Wink of an Eye (33 page)

I combed his wet hair down with my hand. “Look … I've got to go take care of something. I'm going to send Rhonda to pick up your grandpa and bring him to the hospital, okay?”

He nodded but I could see the fear in his eyes. I hated leaving him. Damn Claire.

*   *   *

“Mamma wants us to go to the prom. She says you're only seventeen once and she doesn't want me to miss out on anything, I guess,” Claire said. She was lying beside me, gently drawing hearts with her finger on my bare chest. We were in the Kinleys' den, naked on a blanket on the floor in front of a crackling fire in the rock fireplace. Her parents were at the Cattleman's Club.

“The prom? Seriously?” I chuckled at the thought of me in a tux.

She giggled and it made me laugh again. “Yes, the prom.”

I softly kissed the top of her head. “
Are
you missing out on anything?”

She gazed up, then kissed me. I pulled her on top of me. At the moment I entered her, all my dreams and thoughts of the world outside Wink, Texas, evaporated. Thoughts of anything past the four walls of the Kinleys' den exploded into oblivion. The only thing that mattered at that moment in time was Claire and me.

We moved together slowly, savoring each stroke, our bodies and souls melding together into one. The red-yellow glow of the fire glimmered against her bare skin as shimmering beads of sweat rolled over her breasts. I ran my hands over the small of her back, gripping her ass, directing her movement like a conductor. The moans from both of us became louder as the movements became quicker. With one final thrust, we seemed to each hold our breath, suspending the moment for a while in another universe.

Just as her body went limp and she started to fall forward, she was jerked backward and flung off of me.

“Daddy, no!” She screamed as I felt the pointed toe of a size 12 Justin boot driven deep into my side.

I scrambled up, clutching my side, wondering how many ribs he'd cracked with one kick.

“You sorry-ass sonofabitch,” Kinley growled with the ferocity of a grizzly. He connected with an uppercut that lifted me off the ground, sending me backward into the wall. “You're a sorry piece of shit just like your daddy!” He drove his knee into my gut, taking away the breath I was already fighting for.

Claire was hysterical, screaming for her father to stop, desperately trying to pull away from her mother. Her mother had her wrapped in the blanket we had made love on, covering her nakedness and her own shame.

Kinley grabbed the back of my hair, driving my head face-first into his lifted knee. Blood gushed from my nose and mouth. His massive fist landed hard against my jaw.

“Carroll, stop! You're going to kill him!” Dana Kinley screamed, her voice as full of the fear I felt. She let go of Claire and moved toward her husband.

I grabbed at the wall, clutching at the designer draperies, ready to vomit at the amount of blood,
my blood,
that had sprayed the fabric. I wanted to apologize to her mother and tell her I had money saved and I would buy her new drapes but the ringing in my head overshadowed the guilt. I dropped to the ground in a heap. Blood had begun to seep into the fibers of the carpet. I heard the unmistakable
click-click
of a gun being cocked and braced myself for the bullet.

“Touch him again and I'll shoot.”

“Claire, don't be ridiculous,” Kinley said. “Put the gun down.”

“I swear to God, Daddy … move away from him or I'll shoot.”

“Claire … please,” her mother said. She sounded a little shocked and a whole lot confused.

No one dared move for what seemed like an eternity. Claire was naked as the day she was born, standing ten feet away from her father with a gun pointed straight at his head. The look in her eyes was jarring, passion and rage rolled into one. I had no doubt she'd pull the trigger. No matter how much she loved him, at that moment her father was the enemy. She'd kill him in the wink of an eye.

“Claire…” He slowly reached his hand toward her. He was filled now with more caution than fury. “Give me the gun.”

“Move away from Gypsy. You taught me to shoot and you know I can drop you.”

“Claire, sweetie…” He took a step toward her. “We can talk about this.”

She shook her head. “There's nothing to talk about. Gypsy's a part of my life. You're going to accept that. I'll kill for him, Daddy. Even you.”

*   *   *

I thought about the old man as I drove past his house to Claire's. I imagined him feeble and needy as I lightly touched the faded scar permanently engraved on my upper lip. I've often wondered if she was really capable of murder. Now I knew she was. Claire was used to getting what she wanted and back then, at that moment, I was what she wanted.

Her truck was in the driveway. I parked behind it, then took the steps leading to the porch by twos. “Claire!” I yelled as I banged on the door. “Claire, open the door.”

A full minute had passed, then the panic set in. What if the tearful “I love you” she had said earlier was a suicide declaration? What if it was her
own
life she wanted to end and not mine?

I kicked the door open and when I saw her, I had my answer. The look on her face was sheer surprise. Not the good “it's just what I wanted for my birthday” surprise, but the “you were supposed to be dead” surprise.

“Gypsy…” She recovered quickly and ran to me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Oh, thank God, you came. I don't know what time he's going to be here and … you're wet.” She pulled away, then lightly touched my swollen eye. “What happened?”

I grabbed her hands in mine. “What the hell do you
think
happened, Claire?”

“I … I don't know what you mean.” She pulled away, then turned and quickly went into the family room. “Let me fix you a drink. Black Label, right?”

I caught up to her in front of the wet bar, grabbed her arm, and spun her around to face me. “Claire—your brother-in-law tried to kill me.”

She looked at my hand clutching her arm before ever looking directly at me. I didn't turn her loose.

“How'd he know where I was, Claire?”

She shook loose but stood her ground. “I don't like what you're implying, Gypsy.”

“I don't like almost being killed!” I was yelling now. “You fucking sent someone to kill me, Claire!”

Her eyes flashed over with rage. She slapped my face with enough force to knock me sideways. She came at me again but I grabbed her wrist. “I was going to help you, Claire! I wasn't going to let you go down for this.” I let go of her wrist and pushed her away for her own safety.

“You knew the Ranger was going to question me. Obviously you had already talked to him.”

“Of course I talked to him. He was at the sheriff's office last night. Claire—this isn't about you! You fucking tried to have me killed!” I moved toward her but she moved behind the bar. My blood was on fire with a fury I had never known. I swung my arms across the bar, sending bottles and glasses shattering against one another. She screamed and ducked, covering her head with her arms. “You sent your gorilla out there to kill me, Claire! I had a twelve-year-old boy with me—did you ever think what was going to happen to him? And what about those girls? Can you even
fathom
what they're being forced to do?”

“Stop it! Stop it!”

“I can't forgive you this time, Claire.”

“Gypsy—please—listen to me.” She was stepping over the shards of glass, moving toward me. “I was scared. I didn't know what to do.”

“So having me killed was the answer?”

“No, Gypsy—you've got it all wrong.” She touched my cheek where the sting from her slap was still fresh. “It was Mark. He was here when we talked on the phone. He overheard me say you were at the sinkholes. He left right after—I had no idea where he was going. You've got to believe me, Gypsy.” Tears cascaded down her face. She lightly touched my cheek again, gently touched my swollen eye. “Did he do this? Baby, I'm so sorry.”

I held her hand against my face for a long moment, then for the first time since I had laid eyes on her so many years ago, I felt nothing. I felt no pity, no anger, no love. Peterson didn't overhear her say I was at the sinkholes. Because she never said it. I was the one who had said it. I gently brushed her hand down and walked away.

“Gypsy…” She followed me into the foyer then stopped, her feet frozen to the slate floor.

Rodney and Ranger Rick were at the door. Rodney had his handcuffs out and opened.

“
Gypsy…”
she said again. Her voice grew faint as I went out the door, down the steps, and got into the van.

I turned the van around and never looked back.

 

CHAPTER 29

I blinked away the sweat rolling in my eyes. I used the tail of my T-shirt to wipe the dampness from my face. The shirt was covered in dirt; I wondered if I looked like I was using one of those mud facials.

“Why the hell am
I
doing this?” I looked at Tatum and tossed him the shovel. “They're your shrubs.”

From the back deck, Burke laughed out loud. “Was wondering how long it was going to take you to figure that one out.”

I ruffled Tatum's hair as I headed up the deck steps. “Yeah, I noticed he likes to
supervise.
”

I had paid to have the tree taken down where Ryce was killed and threw some cash at the landscape company for some drought-resistant shrubs to plant in its place. Obviously I didn't pay them enough because up until a moment ago when I handed Tatum the shovel, I had done all the planting.

I went inside and grabbed a beer from the fridge, then rejoined Burke on the deck.

It had been a month since Denny killed himself and life went on. Ramirez was heading up a task force charged with finding the missing girls and asked me to help. I hadn't said yes, but I hadn't said no yet, either. Even if I couldn't bring her sister home, I wanted Alvedia Esconderia to be able to grow up unafraid. Claire rolled on Mark Peterson like I knew she would and was awaiting sentencing. Her husband's political clout took a nosedive and couldn't save her from pulling time. Her daddy's money was long gone as the ranch had been in financial trouble for years. It still didn't justify what she did. My stomach churned with disgust knowing she sold those girls like cattle to Mark Peterson. I still didn't know what scared me more—knowing I would have helped her out of the whole mess or knowing she had tried to kill me for a tape she thought I had.

But I was finally beginning to sleep again, unafraid to close my eyes because she no longer haunted my dreams. Whether she drowned in the bottom of the great Wink sinkhole or in the bottom of a bottle of Johnnie Walker, I don't know. All I knew was she was no longer a part of my life, or my memories.

I pulled up one of the deck chairs, then propped my feet up on the railing.

“Are you actually wearing
boots
?” Burke raised a brow as he stared at my feet.

“They're
hiking
boots.”

“Uh-huh.”

We watched Tatum stomping on the shovel, giving it all he had. “When he gets about twenty more pounds on him, he'll be all right,” I said.

Burke shook his head and laughed. “If he gains only twenty pounds, someone's going to have to teach him how to fight.” He looked at me.

I took a swig of beer. “He actually did pretty good against Peterson until the gun came out.”

“Trumps a fist every time.”

I laughed. “You got that right, ol' man.”

I watched the kid dig, stomp, dig, stomp, dig, stomp, complaining the whole time about how freakin' hot it was. The smile flittered across my lips so naturally, I was barely aware I was smiling. He reminded me so much of myself at that age. So scrawny a good gust of wind could move you. You made up for it by pretending you were ten feet tall and bulletproof.

I never had anyone teach me how to fight, either. There were days I missed my father probably as much as Tatum missed Ryce. I often wondered if my old man ever loved my mother. If she haunted his dreams, his memories. The flashing pictures in my mind that I could remember told me he did. I remember flowers from the florist, I remember Valentine's candy, Saturday-night dates when Gram would come stay with me and Rhonda.

He used to have this old truck he was restoring that he kept parked behind the house. He'd work on it a little, then we'd take off on a ride. Just me and him. We'd hit every back road in Winkler County, the dirt floating in through the open windows. I can still feel the grit on my face. I can still hear the static coming through the AM radio. When we were far enough away from anything or anyone, he'd pull over and let me drive. I'd scoot to the edge of the seat and stretch my legs out as far as they would go and still struggle to reach the pedals. We'd drive out to the canyons and shoot cacti with the Remington he had given me for no reason at all. He wasn't all bad, my old man.

“Hey … I see you two are working hard,” Sophia said. She came up the steps and joined us on the deck. She lightly squeezed my shoulder and grinned.

I was jolted back to the present, which wasn't bad, and smiled. She was wearing navy capris and a white vest as a top. If I'd been a stick of butter, I'd have melted. “Five minutes earlier and you would have caught me working.”

“We can't have that.”

We all laughed and it felt good. I got up and offered her my chair, then pulled another out for myself.

“Whatcha got there?” Burke asked, peering at the two envelopes Sophia was holding.

She smiled as she sat down. “This is a little something for Tatum.” From the larger, padded envelope, she pulled out a framed copy of the
Odessa Record,
front page above the fold. She handed it to Burke.