Skin Privilege

Sara couldn't tell what he had found until he pulled it out – two light blue sheets of paper that had been folded in two.

Valentine scanned the documents before handing them to Jeffrey, apparently unconcerned with fingerprints. Sara read the pages over Jeffrey's shoulder, recognizing them as old applications for birth certificates. Doctors handled the applications now, but back in the seventies, parents were still allowed to fill out all the pertinent information on their own. They were given six days to decide on a name, then were expected to file the application with the birth registration office at the hospital. The registrar would verify the information, then send it to the state.

Obviously, they were looking at the applications Lena 's mother had filled out for her twin girls; Angela Adams had signed her name at the bottom in a feminine cursive. Everything seemed normal to Sara until she noticed the section marked 'Father's Name.'

The woman had listed Henry 'Hank' Norton.

LENA

TWENTY-TWO

Lena lay flat on her belly, hidden by the grass, taking pictures of the dilapidated warehouse at the bottom of the hill. Over the last forty-eight hours, she had documented it all: the cars pulling up, the money going out the window, the dope coming back in. At night, it got downright congested. No one seemed afraid of getting caught. They kept their radios turned up, rap or country blaring from the speakers. Kids rode up on bikes. Couples strolled. One time, a sheriff's cruiser rolled by and there was a scrambling of bodies, a minuscule show of concern, but for the most part, the traffic in and out of the warehouse was pretty steady.

They might as well be printing money in there.

A white sedan pulled up and a man got out. His boots kicked up dust as he walked across the parking lot. Lena photographed every step until he went into the building, slamming the door closed behind him.

She put down the camera, checked the time and made another notation in the log.

10:15pm – CLINI arrives in white sedan. Enters building.

Lena had been lying on her back, waiting for Jeffrey to come, when she'd heard the men arguing at the end of the hallway. On the football field the night before, the man in the black ski mask had called the man with the red swastika Clint. Now, lying in the hospital bed, she instantly recognized Clint's harsh growl echoing up the hall. Black Mask wasn't too hard to peg down, either. His voice was soft, almost singsong, when he said, 'Clint, listen to me. We've got to get rid of her.' Clint had disagreed, said something about needing permission to kill a cop. In the end, nothing had been decided, though the two had gone at it for nearly ten more minutes, according to the clock radio beside her bed. Lena had lay there helpless, wrists chaffing from the restraints as she used every muscle in her body to try to break free.

Finally, the two men had walked toward the elevator, their heavy shoes scuffing the tile floor.

By then, Lena was in a full-blown sweat. What had Hank gotten himself mixed up in? These people had burned Charlotte alive. They had beaten Deacon Simms to death. It was only a matter of time before they decided that letting Lena live had been a big mistake. And who else would they take down in the process? Who else would Lena put in harm's way because of her inability to let things go?

Sara. Poor Sara. It had been absurdly easy to escape into the bathroom next to her hospital room. Clothes Lena found downstairs in the laundry, too-large tennis shoes in a nurse's locker. There was a wallet, a bunch of credit cards, but she left them, taking instead a screwdriver from a toolbox in the corner. Lena used the woods behind the hospital as a cut-through, running as fast as she could in the ill-fitting sneakers. She didn't know how much time she had other than very little.

The lock on her motel room door was easily jimmied with the screwdriver, which she tossed onto the table as she eased the door shut behind her. Lena was sweating from the run. She pulled off the scrubs and changed into her own clothes and shoes. She grabbed her cell phone and charger. Her Glock was under the bed where she had hidden it the day before. The keys to Hank's bar were on the dresser. The only time she hesitated was as she was leaving the room. Lena rushed back in before the door closed, grabbed one more thing that she needed.

She threw the scrubs and shoes into the hotel Dumpster en route to the bar. Hank's two thousand dollars was still tucked behind the cheap bottle of scotch. This time, she had no qualms about taking the money.

Another quick jog through the woods and she was back at Hank's house. The spare key to the Mercedes was on the key ring she had taken from his office. The engine cranked on the third try. An Elawah County sheriff's cruiser was making a right onto Hank's street as Lena made a left, heading in the opposite direction. She checked the clock on the dash as she put Reece in her rearview mirror. Only twenty-eight minutes had elapsed since she'd left the hospital. She was holed up in a roadside motel on the Florida side of the border by the time the sun rose in the morning.

She had fallen into bed but was too exhausted to sleep. Everything started to sink in – what she had seen, what she had done.

That was when the demons started eating her alive.

Lena stayed in bed for almost twelve hours, only getting up when nature compelled her to. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Charlotte sitting in the back of the Escalade again, waiting for the flames to devour her. The way the woman's arms had flailed, her feet kicking the back of Lena 's seat like an animal trapped in a box… the thought of it was too much to bear.

She wanted not to feel anything. Wasn't that what Charlotte had said that last time they had spoken in the trailer at school? What had the woman done afterward? Probably taught her last class, then gone home to fix supper for her kids. She had kissed her husband when he got home from work. Maybe they watched a movie that night on the sofa. She would have had less than twenty-four hours left in her life by then. How had she spent them? What had Charlotte been doing that morning when the bad guys came to get her?

That was when Lena had started rereading Charlotte 's letters. She had gone back into the motel for them, known that they could not be left behind. She cherished them now, these love letters that said as much about Sibyl as they did about the woman who wrote them. Charlotte had been a kind, good person. No matter what mistakes she had made in her life, she did not deserve to die in such a horrible way.

Lena should have been in the back of that car. She was the one who had made the mistakes. She was the one who deserved to be punished.

'Why didn't they kill me instead?'

That's what she had asked Jeffrey when she'd called. Lena had been so stupid to think that he would leave town. Even Sara Linton had known there was no way Jeffrey would abandon her.

Hearing his voice on the phone was like a knife twisting in her gut. She had wanted to tell him everything – where she was, what had happened to Charlotte, how Hank had lied to her all these years – but she'd panicked the moment she'd heard his voice. The men who killed Charlotte could be listening in. They could somehow trace the call through the cell towers. They could kill Jeffrey for knowing too much.

They must have been watching Lena all along, following her from the