Skye Cree Boxed Set Books 1 - 3

by Vickie McKeehan

  With his right hand, he rubbed his bare genitals up and down in a lewd gesture. “This says I am. You’ll never own a pair of these. And without balls you’re just something for me to use and throw away when I’m done.”

  When he tried to make a move toward her, Skye brought her leg up, rammed her knee into his crotch.

  Frank doubled over, bumped into the wall so hard he dislodged the stained glass hanging there then went down like a sack of bricks, cupping himself before curling into a ball.

  “Aw, did that hurt, Frank? You aren’t bleeding even though it probably feels like you are. Try to picture your victims, Frank. Try to picture what they went through when you inflicted so much pain on them. Why don’t you tell me how long you’ve been killing defenseless women? When did you start your little side hobby? Was it with Denise Holland or Cheryl Wittingham?”

  At the mention of the two girls, Skye actually saw the fury settle into Frank’s brown eyes. She waited for him to right himself again and didn’t have to wait long. He tried to stand using the bed this time, swaying a little in the process.

  But like any good fighter, Frank still had some game left. He kept up his momentum as he grabbed for his bag and the eight-inch blade he’d brought but hadn’t yet taken out. The knife lay within his reach next to the .45. “Fuck you!” Frank yelled.

  But before he could get a firm grasp on either weapon, Skye pivoted for a better angle still clutching the bat, and then whacked Frank in the back between his shoulders with a thud. She heard the wind sail out of his lungs as he dropped to the floor, gasping for air. On the wooden surface the knife skidded a little farther away. Frank snuck out his hand, stretched and strained to get to it. And Skye’s boot came crashing down on his wrist. There was a loud crack as Skye twisted her boot for effect.

  Frank let out a muffled cry of pain. “I knew you couldn’t take me in a fair fight,” Frank wheezed out as he tried to roll to escape. “I knew you were a crazy bitch,” he spat out as he did his best to crawl under the bed.

  “Like you ever gave any of your victims a fair fight,” Skye pointed out, as she blocked his path and then stomped on his ribs with her boot. She came down so hard, she heard the bones snap. “You want a fair fight, Frank? Then get up,” Skye said in challenge as she threw the bat behind her. “Come on, Frank. You know you want to. You want to do to me what you did to Tracy Lewis,” she urged and watched him try to stand again. “That’s why you brought the cannon with you.”

  That had Frank throwing out an arm and a punch which Skye dodged. “You telegraph your moves, Frank. I watched every one of your so-called fight videos on YouTube,” she told him as she placed a well-timed kick to the other side of his rib cage with the heel of her boot.

  When the rib cracked, this time Frank folded like an accordion and struggled to catch his breath again.

  “See? Now that time you over-extended yourself like you always do. Is that all you got, pretty boy? Because for some reason, I thought you were gonna be a real badass, a lot tougher, you know?”

  With the last bit of strength Frank could manage, he made one desperate lunge in her direction. Skye took the heel of her hand and with an uppercut, landed a blow to his nose.

  Frank lost his footing and fell back in blinding pain as the blood spewed forth like Mount St. Helens. Through tear-filled eyes, as if he’d just realized he’d been set up, Frank stammered out. “You were waiting for me? How…how did you know I was coming?”

  “Oh Frank, you’re the stupidest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen. Josh and I played you—like a drum.”

  “You…you…did not.”

  “Oh yeah, we did.”

  “You two broke up. I had it planned…all of it…I waited…for the right…opportunity.”

  “We staged the breakup, Frank. Josh found the bugs you planted, every last one of them. And we set you up like no one before ever has. All we had to do was put out bait a coward like you would never resist. And that bait was me. Face it, De Palo, you got arrogant and that breeds sloppy every time.”

  With that, the door burst open and Josh came through first, followed by Harry Drummond and then two uniformed officers.

  “So this is the brilliant tactician who specializes in beating up defenseless women before he brutalizes them? He doesn’t look like much,” Josh said with disgust. He stared at Frank in a heap on the floor, still whimpering and holding his balls with one hand, his broken nose with the other. Walking over to Skye, he kissed her soundly on the mouth. “Hello, baby, feel better?”

  “Not really, I want to, no, I need to hit him one more time,” she said as she made a move past Josh to get to Frank. But Josh grabbed her arm. “It’s over, Skye. You beat the crap out of him. Leave it at that.”

  “I think I better read Frank his rights,” Harry determined, dragging a battered Frank De Palo to his feet.

  “She’d never have taken me without the fucking bat,” Frank grumbled as blood trickled down his face.

  While Harry slapped cuffs on the battered jerk, Josh laughed. “De Palo, you’re lucky she didn’t take that bat and stick it up your ass for scaring the shit out of that three-year-old boy.”

  Half an hour later, Josh stood outside the building on the sidewalk making sure Skye didn’t go after Frank again. It hadn’t escaped his notice the way Skye kept watch on Frank while the paramedics treated the guy’s wounds, much like a wolf eyeing dinner.

  Even the fact that Frank had gladly crawled onto a gurney and let himself be handcuffed to it didn’t seem to make Skye feel at ease.

  When one of the male paramedics looked at Skye, then up at the half-naked Frank as they loaded the sleazebag into the ambulance, the tech couldn’t help it, he laughed. “I’ll be damned, I never knew a serial killer before who got his ass wiped by a girl. Not such a tough guy after all, huh?”

  That mocking comment brought Frank to a sitting position, his body vibrating with rage. He rose up off the stretcher and shouted, “No one beats me. She got lucky. Do you hear me…lucky! I’ll be back, bitch, you just keep watching over your shoulder because you’re dead. Do you hear me? You’re dead!”

  The other EMT, a female, reached over and pushed hard on Frank’s broken ribs. “I’d say you’re lucky to be alive, tough guy, because she flat out kicked your ass.”

  “She had a bat,” Frank kept saying over and over again.

  Harry shook his head as he crawled into the back of the vehicle with Frank. He waved at Josh and Skye before the EMTs closed the doors and said, “Tell the driver to make sure we hit every bump on the way to the hospital, will you?”

  “I have to say, that’s the longest forty-eight hours I think I’ve ever spent. I went nuts without having you around,” Skye admitted as they made their way back to her apartment.

  “Same here. Those two days felt like a week. During which time, I wanted to walk over to your apartment no less than twenty times. I missed being able to look across the room and see you sitting at the laptop, or turning to you in bed.”

  “I discovered I don’t like sleeping alone anymore. I like having you next to me so that when I wake up in the middle of the night, you’re there. Besides, I missed that rainforest of a shower you have. Makes me wonder though, what were we going to do if Frank hadn’t made his move when he did? What if he’d waited another week?”

  With that, she stopped walking and grabbed his shirt. “I’m not sure I could’ve lasted that long.”

  “Then our plan would’ve fizzled. We’d have come up with another one though.”

  “Thanks for trusting me to handle that bastard.”

  “You owe me for that. Do you have any idea how difficult it was? I had to watch from another apartment while that son of a bitch went inside knowing what he came here to do to you.”

  “I know.” Skye trailed her fingers down the side of his jaw. “But it’s over now.”

  When they got to the door of the little studio, they stood among the rubble of what used to be her tiny little hole-in-the-wall apa
rtment. She looked around at all the damage to her things. Her colorful Fiestaware that had belonged to her mother was pretty much a memory. Various sizes of broken pieces were scattered all over the floor. She glanced over at the fractured stained glass Jodi Cree had so painstakingly crafted so many years earlier.

  “We’ll send the stained glass to a professional, Skye. Maybe they’ll be able to repair most of the pieces.”

  “We can try. How did you know he’d break into my apartment that night after my speech? Did Kiya show you that?”

  “Bits and pieces. Mostly that and the fact it was evident early on the guy thought he was so much smarter than the rest of us. We had to give him something to make sure he kept fostering that idea.”

  “At the risk of this going to your head, planting the journals and the computer was nothing short of brilliant. I never would have thought of leaving my old laptop here either. And changing the password so he’d have no problem getting it to boot up was a shrewd move that the jackass never saw coming. And who knew my notes would ever be of interest to anyone but me. Turns out, Frank De Palo found them fascinating enough to keep reading. And setting up the camera in here was an added stroke that gave us a decided advantage.” She grabbed his shirt again and pulled him into her. “Tell me something, Mr. Ander. Is your offer still open?”

  For a minute he wasn’t sure what she meant. But as he studied her violet eyes, he noticed the light come into them. That light gave him sudden hope. “It’s still on the table. I never took it off.”

  “Good. Because I want you, all of you, that includes your family, the swanky address, or a boxy home in the country. It doesn’t matter much to me where we live. I guarantee you that wherever you are, I’ll be happy. Because I want to marry you, Josh. We’ll adopt children. We’ll adopt five if that’s what you want. Because I love you.”

  “’Bout time you realized I’m the best thing that ever happened to you since that alleyway.”

  A laugh sneaked out. “I’ve known that for months now. I just had to get past some things. I want a Christmas wedding. I think between Lena and Zoe, Velma and your mother, the four of them will be able to put something together that fast. I’m pretty sure Phyllis and Lena will drag me to every wedding boutique in Seattle. And you know what? I’m going to let them. I’m going to look so amazing it’ll blow your socks off at the altar.”

  “You blow me away right where I stand now, Skye. Why Christmas? Why then?”

  “I don’t know. I like Christmas. It’ll be cold out but we’ll compensate by going somewhere tropical for a honeymoon. Maybe Maui for Kathy Monroe, how’s that sound?”

  “Oh, I think I can do better than Hawaii, Skye.”

  “You can?”

  “How about Saint Kitts?” he asked as he went over to a kitchen drawer by her little stove. He pulled out a travel brochure, waved it toward her.

  She eyed the paper in his hand. “How long have you had that stashed there?”

  “Since I bought this,” he answered, taking out a box from his jacket pocket. He flipped it open so she could see the diamond solitaire.

  She stared at the rock as she bounced on her toes. “I thought you said you walked out without buying it.”

  “I lied.”

  She held out her left hand. “Then slip it on my finger.”

  He picked up her hand, slid it in place. “Marry me, Skye.”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “Absolutely. Yes. My answer is yes.”

  Chapter 25 Book 2

  Four days before Christmas, the high predicted for Seattle was a chilly fifty-four degrees. But inside the century-old waterfront chapel on Orcas Island, the one hundred or so guests didn’t seem to mind the north wind or the wintery, gray day.

  The sun might not have been shining, the sky overcast and dreary, but the mood among those waiting for Skye to make her appearance was positively festive.

  At the end of the aisle, a nervous Josh waited for his future wife in front of an arched window overlooking the bay. Co-best men, Todd Graham and Tate Brock, stayed busy as they took turns escorting the few late arrivals to their seats.

  As flutes soared in the auditorium, a prelude to the main event, Travis stood in the back in the small vestibule waiting while Lena Bowers and Velma Gentry helped Skye with her long, flowing, feathery veil. At least that’s what they had said they intended to do when they went into the room more than an hour earlier.

  Feeling tense and overdressed in the tux he’d agreed to put on, Travis adjusted the tie again that felt like a noose around his neck. When the door opened to the dressing room and Lena emerged, dabbing at her eyes and holding onto Velma, Travis knew it was time.

  At that moment, realization hit him that this was really happening. Although his role might’ve been simple, it was far from easy. In a matter of minutes, he had to take his daughter to Josh. He hoped he could get his feet to move.

  When Todd appeared at his elbow, holding out his arm for Lena to take her to her seat, Travis watched as Tate did the same thing with Velma.

  Travis heard the flutes change to lilting violin strings and the unmistakable sound of “Ode to Joy” by Beethoven. The music brought a hush to the sanctuary as the noise, laughter, and conversation came to a halt.

  The bridesmaids emerged out of the same room where Skye had been locked away to get ready. Wearing matching floor-length coral gowns, the girls giggled as they formed a line to wait their turn at the processional. The youngest went first. Eleven-year-old Ali Crandon started toward the altar. Next, it was fourteen-year-old Hailey Strickland’s turn, followed by Erin Prescott. Carrying pale pink peonies and a basket of white rose petals, of which each had been tasked to drop their fair share along the way, the girls finally reached the steps to the platform. Like everyone else in the chapel, the teens turned to watch the bride’s approach.

  Skye appeared in the doorway to take Travis’s arm. Wearing a strapless gown in ivory silk and lace with a beaded bodice that met in a contoured fit before flaring out, Skye clutched her own bouquet of crimson stargazers interlaced with white roses—and took a deep breath.

  Feeling like Cinderella for real, she glanced around to see all the familiar faces in the pews. Pleased to see her side just as crowded as Josh’s, she grinned at Harry and Callie who stood up and smiled at her from five feet away.

  She tried not to stare at the crowd before making her way toward Josh. She’d never considered herself a fan of pink— and who knew it came in so many different shades from light to dark? She had to hand it to Phyllis, Lena and Velma. Turns out, the three women had made excellent wedding planners.

  At the end of the aisle, Josh got his first glimpse of Skye since they’d parted at the rehearsal dinner the night before. His nerves fell away. The air all but backed up in his chest as he took in the vision walking toward him. He had to remember his lungs needed air.

  There was a moment when Travis and Skye reached the altar when his future father-in-law leaned in to him and whispered, “Hurt her and there’ll be nowhere for you to hide. Got it?”

  Josh grinned, expecting as much. In an equally low voice, Josh answered back, “No need for that. I don’t intend to ever hurt her.”

  “Keep her safe then,” Travis said as he slapped Josh on the back. He slipped Skye’s hand into Josh’s and waited several beats for Chaska Mingan, one of the Nez Perce elders, to ask him the question.

  Chaska stared at his friend, Travis Nakota, long and hard. “Who gives this woman in marriage?”

  Travis cleared his throat and said, “Her father does.”

  With that, Josh and Skye looked at each other and mounted the steps together.

  But before Chaska began reading from what they had prepared just for them, Josh leaned in, wrapped Skye up in his arms, rested his forehead on hers. “Your path is now mine. We walk in like-minded spirit.”

  “I know. Two wolves, two hunters, mated for life—running through their own forest and fields of yellow flowers, playing, laughing—lovi
ng each other along the way. Forever is the way of the wolf,” Skye said softly as Kiya looked on, intent to watch over both of them.

  The Box of Bones

  Book Three of the Skye Cree Boxed Set

  A Skye Cree Novel

  VICKIE McKEEHAN

  Prologue Book 3

  Twenty years earlier

  Fort Lewis, Washington

  “You made soup for dinner? What kind of an idiot woman thinks a man can make a meal outta soup?”

  Black-haired beauty Trisha Danes, barely out of her teens, had only been married to the twenty-two-year-old army corporal for six months. But Trisha had already decided it had been the worst time of her life. How was she supposed to know that Milo got pissed off about everything before he’d slipped a twenty-dollar ring on her finger? That’s what she got for marrying somebody she’d only known a short two months.

  She trembled a little at the sound of Milo’s angry tone. Lately he always seemed to be mad about something. And tonight was no exception.

  In her best Carolina drawl, she tried to pacify him. “It’s…not…soup, honey. It’s stew. And dontcha know, it has lots of meat and veggies like potatoes and carrots and onions, just like you like,” Trisha went on to point out.

  “Well, whatever it is, you made it so damn watery that it looks like soup to me. I can see the bottom of the damn pan,” Milo grumbled.

  That was because she’d tried to stretch all the ingredients. But she didn’t say this to Milo. Instead she did her best to appease him again and offered, “Okay, okay, no need to get upset. How about I fix you a nice grilled cheese instead? You like those. You can eat it with the…soup.”

  “I’m not eating a damned sandwich. A man wants a real meal when he gets home from working a ten-hour shift, not a bunch of cheese on toast.”