A Breath Away

by Rita Herron

  Grady pushed forward, willing his legs not to give out. Willing Violet to be there, waiting.

  He would take her in his arms, kiss her senseless. Carry her back to his place and help her forget this nightmare.

  Yes, he had to make love to her one more time. Tell her with his body what his mouth refused to say.

  It was the fantasy that kept him moving, kept him following Longhorse, who had the stealth of a wildcat and the instincts of a wolf.

  “It is up there, on that ridge,” Longhorse said.

  Grady thought he detected a distant light burning in the old dilapidated building at the top of the mountain. He started running.

  When they reached the clearing, he and Longhorse studied the aging brick and concrete structure. Shrouded in vines and surrounded by weeds, it appeared to be locked up and deserted, some of the windows boarded up.

  Dammit. Despair and panic gripped him.

  He punched in Norton’s number, praying the agent had had better luck.

  * * *

  A DEEP CHILL ENGULFED Violet at the sound of a knife blade scraping against bone. Back and forth. Steady and rhythmic.

  He would be carving two bone whistles. One for Lynnette. One for her.

  Unless the other woman was already dead. Violet stilled, listening carefully. Nothing. No, a faint low cry.

  She was alive.

  Violet tried to turn her head. Her body was so heavy. Numb. Vulnerable. Finally, she twisted a fraction of an inch. The woman was staring at her, her green eyes filled with tears, begging for help.

  Violet wiggled her fingers. The drug must be losing its effect. She had to get free before he injected her again.

  Then she saw him in the shadows, watching. Wheeler? He had rescued her from the burning car. But this wasn’t Wheeler, was it?

  The scent of madness permeated the air. He saw the women connecting. “Violet, there were ten, there were nine, there were eight little angels….”

  A sob caught in her throat. He was in her head. Whispering her name. Taunting her.

  She wouldn’t play his game. She would only connect with the other woman. Try to reassure her.

  But he rose. Walked toward their half sister. His hands reached for the woman’s neck and closed around it.

  Tears rained down the woman’s cheeks. Violet’s own eyes flooded and overflowed. Lynnette would die. So would her baby. Violet squeaked out a scream of apology. Of sorrow.

  The woman’s gurgled cry echoed in reply.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “NO!” VIOLET CRIED.

  Her scream rippled out in a whisper. But the killer heard.

  He stalked toward her. Thunder rumbled. Rain splattered against the roof. Darkness cloaked the dimly lit room, turning it into a black inferno.

  He took another hypodermic, tapped it above her face. The silver needle glinted in the darkness. She fought, but his hand clamped her arm. He tapped the needle again, traced an icy finger over her wrist. The needle slid into her skin, its devastating effects attacking her immediately. The numbness. The inability to move. The thousand prickles of life being stripped from her limbs. Her vocal cords being severed as if he’d cut them with a serrated knife.

  “Why?” she mouthed.

  He stopped and looked into her eyes. Felt the connection. Smiled.

  “To save our father. I told you he is dying.”

  Her lips moved again, though no sound came out. “You don’t need to kill us.”

  Laughter bubbled from his chest. He looked familiar yet different somehow. But he was still hidden in the murkiness. She couldn’t see his face. Who was he? “Yes, my sweetness. I am the chosen one. The only one.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Years ago, Father was ill. He was a geneticist, and offered himself as the subject of a genetic experiment. The therapy worked and he was healed, but the mutated gene was passed on to me.” He tsked. “Once he was healthy, he donated his sperm to be used in in vitro fertilization experiments. He didn’t know yet about the side effects the treatment had on me. When he found out, he recovered the names of the recipients. He wanted to make sure you all were healthy.” His voice hardened, filled with anger, bitterness. “I told him he didn’t need you. He had me. I was his son. The only one.”

  Violet shuddered.

  “But he wouldn’t listen. So I showed him. I found Darlene.”

  “And you killed her?”

  “And her mother. And yours. Then your father. They wanted to expose our secret. My father’s work would have been finished. He’s a genius. The world needs him….”

  Emotions crowded Violet’s chest. Her mother and Darlene’s both had died to protect them.

  “But now my…our father needs a bone marrow transplant. Because of the genetic treatment he received, finding a donor match has been impossible.” He leaned closer. Alcohol scented his hands. She inhaled the sickening odor of his breath. Tasted the pleasure he found in frightening her. Saw the vials of blood with the names on them.

  “It is yours, Violet. Your blood is the match that will save him.”

  “Why the bone whistle?” Violet mouthed.

  “As a symbol of the sacrifice. Pin peyeh obe, look toward the mountain, the bigger picture, the future. When Father is well again, he’ll do wonderful things.” His shoes clicked as he reached for his knife. “But you and the others, you are expendable.”

  “No,” a gruff voice said from the corner, “it has to stop.”

  Violet tried to turn her head, but the drug held her captive. In her peripheral vision, she caught a movement. A frail-looking man in a wheelchair. A thin woman stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

  “Father, you shouldn’t be up now—you’re too weak.” He rushed to the man, his movements agitated.

  “I’ve found the donor, I’ll prepare her soon. Mother can perform the transplant. Then you’ll be better.”

  “It’s over. I won’t let you continue this,” the older man said. “If it is my time, then so be it.”

  His wife was shaking her head. “Let us do the transplant,” she whispered. “Then we’ll put him back on medication. He won’t go to trial.” She turned to her son. “You won’t,” she told him. “They’ll understand about your condition.”

  “No! I refuse to be locked up again.” Rage exploded as he flew toward his mother, arms flailing. She pushed him back, but he struck her, and she fell to the floor. His father tried to stand, but he was too weak, and collapsed into the chair with a moan.

  The killer stalked toward Violet again, this time wild-eyed and crazy.

  “No!” She summoned all her will and screamed. But once again, her cry floated into the silence.

  * * *

  AGENT NORTON HAD FOUND nothing. Grady was just about to give up when Longhorse motioned toward the woods. Grady squinted and spotted a dark object. A car. A Jeep parked beneath some underbrush. He gestured to Longhorse that he understood, then they slowly circled the building. The door was locked. Longhorse pointed to a window with a missing pane. It had been boarded up, but the board was loose.

  Grady withdrew his gun and motioned for Longhorse to wait.

  “I am a fighter,” Longhorse whispered. “You know that, my brother. I can help.”

  Grady hesitated. Joseph had proved himself fit in the brawls with the Barley boys. That, coupled with his size and agility, made him a worthy adversary.

  It would also make him a worthy partner.

  Grady nodded, then walked quietly through the brambles until they reached the space below the broken window. Grady yanked off the board, then climbed in, ignoring the glass that jabbed at his hands, wiping the blood on his jeans as he straightened. Longhorse followed, and they inched down a long dark hallway. The building smelled old and musty. The walls were faded, the offices and labs empty. But he spotted a faint light burning from a distant doorway.

  “No, Son, stop it. It’s too late!”

  Grady hesitated at the sound of a voice. He turned t
o Longhorse and gestured for him to be silent. They crept slowly along the corridor, Grady taking the right side, Longhorse the left. A few feet farther, Grady spotted a room that had been newly furnished with modern hospital equipment. It looked as if it had been prepared for surgery. What exactly did this lunatic have planned?

  His heart beating in a frenzy, Grady pressed himself against the wall, then slipped around the last corner. He quickly scanned the interior of the long room. Cold. Drab. Dark. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust. An elderly man was hunched over in a wheelchair. A gray-haired woman lay on the floor, groaning.

  Another man stood near two gurneys. Not Logan or Wheeler. Dr. Gardener.

  Jesus Christ. Gardener was the killer. Was Hadley’s son. And he wasn’t a doctor! How could Farmer not have known Gardener wasn’t for real?

  He’d been under their noses all the time. But everyone had accepted him because of Doc Farmer’s recommendation. He was charming. Likable. Nice looking.

  Someone a cop wouldn’t suspect for a minute.

  Someone a woman would trust. Until he injected her with drugs and killed her.

  But why hadn’t the federal agents turned up anything on him?

  Panic stabbed at Grady’s temples. His pulse clamored. He’d have to find that out later.

  A blond-haired woman lay on one gurney. Her eyes were closed. Was she already dead?

  Then he recognized Violet. Bile crowded his throat. He couldn’t breathe for a moment. She was strapped down. Lying so still. Not making a sound. But her eyes were open.

  His breath caught as he watched for movement. Her eyelids blinked.

  Thank God. She was alive.

  The killer moved closer. Hovered over her. His hands were encased in rubber gloves, a hypodermic clenched between his fingers.

  Longhorse moved into position. Grady gestured that he’d take the killer. The other man nodded, prepared for backup if the man in the wheelchair protested.

  They burst into the room together, Grady leaping toward Gardener. Gardener howled, but Grady pointed his gun in his face. “Move and I’ll kill you.”

  Blue eyes flared with fear; a childlike sound gurgled from his throat. Then a calmness washed over the man’s features. “No, you can’t. I am the chosen one. I must save my father.”

  “It’s too late, Son,” the old man said. Grady glanced sideways and saw Joseph standing over the old man and woman, daring them to move. “I tried to tell you. I gave myself a lethal injection.” The old man coughed. “I won’t let you take any more lives to save my own.”

  The woman began to cry, leaning against the old man’s wheelchair and hugging him.

  The scream that came from Gardener echoed off the walls, shrill and violent. Suddenly he jerked away, lunged at Violet, jammed the hypodermic needle into her arm. Grady vaulted forward, slammed the butt of his gun against Gardener’s temple. The man howled again, fighting. Grady flipped him over and dragged his arms into handcuffs. Seconds later, he had him secure.

  Then he ran to Violet.

  * * *

  VIOLET BLINKED to stem her tears, but they overflowed anyway. Then Grady was beside her, stroking her hair, wiping them away. His dark eyes flickered with emotions. Relief. Anger. Fear. Concern.

  “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered in a thick voice. “We’ll get you to a doctor. You’re going to be fine.”

  Violet moved her lips. “The other woman?”

  Grady glanced toward the gurney. Joseph stood over her, pressing two fingers to her throat. “She has a pulse. It’s weak but she’s alive,” he said.

  “Thank God,” Violet whispered.

  Grady nearly choked as he nodded, then he lowered his head and kissed her cheek.

  Threads of despair rose inside Violet as she realized his lips were moving, but she couldn’t feel them. Had Gardener given her too much of the drug?

  Would she be paralyzed permanently?

  * * *

  THE NEXT FEW HOURS were grueling. Grady phoned for a chopper to airlift Violet, and Lynnette and Hadley to the hospital. Agents Norton and Adams flew over to take Hadley’s son into custody. Apparently he’d assumed the name of one of his former doctors, which was why a red flag hadn’t popped up when they’d plugged in the name Gardener. Hadley’s wife was also arrested. The old man died on the way to the hospital.

  Longhorse drove Grady’s car back down the mountain, while Grady rode in the chopper with Violet. On the way, he explained their findings about the research work and Hadley, although he sensed she already knew some of it. He also relayed that their fathers and hers had kept silent to protect Grady and Violet. Doubts registered in her eyes there, and he couldn’t blame her. But he reached out, took her hand in his and hugged it to his chest to reassure her.

  In fact, he held her hand the entire way. Fear caught him in its clutches at the realization that she didn’t feel his touch. He read that same fear in her eyes.

  But Violet had been dealt some sharp blows over the past few weeks. She was tough. She had to survive.

  He couldn’t take it if she didn’t.

  His own selfish need wouldn’t allow him to leave the waiting room in the hospital while she was treated. All during the search, he’d kept remembering the feel of her legs entwined with his. The touch of her skin hot against his own body. The heat radiating between them as he’d plunged inside her.

  The tenderness she’d exuded when they’d made love.

  “Sheriff.” One of the nurses approached him. “You can go in and see her if you want. The doctor says she’s stabilized now.”

  “Does she have feeling in her legs and arms?”

  “Not yet. It may take time.” She offered him a hopeful smile. “She’ll probably sleep a lot over the next twenty-four hours. But that’s the body’s way of healing from trauma.”

  Physical and mental trauma. Violet had suffered both.

  He thanked the nurse, then headed into the hospital room to wait beside Violet. Whatever the outcome, when she woke up he’d be with her to face it.

  * * *

  VIOLET SLEPT FITFULLY, nightmares tormenting her. A killer was on the loose, murdering women. Her sisters. No, she didn’t have sisters. She was all alone. Except for her grandmother.

  But her grandmother was in the hospital. She had to wake up and see her. Tell her that her father wasn’t the killer.

  And Grady…what about Grady?

  She blinked and focused, seeing his handsome face come into view. He was slumped in the chair beside her, one hand resting on the sheet. She ached to reach over and touch him.

  Pinpricks of fear stabbed at her. She’d lost all feeling….

  More than anything, she wanted that numbness to dissipate. She wanted to feel the heat between them, the rough stubble of his beard as it glided over her belly. The hot molten lava flowing through her body as he came inside her.

  She shifted. Realized her toe had actually moved. A slight tingling jabbed at her nerve endings, as if her foot had fallen asleep. But slowly, inch by inch, the prickly sensations increased.

  She slid her hand a fraction of an inch. Then another. Emotions welled in her chest. The ache felt heavenly.

  Then her fingers reached Grady’s. He slowly opened his eyes. Began to smile as he felt her hand squeeze his.

  “Oh, thank God,” he whispered. “I was so afraid, Violet. When Darlene died, I felt so guilty. I couldn’t live if you weren’t okay.”

  Violet forced a smile. She wanted a declaration of love, not guilt. Then he bent his head, pressed his lips over hers. And she forgot everything as warmth spread through her.

  * * *

  THE NEXT DAY Grady left Violet visiting with Lynnette. The other woman was going to be okay, and so was her baby, although she would need counseling to recover from the trauma. She had thanked him and Violet for saving her life. Grady was relieved that Violet finally had someone else in the world, another family member, even though it was an awkward relationship.

  Meanwhile, he had
to follow up on the arrests. And he had to talk to his deputy.

  His father had been released, and Farmer had made a deal to testify about the past, so they could lock Hadley’s wife and son away for a long time. Apparently, Hadley’s son had been kept under strict lock and key and on medication since Darlene’s death. During his stay in the hospital, he’d developed a fixation on Native American customs and had read everything he could get his hands on about the culture.

  When Hadley grew ill, his son had stopped taking his medication. He’d resurfaced, intent on finding a donor to save his father. The mother had knowingly allowed him to hunt for the women, meaning she was just as responsible, maybe even more so. She was a doctor; she should have kept him confined.

  In the hospital, Violet revealed that Ross Wheeler had carried her to Hadley’s son. Grady had nearly come unglued. Logan had brought Wheeler in, the reverend on his heels. Grady had jumped on the deputy, demanding to know where he’d been, but Logan had claimed he’d had a hunch and had been checking out some isolated places in the mountains near where he lived. He’d been searching for Violet.

  At first, Wheeler had denied knowing the killer’s identity, but Grady had discovered the brake lines to Violet’s car had been cut. Wheeler finally admitted that he had cut them, hoping to silence Violet forever. He’d also confided that he and Hadley’s son had been lovers. Wheeler had also confessed to making the threatening calls and setting fire to the hospital, claiming he’d done so to protect his lover. He’d also been with Hadley when he’d kidnapped Kerry from her house.

  It had taken all of Grady’s self-restraint not to kill the man with his bare hands. In fact, his deputy had had to pull him off Wheeler, reminding him that he was a lawman.