Skin Privilege (42 page)

That was when Lena had started rereading Charlotte ‘s letters. She had gone back into the motel for them, known that they could not be left behind. She cherished them now, these love letters that said as much about Sibyl as they did about the woman who wrote them. Charlotte had been a kind, good person. No matter what mistakes she had made in her life, she did not deserve to die in such a horrible way.

Lena should have been in the back of that car. She was the one who had made the mistakes. She was the one who deserved to be punished.

‘Why didn’t they kill me instead?’

That’s what she had asked Jeffrey when she’d called. Lena had been so stupid to think that he would leave town. Even Sara Linton had known there was no way Jeffrey would abandon her.

Hearing his voice on the phone was like a knife twisting in her gut. She had wanted to tell him everything – where she was, what had happened to Charlotte, how Hank had lied to her all these years – but she’d panicked the moment she’d heard his voice. The men who killed Charlotte could be listening in. They could somehow trace the call through the cell towers. They could kill Jeffrey for knowing too much.

They must have been watching Lena all along, following her from the minute she rolled into town. What a fool she had been. A smart person would have acted differently. A caring niece would have taken one look at her uncle and called an ambulance. A good friend would have left Charlotte Warren alone. A just person would have walked back into the fire and joined Charlotte in her violent end rather than sitting like a spectator on the sidelines.

Maybe Lena would have if the sheriff hadn’t shown up. Jake Valentine. What a stupid name. He seemed to realize this, because he had ducked his head in embarrassment the first time he introduced himself, and Lena had seen something that few people had probably ever laid their eyes on: a thinning spot at the top of his head. Valentine had seen Lena notice it and had really blushed then, rubbing his hand along the spot, quickly putting his hat back on.

As if an Escalade wasn’t blazing right behind him, a dead woman inside.

She hadn’t talked to him, hadn’t let one word cross her lips. At first, this had been because she was in shock. Lena had been sitting on the bleachers on the football field, her mind reeling, but not with the things that she would’ve expected. She was remembering football games, pep rallies. In school, Lena had always hung out with the bad kids and they never sat on the front row of the bleachers. They were always in the top row, hidden by the crowd so they could heckle the cheerleaders or, better yet, drop down to the ground and sneak away.

But, that night, she sat in the front row, her foot propped up on the gas can, as she watched the Escalade burn. The heat was intense, like nothing she’d ever felt before. Even sitting a hundred feet away from it, her skin prickled as if from a sunburn. Her throat hurt as if she’d swallowed acid, and when Jake Valentine had stood in front of her, trying to draw her out, she hadn’t been able to make words.

‘What’d he do to you?’ Valentine asked, and Lena didn’t know what he meant, so she just kept quiet.

He’d sat beside her on the bench, watched the car burn. ‘I see you’ve been hit. You don’t get bruised like that from falling down.’

Lena had stared at the flames, watched them dance along the roof of the car. The gas tank had exploded a while ago and though she could hear the man’s voice, she couldn’t quite process his words.

The sheriff said, ‘Whatever he did to you, you gotta let me know. If it was self-defense-‘

Lena had looked at him, her head snapping around in surprise. She opened her mouth, felt the air hit the back of her throat, the heat from the burning SUV quickly drying the saliva.

She closed her mouth and stared at the fire.

To his credit, Jake Valentine had not handcuffed her then. Lena was thankful for that at least. Ethan had liked her handcuffs, liked sneaking up on her, wrapping his hand around her mouth and scaring the shit out of her. He had loved hitting her even more, and Lena found herself considering the irony as Jake Valentine helped her into the back of one of the squad cars on scene – the sheriff thinking Lena was an abused woman who had snapped instead of a devil who brought death to everyone around her.

Jeffrey. She had to get him out of this town before he ruined everything.

Down at the abandoned warehouse, a Harley-Davidson motorcycle pulled up, the muffler popping and roaring like an angry dragon. Lena put her eye to the camera. She had turned off the digital screen because of the light and the need to save the battery. It was hard to find a place to charge things when you didn’t know where you’d be spending your nights.

She cringed as lightning illuminated the night sky. From early afternoon, the air had been heavy with the threat of rain. Lena wasn’t worried so much about getting drenched as being found. These were not the kind of people who took kindly to being spied on.

The Harley revved a few times, then the engine was cut. The rider was one of the few people who went into the building but didn’t come out immediately with a bag of dope. Despite the bike, he didn’t dress like a Hells Angel. Of course, the bike wasn’t really his – it belonged to Deacon Simms. Lena recognized the Harley the moment she saw it. The rider was around Lena ‘s age, clean-cut, his hair neatly shaved in a military style. He wore faded jeans, but a dress shirt was usually under his leather jacket. He always left his helmet on the seat of the bike. On more than one occasion, she had seen him check his reflection in the mirror mounted on the handlebars before going inside.

She’d nicknamed him Harley for the obvious reason, but she knew he had a name and that his name probably caused fear in a lot of people. There was something about the way the others steered clear of him that made her think he was a colonel rather than a foot soldier.

Harley was Lena ‘s suspect zero, the rat who had led her back to the nest. The first thing she’d done when she got back to Reece two days ago was look for Hank. The drive from Florida had been a long one. It was the middle of the night by the time she got into town. Lena had parked the Mercedes three streets from Hank’s house and made the trek on foot. She’d nearly vomited from the smell when she first walked in through the back door. Her initial thought was that Deacon Simms, still tucked up in the attic, was the source of the odor, but a quick look in the bathroom had proven otherwise. The toilet had been shattered. The house was empty. There was no sign of anything except misery and ruin.

Lena had given up then. Hank was gone. Charlotte was dead. Lena was a fugitive. Two days ago, a couple of men had argued in the hospital corridor about whether or not to kill her, and Ethan… who knew how Ethan was involved?

Lena went outside to think. She was sitting on one of the boxes stacked on the back porch when she heard the motorcycle. The pipes must have woken up everyone on the street, but no one threw open their windows to complain. She followed the rumble as the bike came up the drive, parked in front of Hank’s house. It was Deacon’s bike, she knew it by sound, just like she knew there was no way Deacon was riding it.

As quietly as she could, Lena made her way toward the old Chevy in the backyard. She slid underneath, the rusted floor of the cab scraping her back as the gate creaked open.

The motion light on the side of the house tripped on. Harley blinked up at the light, clearly annoyed. Clint came behind him, closing the gate.

‘He wouldn’t come back here,’ Clint said, nervous. ‘Just let the dope do its work. He’s not gonna go far off the needle.’

Harley spoke with the clipped, nasally accent of a New Englander. ‘That should kill him rather too painlessly, don’t you think?’

Clint was obviously nervous. ‘Let’s just go, man. There’s nothing in the house.’

‘I would love to talk to him, see what exactly he thought he might accomplish.’

‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

‘I don’t think you were brought into this organization to think.’ Clint was much stronger than Harley, but he flinched as the younger man grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘You’ve known Mr. Norton for a while.’

Clint shook his head, obviously seeing where this was going. ‘I did my job. I did exactly what you told me to do.’

‘You’ve had a close connection to the family over the years.’

‘No, sir. That don’t matter. I don’t play favorites.’

‘Then why is Hank Norton’s niece still alive?’

‘You told us not to kill any cops.’ Clint spoke carefully. ‘You issued a standing order.’

‘And now we’ve got two cops to deal with: one on the run and the other rather curious as to why.’

‘I’m sorry. It was my call.’

‘It’s good of you to accept the blame, Clint, but your lack of initiative explains your lack of progress in the organization.’ Harley turned back to Hank’s house. ‘Let’s go see if you at least did this correctly.’

‘I can’t be responsible if-‘

Harley didn’t say anything, but his expression must have spoken volumes.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Clint repeated, fearful, respectful. ‘We can go in through the back door.’

Both men went into Hank’s house. Lena could hear furniture being knocked over, glass breaking, as they moved through the rooms. There was an old cliche that said there were two types of people: leaders and followers. Harley was a leader, but so was Ethan. There was no way the two of them could be working together. Neither man would take orders. Neither would put up with each other’s attitudes. Put them in the same room, and you might as well sit back for the most violent cockfight of your life.

The kitchen door opened. Harley came out of the house and walked down the stairs with a spring in his step.

For his part, Clint was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as if he had been sick.

‘Find the cops,’ Harley tossed over his shoulder. ‘Both of them. Find out what they know, and if they give the right answers, find a way to persuade them to go on their merry way.’

‘And if they give the wrong answers?’

‘Initiative, Clint.’ Harley clapped him on the shoulder again, bowed his head as if in prayer.’ “O, God of vengeance, let your glorious justice be seen”!’

Clint seemed uneasy, but he stood there quietly until Harley raised his head. Still, he waited a few more seconds before leading Harley back toward the gate.

As soon as they were gone, Lena slid out from under the truck. She ran so fast out of the backyard that her heart felt like it was going to explode. She found the Mercedes and rolled down all four windows, listening for the motorcycle’s pipes as she drove, having to backtrack a few times before she was able to find Harley stopped at a red light outside the library. A white sedan was in front of the bike, and she assumed that Clint was behind the wheel.

The light turned green and the sedan went to the left. Harley went straight, and she followed the bike. The Mercedes’ headlights were off, and Lena slowed, hanging back so Harley wouldn’t see her. Ideally, two cars were used in a tail, but Lena was hardly in a position to have such luxury. She just kept back as far as she could and hoped Harley wasn’t the kind of driver who was constantly checking his rearview mirror. She sure as hell was checking hers. Clint could all too easily have looped around to see if Harley was being followed.

He hadn’t, though, at least as far as Lena could see. The road behind her remained clear. When she saw the bike turn into what looked like an abandoned warehouse, she kept on going, steering the car up the hill and finding a spot where she could view what was going on below without being spotted.

She had spent two nights watching the warehouse, grabbing some sleep at the school before making the long journey back to the motel in Florida to regroup during the day. The second night back, she’d brought the camera. Through the lens, she’d been able to better see who was going in and out of the building – the usual suspects, plus a few surprises. It was the surprises that made her start to see her way out of this for the first time since she’d arrived in Reece. Lena just needed to get Jeffrey and Sara out of harm’s way, then she would make her move.

Between the motel, the digital camera, and gas for the car, Lena had blown eleven hundred dollars of Hank’s emergency cash. She figured she could find a twenty-four-hour Kinko’s somewhere and make copies of the camera’s flashcard. Photocopies were cheap, and her log of the comings and goings at the abandoned warehouse were meticulous.

Hank had obviously found out something about these guys and their operation. Harley had said as much that first time she had seen him at the house. He’d spoke about Hank’s downward spiral in terms of vengeance, and you did not seek revenge on somebody unless they struck at you first. Hank must have tried to play the mother of all poker hands and got caught in a bluff – either that, or they had attacked him at his weakest point, his addiction. He must have fought them at first, but once he got hooked back on the dope again, the struggle was over.

Lena didn’t share her uncle’s weaknesses, at least not where drugs were concerned. All she wanted out of this was freedom – not justice, not money, not vengeance, though God knew Charlotte and Deacon deserved retribution. Lena couldn’t think about either of them now because it was the living she had to protect. Charlotte still had a family. There was still Hank, Sara, and Jeffrey to think about. Lena couldn’t afford to bluff. Whether Ethan was behind this or someone else, it didn’t matter. First thing in the morning, she was going to lay all her cards on the table.

With the right hand, she might be able to win back some lives. If she lost her own in the process, so be it.

FRIDAY

TWENTY-THREE

Jeffrey had forgotten what it felt like to wake up feeling like a human being. While he was under no illusion that the Holiday Inn of Beaulah, Georgia, was a pantheon of hygienic bliss, all he cared about was that the place
looked
clean. The sheets were crisp white, the pillows fluffed and inviting. The carpet showed tracks from the rigorous vacuuming and didn’t stick to the bottom of his feet when he walked across the floor. Room service came hot and fresh. The staff seemed happy to be there – at least none of the maids had cursed at him. Best of all, the bathroom was as close to heaven as he’d been in a while: the shower had been strong enough to take the hide off an ox and the toilet flushed without an ominous gurgle.