by Rita Herron
They would die for one another.
Did that mean that they would also lie to cover up illegal activities?
Surely not if it meant letting a killer go free….
“Secrets have a way of coming out,” Parker said in a low but lethal voice.
“I told you everything I know,” Bart snapped. “Now please leave. You’re upsetting my wife.”
Parker stepped toward Bart, but Grace clutched his arm. “Please, Parker, let’s leave.”
He stiffened. “We’ll go for now, Mr. Yager, but I will get to the bottom of this. So if you decide to talk, let me know.”
“I’m sorry,” Grace murmured, then she turned and followed Parker outside. Even with his limp, he was walking so fast she could barely keep up with him.
When they reached the car, he spun toward her. “You don’t have to apologize to them for me, Grace. I’m doing my job and Bart Yager knows it.”
“But, Parker—”
“Don’t you understand?” he said through gritted teeth. “Your brother was murdered and you might be next. And the killer may be someone you trust.”
Grace shook her head, disbelief pummeling her. Parker had to be wrong. She had so few people in her life that she trusted—she couldn’t bear to think that one of them had betrayed her and her brother.
HELLFIRE and damnation. Bruno Gardener’s body had been exhumed. The medical examiner was going to reexamine his remains.
Then they would find the truth.
The truth he had worked so hard to keep hidden.
Detective Kilpatrick and Bruno’s sister were getting way too close to everything.
It was time for them to be extinguished.
He followed them back to Kilpatrick’s, then waited patiently until they disappeared inside.
Then he punched in Kilpatrick’s number.
Like a good cop, he answered on the second ring. “Kilpatrick.”
“This is an old friend of Jim Gardener’s. I heard you’ve been asking questions.”
“Yes.”
“If you want the truth, meet me at Serpent’s Cove.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you need to right now?”
“It’s too dangerous.” He hesitated, driving home his point. “And you’d better come alone.”
He disconnected the call and watched, breathing a sigh of relief when Kilpatrick exited the cottage without Grace. He’d fallen for the trap.
Laugher bubbled in his throat. But neither he nor Grace Gardener was safe. First, he’d take care of Grace. After all, she would be the easiest to dispose of.
Then he’d finish off the detective. And once again prove he was invincible and smarter than the cops.
Chapter Sixteen
Parker didn’t want to leave Grace alone for a second, but he didn’t trust the man who’d called. He might be walking into a trap.
And he refused to take her into it with him.
She would be safer here alone.
But still, he’d left her with an extra firearm and ordered her to lock all the doors. As he drove away from the cottage, he phoned Bradford, explained about the call and asked him to send a uniform by to check on Grace while he was gone.
“You want me to meet you?” Bradford asked.
“No, I can handle this. I don’t want to scare him off in case he’s legit.”
“When you finish, swing by the ME’s office. He’s doing Bruno’s autopsy now. We might have news on him soon.”
“I’ll go back and get Grace first. She’ll want to be there, too.” His gut tightened. “Besides, I really don’t want to leave her alone for long.”
“She knows how to use the piece you left with her?”
“Yeah.” But he didn’t know if Grace would actually use it—she’d spent her life healing the sick, not taking lives. But hopefully if she needed to defend herself, she would.
“Walsh, see if you can pull Frank Johnson and Bart Yager’s phone records. I’d like to know if either one of them has been in contact with Juan Carlos. And check Juan’s visitation log when he was in prison. Maybe that will lead us to who hired him.”
“Good idea, I’ll get right on it.” Bradford paused. “By the way, I questioned one of the guys from that body-moving service. He led me back to L-Tech.”
“And?”
“I paid them a visit. One of the lab techs, a guy named Sonny Pradham, admitted that he screwed up in storing some of the tissue they received.”
“So it was just a mistake by one of the lab workers?”
“It looks that way. The lab has also been tracking down all the tissue that might have been contaminated and recalling it.”
“But this guy will lose his job,” Parker said.
“Yeah, and there will be lawsuits through the roof. And with the deaths associated with the problematic tissue, the DA is contemplating criminal charges for negligent homicide. This bastard’s stupid mistake has affected a lot of lives and he’s probably going to do some time.”
Parker flexed his leg. Even scarred and with more therapy to go, he was grateful to be alive.
Grace’s face flashed into his mind.
Now he had to keep her that way, too.
Maybe tonight he’d get the answers she wanted about her family’s deaths and he could put the killer in jail.
Then she could move on with her life.
Only he wouldn’t be in it.
His chest squeezed and he rolled down the window, needing air.
It didn’t matter if he’d be with her or not. Grace would be safe; she could have the happiness a woman like her should have. The family and love she deserved. A life not tainted by violence or crime.
One that a jaded, scarred cop could never give her.
GRACE WAS wound tight. Parker had been nervous about leaving her, and she’d wanted to go with him, but he’d insisted it was too dangerous.
Who had called him so mysteriously? What did the man have to tell him that he couldn’t have relayed over the phone? Why hadn’t he asked to meet at the police station?
What if Parker got hurt?
The familiar terror she’d experienced since her brother had joined the police force nagged at her. Each time her father or Bruno had left for work, she’d known it might be the last time she’d see them alive.
She couldn’t suffer that terrible anxiety again.
Yet she’d fallen for Parker anyway.
Even as she tried to harden her heart now, she knew it was futile. She was in love with the man, cop and all.
Wanting to know more about him, she walked through his den, searching for photos of him and any family he might have. He’d told her they were gone, but again found no personal photos of anyone in the house. A fitness magazine along with several books on forensics lay on the oak coffee table, yet his cabin was free of decoration or color, everything was done in neutrals as if he hadn’t given a thought to decor. So like a man.
But it revealed a lot about him. He was fairly neat, clean, organized.
Detached. He didn’t keep clutter or anything personal around because he was a loner. A man who had no commitments or relationships.
Because he didn’t want them….
Like her brother, he was married to the job.
Unsettled by the thought, she paced to the sliding-glass doors and stared out into the cool, gray evening. Beyond the trees, the ocean pounded at high tide. Waves crashed and broke, beating fiercely just like her heart.
How could she have allowed herself to fall in love with a man so like the men she’d grown up with? The ones who’d left her….
The wind whistled through the trees, the palms swayed and a clap of thunder rent the air. Something clattered and, behind her, from the storage room off the kitchen, glass shattered.
The lights suddenly flickered off.
A cold wave of fear shot through her. She spun around and raced toward the kitchen drawer where Parker had left a pistol for her. She’d promised him she’d use it if needed, but her
hands shook as she fumbled past the small oak table. Her hip hit the edge of the breakfast bar and she yelped in pain, knocking the phone book to the floor with a thud.
A footstep creaked in the darkness, then the sound of someone’s breathing echoed in her ear. Oh, God, someone was in the house.
Her pulse raced as she lunged toward the drawer, but just as she caught the edge, the man grabbed her around the neck and jerked her against him. The scent of sweat, salt and cigarette smoke assaulted her. She clawed wildly, scrambling for something to protect herself with, and her hand connected with one of the kitchen knives. She jerked it up and stabbed backward, hoping to connect with flesh.
He slapped her, making her ears ring. “Damn it, you bitch!”
She swung the knife again, but his hands tightened around her throat and her lungs begged for air. The knife must have pierced his thigh because he yowled in pain, but the blow angered him more and he slammed his fist into the side of her head.
The knife clattered to the floor and the room spun in a sickening cloud of black. She slid downward, unable to breathe as he yanked her toward the door.
Outside, clamshells sliced her bare legs as he dragged her across the drive, then he picked her up like a rag doll and tossed her into the trunk. Nausea and terror clogged her throat and she screamed, but the sound died as he slammed the trunk shut.
PARKER PULLED his car into Serpent’s Cove and parked, his senses alert. He didn’t see another car anywhere nearby, and hadn’t spotted one on the dirt road that led to the cove. The place was virtually deserted, but sounds could go undetected, lost in the wind whistling off the ocean and the waves roaring over the jagged rocks. Rocks that created snakelike shapes along the wall of the ledge and climbed from the beach like a small mountain carved toward the heavens.
A dangerous place, one that had taken more than one life from a fall.
Had the caller really intended to meet him and give him information, or had he lured him here to push him over the edge?
Parker searched the beach below in case the man was waiting beneath the ledge, but saw nothing but water washing away sand and tossing shells and driftwood onto the shore.
Clouds rumbled above, casting a shadow over the moon and hinting at a storm on the rise. Something crackled behind him and he spun around, expecting to see someone approaching, but a beer can caught in the wind rolled across the rocks, then tumbled over the ledge.
Frustrated, he paced along the cove for the next ten minutes, checking the beach below, his watch, the shadows of the trees lining the road. Impatience gnawed at him, along with the nagging feeling that the call could have been a trap to lure him away from Grace.
His heart pounding, he unpocketed his cell phone and punched in his home number. He didn’t like being away from her, had to make sure she was safe.
Continuing to track the area for the mysterious caller, he paced the cove. The phone rang several times, but no answer.
The machine finally clicked on. “Grace, if you’re there, please pick up. I need to know you’re okay.”
She didn’t respond. Panic teased at him, but he assured himself she might have taken a shower or fallen asleep. Still, he punched in her cell phone number, yet as it rang and rang, the bad premonition tugging at him echoed louder in his mind.
Something was wrong.
He dialed the precinct and asked for the local who was supposed to drive by to check on Grace. A minute later dispatch connected him to a uniform named Brewster.
“This is Detective Kilpatrick. Have you checked on Grace Gardener at my place?”
“I’m pulling down your street now.”
“Good, I just called her and she didn’t answer, so knock, then if you don’t get an answer, go on in. But be sure to identify yourself and be careful—I left her with one of my pieces.”
“Got it.”
Parker gripped the phone tighter and twisted to scan the road again. “I’ll hold while you check.”
The next five minutes stretched into an eternity as Parker listened to Brewster knock on the door. The man pounded hard, then shouted his name and identified himself.
Parker prayed she would answer the door and he’d know she was all right.
“Miss Gardener!” Brewster shouted again.
Parker paced, his instincts roaring to life, shouting that something was wrong.
“She’s not responding,” Brewster said into the phone. “I’m going to check the windows and doors now.”
Parker held his breath, then a second later Brewster muttered, “Looks like a window was bashed in your laundry room. And the lights are out.”
“Damn it to hell.” Parker scraped a hand over his jaw. “Get inside now! Find out if Grace is there.”
Parker heard Brewster kick the door, then his boots clattering on the floor. Sweat poured down his face as Parker ran for his car, jumped inside and clicked on the engine. He tore away from the cove, cursing himself that he’d fallen for a trap.
“She’s not here, no one is,” Brewster shouted into the phone. “But there are signs of a struggle and blood on the kitchen counter.”
Emotions choked Parker. He prayed he wouldn’t be too late, that Grace wasn’t already dead.
GRACE STRUGGLED to regain control as the car bumped along the road. The trunk was suffocating, hot and smelled of grease. Her head throbbed, her hair was glued to her scalp and she felt blood dripping into the tangled strands.
But she would not give up hope.
She had to fight for her life, find a way to stall this man from killing her long enough for Parker to track her down.
And he would find her; she had to believe that. He was probably already looking for her, on this man’s trail now.
Unless the call had been a trap and the killer had gotten to Parker first.
Panic robbed her breath, but she forced the dismal thoughts at bay. She wouldn’t accept that Parker was dead.
But hadn’t her family, her brother, all deserted her when she thought they were invincible, as well?
Grateful her attacker hadn’t bound her hands, she searched frantically for an inside latch to the trunk. If she could pop it open, maybe she could get out. But would she jump with the car moving?
Yes. If it was the only way to escape, she’d do it.
Her fingers fumbled clumsily, something sharp jabbing at her side, and she shivered as a bug crawled down her arm. She shook it off, knowing it was nothing compared to what the man who’d grabbed her would do to her when he stopped. Hissing between clenched teeth as the car hit a pothole and her body bounced painfully into a hard object that might have been a jack, she dug her nails into the flooring to steady herself. Finally, just as the car slowed, her fingers found the lock.
Before she could pop the trunk, the car screeched to a halt. She fumbled with the lock, desperate, trying to hurry, but suddenly the top flipped up and a shadow lurked above her, daunting as he waved a gun in her face.
“You should have taken the earlier warnings,” he muttered in a husky voice.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?” she asked.
He reached for her arm and she kicked him in the chest, but he jerked her up by the hair and jammed the gun against her head. “Try that again and your brain will be splattered all over this dock for your boyfriend to find.”
She froze, her heart slamming into her ribs. At least she knew now that Parker was still alive.
So why had he brought her to the dock? Was he taking her out on a boat?
Was he going to kill her or not?
He dragged her from the car, and she squinted to see his face. He had brown skin, thick eyebrows, was Hispanic. Juan Carlos, the man Parker had been hunting for?
A paid killer.
“Who hired you to do this?” she asked, determined once and for all to unearth the truth.
A litany of Spanish followed, then he tossed her onto a small fishing boat. She tried to brace her fall, but her body slammed against the wood and she
cried out as her ankle twisted beneath her.
“Where are you taking me?” she cried.
He waved the gun at her again. “You ask too many questions, señorita.”
“Tell me who hired you,” she demanded.
“You really want to know? You should have asked your father’s partner.”
No, not Frank. Anger made her jump up and lunge toward him. “You’re lying. Frank wouldn’t hurt me, he loves me—”
He hit her with the butt of the gun and sent her body flailing back. She frantically clawed for control, but her hands connected only with air, and the blow made her ears ring and the world spin. Before she could regain her balance, he grabbed her hands and tied them together, then secured her feet. She kicked at him and struggled to fight back, but another blow knocked her onto the floor of the boat and the next time she opened her eyes, he was clutching a couple of bricks.
Oh, God, he was going to tie them to her feet and dump her in the ocean for the sharks to devour.
She lifted her bound hands and felt for the St. Christopher medal, but it was gone, just like Bruno. She must have lost it in her house during the attack. Or maybe in the car. A sob wrenched her. It was the last thing she’d had of her family’s and now it was gone, too.
For some insane reason, she thought of the date. October 30, the day before Halloween. Kids were home, excitedly getting their costumes ready; spooks and goblins and fairies and princesses. People were buying candy to prepare for the trick-or-treaters. Others would be having parties, bobbing for apples, making haunted houses, lighting jack-o’-lanterns that would glow in the dark.
Tonight storms brewed in the sky. Clouds covered the moon, obliterating the light. Other people were walking on the beach hand-in-hand, sharing a romantic night. Living normal lives. Planning their futures, thinking of names for the babies they would have. Others sat in rocking chairs on the sleeping porches, growing old together as their grandchildren chased fireflies in the yard.
She would never take a romantic walk on the beach or have children or make scrapbooks of her grandchildren.
