Skye Cree Boxed Set Books 1 - 3

by Vickie McKeehan

  She couldn’t do without her police scanner, her night vision goggles, or her weapons. They all fell into the same category as her laptop. In order to chase down perverts who preyed on little girls you needed the finest gear. It was as simple as that.

  Buying things like pricey seven-figure lofts, on the other hand, fell into the extravagant I-don’t-really-need category.

  No matter how she tried, Skye couldn’t relate to anyone having as much money as Josh Ander. How could she? Middle class is what her parents had been and middle class is all she knew. Those roots enabled her to live on a budget, made stretching her dollars more of a habit than a choice.

  After all, she cooked her own meals regularly, save for the occasional cheeseburger at the golden arches or the times she splurged on espresso at her favorite coffee shop.

  Was it a crime to want the money her parents had left her to go where it would do the most good? Her parents would’ve wanted it that way.

  She had all the basic comforts. And that’s all anyone needed, all she needed. She didn’t require an excessive lifestyle. Her rent was cheap and the studio came with utilities. She kept a small storage unit with some of her most cherished keepsakes, things that had belonged to her parents, possessions from childhood she couldn’t stand to part with or sell.

  The fact that she didn’t have room inside her tiny living space to keep any of it close at hand, Skye disregarded as simply not the point.

  Besides, she liked to think her parents would have approved of how she spent the money they’d left her.

  She put on gloves, wrapped a scarf around her neck and threw on a jacket over her robe. For a change of pace, she retrieved her laptop from the bed where she’d left it and took it outside to the little plastic deck chair. Once again she got busy trying to pull down as much information as she could regarding likely locations Whitfield might use to hold a young girl hostage over several days.

  She didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to bring her out to the land owned by his aunt and uncle. But to cover all the possibilities she decided she’d need to make a trip out to Tacoma just to be on the safe side and see for herself.

  Chapter 5 Book 1

  So Skye Cree wasn’t a cop, undercover or otherwise.

  It had taken a few phone calls, four to be exact, to the right people to find out she wasn’t in law enforcement. Even a gamer like Josh Ander had his connections. A local business owner usually did. And by tweaking an official state database, Josh had even pegged her address. That is, if she hadn’t moved recently and if the info he’d pulled from the website was up-to-date.

  Finding out that her apartment was only six blocks from his loft was nothing compared to the information he’d discovered about his warrior goddess when he had Googled her name.

  He’d hit a gold mine full of data there. No one could accuse Josh of not knowing how to use a search engine.

  Now, he stood staring out the window at the fog. He wished he’d left well enough alone, that he’d let the image of goddess remain steadfast in his mind.

  No wonder she could defend herself with such zeal, he thought bitterly as he paced the length of his living room.

  He had to be insane for thinking about paying her a visit, an impromptu visit. What would she do if he did? She would freak out for sure.

  There was, however, any number of excuses he could use for showing up uninvited at her front door. Gratitude topped the list.

  He would simply convince her he had felt the need to thank her one more time for saving his life. Crazy, it sounded stalker-crazy showing up at her door, though. But he had to see her again, it was as simple as that, especially after what he’d found out.

  Josh got up from the table and headed to the bathroom to shower and shave. If he was going to make an ass out of himself, by damn he would do it cleaned up and not looking like he had the hangover from hell.

  The rain had finally stopped, but dark clouds still hovered low to the ground.

  Josh walked the six blocks to First Avenue in the cold all the while thinking about what he would say. When he finally looked up and found himself in front of Skye’s building, a four-story vintage brownstone two blocks east of the harbor, he paused only briefly before walking up the steps to the front door.

  He went over the master plan one more time, determined to sound grateful. He was just about to push the buzzer when to his amazement the door flew open and Skye Cree stepped outside right into his chest.

  Dressed in a black ski jacket, well-worn jeans so faded they were almost white, with a deep blue scarf wrapped around her neck that came close to matching her eyes, she dazzled his senses. Her hair was tied back into a sleek ponytail. The strap of a satchel of some sort stretched across her chest.

  “I was just coming to see you,” Josh admitted all in one quick blurt.

  With degrees of alarm on her face and in angry clipped tones, she huffed out in exasperation, “How did you find me and—more importantly—why did you feel the need to?”

  By the wary glaze in her eyes he could tell the woman did not like finding him standing outside her door. He held up both hands in front of him. “I’m not stalking you or anything like that. I just…I wanted to thank you again…for saving me in that alley…for fixing my shoulder—for everything you did last night.”

  Still suspicious, Skye countered, “Okay. You’ve thanked me. Now what?”

  “How about a cup of coffee?” He saw another layer of unease creep back into those violet eyes. “Coffee, Skye. That’s all. Public place. Your choice.”

  “Okay. There’s a place around the corner, Coffee & Cakes. They make terrific apple muffins.”

  They started down the steps together. “You never answered my question, Ander. How did you find me?”

  Lying to her wasn’t an option. “Computer. Search engines are a computer geek’s best friend.”

  Skye frowned. And just like that people could find her. It made her cringe knowing how easy it was. It took a few more minutes before the rest dawned on her. “Which database did you crack? You’re a hacker,” she accused.

  “I’m a business owner,” he corrected and tried for glib. “A gamer.”

  “What else? Wait a minute.” She stopped walking and grabbed his arm. “Ander? Ander All Games. That’s you?”

  He smiled and adjusted his glasses. “Just a little gaming company I started about ten years ago with a friend when we were in our first years of college and neither one of us found particular success at impressing our professors.”

  “I see. You didn’t mention who you were last night.” But she should’ve known. There had been indicators. The fancy address. The furniture. The Aubusson rugs. She’d ignored them all because of his injury. She picked up her pace again. “You didn’t really come here to thank me, did you? What is it you want, Ander?”

  As if sensing a vibe, she stopped in her tracks, turned to face him full-on again. “If you found where I live then you know all about me, don’t you? That’s it, isn’t it?” She threw out her arms wide, raised her voice an octave in frustration. “Nothing to see here, Ander. I’m not some freak show waiting for a crowd to gather so they can snap pictures for chrissakes. I deserve my privacy!”

  It didn’t escape Josh how truly enraged she was. “Yes, you do. No argument there. I was curious about the woman who came to my rescue, that’s all. And yes, I found out who you are and what happened to you but—I had no idea. This morning I decided you were a cop. I wanted verification.” He didn’t think she wanted to hear how much he respected what she’d gone through which he intended to mention as soon as she calmed down.

  But by the time they reached the coffee shop, he’d already made a decision. He threw open the door for her and offered, “I want to help you with—your mission. I owe you that much.”

  “My mission?” Despite her irritation with him, she looked up into his eyes. Those slate gray eyes held such understanding that she wanted to trust him. But trust had to be earned. “You don’t owe me
anything. Right place. Right time. I got to kick some ass last night, side benefit, so I’m not complaining. And I’m pretty good at it.”

  “No argument there. But…I think I have an idea how I might be able to help you with your—work.” When she started to protest, he quickly added, “Before you say no, hear me out.”

  They placed their orders for coffee and apple muffins and found a table in the back where they could talk.

  “What exactly do you think you know, Ander?”

  “Could you call me Josh?”

  “No.”

  He sighed. “Okay. I got curious. I Googled you. Thirteen years ago when you were twelve years old, a pedophile named Ronny Wayne Whitfield kidnapped you in broad daylight from a park where you were playing within forty feet of a bunch of other kids your own age. They said you disappeared into the bushes after you went to retrieve a soccer ball and never came back out. In fact, your family was within a hundred feet and never heard or saw him abduct you.

  “But within the hour, he’d taken you back to his apartment and raped you. He held you for three days, during which time he also negotiated with a couple of guys in the sex trade business, human traffickers, to take you off his hands after he got finished with you and sell you to the highest bidder, where they in turn would ship you out of the country, somewhere overseas.

  “But somehow you managed to escape your bonds, got out of his place, and run for help. The detective who handled your case was a guy named Harry Drummond, who did everything he could to make sure Whitfield was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. You were scheduled to testify against the son of a bitch in court. Everything was fine for the eighteen months it took his case to work its way through the legal system. Everyone was confident they could put him away for at least fifty years.

  “But then one day your parents were killed by a drunk driver in a car accident. Your mother’s sister, your aunt, became your legal guardian, and for whatever reason, she refused to cooperate with the district attorney to allow you to testify. Because the prosecutor didn’t have your testimony, it left the door open for Ronny Wayne to plead out to a lesser charge, which he jumped at. He only served four measly years for what he did to you.”

  “So? Just because you can use the Internet doesn’t mean you know a damn thing about me.”

  “You might possibly be the strongest person I’ve ever met,” Josh said with absolute conviction in his voice.

  When she merely rolled her eyes at that assessment, he decided to go on, “This guy, this Whitfield, got out of jail five years ago. The first couple of years he had to register as a sex offender on parole, he used an address in Tacoma, a trailer belonging to his aunt and uncle. But after his parole ended, for some reason, he’s been able to disappear off the radar. My guess is you’ve been chasing him ever since because you don’t believe for a minute he’s given up his habits. That would make you around eighteen or nineteen when you first started the hunt, just out of high school. Instead of moving on with your life, you’ve made Whitfield and anyone like him your mission in life. I think that’s what you were doing patrolling that alleyway in the middle of the night. You were on the trail of some predator, maybe even Whitfield.”

  Despite the go-to-hell look she gave him he ignored her. “Your business, not mine. My guess is you think he’s here, Whitfield that is, back here in Seattle. Skye, you understand him better than any cop ever could. You know he isn’t ever going to stop his…predilection. You’re after him. You’ve trained for years, physically, mentally, for the time you’ll—for lack of a better word—encounter him again. It’s how and why you’re able to do a combination of martial arts techniques in your sleep.”

  Skye leaned closer so no one else could hear. “Are you done? You do a helluva lot of guessing, assuming, for someone who should know better, certainly someone who doesn’t know squat about me. It’s a helluva theory. That’s all.”

  “What if I could find him for you?”

  She grunted at that. “Are you crazy? What makes you think you could find the low-life son of a bitch when the cops can’t?” She didn’t mention the obstacles she’d faced over the years in trying without success to pick up the guy’s trail.

  “Let’s just say, I have certain skills, certain resources, and I’m willing to use them to go where the cops can’t or won’t,” said Josh.

  “Why? Why would a guy like you who owns a company worth millions, risk everything he has to break a few laws so you could find a two-bit sex offender who can’t keep his hands off little girls?”

  “Because I wouldn’t be sitting here if it weren’t for you.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? Those guys were willing to kill me last night for some change and a piece of jewelry I wouldn’t give up. I pay my debts.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She grabbed her satchel and stood up. “Thanks for the coffee, Ander. Consider your debt paid. But I work alone.”

  Before she’d taken two steps, Josh was on his feet.

  “Really? Tell me, Skye, do you think Whitfield could’ve been the one responsible for snatching Erin Prescott?” He saw the answer come into her eyes, saw the way the pain lingered, the way the anger kept her focused. “I watch the news, too.”

  “Fine. Come with me then.”

  It looked like the woman could use reason and logic when she wanted to. Even though he would have preferred to stay in the cozy coffee shop, she led the way outside in a huff.

  Once they were standing on the sidewalk, she gave him both barrels, poking him in his chest with her finger for emphasis. “You listen to me. Just because you have the money doesn’t mean you have the control. I’m in charge. Always. You don’t agree to that right now, the deal’s off.”

  “Fine.”

  “And you aren’t the only one who can work a keyboard. It just might be the time to mention I’ve spent years going over databases from the state parole board. I’ve gone through countless statistics, addresses, updates from that agency and through all of it, I haven’t found so much as a toenail clipping from Whitfield. It’s as if he’s fallen off the face of the earth. And you have the nerve to think you can find him because you’re some big time gamer who might possibly be able to hack a database?”

  “Okay, we’ll coordinate our efforts. By the way how much did I get right back there?”

  “Enough. You do a lot of guessing though―that’s unnecessary. From this point forward, I’ll tell you everything I’ve found out…whatever you need to know…about Whitfield. We’ll compare and share our information. But my private life is just that, Ander. Private. Off limits. No matter what you goddamn well found out on the Internet. Understand?”

  And with that, Skye Cree turned and left him standing there as the rain began to spit from the clouds again.

  Chapter 6 Book 1

  Skye gritted her teeth all the way to the market where she picked up milk and eggs, some fresh fruit. She usually enjoyed the outing but today she couldn’t let go of the scene at the coffee shop—or the look in Josh Ander’s eyes.

  Pity. Those gray slits had burst with it.

  Damn the Internet anyway, she thought miserably. And damn it to hell with snooping busybodies who couldn’t keep their noses out of her past. Just because someone had the ability to log on and find out every aspect of a person’s life—not to mention all kinds of personal information one might not want the entire world privy to—didn’t make it right.

  On the walk back to her apartment, she tried to lose the attitude and calm down. By the time she reached her front door, she’d achieved a somewhat Zen approach to Josh Ander. She didn’t completely want to bash in his head.

  Why couldn’t everyone just leave what happened to her in the dust? Why couldn’t they just let it be and leave her the hell alone? This is what always happened whenever she tried to get close to anyone or even when she didn’t. As soon as they found out what had happened, people invariably judged her for something that occurred a dozen years ago.


  Wasn’t this the reason she did her best to avoid people? Wasn’t this the reason she’d given up trying to date? This was at the core of why she loved her solitude, her late-night walks through the city.

  Damn it, she’d rather ignore total strangers than have to dredge up sordid details, especially with someone trying so hard to get to know her.

  She’d been a child for chrissakes. But whenever people found out about the infamous Skye Cree, they invariably treated her differently. Maybe they didn’t do it intentionally, but still, you could see it in their eyes, in their demeanor. Okay, maybe judging her was a little too harsh a word. But they customarily exhibited sympathy. Empathy. Pity. Concern.

  Christ, some even wanted to know what it had been like.

  Sickened at that thought, remembering those kinds of questions, she did her best not to grind her back teeth down to dust.

  She had to admit, though, the only thing she’d seen on Josh’s face had been the pity, a big old slice of it the size of Mount Rainier.

  It didn’t matter she reminded herself.

  The dozen years since Ronny Wayne Whitfield had been difficult to live through. She’d gone to therapy, of course. She had been doing better, improving every day at putting it behind her—and then her parents had died in that stupid car accident. A drunk driver, not paying a damned bit of attention to what he was doing, ran a red light—and with that one act ended right then and there what was left of her childhood.

  She’d lost her parents at thirteen. After that, she’d been forced to live with her aunt and uncle. Religious fanatics, her mother had called them. And that was only a slight brushstroke of what Aunt Ginny and Uncle Bob had really been like.

  Moving in with her mother’s only sister and her husband immediately after the funeral had been sheer culture shock. It hadn’t taken two days before Skye figured out the couple hadn’t really wanted her at all. Or better still, they hadn’t known what to do with her.