Under His Skin

by Rita Herron

  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.

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  Chapter Six

  Time stalled for Parker as he hobbled to the ER. He had to see for himself that she was all right.

  He spotted several security guards checking the halls and staircases. But there were so many places to hide….

  His leg stiffened as he stopped at the nurses’ desk, but he ignored the throbbing pain. “Which room is Grace Gardener in?”

  The gray-haired woman pursed her lips. “You’re a patient?”

  “Yes, but I’m also a police detective. Parker Kilpatrick.” He straightened to his full six-two, wishing he was in street clothes, not his T-shirt and sweatpants. “I heard there was an incident.”

  “Yes, poor thing is in Exam Room Three. Dr. Stoddard and Dr. Whitehead are examining her now.”

  “Which way?”

  Her face flashed with confusion. “You should go back to your room. I’m sure an officer is on his way.”

  “I’m here,” he said brusquely. “And I’m going to see Grace.”

  Her eyes narrowed at his commanding tone, but she rose, guided him through a corridor and knocked on the door, then stuck her head in. “Dr. Whitehead, Dr. Stoddard, there’s a police detective here.”

  “Send him in,” Dr. Whitehead said.

  The nurse stepped aside and Parker shuffled in, his heartbeat racing when he spotted Grace on the exam table.

  Scrapes and abrasions marred her knees and hands, and a bruise colored her forehead. He balled his hands into fists as he zeroed in on the outline of the man’s fingers forming on her neck.

  He clenched his jaw in a futile attempt to tame his temper. “Grace, are you all right?”

  Her eyes looked luminous with tears and fear strained her features, but she nodded.

  Dr. Whitehead stood way too close, one hand on Grace’s shoulder as if he’d been soothing her. For some reason, the sight of the man beside Grace irritated Parker more.

  The doctor’s lips thinned. “Detective Kilpatrick, I called the police to report the incident, but I wasn’t expecting you. You’re a patient.”

  Parker cleared his throat. “The department will send someone over. Now tell me what happened.”

  The young resident stood where he’d been putting antiseptic on Grace’s knee and aimed a smile at Parker. “She’s going to be fine. Minor cuts and abrasions.”

  Parker didn’t return the smile. “Except that someone obviously tried to strangle her.”

  Grace’s chin quivered and she twisted her fingers together and stared at them. Two of her nails were broken, meaning she must have torn them during the attack.

  “You scratched your attacker?”

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  “Good.” Parker leveled his tone, knowing he’d sounded brusque and unfeeling. But he had a job to do, and it was taking all his restraint not to move forward and touch Grace, to hold her and make sure she was okay, for himself.

  “We’ll take samples,” he said, “and we’ll need to try to see if we can lift a print from your neck. It’s hard to get one from skin but we might get a partial.”

  She nodded silently, and another knock sounded at the door.<
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  “This is Grand Central Station,” Dr. Whitehead snarled as he opened the door and a uniformed officer from the S.P.D. entered and introduced himself. Parker recognized him, a twenty-something recruit named Owens who was still green around the collar.

  “Someone called in an assault?” Owens asked.

  Parker filled him in. “Yes. Miss Gardener was accosted. We need to try to get fingerprints, and scrape beneath her nails.”

  Dr. Whitehead stroked Grace’s back. “Grace, I have a surgery scheduled. If you’re all right—”

  “I’m fine, please go back to work, Doctor.”

  Parker gritted his teeth. He didn’t like the man touching her.

  Dr. Whitehead gave him an odd look, then excused himself. Officer Owens came back in with a kit and began to take samples from beneath Grace’s fingernails.

  Parker took the lead in questioning her. “Grace, can you tell us exactly what happened?”

  She nodded again, but her voice wobbled when she spoke. “I was going down the stairs—”

  He cut in. “Why did you choose the stairs, and not the elevator?”

  She bit down on her lower lip. “It was storming and the lights flicked off once, so I was nervous about getting in the elevator. I…I’m claustrophobic.”

  He swallowed hard. Probably from being trapped in that trunk when she was little. “Go on.”

  “Anyway, when I was inside, the lights went off again, and I tried to feel my way down, then I heard footsteps…” Her voice broke, and she inhaled shakily. “Then someone pushed me from behind. I tried to fight him but lost my balance and tumbled down to the landing.”

  He wanted to kill the guy and put his arms around her at the same time, but he forced himself to remain in place.

  Her eyes teared up, but she wiped them away with a scraped hand. “Then he came at me on the landing…that’s when he tried to strangle me.”

  He fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her. “Did you see him? Can you tell me anything about him?”

  “No. It was so dark I couldn’t see.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  She shook her head. “No, I just heard him breathing. And he smelled like sweat…”

  He sighed. Not much to go on. But if she’d gotten some skin beneath her fingernails, they might get some DNA.

  GRACE HATED all the attention.

  Flashbacks of her childhood, of police, reporters, concerned neighbors and friends of her family coming to call, rose to taunt her. She’d tried to be tough back then, but for years afterward she’d been self-conscious. Had felt as if she’d been placed under a microscope like a bug and dissected by professionals for the world to see.

  Everyone had wanted to know about the little girl who’d witnessed her parents’ brutal murder.

  What had she seen? Would she remember more details as she grew older? Was she stable?

  Would the killer come after her?

  The hushed whispers taunted her. She appeared to be all right. Was a strong little girl. Would she have a breakdown sometime later in life? Sometimes children who’d experienced severe trauma turned out to be psychotic. Suicidal. Unable to cope. Suffered from depression. Alcoholism.

  Even multiple personality disorder.

  The fringes of depression had plucked at her at times, the nightmares tormenting her.

  But she’d always fought her way back. She would now, too. She wouldn’t let this incident, this attack, shake the foundation she’d so carefully carved for herself.

  She met Parker’s gaze. He was watching her with the strangest look in his eyes. Almost like Bruno had when he’d launched into brotherly, protective, male-macho mode.

  Except Parker’s look didn’t appear brotherly. For a moment when he’d first come in and their eyes had locked, she’d felt a bolt of something sexual. An awareness on a level that she hadn’t felt for a man in a long time.

  Maybe ever.

  Dr. Whitehead had also been concerned but she’d shrunk from his touch. Hadn’t felt comforted but uncomfortable.

  But with Parker…

  Good grief. What in the world was happening to her? She was fantasizing about an attraction with the detective when she was bruised and harried-looking, trembling from fear and torn between screaming her outrage at the man who’d shoved her down the stairs and running into Parker’s big, safe arms.

  He would think she was crazy if she threw herself at him.

  The officer from the police department finished taking notes on her statement just as a security guard appeared. “Stanley Mervin,” the guard said in introduction. “We didn’t find anyone in the staircase.”

  “You have cameras in the stairwells?” Parker asked.

  The guard shifted and looked down at his scuffed-up shoes. “No. I guess we should install them.”

  A moment of guilt tugged at Grace. Parker shouldn’t be dealing with her problems when he was recovering from surgery.

  “Parker, I’m fine. Why don’t you go back and rest? I’m sure this officer can handle things now.”

  “Grace. I can do my job.” He shot her a cold look.

  Like her father and brother, Parker thrived on the job. Obviously she’d insulted him by pointing out his physical weakness. She wanted to apologize but emphasizing her role as his nurse might make matters worse. Especially in front of the other cop.

  “We’ll review the tapes of the halls and corridors for someone suspicious exiting the stairwells,” the security guard offered.

  “Yes, do that,” Parker growled. “I want to see them, too.”

  “I’ll go set it up.” The guard left with a clipped nod, and she and Parker were alone.

  His heavy sigh rattled between them. “Damn it, Grace, are you really okay?”

  She nodded, moisture burning her eyelids at the concern in his voice.

  He leaned closer, within an inch of her face. She closed her eyes, ached for him to hold her, to kiss her, but his fingers traced a line over the bruises on her neck.

  “Do you have any idea who the guy was?”

  She shook her head no and opened her eyes to see him staring at her. He was so near she could see the fine bristles of his beard stubble where he needed to shave. She inhaled the hospital soap on his skin, felt his breath on her face.

  She must be desperate and delusional, but she wanted him to kiss her.

  “Let’s review the time line of events before the attack,” he said, oblivious to her thoughts. “What were you doing?”

  A knot twisted her stomach. “You mean, after I saw you?”

  His eyes darkened as if he suddenly remembered their conversation over coffee. The fact that she’d been asking about the tissue transplants, talking about her brother.

  “Grace?”

  She studied her broken nails. Inanely thought how much she needed a manicure. How she liked to keep lotion on her hands to make them soft so when she tended to the patients her skin wasn’t abrasive.

  On the heels of those thoughts, helplessness set in. “Grace?”

  She sucked in a breath. “I was on my way to the records department to look at Bruno’s autopsy report.”

  A long silence fell between them, fraught with tension. “Did you tell anyone what you were going to do?”

  She shook her head.

  But what if someone had overheard their conversation? What if someone hadn’t wanted her to see Bruno’s autopsy report?

  PARKER HATED putting the fear back in Grace’s eyes, but she couldn’t snoop around on her own. For God’s sake, she’d almost been killed.

  And as much as he wanted to protect her, he wasn’t exactly in top shape.

  “Grace, I want to look at those security tapes. Are you going to stay here?”

  She glanced around the small exam room. “No, I’ll go with you. If there’s something on the tape, I want to see it.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” he agreed. “You can identify staff members and point out if someone looks out of place.”
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  Because whoever had attacked her could easily have been a staff member or worn a disguise. He could have dressed like one of the cleaning staff, a cook, a doctor or other medical personnel and slipped through the halls without even being noticed.

  What if her attacker was someone she knew?

  “DAMN IT, the bitch got away.”

  “You fool, why did you attack her in the hospital?”

  His voice echoed low and menacing. “Because she’s asking too many questions.”

  He twisted the phone cord in his hand, contemplating how to handle the situation. So far, he’d covered his tracks. And now with the corpses cropping up all over town…“Relax. She doesn’t know anything.”

  “She’s friendly with that cop.” His breathing sounded choppy in the strained silence. “I heard them talking about her brother’s death. She sounded suspicious.”

  “That doesn’t mean she’ll find any answers. They can’t link Bruno’s death to us.” He wheezed a breath. “Think about it—another dead body would only make the cops take another look at his case.”

  “They never give up on cop killers,” he growled.

  He was right. Maybe the attack today had scared Grace off nosing around, though. But if she did keep digging and linked Bruno’s death to him, then he’d make sure she ended up six feet under, just like Bruno.

  Chapter Seven

  Parker itched to put his arm around Grace and support her as they left the ER, but he was walking a fine line—technically, Officer Owens was in charge, but the young cop screamed rookie, and he might miss something.

  Grace’s safety was too important for Parker to rely on anyone but himself.

  The security guard led them to an office that housed monitors for all the security cameras throughout the building. The guard watching the monitors, a sixty-year-old gray-haired man with bifocals and a nasally voice that hinted at sleep apnea, introduced himself as Leon Banks.

  “I’m Detective Kilpatrick and this is Officer Owens,” Parker said. “This is Grace Gardener, the woman who was accosted in the stairwell earlier.”