Skin in the Game

by D P Lyle

  But would he chance that? Have a captive in his home? What if people dropped by? What if the mailman saw or heard something? What if a fire broke out? Many a criminal’s career had been harpooned by such odd happenings. Best laid plans and all that. Using his home seemed too risky.

  Hell, using anywhere on his property chanced exposure.

  Harper suggested he might consider that an acceptable risk. That he wouldn’t have his lair too far from home. That he’d want to keep his eyes on it. That completely tattooing someone would take many days and he’d want it to be convenient. A remote location might require him to sneak in and out. The risk of being seen would be real. He did most of his business from home, so nearby, on his property, made the most sense. He wouldn’t need to manufacture an excuse for being on his own property.

  The barn offered everything. Privacy, security, and it sat only a couple of hundred feet from the house. Close, but not too close.

  The maps also provided the best approach angle. The house and the other buildings occupied a flat, oval clearing among a patchwork of pine thickets, limestone outcroppings, and scattered areas of open grass land. A stream ran northeast to southwest a quarter of a mile south of the buildings. The paved road and the house were indeed the ones they had seen a few days earlier while surveying the area. To the north, a dirt road wound through the trees and entered the clearing a hundred yards from the house. A similar road to the south demarcated the southern edge of Tyler’s property. That seemed the best approach.

  They easily found where the road spurred off the county highway. Calling it a road was stretching the definition. It was simply two dirt tracks, weeds sprouting in the middle. Cain turned on to it. The car gyrated over its deep ruts, the grass scraping the car’s undercarriage.

  “That’s Clovis Wilson’s place,” Harper said, pointing to their left. “Where Rose Sanders’ remains were found.”

  Cain glanced that way. He could just make out the outline of the stand of trees where the kids had found her leg and Cutler had recovered her rib cage and arm.

  Cain jerked the car to a halt.

  “What is it?” Harper asked.

  “She escaped.”

  “Rose?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you figure that?” Harper asked.

  “I didn’t before, but being here, seeing this, it makes sense.” He pointed north. “Tyler’s place is about a mile or more from here. That way.”

  “So she managed to escape, took to the woods, and tried to outrun him.”

  Cain nodded. “Made it this far.”

  “And since hauling away a corpse is no small task, he buried her.”

  “Exactly. I suspect, she wasn’t complete. Not to his satisfaction anyway. That’s why he didn’t display her. Like he did with Cindy.”

  “I want to take this son of a bitch out,” Harper said.

  “Maybe you’ll get your chance.” Cain looked at her. “But you’ll have to be quicker than me.”

  He moved forward. The road swung north and entered a stand of pines. Cain flicked off the lights, slowed, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The half moon filtered through the trees, slid in and out of the broken cloud cover, providing just enough light to stay on course. The road soon gave out and melted into a pile of limestone rubble and brush a good quarter of a mile from Tyler’s home.

  Cain popped open the Mercedes’s trunk. He and Harper were dressed in solid black combat fatigues, each wearing a cap. Cain settled a throwing knife into the sheaths sewn into his pants along each thigh, while Harper checked her Glock, pocketed two extra clips. Each slid small, single-lensed scopes—equipped with night-vision capability—into a zippered pants pocket. Harper stuffed her pouch of lock picks into her back pocket.

  A few drops of rain tapped the pine boughs overhead as Harper led the way. They quickly found the stream they had seen on the maps and followed it. The terrain rose slightly, the water tumbling over and around wads of limestone. They soon reached the edge of the clearing where Tyler’s home stood.

  It was large, two-story, and sat atop the highest elevation in the clearing. A few clusters of landscape lights haloed the house, illuminating scattered trees and flower beds. The entire property seemed quiet, normal. The kind of place a family could put down roots, raise the kids. But was it? Did it hold Tyler Stenson’s darkest secrets?

  A faint glow fell through two of the first floor windows, the second story dark. Cain scanned the house with his scope. The lights came from overhead kitchen lights and a table lamp in the living room. He saw no movement.

  The garage hung off the left side of the house, its door closed. Dark, also quiet. The barn stood a couple of hundred feet way, silhouetted against the night sky, muted by the drizzle. A large, dark-colored SUV sat near one corner. Cain couldn’t determine its make, but its size was unmistakable. He knew the small shed was just beyond the structure, not visible from this angle. There was no sign of life anywhere. Was Tyler here? If not, their task would be considerably easier.

  “Look,” Harper said. She pointed toward the barn.

  Cain aimed his scope that way. Narrow ribbons of light slipped between the barn’s siding planks. “There’s a light in there.”

  Harper adjusted the focus of her scope. “Someone’s in there.”

  Cain had seen it, too. A shadow modulating the light.

  “Interesting.”

  “We just might catch him red-handed,” Harper said.

  “Unless he’s in there woodworking or something.”

  “He isn’t the type. His hands are too soft.”

  The light in the barn went out.

  Cain froze, instinctively dropping behind a pine branch. Harper followed suit.

  They switched their scopes to night vision.

  “There,” Harper said.

  Cain watched. Through the night scope lens the world appeared greenish. Tyler Stenson exited the barn and walked toward his house. Unhurried. Head and shoulders forward, confident strides. Once inside he flipped on another light. Cain switched his scope to standard mode. Tyler entered his kitchen. He crossed to a large, stainless steel fridge, grabbed a beer, then moved out of sight.

  The rain was now a steady drizzle.

  “Let’s move,” Cain said.

  CHAPTER 58

  A long day. Fatigue tugged at Tyler. His back muscles knotted from the hours spent bending over the table. He was behind schedule, or rather the timetable had been compressed. Moved forward. Ted and Hank were getting wonky, threatening to walk away. He couldn’t allow that. So, he accelerated his next project, the hunt now set for tomorrow night. He needed to drag them back into the fold so time was his enemy.

  He had seen the excitement on their faces during the last outing. All he needed was to solidify that feeling. Take them back to the intensity of the hunt. It had been delicious. Intoxicating. Beyond even his imagination. They had also felt it, and now only needed a reminder.

  Today’s long hours had allowed him to alter the schedule. Now, with only her face left to do tomorrow morning, she would be ready. But her preparation had come at a price.

  He twisted his torso back and forth, trying to stretch things out. Didn’t help much. Maybe the beer would. He took another gulp as he climbed the stairs. A quick shower then he’d grab something to eat. He entered his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand, tilting back the beer for another slug with the other.

  Rain peppered the window. He walked that way, peeled back the flimsy shear curtain, and looked out. Last he had heard, the rain wasn’t supposed to arrive until after midnight, but the weather folks were never right. The good news was that it was going to blow though quickly and be far to the east by sun-up.

  He took another gulp of the beer, let the curtain go. Just as it flapped back into position, something caught his eye. With a finger he parted the fabric once again. Just enough to peer out.

  It was dark, the rain misting the exterior lights. He saw nothing. Then, there it was again
. Far away. Along the tree line. He blinked. Was it simply the rain and breeze creating shadows? He squinted.

  He saw them. Two forms moved along the edge of the trees.

  What the hell?

  His heart rate clicked up. Who could it be? Why?

  The answer to the latter was easy. Someone knew. Or suspected.

  What to do? Confront them? Were they armed? Did it matter? They could only be there because he was a suspect. Was it Chief Cutler and Jimmy Rankin? Was it simply a pair of burglars?

  Again, did it matter?

  Whoever it was would definitely find the girl. Not something he could explain away.

  He walked to the bedside table and snatched up the phone. Ted Norris answered after two rings.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Tyler said.

  “What?”

  “Someone’s here. Sneaking around.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I just saw two people slip out of the woods near my house. They could find the girl.”

  “Shit. I told you this might happen.”

  “Yeah, well, it has. Call Dixon and get over here.”

  “He’s here. We’ve been working on those new bows.”

  “Then get moving.”

  “What if it’s Cutler?” Norris asked. “And Jimmy Rankin?”

  “What if it is? What if it’s a pair of vagrants looking for shelter from the rain? What if it’s a couple of kids causing mischief? It makes no difference. Anyone who finds the girl, sees what she looks like, sees her confined to a cage, will know. If it isn’t the cops, it soon will be.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay. On the way.”

  “Park up on the dirt road to the north,” Tyler said. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Will do.”

  “Hurry.”

  “Ten minutes. Max.”

  CHAPTER 59

  The rain and wind had kicked up by the time Cain and Harper sprinted across the open area and knelt behind the SUV, a massive Yukon XL. Not a downpour by any means, but enough to be annoying. It did, however, provide extra cover.

  Up the slope, the house appeared unchanged. Cain scoped it. No sign of Tyler or any movement. Still no second floor lights. Maybe Tyler was in a back room. Cain remembered the house plans indicated three upstairs bedrooms; a fourth downstairs, in the far corner from where they were. Maybe Tyler used it for an office and had taken his beer in there to work.

  “Looks quiet,” he said.

  Harper zipped her combat shirt high on her neck. “You ready?”

  Cain nodded.

  Harper darted toward the barn. Cain followed. They settled along the wall opposite the house. Each placed an eye to one of the cracks between the boards. As his eyes adjusted, Cain sensed movement. Toward the middle of the barn’s open space. He could make out no details.

  “See anything?” Harper whispered.

  “Something. Can’t tell what.”

  They crept toward the side door. A padlock hung from the latch’s loop.

  Harper opened her small tool pouch and removed what she needed. She had the lock open in less than half a minute and eased the door inward. A soft creak. They stepped inside.

  And there she was.

  In a cage.

  Sitting, legs pulled up, arms wrapping her knees, a blanket draped over her shoulders. Her head jerked toward them, a startled look on her face. A small squeal escaped her lips.

  Cain moved quickly, grasped the bars. “Chelsie?”

  She discarded the blanket and jumped to her feet. She wore what appeared to be thin draw-string pants, a tee shirt, and bedroom-type slippers.

  “Don’t make a sound,” Harper said. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Cain.”

  “Harper.”

  Chelsie’s gaze bounced back and forth between them. Confusion etched her face. “How did you find me?”

  “Later,” Cain said. “Right now we need to crack this cage.”

  “I’ve tried,” Chelsie said. “This thing is solid.”

  It was. A cage designed for large animals. Steel, titanium, or some similar combination. The door latch was sturdy, but no match for Harper’s skill. She knew her locks.

  While Harper worked the lock, Cain looked round. A metal table. With straps. Three floor lamps surrounding it. His work area. A smaller metal table with a pair of tattoo guns and an assortment of inks. A long, wooden work bench along the wall. More ink bottles, a few tools, a canvas drape, something tenting it in the middle. Cain lifted it. In the dark it took a few seconds to sort out what he saw. He recoiled.

  Two jars. Two faces staring at him. Shaved heads. One marked with thick slashes of black, the other similar black and orange stripes. Cindy Grant.

  “Oh my god. What is that?”

  Cain turned. Harper had obviously cracked the lock; she and Chelsie stood only a few feet away, seeing what he saw.

  “Don’t look,” Cain said.

  “But…” Chelsie began.

  “But nothing. Let’s get out of here.”

  Harper grabbed Chelsie’s arm, spun her, looked her in the face. “You can process all this later. Cry and scream and anything you want. Later. Right now, we have to move.”

  Chelsie let out a long, almost painful breath. She nodded.

  “Can you run a mile?” Cain asked.

  “I can run a goddamn marathon if it gets me out of here.”

  “Let’s go,” Cain said.

  The door creaked. Chelsie yelped, eyes popping wide. Cain and Harper spun. Cain pulled one knife, Harper reached for the Glock she had holstered in the small of her back.

  A gunshot sounded, its muzzle flash lighting the barn. A thud against the roof. Three men stood just inside the door. Two held handguns, the third a shotgun, each leveled their way.

  Cain stepped in front of Chelsie, shielding her with his body. Harper dropped to one knee, raised her weapon.

  “Don’t move,” the guy in the middle said.

  The floor lamp just inside the door flicked on.

  Tyler stood facing them. Flanking him were Ted Norris and Hank Dixon.

  “Drop it,” Dixon said to Harper.

  She hesitated. Cain knew she was assessing whether she could take the trio down before they could fire again. Truth was she might be able to. Not likely, though. The wild card was the shotgun Tyler held. Looked like a short barrel, probably only eighteen inches. Meant it had a wide scatter pattern. As Uncle Al always said, “Never argue with a shotgun.” To which, Uncle Mo would add, “They’re autofocus. Point and shoot.” Here, there was little chance of missing a target, even three, only fifteen feet away.

  Harper made the same calculation. She laid the gun on the ground, stood, raised her hands.

  “Kick it this way.”

  She did.

  “That’s better,” Tyler said.

  “Now the knife,” Norris said.

  Cain dropped it. He had plenty of others.

  Norris moved to his left, circling Cain. He grabbed Chelsie’s arm. Cain turned, stiffened. Norris pressed the gun against the side of her head.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Cain knew he had no good move available. Better to buy time. Wait for a mistake.

  “Cell phones,” Tyler said.

  Harper pulled hers from her pocket, laid it on the floor. Cain followed suit.

  Dixon waved his gun. “Down. Face down.”

  Cain and Harper hesitated.

  “Do it,” Norris said. “Or she’s dead.”

  They complied.

  Dixon gathered their weapons and phones, then carried them to the table and dropped them there.

  “What the fuck?” Norris said. He spun toward Tyler. “You kept their heads?”

  “They’re trophies.”

  “Are you fucking crazy?”

  “You collect deer mounts. These are mine.”

  Dixon g
lanced that way. “Tyler, that’s some sick shit.”

  “Really?” Tyler said. “What do you care?”

  “You behead them,” Dixon said. “Display them. Asking the world to sniff around. That’s crazy.”

  “What I do or don’t do with them is my business. The thrill of the hunt is all you need to focus on.”

  Silence fell. Cain tensed. Would they go at each other? Would they give him and Harper an opening? Maybe he could ramp up the pressure, complete the fracture.

  “You aren’t going to get away with this,” Cain said.

  Tyler laughed. “How do you figure that?”

  “Chief Cutler knows we’re here.”

  That gave Tyler a momentary pause.

  “She knows you’re the one,” Harper said.

  “And yet she isn’t here,” Tyler said. “That tells me she doesn’t know shit.”

  “She knows enough,” Cain said.

  “Then we better clean this mess up.”

  “What’ve you got in mind?” Norris asked.

  “She’s not quite ready but she’ll have to do. The other two are simply a bonus.”

  “We going to hunt all three?” Dixon asked.

  “You got a better idea?” Tyler said. “Or one that would be more fun?”

  “I don’t know,” Dixon said. “All three? What if one of them escapes?”

  “It’s a fucking island,” Tyler said.

  “Still,” Dixon added.

  “Let’s sweeten the pot,” Tyler said. “We’ll pony up a total of a hundred grand. You could win it all if you bag the three of them.”

  “What are you talking about?” Chelsie said. Her voice was tight, almost hysterical.

  “You don’t think I did all this work on you for fun, do you?” Tyler chuckled. “You’re simply the prey.” He moved to this left, looked down at Cain. “And you guys are the icing.” He turned toward the two men. “You ready?”

  “Do we really have a choice here?” Norris said. A question that didn’t need an answer.

  Dixon nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  “Search them,” Tyler said.

  While Tyler provided cover Dixon knelt beside Harper, ran his hands over her legs, sides, around her waist. He did the same to Cain, finding two more knives—one sheathed along his thigh, the other strapped to his ankle. He tossed them out of the way.