Killing Secrets

by Docter, K. L

  He clambered onto the battered hood of the truck, reached through the missing windshield, and searched for a pulse on her exposed neck. He let out a ragged groan when he found a slow, steady, rhythm. Peering beyond Rachel into the back seat, he checked on Amanda. Like her mother, the little girl was covered with hail, glass, and blood. Unlike her mother, she was wide awake and staring back at him with big brown eyes. Then, like she’d only been waiting for him to appear and take over her watch, a tear ran down her cheek and her eyes fluttered closed.

  Croaking her name, Patrick scrambled through the gaping windshield over the dash into the cab. Kneeling on the bench seat, he leaned over it and called Amanda’s name again. When she didn’t respond, he cursed and took her pulse. Weak. Thready. His first impulse was to pull her from her car seat. He didn’t dare. She might have internal injuries. Both Amanda and Rachel had to get help…fast.

  Where was Cook? The thought had barely formed when he looked out the passenger window and saw a massive, dark form lying in the hail twenty feet away, unmoving.

  Kicking the passenger door open, Patrick jumped from the truck and ran toward the bodyguard, all the while dialing 911 on his cell. He reached Cook before he connected with the police dispatcher. “Cook,” he said, kneeling at the man’s side, “how bad are you hurt?”

  The man didn’t respond.

  Staring into his open eyes, Patrick could see that he was dead. But he checked his pulse anyway. When he didn’t find one, he pushed the man’s jacket aside so he could administer CPR. That’s when he saw the large piece of jagged metal imbedded in the middle of his chest, right through his heart. Cook was beyond anyone’s help.

  “Please state your emergency,” the police dispatcher connected forcing Patrick to pull himself together. After giving the woman the general location of the accident and telling her Cook was dead, he described Rachel’s and Amanda’s injuries.

  Leaving the phone line open, he jammed the cell phone in his jacket pocket and rushed back to his truck still idling in the middle of the road. Moving the vehicle closer to the scene, he turned off the engine and pushed the emergency flasher button so first responders could find the accident more easily. Grabbing all of his emergency gear, he ran back down into the ditch to triage Rachel and Amanda until paramedics arrived.

  When he reached the truck, he re-entered the cab through the open passenger door. Scraping as much hail and glass off Amanda as he dared, he draped a couple of warm blankets around her and her car seat. Her skin had developed a grayish pallor that terrified him. “Hang on, baby,” he whispered brokenly. With a gentle touch of his hand, he tucked a wisp of baby fine hair under the hood he’d created over her head with the blanket.

  Then, he slid across the front seat toward Rachel and leaned down to examine the way she was pinned beneath the buckled dash and steering wheel. He couldn’t see much of her legs below the dash, but he wouldn’t allow himself to think they might be as twisted as the wreckage of his truck. It was bad enough to see how hard the steering wheel cut into her thighs, holding her in place. It was going to be a bitch to extricate her even if, by some miracle, she didn’t have any broken bones he couldn’t see.

  He tucked the last two blankets around her the best he could before he pulled the cell phone from his pocket and updated the dispatcher. The ice melting into his jeans made him shiver. “We have to get them out of here,” he said to the woman. “Where’s that ambulance?”

  Rachel groaned and he dropped the phone on the seat without responding to the dispatcher’s assurances help was on its way. He placed his warm hand over Rachel’s cheek. Rach,” he called gently, then louder. “Rachel! Honey, can you hear me?”

  With another groan, she opened her eyes. They were glazed, unfocused, and he was never so glad to see anything in his life.

  “G-Greg?” she stammered.

  He frowned. The knot on Rachel’s forehead told him it was likely she had another concussion and was confused. “Patrick,” he said gently. “It’s Patrick, honey.”

  “No. Where is—” She shuddered. Her eyelids closed half way.

  For a moment, he was afraid she’d passed out again. But then, she rallied. “Greg,” she murmured. “Ran us…off road.”

  Bishop did this? He searched the immediate area but they were too low in the ditch for him to see far, and he couldn’t see the road at all from this position. He hadn’t seen another vehicle when he arrived. He was so fixed on locating Rachel and Amanda he might have missed it. He pulled the Glock he’d been carrying since the incident with the councilman from his shoulder holster. “I’ll be right back, Rach.”

  Her right hand clutched his arm. “No. ’Manda,” she said weakly. “D-Don’t let Gre….” Her eyelids fluttered closed. Her voice grew faint, her last words a whisper. “Save m’baby.” She lost consciousness again.

  Suddenly afraid he might lose her before help arrived, he kissed her cold cheek. “Don’t leave me, sweetheart,” he choked out. As he gazed at her, then at Amanda sitting in her car seat, both unmoving, too pale, his heart pinched. They were injured, maybe dying because of him. Not Greg. Him. He’d dared to get too close, to fall for the little girl and her mother, to try to help them. He’d failed them in every way that mattered. He hadn’t protected them from Greg at all.

  “That ends now,” he muttered. No matter how angry Rachel was with him, no matter how much she might want to leave Denver with Amanda, Patrick wouldn’t let them out of his sight again until he was certain they were safe. He wouldn’t fail them again, even if it meant getting closer, knowing he loved them both and would have to let them go when it was all over.

  Patrick jumped out of the truck into the mush of melting hail, and re-scanned the ditch in both directions. No one was in sight, but he did spot Cook’s gun sticking up in a clump of nearby weeds. He strode over to it and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Then, Patrick climbed the ditch wall to the road and waited for the emergency vehicles he could hear in the distance.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next forty minutes passed in a blur for Patrick. It took the firefighters and paramedics that long to pry Rachel’s unconscious form from the cab of the truck and get her to the hospital. They’d been quicker with Amanda’s removal. Five minutes after their arrival she was loaded in the ambulance and Patrick was faced with the worst decision of his life.

  A police officer tried to take his statement, though he was too distracted by what the emergency personnel were doing with the woman and child who’d become so important to him. He watched the medics load Amanda onto a gurney and cover her, so tiny and helpless on the gurney. “You coming?” one of the paramedics asked as his partner and a couple of firefighters prepared to carry Amanda up the ditch toward the awaiting ambulance. “You are the father, right?”

  Patrick’s air froze in his lungs when he realized he wanted to be. He looked over at Rachel’s slumped form not wanting to leave her, but then her voice whispered through his mind. “Save m’baby.” There wasn’t anything more he could do for Rachel here, and Amanda needed him.

  “I’m coming,” he told the paramedic. He looked at the police officer and handed over his keys. “My truck is in the middle of the road above us with the flashers on. Call my brother, Detective Jack Montgomery. Tell him to meet me at the hospital.”

  The officer straightened when he identified his brother. “Is this related to the Angel Killer case?”

  He began to shake his head, but hesitated. All he knew was what Rachel said before she passed out. Had she really seen her ex-husband or had Patrick’s saboteur taken another shot at her? “Just tell him this wasn’t an accident.”

  The officer nodded and the two of them walked out of the ditch together, splitting in opposite directions at the top.

  Once the ambulance arrived at the hospital, the medical team took over Amanda’s care. Refusing to leave her side, Patrick listened to the paramedics give their report on her vital statistics. He watched the nurses cut off her clothes. He signed a
form giving them permission to run tests. Once, Amanda woke up. Her eyes scanned the room until she saw him. She reached out a hand to him but the doctors and nurses surrounding her didn’t allow him to do more than smile encouragingly before her eyes closed again.

  It seemed to take forever before the doctor turned to give him a preliminary assessment of her injuries. “Your daughter’s car seat saved her from the worst of the flying debris that caused the cuts on her face and arms. There is one deep laceration on the top of her head where something clipped her. A few stitches should take care of it, but we’ll keep an eye on it in case there’s swelling.”

  “If it’s not that bad, why does she keep losing consciousness?” Patrick said, watching a nurse clean blood from a cut on Amanda’s forehead.

  “I don’t think she has a concussion,” the doctor replied, “but we’ll watch her. I’m more concerned about internal injuries. It looks like something solid smacked into her middle. There’s bruising over her spleen. There might be more we can’t see yet. When she regains consciousness again we can ask her what specifically hurts.

  “In the meantime, I’m sending her to Imaging for a CAT scan to get a clearer picture of what’s going on inside her head and abdomen. I want you to go with her. Stick close and, next time she wakes up, I want you to talk to her. Get her to tell you—”

  “She doesn’t talk,” Patrick interrupted, “so you won’t get anything from her.”

  “She’s what, four? She should be talking.”

  “Yes. She’s four, and she used to,” Patrick shook his head, “but she stopped about six months ago. PTSD.”

  The doctor scowled at him, like he was a bug he wanted to squash. “I was told this was a car accident, Mr. Thorne. If you or your wife has hurt this child, I have to report it.”

  Stung, Patrick reared back. “I wouldn’t hurt a hair on Amanda’s head! They were run off the road by someone who does want to hurt them though. You can get the details from my brother, Detective Jackson Montgomery, when he gets here.” He ran his hand through his hair. “As for why Amanda doesn’t talk, it has nothing to do with the accident. You can confirm that with Jack, too.”

  “I’m only trying to help your little girl,” he said writing something down on the chart in his hand. “I’m required by law to report incidents of child abuse.”

  Patrick nodded, and considered telling the man that he wasn’t Amanda’s real father…for about two seconds. He soothed his twinge of conscience over the omission by reminding himself he hadn’t actually said he was her father, and there was no one else to make sure she received the necessary care. “I understand. I want you to do everything in your power to help her, so we’re both on the same page.”

  The doctor searched his face, probably trying to determine whether he believed Patrick’s sincerity. He nodded and returned to his report. “If Amanda doesn’t talk, it’s going to be harder to determine her faculties when she wakes up again. It will help to have you nearby though. I don’t want her to wake up again surrounded by strangers.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Someone will be down in a minute or two to take Amanda to Imaging.” The man made another note on the medical chart in his hand and gave it to the hovering nurse. He put his hand on Patrick’s forearm, his voice serious. “Stay calm and steady. We don’t want to add to her trauma when she wakes up. She needs to see that her daddy isn’t worried.”

  “Should I be?” Patrick’s heart ached as if he really was her dad, and he was worried.

  The man gave him a reassuring smile. “Try to relax, Mr. Thorne. Amanda’s in good hands. I’ll know more when the test results come back. We’ll talk again then.”

  All Patrick could do was nod. He longed to do something, anything, to make Amanda better. He was out of his element here. He wished Rachel could make these decisions for her little girl. Biting back a curse, he glanced at the large clock on the wall. Had it only been thirty minutes since he left the woman he loved pinned behind the steering wheel of his truck?

  Where was that ambulance?

  His brother, Jack, pushed his way into the ER bay despite the protesting nurse. He flashed his badge in her direction. His gaze fixed on Patrick. “What happened?”

  “He tried to kill them,” Patrick said grimly. “Bishop, the Angel Killer, I don’t know, someone ran their truck off the road. Cook’s dead. The first responders were using the ‘jaws of life’ to get Rachel out but she’s still not here. And Amanda is…is—” He had to stop speaking because he could see her lying there, unconscious, and the sick knot in his gut tightened. “I didn’t protect them, Jack. I’ve killed them,” he whispered. “Just like Karly.”

  “You didn’t kill anyone.” His brother placed both hands on his shoulders and squeezed hard enough to make him wince. “Someone did this and we’ll get him, you hear me? But you’ve got to get a grip on your emotions. You’re no good to Rachel and Amanda if you lose it.”

  Patrick took in a shaky breath. Blew it out. The second one was stronger, more settled. By the third, his head was clearer and the orderly arrived to take Amanda upstairs for her tests. Following the gurney with his brother, he succinctly told Jack everything he knew about the accident and the events leading up to it. He told him about his argument with Rachel, the reason for it, although he did skim over the part about kissing her.

  Jack was scowling by the time he finished. “None of this makes sense. Jane’s blackmailer points these attacks in one direction. Your saboteur another. The Angel Killer yet another. Add in Rachel’s ex-husband and we’ve got a freakin’ mess.” He pinned Patrick under his fierce gaze. “Rachel saw Bishop?”

  “She said he ran them off the road. I don’t know if she actually saw him or assumed it was him. With Cook dead and unable to confirm anything, there’s no way to be certain.” Patrick shook his head. “Despite everything, my gut says it wasn’t Bishop. He wants Rachel and Amanda back. They’re no good to him dead. They’re the key to the money and—”

  “What money?”

  Damn. Rachel hadn’t wanted him to bring up the inheritance or Amanda’s parentage, but he realized the information was the reason he didn’t believe this attack came from Rachel’s ex-husband. Watching the technicians run the Amanda through their imaging, he told his brother everything Rachel shared with him the night they’d made love.

  “What a cluster.” Jack heaved a sigh. “Rachel is right about one thing. If Bishop went to the courts and demanded his daughter back, I’m not sure what we could do to legally stop him. Child custody suits can be a bitch under normal circumstances. Add in a mother not biologically tied to the child, and the outcome can be iffy.”

  He paced the corridor as he processed his thoughts. “Bishop’s wanted for questioning in California for attacking the doctor and blowing up his fertility clinic. But, technically, that doesn’t make him a criminal in the eyes of the court unless he’s formally charged and found guilty.

  “Like you, I can’t see him killing the golden goose. He gets the kid, he holds the cards.” He paused in front of Patrick. “There’s still something’s missing in this equation. What else does he want?”

  “Rachel.”

  “I get that. She’s the one holding the money.” Jack shook his head. “No. I’m thinking about the day Bishop trashed her bedroom at the folk’s house. He got mean and vicious when he started ripping things up and there was no doubt the message on the mirror was a threat, but I got the distinct feeling from the photos the responding officers took of the scene that he was searching for something. Something he didn’t find, and that set off his destructive rampage.”

  “If he wants something else, I have no idea what it might be.” The medical technician waved to let him know they were finishing up the tests. Patrick could see Amanda’s eyes were still closed so he turned back to his brother. “The point is I’m not certain Rachel actually saw Bishop in the truck that hit her, which leads us back to who was driving the other truck.

  “We have to figur
e out who I’ve pissed off, Jack. This saboteur has been taking potshots at my business for months, but the last two times he’s targeted Rachel. He pushed her into an elevator shaft. Now this? Who hates me enough to kill the people I care about?”

  His head tilted, Jack studied him. “I know we’ve been through everything over and over, but we need to tear your personal and business lives apart again. If your saboteur and the Angel Killer are the same person, and he’s gunning for Rachel to get at you, there has to be a connection we’re missing. There are a couple of leads the task force is following up on so I’ll goose them and see what comes back.”

  “What leads?”

  “I don’t want to speculate until we’ve got something solid.” He pinned Patrick under his gaze. “I want you to close down all of your projects and stay away from work for a few days.”

  One look at his brother’s face, and Patrick didn’t question the necessity. “Done.”

  Jack nodded his approval. “It’s time to circle the wagons. I’m ordering a police detail on Rachel and Amanda here at the hospital. I can get someone here in less than an hour. No one goes in or out without clearance from me. That means you, me, Mom, Dad and the medical staff. Another officer will be with you and the folks when you’re not here.”

  “I’m not leaving the hospital until Rachel and Amanda are released,” Patrick said.

  “I’ll rest easier knowing where to find you.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” Patrick straightened as the orderly wheeled Amanda out of the Imaging room. He smiled down at the little girl, who was awake and staring back at him. “Hi, baby,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.”