warm night air and soft fleece on her naked skin. She hadn’t felt this good in a long, long time. Sky kept laughing as she pulled Butch down for a slow, deep kiss.

They went skinny-dipping afterwards. Sky led and Butch followed, they wove back and forth through the black waves like seals. After a while, Butch pulled Sky to the shallows and stood while she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He let her body slide down in a gradual descent, until he was inside her again, filling her, blotting out all pain and fear and desolation, their bodies moving in silent, pulsating union.

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 growled. “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.