by Rita Herron
Parker thanked him, then hung up. If the bullets had come from the same gun that had killed Bruno, then they could prove that Grace’s brother hadn’t committed suicide, as Grace suspected, but that he had been murdered.
THE AIR VIBRATED with tension as Grace sliced vegetables for a salad. Not that she was hungry at all, but she needed something to do while Parker conferred with his partner. Ten minutes later two officers arrived, and she and Parker took them down to the beach to show them where to search for the bullet casings from the shooter.
Parker kept her close to his side, his gaze guarded, constantly checking the dunes and trees in case the shooter still lurked nearby.
“He may have been hiding behind the dock over there.” Parker pointed to the neighboring property. “Look for footprints, trace evidence, anything you can find. The house appears to be deserted, but someone could have broken in and been staying there.”
The officers nodded, then one began combing the beach while the other traced his way over to the neighboring dock. Parker clutched his hand around her arm and coaxed her back up the path and inside the house. As they entered, he ordered her to stay in the kitchen while he swept the cottage again to make certain the shooter hadn’t slipped into the house while they’d walked down to the beach.
Nerves tightened her stomach. She still couldn’t believe that someone wanted her dead.
Parker’s boots pounded the floor as he strode back to her. His expression looked grim, his jaw set so tightly, she could see a vein in his neck throb. And the scar on his forehead had reddened with anger.
“Parker—” She reached for him, wanted him to hold her again, but he threw up a hand, warding her off.
“What happened earlier was a mistake,” he said through gritted teeth. He met her gaze head-on with a hard, cold look in his eyes. “It can’t happen again, Grace.”
Hurt splintered through her. She didn’t understand. She thought he’d wanted her just as much as she’d wanted him. Had she misread the signs?
Any man might take an offer if a woman threw herself at him.
No, she didn’t believe that. He was the most noble, honorable man she’d ever met. Although he had been hospitalized for a long time, had been without female company…“Parker—”
“I mean it, Grace. I’m here as a bodyguard and nothing else.”
“That’s not what it felt like earlier,” she snapped.
“Yeah, and look what happened. I almost got you killed.”
Emotions thickened his voice, making her wonder if he did care. But she refused to beg a man to love her.
Arguing with him seemed futile. He’d made his decision, and one thing she’d learned about Parker over the past few months of his therapy, that when he made up his mind about something, no one in hell could change it.
“Fine,” she said sharply. “I’ll try not to throw myself at you again.”
PARKER KNOTTED his hands into fists to keep from reaching for Grace as she strode into the kitchen. He hated to hurt her, but he had to stay focused. Losing his objectivity meant endangering her, and that wasn’t a chance he could take again.
No matter how difficult it was to keep his hands off of her.
While she finished preparing dinner, he accessed the files on her parents’ case, then searched for information on the IA investigation. But as Frank had said, nothing incriminating had turned up—or at least nothing that was noted in the files.
He spent the next hour researching the cops who’d worked with Frank and Grace’s father. One of the guys, Roger Buckingham, had died of a heart attack three years earlier, and Earl McKendrick was in a nursing home suffering from Huntington’s. The last, Phil Macey, had committed suicide.
Working on a hunch, he decided to check out each of the men’s financial records. Bart Yager, the retired cop, had settled down in Columbus in a meager house. There were no signs indicating he had benefited financially, which Parker would have expected if he’d been on the take.
Knowing Grace wouldn’t like it but that he had to do it anyway, he checked Frank’s resources. The man’s daughter had been born with serious physical and mental handicaps, required around-the-clock care and constant medical attention. Frank had insurance but had also suffered a tremendous financial strain over the years, having filed bankruptcy the year before the Gardeners’ murder.
So how had he managed to survive and pay the medical bills afterward?
Could Grace be wrong about the man? If he’d been desperate to care for his ill daughter, then maybe he had resorted to taking a bribe or two. Once he had, there would have been no turning back.
If his partner had threatened to expose him, Frank would have gone to jail, then who would have taken care of his daughter? Like any father, he would have wanted to protect her.
But would he have had his own partner killed in order to remain free so he could care for her?
Chapter Fifteen
Grace felt the stilted silence encompassing the room like a thick fog. She wished she and Parker could resort to the easy conversation between them before that heated kiss on the beach.
Heck, she wanted to resume that heated kiss on the beach.
But Parker ate in silence, the troubled look in his eyes warning her that he didn’t want to talk. She finished her pasta and carried her plate to the sink, taking a sip of tea to soothe her frayed nerves.
But as he brought his plate to the counter beside her, she gripped the counter edge. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea, you staying here.”
“I told you I’m not going anywhere until we catch this guy.” He set his plate down. “Then I’ll leave and you won’t have to deal with me anymore.”
That was the trouble. As much as she’d vowed not to get involved with a cop, she had fallen for him.
“Thank you for dinner,” he said in a gruff voice.
She angled her head to look at him, thinking ridiculous thoughts—like that she’d enjoy cooking for him every night.
A knock sounded at the door, startling her, and jerking her back to reality. She had to stop torturing herself and fantasizing about a man who would never commit to her.
PARKER JERKED HIS GAZE away from her, then let in the team of officers who’d been searching the beach. “Did you find anything?” he asked.
“We got a partial of a shoe print near that dock,” one of the officers said. “I’ve made a cast of it so we can check for size, shoe treads.”
“We also found one bullet casing lodged in a tree, and another in the sand,” the second officer said. “Looks like they belong to a .38.”
Like the one used to shoot Bruno and his father. “Good. Any prints on the dock?”
“A couple. We’ll see if we can trace them.”
He doubted the prints helped, but maybe they’d get lucky. If Juan Carlos had been the shooter, he would have been smart enough to wear gloves. Still, it was worth a shot. “Get it all to forensics, and the bullet to ballistics. If we find Juan Carlos, maybe we’ll get a match and we can nail him.”
“There’s something else,” the officer said. “There are signs of breaking and entering next door, so you may have been right. The shooter might have been staying next door.”
“Watching Grace,” Parker said in a growl.
The officers agreed, then left, and he turned to Grace.
“Pack a bag. We’re going to my place.”
She frowned. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. For a second before that knock, she’d been getting under his skin again. All during dinner, he’d fought reaching for her hand, kissing her fingertips and telling her how much he liked simply dining with her. How much he liked being in her cozy house, working while she prepared a meal, how he’d like to cook for her sometime, and spend the night.
But not on the couch as he’d do tonight. In her bed.
Knowing the only way to control himself was to keep his distance, he returned to his computer while Grace cleaned up the dishes. “I’m going to shower first
, then I’ll get my things together.”
He nodded, and continued to work so he wouldn’t ask her to let him join her.
Yet as the shower water kicked on, he groaned. Closing his eyes, he pictured Grace, beautiful angelic Grace with her flowing long blond hair, naked with water sluicing over her body. He saw the soap bubbles beading on her translucent skin, the water trickling down between her breasts, her nipples rosy and begging for attention, her head thrown back in sublimation.
Frustrated, he stood and paced to the sliding-glass doors. Looked out into the darkness to remind himself that danger lurked outside, that at any moment the killer might return to try to take Grace’s life again.
He had to concentrate, focus, and be ready. So when the man came again, he could catch him this time.
And if he laid one hand on Grace, Parker would kill him.
GRACE’S EYES SKIMMED the bare contents of Parker’s cabin, noting that he had no personal photos or items that revealed anything about his family. Just books on crime, a boating magazine, furniture that looked masculine and worn.
He insisted she take his bed, and she almost asked him to sleep with her, but held her tongue. She couldn’t throw herself at the man. Besides, since the shooting on the beach, he’d been distant, professional, detached.
As she crawled into bed, she inhaled the scent of his body on the pillowcase and her stomach tightened with need.
Knowing that Parker lay in the other room just a few feet away and that she couldn’t go to him or touch him drove Grace crazy all night. She finally fell asleep sometime in the early morning hours, only to dream about a killer chasing her down the beach. Then she stumbled over Bruno’s body and fell at her parents’ dead feet….
She jerked awake, trembling and wondering when the nightmares would end.
Her body ached from fatigue and the abuse it had taken during the car crash. By the time she’d showered and dressed and made it to the kitchen, Parker was freshly shaven and dressed in a blue denim shirt and jeans. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted toward her, and she rummaged through his cabinet, found a cup and poured herself some. Parker had opened the patio doors and was standing outside, a mug in his hand as he stared down the path at the ocean. A hazy cloud cover cast the sky in an ominous gray, and the fall breeze rolling off the ocean made the palm trees sway.
She stepped onto the patio, cradling her coffee between her hands to warm them as a chill cascaded up her spine. “Did you get any sleep?”
He didn’t bother to turn around, just kept his broad shoulders stiff, as if to shut her out.
“Some. And you?”
“Some,” she said quietly. “So what do we do today?”
It was a loaded question. She wanted to know where they went from here. Wanted him to say that they’d hide out all day, make love and forget the rest of the world existed while they explored each other’s body, mind and soul.
He pivoted with a sigh. “I talked to my partner. They tracked down the lab where the hospital obtained the contaminated tissue. Bradford is going to question some of the people at the lab and medical examiner’s office today.”
Disappointment filled her. He was all business. “Are you going with him?”
He shook his head, then finally looked at her. “He can handle it on his own, and he’ll call me and let me know what he finds out.” His dark gaze pierced her, as if gauging her reaction to his next statement. “I thought we’d ride over to Columbus this morning.”
She blew on her coffee, then took a sip. He’d made the coffee strong, just like him. “What’s in Columbus?”
“One of the men who worked with your father years ago. I ran a check last night. Two of the officers who worked with him are dead, one has Huntington’s and is in a nursing home, and the other retired to Columbus.”
“Do you really think that will do any good, Parker?”
“He might know something about your parents’ murder.”
She swallowed another sip of coffee, hoping it would renew her waning energy. “I’m sure the police talked to him back then.”
Parker shrugged. “Probably. But sometimes after time passes, people remember things differently. If they’ve lied or withheld information, guilt eats at them and they’re ready to confess. That or their reason for lying doesn’t exist anymore.”
He was still working the dirty cop angle as he had with Frank the night before.
She didn’t believe it of Frank, but what if one of the other men who’d worked with her father had been on the take? If her father had found out and threatened to come forward, the cop might have been desperate enough to kill her family.
And after all these years of getting away with murder, it would be reason enough to silence Bruno.
THE RIDE to Columbus was virtually silent. Parker understood Grace’s hesitancy to question her father’s coworkers, men who might have been his close friends, but if he was going to find out the truth about who killed the Gardeners, he had to probe into the past and that meant Jim Gardner’s relationships at work. If anyone knew about Gardener’s enemies, it would be his fellow officers.
And Frank Johnson obviously wasn’t talking.
He studied the small ranch house in the subdivision on the outskirts of Columbus. Not very big, no fancy car, no visible signs of money indicating the man had been on the take.
He parked and climbed out, then circled in front of the car to help Grace, but she waved off his help. She was obviously still hurt over his comment the night before.
How would she feel if he wound up having to arrest Frank?
“I really think this is a waste of time,” Grace said as he rang the doorbell.
Parker gave her a noncommittal look. “It’s part of the job, questioning everybody related to a victim.”
She lowered her gaze to her hands where she twisted them together. The door sprang open and a gray-haired, pudgy woman stood, leaning on a horse head cane. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Yager?” Parker asked.
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“My name is Detective Kilpatrick from the S.P.D., and this is Grace Gardener.”
Mrs. Yager pursed her lips. “Gardener? That name sounds familiar.”
“My father, Jim Gardner, worked with your husband,” Grace explained.
“Oh, yes, oh, my.” She clapped her hands over her cheeks. “Little Grace Gardener, it’s been such a long time, and you’re all grown up now.”
Grace gave him an awkward look, and Parker wanted to comfort her, but managed to contain himself. “Can we talk to your husband?”
“Of course.” She waved them in, then toward the back. “He’s in the garden outside. I’ll get some sweet iced-tea and bring it out.”
Parker thanked her, and he and Grace made their way through the tiny, cluttered kitchen to the patio.
Bart Yager was craggy-looking with a rounded belly and sweat-stained shirt. He stood, narrowing his eyes as they approached.
Parker explained the reason for their visit, and for a moment, Bart’s face turned chalky-white as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Good gracious alive, child. You look like your mother.”
Grace bit down on her lip, and Parker slid a hand to her back this time. She tensed, then took a seat on the metal glider while Bart removed a handkerchief, wiped at his face and hands, then met his wife to help her outside with the refreshments.
Parker waited until she’d disappeared back inside the house before addressing the older man. “We appreciate your time, Mr. Yager. I don’t know if you heard that Grace’s brother Bruno was recently killed.”
The old man slurped down half his glass of tea. “Yes, I was sorry to hear about that. Poor boy.”
“We don’t believe it was suicide,” Grace interjected. “Someone killed him.”
“Really?” The old man made a weary sound.
Parker explained about the murder attempts on Grace. “We think that one of Bruno’s cases got him killed.”
A l
ong silence. “What was he working on?”
“We’ve ruled out a couple of them, but he was definitely investigating his parents’ murder.”
“Geesh, that boy never could let it go,” Bart mumbled.
“Why should we?” Grace asked. “Their killer was never caught.”
Bart reached out a hand and covered Grace’s. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just hate to see you two live in the past.”
“How can I not?” Grace asked. “Especially when Bruno was killed over it, and the killer is still free.”
“He also might be after Grace,” Parker said in a cold voice.
“Tell us what happened back then, Bart. Do you know who killed my parents?” Grace asked.
“No. God, no.” Bart’s breathing turned labored. “If I had, I would have arrested him myself. Your father and I were friends.”
“Bruno may have uncovered the fact that one of the cops on the force with Jim Gardener was dirty.”
Bart stood with a pained grunt, his knees popping. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything,” Parker said. “I think Frank Johnson may have been taking bribes, and Jim found out so he had him killed.”
Grace gasped and Bart glared at him.
“If it wasn’t Frank,” Parker continued, lowering his voice a decibel, “then it was one of you. Don’t you think enough people have died to keep this secret, that it’s time to tell the truth?”
BART’S WIFE GASPED and Grace winced at the stricken look in her eyes. Apparently she’d walked outside in time to overhear enough of their conversation to understand Parker’s implications.
Bart went to her and curved his arm around her waist. “I think you’d best go now, Detective.”
Grace gave him an apologetic look. This man had been one of her father’s friends, just as Frank had. And from everything Bruno had told her, most of the guys who worked on the force considered themselves brothers.