Under His Skin

by Rita Herron

  “What’s going on?” Parker asked.

  Dr. Knightly’s mouth lifted into a grimace. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

  “Why not? If it involves the tissue transplants—”

  “It has nothing to do with that.” The doctor tapped his pen on the clipboard. “It’s just that Grace Gardener was brought into the ER a few minutes ago.”

  Parker’s heart clenched. “What for?”

  “She had an accident, crashed her car into the marsh.”

  Tension tightened every limb in Parker’s body. “Is she all right?”

  Seconds stretched into an eternity while Parker waited for him to answer. “She’s in the ER now.”

  Parker didn’t wait for him to elaborate. He took off as fast as his injured leg would carry him, climbed onto the elevator and held his breath until it opened at the emergency room.

  He had to see Grace, had to know that she was alive.

  TOO BAD Grace wasn’t DOA and he could kill two birds with one stone—she’d be finished nosing into his business, and he’d take her body and cut it up and donate it to science.

  Instead he slipped into the morgue and checked the toe tags. Which stiff would go next? One that hadn’t already been identified or claimed? One who had no family waiting, planning their funeral?

  He found the perfect specimen. An old man who had been registered as homeless. No one would care to really look for him.

  And with the kids snatching bodies and painting them up for their Halloween pranks, the cops would think they had added this one to their game. A perfect cover for him.

  He tugged his surgical mask over his face, placed the sheet over the body, gripped the gurney and pushed it through the double doors, then outside to the van he had waiting.

  Chapter Eleven

  Parker pushed his way into the ER, demanding to see Grace. “Where is she?”

  A beefy male nurse held him back with one arm. “Sorry, sir, but you can’t go in. They’re working on her now.”

  Bradford placed a hand on Parker’s back as if to contain him, but Parker shook it off. “How is she? What’s her condition?”

  “She’s unconscious. Looks like she sustained a head injury, probably a concussion, but she should make it. They’ll run tests, of course…”

  Parker nodded, yet his stomach churned with anxiety. What if she’d suffered internal injuries? What if her head wound was serious and she had brain damage? Bleeding to the brain?

  Worry knotted his insides, but he inhaled sharply to control his anger.

  “Sounds like she’ll be okay,” Bradford said in a low voice.

  Parker fisted his hands by his sides. “She’d better be.”

  “You care about her, don’t you?” Bradford asked.

  Parker whipped his head toward his partner. “I…” He had no idea how to answer. He did care more than he wanted to admit. But he had no future with her.

  Still, he wanted to make sure she was safe. Hold her and feel her breathing and alive in his arms.

  He turned back to the nurse. “Tell me what happened.”

  “All I know is that she had a car accident.” He gestured to two paramedics exiting an exam room. “You might talk to them. They could probably tell you more.”

  Parker strode toward the pair and cornered the young man and woman. “You brought in Grace Gardener?”

  The female, Jordan, according to her name tag, nodded. “Are you family?”

  “No, a detective with the S.P.D. Can you tell me about this accident?”

  “She crashed her car into the marsh,” the man, Alvin, said.

  “She called 9-1-1 herself?”

  Jordan shook her head. “No, a woman driving by saw Miss Gardener collapsed on the side of the road. Apparently she’d dragged herself up to the highway to get help.”

  If she’d been walking at all, that was a good sign.

  “Did she say anything on the ride over?”

  The paramedic shook his head. “No, by the time we arrived, she was unconscious.”

  So they didn’t know the details of her accident. He had to talk to Grace, find out what caused her to crash.

  In light of the attempt on her life the day before, he had to wonder, though—had it really been an accident or had there been foul play?

  GRACE’S HEAD FELT as if it had been sliced in two, and an irritating buzzing sound echoed in her ears. She forced her eyes open, but the lights intensified the pain splintering her temple and she closed them again, the world spinning.

  Blind panic threatened to consume her. Where was she? What had happened?

  She tried to speak, but her voice came out so raspy that it got lost in the hub of noise around her, so she cleared her throat and reached a shaky hand up to snag someone’s sleeve. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the ER, honey,” a kind, low voice that she recognized as Becky Carlisle, one of her favorite nurses, said. “You had an accident. The medics brought you in.”

  “Accident?” She searched her memory and the horrifying last few moments before she’d crashed into the marsh returned. The car turning in front of her, the brakes failing, the realization that she might die…

  “How bad?” she whispered, automatically raising her hand to her head.

  “You probably have a concussion,” Becky said, “and you have some bruises on your knees, arms and chest, but you should be okay. They’re going to do a CAT scan, take some X-rays. You know the drill.”

  Grace winced, but nodded, accepting the inevitable but already anxious to be released. Though she worked in the hospital, she wasn’t any more fond of being a patient than the people she treated.

  Becky gently smoothed her hair away from her forehead. “There’s a detective, that patient Kilpatrick, in the waiting room demanding to see you. Let me tell him you’re conscious and okay.”

  Grace clutched Becky’s arm. “Tell him to come back. I need to talk to him.”

  “Dr. Whitehead won’t be happy about that. You know how he is. He’ll want to run the tests first.”

  “Please, Becky, it’s important.”

  Becky nodded, then disappeared and Grace pressed a hand over her eyes and tried to rest. A minute later Parker’s gruff voice broke through the hazy blur of the ER.

  “Grace?” He laid his hand over hers and squeezed her fingers, moving her hand away from her face. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. His amber eyes looked hard but worried, his expression set in granite, the scar at his temple jumping as he clenched his jaw. “Are you hurting?”

  Heavens, yes, but she didn’t want to alarm him. “Headache,” she said softly. “It’ll go away.”

  He made a harrumph sound. “You look like hell.”

  She tried to laugh but it sounded choked. “Thanks, Parker. You know how to turn a girl’s head.”

  “I’m serious, Grace.” He ran a finger over her forehead, narrowed his eyes at the gash that she knew was probably bloody and dirty.

  “Good thing you didn’t go into nursing,” she whispered. “Your bedside manner stinks.”

  A small smile tugged at his mouth, then he leaned so close she felt his breath on her face. She thought he was going to say something about his bedside manner for a moment, something sexy, or maybe that was wishful thinking.

  Then he murmured, “Sorry,” but his tone turned brusque. “I’m not used to coddling people, especially when I’m pissed. Now tell me what happened.”

  She explained about the car pulling in front of her, swerving and hitting the brakes. “They wouldn’t work, though,” she whispered. “I kept pumping them, but nothing happened.” The throbbing splitting her temple increased. “I lost control, crashed into the marsh.”

  “How’d you hit your head? Weren’t you wearing your seat belt?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I always buckle, but the belt snapped.”

  “What about the air bag?”

  She frowned. “It didn’t deploy. I…don’t know why. And the brakes…I ju
st had the car tuned up last week.”

  Parker’s eyes flared with anger, and she realized where his train of thought was heading.

  “I’ll get a CSI team to examine your car with a fine-tooth comb. If there was foul play, we’ll find out.”

  A sliver of apprehension tickled her spine. If he was right and someone had tampered with her car, then this was the second time in two days someone had tried to kill her.

  This time they’d almost succeeded.

  FURY MADE PARKER grind his teeth. Grace looked so lost and vulnerable lying in that hospital bed that he wanted to crawl in with her and hold her. The medics had cut off her clothes and she wore one of the hospital gowns that he’d learned to hate, the ones that labeled a person as a patient.

  Grace shouldn’t be lying there hurt.

  Damn. Someone had cut her brake lines—even without a crime scene unit, he’d bet his life on it.

  And Grace had almost lost hers today.

  He swallowed back the fear and wave of cold terror that realization brought. He didn’t want to lose Grace.

  Not that she was his.

  But still, he couldn’t let her die. She deserved to be safe, happy, to find a nice guy, get married, have babies. The kind of life a cop like him would never have, but he wanted it for her because Grace had been the angel who’d brought him back to life when he’d teetered at the edge of death’s door, just as she’d done for countless others.

  Grace was selfless. Kind. Loving.

  He wanted to comfort her, be the friend she needed. Struggling to control his temper, he lowered his voice, stroked her hair gently from her cheek, tried to ignore the stab of fury at the blood matting the beautiful strands. “Grace, I’m sorry you were hurt. But if someone did this to you, I promise I’ll find out who it is.”

  “Thank you, Parker. I…can’t believe this is happening.”

  So like Grace to believe in the goodness of people when all he ever saw was the evil. “I’m sure they’ll keep you overnight for observation. I’m going to talk to my partner, get a crime scene unit out to your car, but I’ll be back.”

  She nodded, but it was obvious that fatigue and pain weighted her muscles. The nurse who’d allowed him entry appeared with Dr. Whitehead, and Parker stepped aside. “I’ll see you later.”

  She nodded, and Whitehead approached with concern tightening his features. “We’re taking you for that CAT scan now.”

  Knowing she was in good hands and needed medical treatment, Parker strode back through the ER, then to Walsh, where he quickly relayed Grace’s story. “I want that car impounded and examined. I have a bad feeling, Walsh, that this was no accident.”

  Bradford nodded and immediately called the station, then explained their suspicions. When he hung up, he wore a grim expression. “The captain is sending a team to the scene now.”

  “Good. I hope they find some prints so we can nail this guy.” He paced to the coffee machine and got a cup of coffee. Bradford followed and did the same, and they took chairs in the waiting room.

  Parker took a hefty sip of the bitter brew, then spoke without preamble. “Grace needs protection.”

  “I’ll talk to the captain,” Bradford said, “but with these missing corpses, the vandalism and Halloween pranks, and now this strangling victim, the squad is stretched to the limit.”

  Parker extended his leg, winced, but refused to show his pain. “I can do it.”

  Bradford raised a brow. “Parker, you know the captain is not going to assign you as her bodyguard. You’re still on disability leave.”

  “I’m being released today to the rehab facility. Instead, I’ll go home with Grace and guard her.”

  Bradford shook his head, but Parker had made up his mind. “You said yourself that there’s probably no one else. Better Grace have me and a gun than to be on her own. Look where that’s gotten her.”

  Bradford gave him a skeptical look but conceded his point. “I’ll talk to the captain and give you a call.”

  Relief surged through Parker. “Thanks, partner.”

  Bradford left to head to the station, but Parker remained seated. He wasn’t going anywhere, not without Grace.

  From now on, he’d guard her 24/7.

  THE NEXT twenty-four hours dragged by. Despite Dr. Whitehead’s stern disapproval and objections, Parker spent the night in the reclining chair in Grace’s room. The concussion caused her to sleep most of the time, although the nurses woke her occasionally to check her condition.

  He used the idle hours to study the photos from the corpses that had been recovered after disappearing mysteriously from various morgues. He also reviewed the officers’ notes.

  After careful study, he noted that the same body-moving service, a small local group called Delaney’s, had lost at least three of the bodies, but the service had blamed a clerical error. He made a note to ask Bradford about the body-moving service and the funeral home.

  Then he studied the pictures of the bodies after they were recovered. According to the ME, there had been no significant damage or changes afterward.

  Parker had seen plenty of autopsies before, so the surgical scars and stitches didn’t bother him, but on two bodies he noticed similar markings along the insides of the person’s thigh. On another he saw a similar slice on the man’s calf and torso.

  He recognized them because he had similar scars.

  He phoned Bradford. “Did you find out if those victims with tissue removed were volunteer donors?”

  “One was, but two were not.”

  Parker hissed. “So someone was stealing tissue.”

  “Looks that way. Now we’ll have to pinpoint who.”

  “Perhaps there’s a connection between the body snatchers and the body-moving service or funeral home.”

  “I’m on it,” Bradford agreed.

  “What happened with those teens you were going to question?” Parker asked.

  Bradford sighed. “They admitted to stealing three bodies, the Douglas woman, Cantrell man and Sorenson lady, but said it was a Halloween prank. Apparently they belong to a gang who call themselves the Skulls. There’s a rival group named the Crossbones who started the competition.”

  “How did they get access to the bodies?” Parker asked.

  “One of their buddies, a guy who likes to call himself Frankenstein, ripped off some surgical scrubs. Said he just slipped in at night and took the bodies from the crypt at the hospital.”

  “Damn. They need better security.”

  “Where are the kids now?”

  “They’re in custody, but the parents have lawyers so I expect I’ll have to cut them loose soon.”

  “Did you ask if they stole Bruno’s body?”

  “Yeah, but neither one of the two I have in custody owned up to it. I’m trying to locate the leader of the Crossbones so I can bring him in for questioning.”

  “Good. Let me know when you do.”

  Bradford blew out a breath. “I also had our team compare Juan Carlos’s mug shot with the picture from the security tape. It’s hard to tell, but we think it may be him.”

  “Any word on his whereabouts?”

  “No, we’re still looking.”

  Parker sighed and pulled his hand down his chin. “We have to find him and make him tell us who hired him.”

  “I know. But he’s an expert at hiding. It took the cops months to nail him before.”

  Parker didn’t want this to drag on for months. Not with Grace’s life hanging in the balance.

  “How’s the Gardener woman?” Bradford asked.

  Parker glanced at her sleeping form. She’d woken twice with nightmares and he’d comforted her. He wanted to cradle her in his arms, make sure she never suffered again.

  “Resting. What did you learn about her car?”

  Bradford made a sound of disgust. “You were right. The brake lines were cut. The air bag had been tampered with and the seat belt nearly severed. That’s why it snapped when she crashed and the reason for th
e head injury.”

  Hearing his fears confirmed made Parker’s gut clench with fury. If Juan Carlos had done this, Parker would kill him.

  He’d also find out who had hired the bastard, then he’d track that son of a bitch down and take care of him, as well.

  HE HAD TO get out of town.

  He stuffed his extra shirt and jeans into his duffel bag, grabbed his shaving kit and packed it, then scrubbed a hand over his newly shaven jaw. He missed the thick mane he’d grown in the pen, but he had to alter his appearance in case anyone had seen him around Grace Gardener’s car.

  He was a pro, though; the cops wouldn’t find any prints.

  No, he wasn’t stupid. He’d made mistakes in his drug-running days, trusted the wrong people, left evidence, but eighteen months in the joint had taught him a lot about who to team up with and who not to.

  Cursing the sweat rolling down his neck and back, he punched in his contact number. “I need my final payment.”

  “You took care of Miss Gardener?”

  “I did what you asked.” Although he’d meant to kill her. But damn, the woman was persistent and wouldn’t die.

  He would take care of her, though; he had to. He couldn’t leave any loose ends behind.

  “The money is exactly where I said it would be.”

  He fingered the key to the locker at the boathouse. “If it’s not, you know I’ll be back. And you won’t fare as well as the woman.”

  “It’s there,” the man said harshly. “And remember, if you get caught, you’re on your own.”

  “I’m not going to get caught,” he said. “But if you do, the same thing goes. Talk, and you’re a dead man.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Grace’s eyes felt gritty, and her body ached all over. She had no idea how long she’d slept. It seemed like an eternity, and she was disoriented as to the time of day, but one thing gave her solace—every time she’d awakened, she’d seen Parker sitting in the chair beside her bed. Knowing that he guarded over her allowed her to put her nightmares at bay long enough to give her body the reprieve it desperately needed after the accident.