First Do No Evil: Blood Secrets, Book 1

by Carey Baldwin

  Raising the syringe, Garth took a step in her direction. He uncapped the needle, and depressed the plunger slightly with his thumb, suspending a droplet of amber fluid on the tip. “If there was anything wrong with Bella, do you think I’d inject my own sister with her?”

  Planting her hands on her hips, she retreated once more. “I don’t want to take Bella. Not right now.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “This isn’t about trust.”

  “Oh, but it is. If you trusted me, if you believed in me, the way Isabella always did, you’d roll up your sleeve.”

  She took another step backwards, and her shoulders bumped against the wall.

  Garth matched her retreat with a step forward. “Well, Sky, since you clearly don’t trust me enough to take the vaccine voluntarily, I’m afraid I’m going to have to find another way to convince you.”

  A sickening wave of anxiety tightened her abdominal muscles, like she was bracing for a blow. Surely he wouldn’t inject her against her will. With increasing discomfort, she watched his elbow straighten, his arm go rigid. She wanted to cry out, to scream. Her throat burned, and she swallowed hard. She clamped her lips together.

  Garth was her brother.

  He would never hurt her.

  Hands extended, she met his eyes. “Garth,” she said. “Don’t do this. I know you would never do this to me.”

  He flashed his teeth. “Oh, no?”

  In a blur of motion, he whipped his hand through the air, crossed his chest and jammed the needle into his opposite arm.

  She gasped.

  He yanked the needle out of his arm. “What the hell’s the matter with you, Sky? I wasn’t going to inject you. I was only trying to prove a point.” He rubbed his deltoid. “And I believe I have. If Bella isn’t safe, then I’m the one who’ll be paying the price. Now will you believe me? Now will you hold off on making that report?”

  She nodded mutely and felt her heartbeat quiet. Garth knew more about Bella than anyone on the planet, and if he was certain it was safe, certain enough to inject himself, the least she could do was hold off on filing. A few days would give her time to investigate more thoroughly. But after that, no matter the results, she’d have to turn over all of her findings to the FDA, and she was about to tell Garth that when the doorbell rang.

  “Thank you,” he said on top of the bell.

  She moved toward the door, but Garth bolted ahead of her. By the time she got to the entry hall, he was already conversing with two policemen.

  Sky shivered. She was in a tunnel. A cold, dark, concrete tomb of a tunnel. A place she hadn’t been in so long. Voices were transmitting through the thick walls that surrounded her, but the words themselves were difficult to make out. Peering down the length of the tunnel, she could see an opening, light, the world outside herself. And in that world she saw her cozy kitchen. Her Wedgewood sugar bowl, placed just so, to cover the jelly stain on her lace tablecloth. She saw a policeman’s cap hooked over the ear of a chair. Two uniformed officers.

  Garth.

  Glancing down she saw her hand resting on the kitchen table, and Garth’s hand resting on top of hers. Her brother was with her, and she was glad.

  One of the officers kept looking at her and moving his mouth. His face was flat, but kind. Yes. That was the thing she noticed most about him, he looked very kind. Pushing her hair off her face, she opened her mouth to speak but no sounds came out. The kind-faced officer stopped moving his lips. She tried again, and this time she heard herself speak the words she needed to say. “Casey Collins.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  A small relief loosened her shoulders. Though she hadn’t fully emerged from her tunnel, at least she could hear and talk. She could communicate. “The baby’s father is Casey Collins. You need to find him.”

  “Yes ma’am.” The officer flipped a page on a notepad and wrote something down. “I’ll take care of that right away.”

  “You think the infant will live?” It was Garth.

  “They say he’s not bad off. Apparently, whoever set fire to the clinic…” The officer’s face went ghostly pale, and a retch, an actual retch, broke one sentence into two. “Whoever set fire to the clinic and butchered the mother, bundled the little boy in the mother’s parka before abandoning him in the dumpster. We’ve already called social services, and I’m sure they’ll want to locate the baby’s father as soon as possible.”

  “Social services?” Garth’s hand spasmed around hers, and his voice rang with alarm. Like smoke from dry ice, a myriad of emotion billowed across his face, and then dissipated into nothingness. His brow smoothed, and his hand relaxed atop hers. “Certainly. Social services will step in. As they should. Casey Collins is the father. He will be contacted. Now, gentlemen, as you can clearly see, my sister is in no state to answer any more questions. If you’ll be so kind as to take your leave, I’d appreciate it.”

  “No.” She bolted out of her dark tunnel like she was being chased by the devil himself. If she hid from the truth, she would never find it. “I’ll answer your questions. Ask me anything you want.”

  Her brother shifted in his seat. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

  The kind-faced officer’s partner entered the conversation with a gruff bark. “It’s not up to you, Dr. Novak. It’s up to your sister.”

  Garth’s jaw thrust forward, and he gestured at the officers. “Keep it brief and to the point, gentlemen.”

  “Straight to the point then. Was your clinic insured?” The gruff officer addressed Sky.

  As she tried to focus on the officer’s face her vision fuzzed, and she realized only bits and pieces of the past hour were accessible in her memory. Had Garth given her a sedative? She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going back into that tunnel. Focus. The officer had asked her if the clinic was insured. “Yes.”

  “Are the rumors true, that your clinic has financial woes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your late fiancé…” The officer checked his notes. “Dr. Edmond Guerretin. Were the two of you having, er, romantic difficulties at the time of his death?”

  “No.” She pressed her temples with her fingers. “I mean it’s complicated, but yes, I realize now that Edmond and I were having problems.” Her head was throbbing, and these questions didn’t seem to be going anywhere. At least not anywhere that would lead the authorities to Nevaeh’s killer.

  “Ma’am, can you tell me where you were and what you were doing between seven and nine o’clock tonight?”

  She couldn’t stop her shoulders from shaking, but she wouldn’t cry. She opened her mouth, tried to respond, but then stopped. She knew if she spoke, she would also weep, and if she wept, she might not stop for a very long time. Garth’s hand squeezed hers gently.

  She looked at her brother. “Garth?”

  “Enough.” Planting his palms on the tabletop, her brother pushed his chair back and rose, stood protectively behind her. “I’ll see these gentlemen to the door.”

  If it would do any good, she’d answer the officers’ questions, which were little more than thinly veiled accusations, all night long. “I just need a second. I can go on.”

  “You can’t, and you oughtn’t. Don’t answer anything else without an attorney.” Garth scowled at the policemen. “My sister will make herself available again tomorrow. But it’s after midnight. Any further interrogation is going to have to wait until she’s rested and represented by counsel.” He touched her shoulder. “Where are your keys, Sky?”

  Her eyes flicked to a wall-hook. She’d been trying to train herself to keep her keys in a set location, and this time, they were actually where they were supposed to be. Garth strode across the kitchen. The keys rattled as he plucked them off the hook. “I’ll see these men out and lock the door behind me. Don’t let anyone in. I’m going home to pack a bag, but I’ll be back in an hour. After that I’m staying.” His eyes swept possessively over her. “I’m moving in with you, Sky, and I
’m not moving out again until they catch this bastard.”

  Sky had just downed a couple of ibuprofen when a knock at the door caused her to spill her cup of tea. When Garth left with the police, she’d put a kettle on the stove, and it’d been a matter of mere minutes since it’d started singing. Her brother couldn’t be back so soon, plus he had her keys. Grateful she’d had the presence of mind to leave the porch light on, and keeping her face hidden as much as possible, she inched the kitchen curtain aside and peered outside. An unfamiliar dark sedan was parked in the drive.

  She opened a kitchen drawer and grabbed a steak knife. Her unloaded Glock was in a safe under the bed. So much for presence of mind. She’d made a foolish mistake, and she recognized it. From here on, she’d carry her Glock with her. The knocking changed to pounding, and she squeezed her eyes closed, then opened them again. Knife in hand, she tiptoed into the foyer and pressed her eye against the peephole.

  Oh God.

  Dropping the knife, she flung the door wide. Danny crossed the threshold. Their eyes met and held, and then she was in his arms. Wrapped and safe and floating, and for one ephemeral moment, the world was right again. Danny’s fingers wove through her hair, and heat radiated across the sensitive skin of her scalp. He tugged, and her chin tilted up. He pressed his mouth against hers, not gently, not at all softly, but the very fierceness of his kiss somehow comforted her more than any fragile brush of his lips could’ve done. His was the kiss of a warrior returned from battle.

  “Sky,” he whispered, and then there was softness too.

  Lifting her hands, she pulled his head down, touched his cheek, kissed the tip of his nose, his forehead. She ran her fingers through his hair…and then reality came crashing down. Her fingers caught in sticky, gritty clumps. Backing up, she switched on the overhead light. Blood clots interlacing with gravel cemented Danny’s hair to his scalp. His clothing was torn, covered in blood and mud and pine needles. She tried, but she couldn’t keep the anguish out of her voice. “My God, Danny…”

  “Hush. I’m okay.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek, and then closed and bolted the door behind him.

  “No. You’re not okay. And I’m not going to hush.” Heart pounding, she dragged him into the kitchen and ordered him to sit. Then she ran to her room and retrieved her emergency medical kit and her Glock from beneath her bed. When she returned, she made a rapid assessment of Danny’s condition. His head wound had ceased bleeding. It wasn’t deep, but there were lots of abraded areas on his head and body, and he winced when she palpated a giant hematoma forming over his occipital bone. “What happened here?”

  “Not sure. But I figure I got conked on the head with the butt of a gun.”

  “Any headache or vomiting?”

  His face and arms were bruised and scratched. His expression was somber. Grabbing her hand, he said, “I’m fine. A little headache, sure. Concussion, probably. But I’m telling you, it’s not that bad. Sit with me, Sky. We need to talk.”

  His tone sounded both urgent and ominous, but she couldn’t imagine that anything he had to tell her could make matters worse than they already were. Ignoring her shaky knees, she stood her ground. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “No hospital. But…my head hurts like the devil.” He eyed her bottle of ibuprofen on the kitchen counter. She raced over and brought him back four tablets along with a large tumbler of water. Then she opened her medical kit and set to work. First, she softened, with sterile water, the blood that glued his hair to his head, then cleaned his numerous abrasions with betadine and gobbed generous amount of Bactroban ointment all over his scalp.

  Throughout her ministrations, Danny sat silently, one strong hand on her hip, the other at her waist. His touch was like water pouring over a parched summer garden. In his presence, she came back alive.

  When at last she was satisfied with her work, she put her kit away, and sat down at the table with him. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “I’m okay, Sky. How are you?”

  She just looked at him. She didn’t know where to begin. How to utter the words to describe the unspeakable things that had been done to Nevaeh. She’d been so distracted by worry over Danny’s injuries, she hadn’t noticed how swollen and red his eyes were. He’d been crying, and that devastated look in his eyes… “You know about Nevaeh, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “I called the captain on my way here. He told me everything. Sky, I know how hard this is for you.” He rested his chin in his hands, and then looked away. His voice was all control. “But the man who murdered Nevaeh is still out there. He sent one of his goons to kill me tonight. I got the better of the goon, but the goon is not our guy, and our guy’s not going to quit. Not unless we stop him.”

  Nevaeh’s murder, Sky’s clinic burning down, that wasn’t the end of this nightmare. Danny had given voice to the warning that screamed in her head. Danny wasn’t safe. Garth wasn’t safe. She wasn’t safe. No one would ever be safe again. Not until this animal was caught. And how could they catch the beast when they had no idea what they hunted?

  Her chin dropped to her chest. Her vision darkened, and she felt defeat dragging her down in her chair, muting the world around her. The sound of her pulse pounding in her ears was like the sound of a fist pounding a pillow. Her fingertips and her lips tingled. To force her eyelids up she raised her brow. She didn’t want to close her eyes. She didn’t want to fight either—it wasn’t in her nature—but she couldn’t give up. Gritting her teeth, she rolled her shoulders back and straightened her posture, sat as tall in the chair as she was able. Looking across at Danny she saw a warrior, and she knew she too had a choice to make: Fight or die.

  Flattening her hand over heart in a silent pledge, she made a promise to herself.

  Now she was a warrior too.

  “I’ll take you to the hospital,” she said, with the same controlled voice she normally reserved for her patients.

  “I’m okay. If I wasn’t I’d say so, and there’s no time for the hospital.” His body canted forward. “Someone tried to kill me tonight, and in the process, I think he gave me some clues as to the identity of our murderer. I’m sorry to put you through this at a time like this, but I have to ask you some questions.”

  “Ask me anything.”

  Danny stood up and went to the stove. Without a word, he made her a cup of tea, brought it to her, along with a spoon. “Okay, I’m going to run something by you. Mind you, it’s a working hypothesis, something like what I’m thinking you’d call a differential diagnosis…so try not to take offense. Try to understand I have to follow my nose in this situation, because we don’t have a lot of hard evidence at the moment.”

  “You don’t have to be tentative with me, Danny. Just ask or say whatever it is that’s on your mind.”

  “All right. For starters, I’d like to know why you never told me that Garth was adopted.”

  Her lips parted, and she blinked rapidly. As she sat in her kitchen with a loaded Glock by her side, in a moment she thought she was prepared for anything, in a moment she thought it was impossible to catch her off guard, Danny had done so. “Because you never asked. And I’m not being flippant here. I didn’t realize the fact that Garth is my adopted brother was anything worth mentioning. How did you find out anyway?”

  “When I was on the way here, I asked the captain about him and about you and your family.”

  Her heart tripped and then beat faster. Danny had been asking questions about her and about her brother. “Okay. But I don’t know why you care. I never think about the fact that Garth is adopted.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “I don’t know what you’re driving at, but whatever it is, just say it straight out. I don’t feel like playing guessing games.”

  “Nevaeh’s dead. This is no game.”

  She didn’t need him to remind her of that. Studying his face for clues as to what was in his mind, she tried to catch his eye and failed. As she waited for him to continue
, she shifted in her chair and rubbed the back of her neck.

  “I mean you and Garth didn’t grow up together. Correct me if this is wrong, but the captain told me Garth was already a teen when he came into your family.”

  “What has that got to do with Nevaeh’s murder?”

  “Maybe nothing, maybe everything.” Looking past her, he fixed his gaze on her Wedgewood sugar bowl. “Whoever did this to Nevaeh had medical training, at least that’s what the CSIs told the captain.”

  The air in the room thinned. No matter how fast she breathed, she couldn’t get enough oxygen. Her heart thundered in her ears. Her nails dug into her palms, and somewhere deep inside, something snapped. She felt the sting as clearly as if she’d popped a rubber band inside her chest. “You’re on the wrong track.”

  “The killer is someone close to you. That much is obvious.”

  “To whom?”

  “To me. And to anyone who knows jack about these crimes.”

  A flash of anger heated her cheeks. “My brother didn’t do this.”

  “Captain says your mother pulled him out of an abusive foster home.”

  “Then he deserves that much more credit for how he turned out.”

  “Sky, your brother spent his childhood being passed from family to family. You’re a doctor. You know what that kind of thing can do to a kid. What do they call it…attachment disorder?”

  “My brother—and make no mistake, Danny, Garth may not be my blood, but he is truly my brother—doesn’t have an attachment disorder. Before his biological mother died, she and Garth were very close. He doesn’t talk much at all about his past, except for that. He’s always talking about the engraved harmonica his mother gave him. It’s his most cherished possession, and on special occasions, he’ll play a tune for me.” She gave a defiant toss of her head. “Not only did Garth love his biological mother, he loved mine too. I’ve never seen anyone so devastated as when she died. Does that sound like someone with an attachment disorder?”