Читать книгу Under His Skin - Rita Herron - Страница 9

Grace’s questions about the tissue transplants aroused Parker’s curiosity. Although Bradford had informed him about the Coastal Island Research Park and some unethical projects that had taken place, stealing dead bodies to remove tissues seemed far-fetched. Captain Black and Detective Clayton Fox had investigated the center for over a year. Fox had gotten too close to one case and they’d performed a memory transplant on him. For months he’d actually believed he was a guy named Cole.

Police had also exposed another experiment where children had been trained and brainwashed to be spies. A twin identity experiment had taken one of the participant’s lives, and a few months back, someone had poisoned unsuspecting people with a chemical that caused depression, delusions, agoraphobia, and eventually lead to suicide. Bradford’s wife and brother had also been subjects of a study on paranormal abilities.

Then again, the painted corpses definitely read like teenage pranks.

But worry nagged at him. He didn’t like the fact that the paper had printed Grace’s name as a possible witness to a crime. Or that they’d revealed that she was pushing the police to find her brother’s killer.

Besides, a cop would most likely eat his gun versus a bullet to his temple.

He had to know more about Bruno’s cases.

The bullet to the head fit the MO of a professional hit. Or had the killer meant to make it look that way?

Grace’s conviction that her brother had been murdered drove him to pick up the file Bradford had dropped off earlier. He flipped it open and began trying to decipher the man’s handwriting to review his past cases. Someone Bruno had arrested might have harbored a vendetta against him.

Parker jotted down the names of three convicted felons Bruno had arrested the previous year for burglary, a handful of others for petty crimes, a gang who’d robbed a bank, a woman who’d poisoned her husband with antifreeze, and a husband who’d killed his wife and kids with a gas leak.

Parker would check each of their whereabouts to see if one of them or a family member had threatened retribution after their arrest or incarceration.

According to Bruno’s notes, the brother of the man convicted of killing his own family had insisted the man was innocent and had gotten violent after the sentencing.

Parker booted up his computer, accessed the police database, and discovered the man still lived in Savannah, and that he had been arrested for carrying a concealed weapon. A .38.

The same type of gun that had killed Bruno.

Surely Captain Black had investigated the man.

He phoned Bradford and asked. “Yeah, we questioned him,” Bradford told him. “But he had an alibi for the night Bruno died. Why are you so interested?”

Good question. “His sister’s my nurse,” he admitted. “She asked me for help.”

“The sister?”

“Yeah. I know she’s talked to the captain, that she insists her brother didn’t kill himself.”

A long tense second stretched between them. “We all want the truth,” Bradford finally said. “But I’m not sure we can trust everything Grace Gardener says.”

Parker chewed the inside of his cheek. “Why not? She seems intelligent, sincere.”

“You don’t know about her past?”

“No.” But his partner’s tone jump-started his suspicions.

“Grace Gardener’s father was a cop. At age seven, she saw her parents gunned down in front of her very eyes.”

Oh, hell. “What about Bruno?”

“He was five, spending the night at a friend’s house for a birthday party. Grace went into shock and had to undergo counseling.”

“What are you saying? That Bruno’s sister is not stable?”

Another pregnant pause. “That she might be in denial. A trauma like that affected both of them. I heard Bruno say that he felt guilty for not being home during the murder.”

And that guilt could have driven the man to suicide.

“Did they find the parents’ killer?”

“No,” Bradford said. “But Bruno insisted he would.”

“Maybe he did,” Parker said. “And the killer murdered Bruno to silence him.”

And if he did, and Grace kept nosing around, the guy might come after her, too.

GRACE TRIED DESPERATELY to regain control, but lost it as she tumbled down the cement steps. She screamed, throwing out her hands, her knees slicing painfully into the sharp concrete edge, but the dark inside of the stairwell blinded her and she couldn’t see the rail. Whoever had pushed her had hit her with such force that she pitched headfirst, unable to stop until she reached the next landing, slamming into the wall.

She panted for a breath, her body trembling with shock as her muscles protested the awkward position, but she fought to rise to her knees.

She had to get up, run, escape…

But suddenly her attacker gripped her by the throat from behind. She tried to scream for help, but his fingers bit into her neck, cutting off her voice. Gasping, and struggling to pry his fingers away, she tried to remember the self-defense moves Bruno had shown her.

Lashing out, she brought one elbow up and slammed it backward into his chest, at the same time clawing at his hands. He grunted and momentarily loosened his hold. She swung backward again with her other elbow and knocked him down.

Her pulse racing, she pushed to her hands and knees, but a sharp pain splintered her ankle as she attempted to put weight on it and she nearly collapsed. Sheer determination drove her upward, though. He grunted and reached for her, but she lunged forward and stumbled down another step, pawing at the wall to guide her in the dark. The stench of stale air and sweat assailed her, making her break into a sprint. Another step. Another. She had to reach the next landing, make it into the hall…

Behind her, footsteps thudded ominously, making her chest pound with fear. Her ankle throbbed, and she hit the step edge and nearly fell, but managed to connect with the railing. Footsteps grew closer, and self-preservation took hold. She shoved the hair from her face and felt along the wall, heart racing as she stumbled to the door. Frantic, she pushed it open and fell into the corridor, tasting blood as she cried out for help.

The lights suddenly flickered on. She squinted, disoriented for a second as her eyes adjusted to the light. The hall was empty, and she jumped up and barreled around the corner. When she spotted the nurses’ station, she dived toward it.

“Help me!”

Doris, one of the head nurses on the second floor, jerked her head up. “Grace?”

She staggered toward the desk. “Someone attacked me in the stairwell. Call security!”

Doris’s eyes widened in shock, but she immediately catapulted into motion and punched the security alarm. Grace leaned against the desk, trembling and trying to steady her breathing.

Doris raced around the edge of the station. “My God, Grace, are you all right?”

She nodded and wiped blood from her lip with the back of her hand.

Doris slid an arm around Grace’s waist. “Come on, honey, you need to sit down. I’ll get a doctor.”

Grace nodded, and Doris helped her to a chair behind the desk, then called one of the ER physicians.

A security guard rushed up. “What’s going on?”

Doris gestured toward Grace. “Someone attacked Grace in the stairwell.”

“He pushed me down the steps,” Grace said.

The guard flipped on his radio and reported the attack. “Secure and check all stairwells.” He turned to Grace. “Did you get a look at your attacker?”

She shook her head no. “The lights went out and it was so dark I couldn’t see anything.”

The guard gave a clipped nod, then turned and moved to the stairwell. He removed his gun and inched inside, then disappeared down the steps.

The next few minutes passed in a blur for Grace as Dr. Stoddard, one of the residents in ER, escorted her to an exam room. He examined her, took her vitals and cleaned her knees and hands.

Dr. Whitehead strode in, looking worried and agitated. “Good God, Grace. I just heard. What happened?”

She was still shaking, and hated the quiver to her voice but couldn’t control it as she relayed the details of the attack.

Who would hurt her? And why would someone try to kill her? Because she’d been asking questions about the tissue transplants? Because she’d been pushing the cops to investigate Bruno’s death?

Or because she’d possibly seen a murderer in the graveyard the night before?

PARKER WANTED TO TALK to Grace. Find out more about her parents’ murder.

But would she want to discuss it with him? Had Bruno discovered some new evidence that had gotten him killed?

He accessed the police department files and skimmed the details of that crime. Mr. and Mrs. Jim Gardener had been murdered in their home one night around midnight. Their seven-year-old daughter had witnessed the brutal shooting.

The crime photos depicted the bloody gore in vivid clarity. Blood and brain matter had splattered all over their bodies, the sofa and walls.

Grace had seen it all….

His stomach knotted, but he read on.

According to the papers, after the attack, she’d been terrified the killer would find her so she’d hidden in the attic inside a trunk filled with old clothing. She’d stayed there for hours, until morning, terrified and shivering. She’d fallen asleep, had awakened certain she’d had a terrible nightmare. But when she’d tiptoed down the stairs and looked into the den, her parents had been lying in a pool of blood and she started screaming….

He imagined Grace as a small child, innocent, sweet, trusting—her world shattered by the vicious slaying of her parents. How did a child survive an ordeal like that and be normal? How had she grown into such a caring person, nursing and taking care of others, when she’d lost so much to violence at such a young age?

He zoned in on the facts of the crime.

The Gardeners had been shot at close range in the head by a .38 automatic—the same type of gun that had killed their son. The similarity raised a red flag. Coincidence or not?

He didn’t like coincidences.

Unless Bruno’s killer wanted the cops to think that the same person was responsible, to throw them off track.

He fished through all the information he could find on the arrest in the Gardener case and realized that the police had never found any substantial leads….

No wonder Grace didn’t want the same thing to happen to her brother.

Had he been murdered, instead of taking his own life?

A commotion in the hall made him jerk his head up, and he put his computer aside, climbed from bed, then walked to the doorway. When he opened it, he saw two security guards rushing down the hall. Several nurses hovered in the central nurses’ station visible from his door.

What in the hell was going on?

A bad premonition twisted his insides and he hobbled to the knot of nurses, their hushed whispers and agitated expressions alarming him more. He searched the faces for Grace, but didn’t see her.

One of the RNs noticed him and frowned, her thick eyebrows pinching together. “Mr. Kilpatrick, all the patients need to stay in their rooms right now.”

He straightened. “What’s going on?”

“One of our nurses was attacked, and the security guards are searching the building.” She took his arm. “Please, they asked us to keep all patients out of the hallways until they’ve swept the facility.”

His heart pounded but he didn’t budge. “Who was attacked?”

She shot the other nurses a frantic look as if to call in reinforcements. “Grace Gardener.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Is she all right?”

A young nurse’s assistant closed the distance between them. “They took her to the ER. Someone tried to choke her.”

Parker’s blood ran cold. He headed to the elevator but the RN grabbed his arm. “Please, Mr. Kilpatrick—”

“Detective,” he barked as he glared down at her. “And you’re not going to stop me, miss. I’m going to see Grace right now, so step aside. This is a police investigation.”

She bristled, her shocked look turning to anger at his tactics. But he didn’t give a damn. He had to make sure Grace was all right.

Then he’d find out who in hell had assaulted her and shove his fist down the bastard’s throat.