Sixteen

Sunday morning, Skin paced the perimeter of the exercise yard with his head bent and his mind fixated on one thing—how long it would take Magick to hack into the government computers. Lil Man had seemed to believe it wouldn’t take the nineteen-year old kid long. But Skin didn’t intend on staying in this hellhole waiting for confirmation that the task had been accomplished.

He’d be breaking out soon. And by the time he made his way to the Brotherhood’s meeting place, he expected Magick to have completed his job.

With Joy Elliott’s personal information in his hands, and verification that her only source of communication had been eliminated, there’d be no stopping his mission. He’d find, stalk and destroy her.

Skin closed his eyes. Imagining that pivotal moment caused a quickening in his chest.

“Hey man. We gotta talk.”

When a hand grabbed his sleeve and wrenched him off the walk and into the shadows around the corner of Building B, Skin opened his eyes, pissed that he’d been jerked from his ruminations.

“Don’t touch me,” he spat, twisting away from Delbert, the short inmate who’d taught him to pick locks and forge keys. “What do you want?”

“I wanna know when we’re busting out of this joint. You haven’t talked to me in weeks. I’m itchin’ to go. My woman’s waiting for me on the outside, but she says she ain’t gonna wait much longer.”

Skin raked him with a narrow gaze. “Cool your jets, Casanova. I’ll let you know when it’s time. In the meantime, shut up and stay away from me.” When he turned to leave, Delbert spun Skin around by the arm and jabbed a stubby finger into his chest.

“Who made you the big shit, anyway?” he growled in a gravely voice. “I got as much say in when we go as you do. You’d still be lying on your cot with your thumbs stuck up your ass if it weren’t for me.” He jutted his chin forward and puffed out his barrel chest. “You didn’t have shit for plans before you met me. I’m the one who taught you everything you know about picking locks. Don’t forget it.”

Although they were alone, Delbert still glanced around to make sure no other inmates were nearby or listening. “The keys are made,” he said in a low voice. “You know where they’re hidden. Everything’s ready. I say we go tonight.”

“No,” Skin replied between clenched teeth. “We’ll go when I say we go. That’s the end of it.”

With his eyes popping open wide, Delbert’s lip curled into a snarl. “Who the hell are you to tell me that’s the end of it? We’re partners in this deal.”

“I don’t like you anymore,” Skin stated. “We’re no longer partners.”

Shrugging like he didn’t comprehend, Delbert said, “What the hell’s gotten into you? Of course we’re partners. I’m joining you and the brothers when we get outta here. I believe in the same shit you do. White supremacy and all that.”

“You’re not joining anything,” Skin said, emphasizing the word. “The Brotherhood doesn’t allow disgusting pigs into its ranks.”

Delbert’s mouth dropped open. “Disgusting?” He yanked the collar of Skin’s jumpsuit into his fist and ground out, “Who are you to call me disgusting? I don’t need you, you skinny white freak. I’ll take the keys and bust out on my own. How about that? And you’ll be stuck in this pen to rot like the stinking garbage that you are. That’ll teach you to cross me. You sonofabitch mutant.” His hand flew off of Skin’s collar, and he flipped him the bird.

With his blood raging and adrenaline pumping through his veins, Skin clutched Delbert around the neck with both hands. Before the man could fight back or utter a word, Skin crushed his windpipe and Delbert crumpled to the ground.

“That’ll teach you to cross me,” Skin said, hauling the body deeper into the shadows and then readjusting his jumpsuit. He nonchalantly stepped around the corner and looked both ways before returning to the yard. He was on the other side of the square, walking alone and deep in thought when a whistle blew, signaling that a guard had discovered the body of stupid, trusting Delbert.

****

While breakfast was winding down, T.J. amused the guests with corny jokes. Sandy showed the Tammen children a simple magic trick using napkins, and Dalton tried his best to act interested in whatever Susan was chatting with him about. Ella had excused herself earlier to do some work in her office. Conspicuously missing from the table was Cole.

Lindy nibbled at her sausage and eggs, wondering if he wasn’t here because he hadn’t wanted to face her this morning. That was a discouraging thought. After all, he’d been the one to stop them last night. What did he have to be ashamed of?

Maybe he’d slept in, she pondered, with hope rising in her bosom. Or it could be he was already down the hill working on the cabin. Since he didn’t live on the ranch and wasn’t an employee, he wasn’t required to take meals with the guests. But Lindy had still hoped to see him this morning, if for no other reason than to be uplifted by his pleasant smile.

Dalton’s baritone voice tugged her from her musings. “I’m going to be giving a demonstration on cowboy mounted shooting in a half hour,” he said, rising from the table and handing his empty plate to Luz. “Those who want to learn about the fastest growing equestrian sport in the nation, meet me at the outdoor arena.”

“What is cowboy mounted shooting?” Richard Caldwell asked, pulling out his wife’s chair.

“Basically, it’s a timed event where a cowboy or cowgirl shoots at balloons while riding his or her horse in a pattern. After I show you how it’s done, we’ll set up some stationary targets and y’all can do some shooting.”

From the animated and enthusiastic comments flying around the room, it sounded as if everyone would be headed to the arena, except Mrs. Tammen and the children.

“We’ll visit the donkeys,” she told the kids.

“I want to shoot guns,” her son whined.

“Kids can participate, too,” Dalton assured Mr. and Mrs. Tammen. “I’ve got cap pistols for them to use. You can stand next to them while they fire blanks at the balloons. They can wear helmets and goggles if you’d like. It’s very safe.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Tammen said, looking to her husband, who nodded his approval. “In that case, we’ll see you at the arena.”

“Sounds fun, doesn’t it, Hunter?” Philip Davis asked his son. It was obvious he was struggling to find common ground and bond with the boy.

In typical teenage fashion, Hunter shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes.

Lindy wished she knew more about Hunter. He was unhappy, that much was apparent, and he seemed royally ticked that his father had dragged him here. But weren’t all teenagers morose and irritable? Still, it didn’t take an x-ray to see inside to the pain he carried. His melancholy attitude and the sad expression in his father’s eyes aroused Lindy’s compassion. Where was Philip’s wife, Hunter’s mother? Did her absence have anything to do with why they’d come to the ranch? Or why the two of them seemed so glum? Maybe she could get Hunter alone sometime and see if he’d open up.

As soon as she thought it, Lindy dismissed the idea. Other people’s troubles were not her problem anymore. How long would it take for her to remember that?

After the last of the guests had exited the house, Dalton approached her. She was stacking dirty dishes in the dishwasher while Luz filled the sink with water for washing pans.

“Are you going to join us?” he asked, twisting his mustache between his fingers.

“I don’t think so. Guns aren’t my thing,” Lindy answered.

“But the other day you said you were interested in learning about cowboy mounted shooting. Here’s your chance.”

The man had a good memory. She’d wanted to be polite that day, but hanging around guns was the last place she wanted to be.

“Come on,” he urged. “It’s a lot of fun. After I give my demonstration, everyone can try their hand at shooting with a .45 caliber single action revolver, the same kind I use in competitions.”

“Really,” she hedged. “Thanks, but guns are so loud.”

“We have ear plugs,” Dalton said.

“I just got on a horse for the first time. It wouldn’t be safe for me to try to shoot a gun from one. For me or the horse,” she joked.

Dalton chuckled. “No one but me is going to be shooting from a horse, Lindy. Everyone will be safely standing on the ground when they shoot.”

“Go on, Lindy,” Luz chimed in. “You have to know how to shoot a gun if you live on a ranch. Mrs. Roberts said she wants you to try everything, remember?”

Lindy did remember, but Ella had no idea what kind of fear and anxiety guns triggered for her. Ella would never force her into doing something that was uncomfortable.

“I think you’re running out of excuses,” Dalton smiled. “I promise. You won’t get hurt, and you’ll probably end up having a good time.”

There seemed to be nothing more she could say. “Well, okay.” Lindy inhaled and felt her limbs already trembling. “I’ll meet you at the arena in a few minutes, after I brush my teeth and put on sunblock.”

With a broad smile plastering his face, Dalton touched his finger to the brim of his hat and strutted out the door.

“You just made his day,” Luz laughed. “He has a major crush on you, in case you didn’t know.”

Dalton’s crush was the least of Lindy’s concerns right now. How would she fake the terror that was bound to overtake her once guns began blasting? As she climbed the stairs to her room, flashbacks of that horrible night invaded her mind.

Five innocent men had died—gunned down in cold blood. Somehow, by the grace of God she’d escaped through the back door of the community building, but not without being shot in the arm first. At least the murderer had been caught. And as the State’s only witness, she’d helped put him behind bars for life.

Despite being committed to the California State prison, Steven Neal, or Skin, as he was called, had continued to haunt her dreams and torment her soul. For three years she’d been on the run hiding from his gang. The day he’d been sentenced, the albino had turned and stared straight into her eyes. With a stone-cold voice that had chilled her to the bones, he’d promised to get even with her—to hunt her down, torture and kill her.

His gang members had tried to make good on his promise twice. She still lived in fear that she’d eventually become Skin’s next victim.

Thanks to Griffin, the U.S. Marshal who’d been assigned to her when she made the decision to enter the Witness Protection Program, she’d stayed safe. At the time of Skin’s trial, Griffin had provided twenty-four hour a day protection. But since Skin’s incarceration, she’d been on her own, except for weekly communication with Griffin. When the need arose, he found her a new job in a new town, and gave her another name and identity. But how long could this go on? How far could she run to escape Skin’s threats? And at what cost to her emotional wellbeing could she keep up this life of lies?

On legs that felt like sponges, Lindy stumbled into her bathroom and splashed water on her face. To keep from hyperventilating, she hung her face over the basin and inhaled and exhaled slowly. Striving for calm, she dried her face and gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

“He will not control you. He will not control you. He will not control you.” She chanted the mantra over and over, and finally felt the strength returning to her body.

“You can do this,” she said, closing the bedroom door and sliding her hand down the banister. Inside her mind, Lindy continued to intone her self-affirmations as she stepped outside and started down the hill toward the arena.

“Hey, Lindy,” came a voice from behind her.

Startled, she whirled and her hand flew to her throat. “Cole! I didn’t know anyone was out here.” Apparently, he’d come from the back yard.

He took a few steps forward in the grass. “I’m sorry if I spooked you.”

With her pulse pounding in her ears, she lowered her hand and gave him a weak smile. “That’s okay. We missed you at breakfast.”

“I wanted to get an early start at building that arch. Jordan is coming tomorrow morning to check out the garden. I opted for the breakfast of champions this morning.” He held up the Styrofoam coffee cup clutched in his hand.

“I’m giving her a massage at ten o’clock,” Lindy replied.

“Don’t trade secrets about me,” he teased, which made her wonder just how close he and Jordan had been. “Do you want to see how far I’ve gotten on the arch?” he asked.

“I would, but I’m supposed to be at the arena right now to watch Dalton do his cowboy mounted shooting. They might be waiting on me.”

“Oh. Sure.” Cole’s face dropped in disappointment, but he shooed her on with a wave of his hand. “Have fun. Dalton is an expert in guns, and he’s a good teacher.”

“I don’t think I’ll be shooting. I’ll probably stand back and watch everyone else.”

“Are you afraid of guns?”

The air whooshed out of her lungs. Could he read her mind? Or did her face show her apprehension?

Before she could answer, he said, “All women should know how to use a weapon, for protection. Even Mom has a shotgun under her bed, and she’s not afraid to use it.”

That didn’t surprise Lindy. “I’ve done fine without a gun in my life.”

“You might change your tune after living in New Mexico a while. There are a lot of isolated stretches of road, and you never know who, or what, you might run across.”

“If you’re trying to frighten me, I’m not that easily scared,” she said with more false bravado than truth. In fact, Cole had seen her afraid more than once.

“I’m not—”

“Bye, Cole,” she interjected, cutting him off. “I have to go. Have a nice day.” She started down the hill.

There was no point in standing around talking about everything except what had happened between them last night. If he wanted to pretend their kisses had never taken place, she would, too. It would be easier that way, for both of them.