The Skin Collector

Fine with her. She was still angry and wasn’t sure she could ever wholly forgive Amelia for trying to break up her relationship with her soul mate.

In the living room Seth pulled off his jacket and they dropped onto the couch. He cradled her head and pulled her close.

‘You want anything?’ she asked. ‘Coffee? I’ve got some champagne or, I don’t know, bubbly wine. I’ve had it for a year. It’s probably still good.’

‘Sure, coffee, tea. Anything warm.’ But before she rose Seth took her by the arm and studied her carefully, looking her over with a face of both relief and concern. ‘You all right?’

‘I am. How about you ? You’re the one who was going to get a tattoo from that crazy guy.’

Seth shrugged.

She could see he was troubled. She couldn’t imagine what it had been like to be pi

But he’d forgiven her. That was all in the past.

Pam walked into the kitchen and put water on to boil, readied the drip coffee maker.

He called, ‘And what exactly did  happen? You talk to Lincoln?’

‘Oh.’ She stepped into the doorway. Her face was grave and she brushed her static clinging hair from her face, twined it into a rope and let it fall on her back. ‘It was terrible. That guy? Who attacked you? He wasn’t a psycho at all. He’d come here to poison the water supply in New York.’

‘Shit! That  was it? I heard something about water.’

‘One of those militia groups, like my mother was in.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Lincoln thought that the killer was obsessed with the Bone Collector. But, get this, it wasn’t that at all; he was interested in the attack my mother pla

The kettle whistled and Pam ducked back into the kitchen and poured the boiling water into the cone. The crisp sound was comforting. She fixed his the way he liked it – two sugars and one dash of half and half. She drank hers black.

Pam brought the cups out and sat beside him. Their knees touched.

Seth asked, ‘Who were they exactly?’

She tried to recall. ‘They were with, what was it called? The American Family Council. Something like that. Doesn’t sound like a militia.’ Pam laughed. ‘Maybe they had a public relations team work on their image.’

Seth smiled. ‘You ever hear of them when you and your mom were hiding out in Larchwood?’

‘Don’t think so. Lincoln said the people doing this were from Southern Illinois. It wasn’t far away from where my mother and I were. And I remember my mother and stepfather would meet with people from the other militias sometimes but I never paid any attention. I hated them all. Hated them so much.’ Her voice faded.

‘But the tattoo guy, the killer, he’s dead and the others got arrested.’

‘Right. A husband and wife and their son. They still don’t know who the guy in the tu

‘You’re still not talking to Amelia?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not.’

‘For now.’

‘For a long  time,’ Pam said firmly.

‘She doesn’t like me.’

‘No! That’s not it. She’s just protective. She thinks I’m this fragile doll. I don’t know. Jesus.’

Seth put down the coffee. ‘Okay if we talk about something serious?’

‘Sure, I guess.’

All right, what was this?

He laughed. ‘Relax. I’ve decided we need to hit the road sooner. Right away.’

‘Really? But I don’t have my passport yet.’

‘I was thinking we could stick to the US for a while.’

‘Oh. Well, I just thought we were going to see India. Then Paris and Prague and Hong Kong.’

‘We will. Just not now.’

She considered this but then looked at his intense brown eyes, staring into hers. And she said, ‘Okay. Sure, baby. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.’

‘I love you,’ Seth whispered. He kissed her hard and she kissed back, embracing.

Pam sat forward, sipped coffee. ‘Munchies? I could use something. A pizza?’

‘Sure.’

She rose and walked into the kitchen again, opened the refrigerator door, pulled out a pizza and set it on the counter.

And sagged against the wall, feeling her gut churn, heart rate pound.

Thinking: How the hell did Seth know about Larchwood? She desperately thought back to their time together. No, I never mentioned it. I’m sure.

You need to tell Seth everything about your time underground.

No, I don’t.

Think, think …

‘Need a hand?’ his voice called.

‘Nope.’ She made noise, ripping the pizza box open, banging the oven door down.

This can’t be happening. There’s no way he could be involved with those people.

Impossible.

But Pam’s instincts, honed by years of survival, took over. She eased to the landline phone and picked it up. Held it to her ear.

Hit nine. Then one.

‘Making a call?’

Seth stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

Keeping a smile on her face, she turned, forcing herself to move slowly. ‘You know, we were talking about Amelia. I was just thinking. Maybe I will apologize. I think that’d be a good idea, don’t you? I mean, wouldn’t you, if you were in my place?’

‘Really?’ he asked. Not smiling. ‘You were calling Amelia?’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘Put the phone down, Pam.’

‘I …’ Her voice faded as his steely dark eyes bored into hers. The same shade of brown. Her thumb hovered over the one button on the phone. Before she could hit it Seth stepped forward and pulled the phone from her hand, hung it up.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

But Seth said nothing. He took her firmly by the arm, pulling her back to the couch.

CHAPTER 69

Seth walked to the front door, put the chain on and returned.

He smiled ruefully. ‘I can’t believe that I mentioned Larchwood. I knew you and your mom stayed with the Patriot Frontier there. But you never mentioned it. Stupid of me, a mistake like that.’

She whispered, ‘It was one of the things Amelia and I argued about. She asked if I’d told you about my life there. I said it didn’t matter. But really? I was afraid to tell you. And now … You’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re working with the people who tried to poison the water.’

He picked up the remote to turn the TV on, presumably to see the news. Pam took the chance to leap from the couch, shoving him back hard. When he stumbled back she sprinted for the door. But she got no more than two steps before he tackled her. She went down hard, her face bouncing on the wood. Pam tasted blood from a split lip. He grabbed her by the collar and dragged her roughly back to the couch, virtually tossing her onto it.

‘Never do that again.’ Leaning close, he dipped his finger in her blood and drew something on her face.

Whispering, he told her, ‘Body markings’re windows, you know. Into who you are and what you’re feeling. In some Native American tribes using paint – which is just a temporary tattoo – was a way to tell everybody what you were feeling. Warriors couldn’t express emotion through words or facial expressions – not part of the culture – but they could use painted mods to show they were in love or sad or angry. I mean, even if you lost a child, you couldn’t cry. You couldn’t react. But you could paint your face. And everyone knew how sad you were.

‘On your face, just now? I wrote the marks that mean Happy  in the Lakota tribe.’