Skin (28 page)

Dark laughter filtered up to the landing, where Frankie huddled against Reese’s back. He squeezed her arm reassuringly.

“We scared them off good.”

Frankie pulled Reese’s arm toward the elevator. Reese hesitated. As much as he wanted to get Frankie out of there, he wanted to hear what the goons were saying.

“Where the hell is that Judas bitch anyway? We don’t come back with her this time, the boss is gonna have our nads in a press.”

Frankie inhaled sharply, digging her fingers into Reese’s arm.

“Maybe that’s her car out there or someone who knows where she is. Who’da thunk, a chick ripping off her own family.”

“It’s those young Turks. They got no respect.”

The footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

“Hey, looks like water here on the floor.”

“Footsteps.”

Reese grabbed Frankie and ran with her down the hallway. “Last door on the right,” she whispered above the loud, thudding footsteps coming up the stairway toward them. As Reese slammed the door behind them, shots rang out, a bullet lodging in the woodwork only inches from Frankie’s head. She screamed and ran with Reese to the corner. She opened what looked like a closet door but was actually an elevator door.

“I locked the door,” he said. “It might get us a few extra seconds.”

He pushed Frankie into the elevator and climbed in behind her. Closing the door, he hit the button from the inside. The elevator lurched upward before it began to lower at an agonizing snail’s pace.

The sound of splintering wood echoed into the elevator car, followed by a final thud. Shit. The door was down. Reese grabbed Frankie’s arm.

“Over there!” one of the thugs yelled.

Reese shielded Frankie with his body. The elevator thumped to a halt, stopping a half foot higher than the door on the floor below the goons.

Reese kicked the door open. “Quick.” He pushed her toward the opening. She gave him a wild look, then stuck her head and chest through. He lifted her at the hips and she slid through. Just in time, he dived into the opening after her and heard bullets whizzing into the elevator.

The liquid fire of a speeding bullet shaved down his back. Gritting his teeth, Reese let his adrenaline do its job. He felt no pain after the initial contact and knew the hit was superficial. He’d managed through worse and survived.

He pushed past Frankie and they took off through the back kitchen door, racing for his SUV.

Frankie yanked open the passenger door, threw in her camera bag, and dove in behind it. Reese was already starting the engine as she jerked the door closed. He slammed into reverse, the gears grinding hard, then gunned it. The vehicle was speeding backward as two men ran out from the kitchen door and stopped directly behind them. Not missing a beat, they started firing.

“Down!” Reese yelled. Frankie’s head hit the dashboard, then she curled up into a ball on the floorboards. Reese kept his foot to the pedal. A loud thump was followed by a scream. He gritted his teeth in a smile. Yeah! The last man ran in front of the truck and started firing again. Reese pulled the emergency brake and swung the steering wheel around, gunning the truck. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he grinned. He loved it when the full one-eighty worked so well. Just like in the movies.

He gunned the engine again and put his hand on Frankie’s head. “Stay down!” Then they busted through the closed metal gates of the estate.

He pulled his cell phone from his belt and hit a button.

“Guido,” a voice answered.

“I need a fueled plane at the Monterey airport, like yesterday. I’ll fly.”

“I copy.”

He ran his hand across the top of Frankie’s head, her damp hair warm. “You can get up now. No headlights. Yet.”

He knew it was just a matter of time.

“Where are we going?”

“To my place.” When Reese said it out loud, he knew the demons he’d find there would be almost as dangerous as the ones he and Frankie faced here in California.

“Where is that?”

“Where no one will find you.”

O
nce the shock of being shot at again began to wane and the small jet they were in took off into the night, Frankie yelled over the roar of the engines, “Do you juggle too?”

Reese shook his head. Several hours later, in the first inkling of dawn, they landed on a small airstrip in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. Snow dusted low foothills, and what looked to be pine trees dotted the landscape. She had no idea where she was and knew virtually nothing about the man who brought her here. Yet she felt safe, and for the first time in a very long time, she allowed the pressure to excel to take a backseat to her will to survive. Letting go of that baggage lightened her considerably.

She looked at Reese as he took his headset off and checked the cockpit panels one light after another until only a low green glowed.

He moved past her and opened the hatch, grabbing the bags they brought from the truck. Turning, Reese extended his hand to Frankie, who shivered in the cold night air. She took it. “Let’s get into the pilot house and see if we can find some coats.”

On the ground she looked around. A low light illuminated the small building that she surmised doubled as the pilothouse and control tower, but there were no vehicles in sight.

“Where are we?” she asked.

Reese looked over at the rough mountains and the light dusting of snow. For a long moment he stood silent. “Home.”

The two-story building was unlocked. With familiarity Reese crossed to the door at the back of the foyer and opened it, pulling out two heavy wool coats. He handed her one and put on the other one.

“Won’t the owner mind?”

“No.”

Frankie refrained from asking more questions. The hard set of Reese’s jaw left no opening. She had the uncomfortable feeling that although he might be home, he wasn’t happy about it.

He steered her through the small tidy building to a back door. As they exited she saw an old truck parked on the back side of the building. Wyoming plates. Running his hand up along the inside of the right front wheel well, he pulled out a key. Two minutes later they were on their way, headed east down a long, desolate country road. Umber-colored plains spotted with pines surrounded them.

“Someone could go stir-crazy out here,” Frankie said.

“It happens a lot.” His grim tone, like his set jaw, left no room for conversation.

After twenty minutes they pulled onto a decent highway. They drove another mile and he turned onto an asphalt road; wide metal gates stood open in welcome. Unlike the dark, foreboding presence of the ones at Casa di Falco, these gates were slatted with twisting black iron, and two silhouettes of horses faced each other at the meeting point of the gates. Above each horse’s head was a scrolled letter
B.

Reese drove down the neat white plank fenced road. The sweet smell of horses tickled Frankie’s nostrils. She loved horses and missed her riding days, when she was a little girl and pretended she was Audra Barkley on
The Big Valley.

After more than a mile, a house emerged from the dark morning air. As they approached, Frankie smiled. This was no little ranch house, but a large, sprawling abode. She could barely make out the shadows of other, larger structures in the background. A soft light shone in the large front window of the house.

“Nice spread,” Frankie said.

Reese grunted.

“Your house?”

“My father’s.”

“Oh.” The father who smacked him around. Great. She was going from her family, who wanted her dead, to his family, who wanted to maim.

“We have more in common than I thought, Reese. My family shoots at me and yours maims. I’m never having kids.”

He pulled the truck around the full circular driveway, stopping in front of the house. Almost reluctantly, he put the truck in Park and killed the engine.

After a long minute he looked over at her and smiled grimly, not making any move to leave the truck. “I’m with you on that one. Too much bullshit for them to deal with.”

She nodded, glad they agreed on some things. He still made no move to get out of the truck.

“Are we going to get out of here or stay and freeze our butts off?”

“In a minute.”

She watched his features and intuitively realized he was afraid. Instinctively she moved her hand over his, realizing he was gripping the steering wheel. “What else happened here, Reese?”

Unblinking, he continued to stare at the front door.

“Reese?”

Shaking himself, Reese opened his door, then walked around to open hers. “C’mon,” he said, holding out his hand to her. Their eyes locked and she took it.

He walked stiffly beside her down the short sidewalk to the wide porch and stopped at the front door. He looked down at her.

She squeezed his hand. “Knock.”

He did. Although there were no lights except the front room light, Frankie sensed this was once a house of joy. Now it radiated tension.

After several more knocks and no answer, Reese let out a long breath and let go of her hand.

“How long has it been since you were here?”

“Fifteen years.”

The unmistakable sound of a shotgun racking caught their attention. Frankie gasped, grabbing Reese’s arm.

“No trespassing!” a gnarly voice shouted from the side of the porch.

“Midas?”

“Holy shit,” the old voice muttered.

Reese hurried down the wide wooden steps to the hunched figure standing at the corner of the house, illuminated by the slow rising sun. “Midas, it’s Reese.”

“Boy? You finally come home?”

“You old codger, how the hell are you?”

Frankie’s throat constricted, and her heart tugged. Reese’s voice sounded happy, carefree, almost like he was a boy again.

Instead of taking the old man’s extended hand, Reese wrapped him in a bear hug, lifting him off the ground.

“Boy, you finally come home,” Midas repeated.

Reese set the old man down. “For a while, Midas. Maybe. If my old man allows it.”

Midas stepped back. “You ain’t heard?”

Reese shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to him since I left fifteen years ago.”

The old man made a gravelly sound in his throat. “He nutted up, been over at the old folks home in Jackson for a decade or more.”

“What happened?”

“I guess his old ticker got broke one too many times.”

“Not for me it didn’t.”

Frankie flinched at the acid in his voice. Ah, the old Reese returns.

“Ya always thought ya knew everything.”

“I can read people, and you of all people know there wasn’t a rock I could hide under in this state to keep him from me.”

Midas put his hand on Reese’s shoulder. “You got it all wrong, boy.”

Gently, Reese put his hand over the older man’s. “It’s history. It doesn’t matter. Nothing can be changed.”

“You can go to him —”

“Midas,” Reese said harshly, then he gentled his tone. “What’s done is done.”

The old man coughed and looked over his shoulder at Frankie. “You gonna bring that filly down here and introduce me or did you forget the few manners your mama taught you?”

Reese hurried back to Frankie and took her hand, bringing her to the old man. “Midas, this is — ah, Frankie, my friend.”

Frankie smiled and would have loved to say “Yes, the friend who has been taking nekkid pictures of your boy.” Instead she said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Midas.”

The old man made a funny sound like a laugh that came out as a wheezed cough instead. “No mister about, it’s just Midas.”

“Okay, Midas.”

Frankie glanced at Reese. Despite his happy face, she knew by his tense arm against her side that he was wary, not of the old man but of the situation with his father. Maybe her predicament was part of it too. Or maybe she just wanted to think so.

She turned back to the old man. “Is Midas your given name?”

“Naw. Miss Thelma, Reese’s mama, gave it to me. She said I could tame the wildest mustang by just a touch of my hand. Which is a lie.”

“Now who’s lying, old man? You have the touch, don’t deny it.”

Frankie squeezed Reese’s hand before letting go. “I bet back in the day it worked for the ladies too, huh?”

The man chuckled. “I could have given this stud here a run for his money. But not now. Hell, even as a youngun the girls come sniffing from miles around for this boy.” Old brown eyes danced in remembered humor. “We’re lucky no Daisy Dukes showed up after you took off with a babe, huh?”

“Enough, Midas. We’re tired, and hungry.”

“C’mon, then, I’ll let you in through the back. I got enough provisions for us all. ’Sides” — he turned a sly eye on Reese — “that Angie Thomas comes out here every day to work her horses. I bet she’d be happy to cook for you.” He flushed. “I mean for you both as long as you stay here.”

“Angie?” Reese grinned. “I thought she would have taken off for the big city. It was always her dream.”

“That dream included you, boy. Ain’t the same any way you slice it without you around here.” Midas gave Reese a quick hug. “I’m sure glad you’re back.”

“It’s only temporary.”

“Why? The bloodline is still strong, I made sure the place kept going.”

“Another time, Midas. We’re tired.”

Frankie followed the two men inside, her steps sluggish. She wanted to sleep for days, and when she’d wake up her father would be alive and she wouldn’t have goombahs trying to kill her. Midas offered food; she yawned and shook her head. She just wanted blissful sleep.

Moments later she flopped onto the bed in the room Reese showed her. Her eyes still open, she realized if she rewound her life it would not include Reese. Suddenly the here and now wasn’t so awful with him in it — if she managed to survive it.

She dragged herself off the bed, moved to the window, and pushed back the drapes. Her eyes went to the small lit house in the distance. She watched Reese slowly walk toward it. Midas’s place, she surmised. She watched the wide set of Reese’s shoulders sag just a fraction and wondered what ghosts haunted him here.

She yawned and took stock of her room. Nothing special. Just your basic nondescript guest room. Midas had mentioned that Angie housecleaned twice a month to help pay for her boarding fees at the ranch. Great, Frankie thought, an old flame to deal with. She couldn’t catch a break.