by Maggie Price
“Sky?”
When she swiveled on her stool, he saw instantly that she was holding herself as rigid as marble.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, advancing across the tiled floor to her work counter. Up close, her face was a little less pale than her white lab coat.
“I…don’t believe this.”
“What don’t you believe?”
“His DNA’s not the same, and that’s not possible. I don’t understand it. How could this happen? Actually, it can’t happen.” In the rush to get out, her words bumped and tumbled over each other. “Grant, it’s not possible.”
“Slow down.” He settled a hand on her shoulder, felt the tenseness there. His gaze flicked across her work counter littered with a haphazard jumble of papers, file folders and computer printouts. A mug filled with coffee tilted half-on, half-off a cork coaster. In all the time he’d known Sky, he had never seen her work area anything but precise and tidy, with papers, files and even test tubes in exact order. He understood now that her work environment had been the one place in her life where she could always guarantee order and control.
“Take a deep breath.” He repositioned the coffee mug while using a foot to maneuver a long-legged stool next to hers. “Are you talking about Ellis Whitebear’s DNA?”
“Yes,” she said as he settled onto his stool. “He doesn’t have the same DNA he had two years ago.” She scrubbed the heel of her palm across her forehead. “That sounds crazy, doesn’t it? I drew his blood then. I drew it again the day before yesterday.” A line formed between her brows. “How could he not have the same blood DNA?”
Grant frowned. “It has to be the same, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” She swept up two photographs of what looked like rows of thick, shadowed lines interspersed with dark blots. Grant saw that one photo displayed a date two years past. The other carried the date of his and Sky’s visit to the state pen.
“That’s my point,” she said, shoving the photographs into his hands. “Whitebear’s DNA has to be the same, but as you can clearly see, it’s not.”
Grant raised an eyebrow as he stared down at the photographs. Where this sort of scientific data was concerned, he was lost. But he did know how to backtrack and dig through facts to find answers.
“Okay,” he began, setting the photographs on the counter beside a small biological waste container. “Let’s go over the steps you’ve taken. Before we went to McAlester, you and another chemist took a second blood sample from all the men who’d worked at the apartment complex at the time of Mavis Benjamin’s murder. You confirmed that all samples had been labeled correctly two years ago, and that no labels got switched.”
Sky ran a finger up and down the bridge of her nose. “Yes, Gilchrist and I verified everything.”
“It was, without a doubt, Ellis Whitebear’s blood in the vial that had his name on the label.”
“Yes. Through process of elimination, it had to be.”
“You and I know the blood you took the day before yesterday is for sure Whitebear’s.”
“For sure.”
Grant nodded. “What you’re telling me now is that those two blood samples, taken from the same man two years apart, don’t match.”
“That’s right. They have different DNA.”
“Okay.” Grant rubbed a hand across his face. “Taking all that into account, logic tells me that something happened between the time you took the first blood sample and the second to change Whitebear’s DNA.”
“That’s like saying someone’s fingerprints changed.” Raising her hands, Sky stared down at her palms. “DNA is the equivalent of a person’s molecular fingerprint. You can’t alter your DNA any more than you can the loops, swirls and whirls on the tips of your fingers.”
Baffled, Grant shoved a hand through his hair. “So much for the logic angle. And, to add more mystery to this mix, we found a bloodstained bandage at the Peña crime scene with blood that matches one of those DNA samples.”
“The first sample,” Sky said. “The blood on the bandage matches the sample I took from Whitebear two years ago.” She shook her head. “This makes no sense.”
“I agree,” Grant said, his gaze going to the counter across the lab where a boxy instrument with more dials than a radarscope sat. “But at least we can now say that the man who slit Carmen Peña’s throat a couple of weeks ago isn’t sitting in a cell on death row.”
“Yes, we can say that.” The frustration in Sky’s voice had Grant shifting his gaze back to her. “I’m missing something, Grant.” She fisted her hands in her lap. “Something’s gotten by me and I don’t know what it is.”
“I know how you feel,” he said, and leaned back on his stool. He had seen her only in passing since they’d returned from McAlester, and he wanted a moment to take her in. Gone was the prim bun at her nape. Now her dark hair was done up in a casual twist that allowed little wispy tendrils to flutter around her cheeks. The trendy wire-rims had disappeared in favor of contact lenses, and the eyes that stared into his were as blue as the flame on the lab’s gas burners.
He forced his breathing to remain even while a knot of emotion tightened his chest. After years of coolly romancing a number of women, it was still foreign to him that he could find this one woman so quietly appealing, so deeply arousing, when it had nothing to do with sex.
Because he wanted to touch her, he balled his hands against his thighs. He already knew that she fit in his arms the way no woman ever had, or would, fit again. Had already accepted that the depth of his feelings for her would only intensify. As would his innate need to protect her both from past and future threat.
Setting his jaw, he shoved back thoughts of the dark, lapping waters of vengeance that had slowly eroded the edges of his control since the night she told him about the rape. Soon he would have to decide just how he was going to deal with those feelings. Right now he had a more urgent issue to address.
“Something’s gotten by me, too,” he said quietly.
Her brow furrowed. “About Whitebear’s DNA?”
“No, about the fire in your motel room. Sky, it was no accident.”
He watched the color drain from her cheeks as her eyes widened. “You’re sure?”
“I spent the last two hours at the State Fire Marshal’s office. One of their techs checked the air-conditioning unit from your room. I’ve got his report with a whole lot of technical electrical jargon in it, but the bottom line is that someone switched a couple of wires, which caused the unit to short out about five minutes after you turned it on.”
Falling silent, she gnawed her bottom lip. Grant could almost see her mind working behind those vibrant blue eyes.
When she finally spoke, her voice was steady. “The tech can verify that the wires were switched. But there’s no way of knowing when that was done, right?”
“Wrong,” Grant countered. “While I was with the tech, I called Del, the motel manager. He said the air-conditioning unit was new, installed the day before we checked in. The electrician who did the work tested it, and the unit worked without a hitch. You were the next person to turn it on, just before you got into the shower.”
“And almost got burned alive.” She swiped a hand against the back of her neck. “We had no idea we’d wind up spending the night there. How would somebody know ahead of time where you and I would be?”
“After we checked in, we both used our separate keys to take a look at our rooms. Anyone watching would know which room was yours.” Regret settled inside him for having put the wariness in her eyes, but she needed to know the truth. “Then you and I walked to the diner and ate dinner. That gave someone plenty of time to slip into your room and switch the wires in the air conditioner.”
Grant paused, curving his fingers around the hand she’d fisted in her lap. “Sky, has Corrections notified you recently about someone you’ve testified against being released? Someone who might hold a grudge?”
“No. No one.”
“Gotten any hang
-up phone calls? Maybe a call here at the lab that seemed hinky?”
“Nothing like that.” Her gaze went to the papers spread across her workbench. “The only strange thing going on has to do with Ellis Whitebear.”
Grant nodded. “Whose blood sample you just happened to have in your room at the time of the fire. And whose son was superannoyed that you’d gotten that sample in the first place.”
She remet his gaze. “You’re thinking Jason Whitebear sabotaged the air conditioner.”
“It’s not just a thought, it’s a suspicion. Remember, we saw Jason, aka Spider, walk through the prison’s front door before we drove off. Just because he did that doesn’t mean he stayed there—that’s something I plan to check out. He could have waited until we drove off, then followed us to the café. We parked in the back because the front lot was full. He would have had time to dump some sugar in the cruiser’s carburetor.”
Sky angled her chin. “You think Spider had a bag of sugar in his pickup truck?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” Grant answered. “There’s a convenience store next door to the café. Maybe he ran in there and bought a bag. In any case, dumping sugar in the cruiser’s carburetor was a guaranteed way for Spider to keep us in town long enough to try to get rid of his father’s blood sample.”
“Okay, let’s suppose Spider did that. What reason would he have to destroy the sample and…”
“Burn you alive in the process?” Grant finished when her voice drifted off.
“Yes,” she answered, then swallowed hard.
“That’s one of the questions I want answered. Just like you want to know how the hell his father’s DNA could have magically transformed.”
“DNA doesn’t do that.”
“Ellis’s seems to have,” Grant pointed out, then raised a shoulder. “While you’re working on figuring that out, I plan on taking a good look at Spider. I’ve already called Communications and ordered a run on him. I want to know everything he’s been up to since the check Sam ran on him two years ago.” Grant’s eyes narrowed. “I also want to know where he was the night Carmen Peña disappeared from her job at the convenience store.”
“It was his father’s DNA at that crime scene,” Sky pointed out, then frowned. “At least it used to be. And his father’s the one on death row for Mavis Benjamin’s murder.”
“Things are getting more curious by the minute,” Grant commented. “That’s why you and I are heading back to McAlester tomorrow to pay Ellis an impromptu visit. It’s his blood that’s thrown a wrench in the works. I figure he’s the one who can give us some answers.”
Sky shook her head. “His lawyer won’t like us talking to him without her knowing.”
“She’ll know. I’ll call Marcia Davis from the prison and tell her we’re there to chat with Ellis. She already knows we can’t collect evidence against him, so there’s no downside to her agreeing to our seeing him again. I just don’t want to give her advance notice of what we’re doing. She let Spider know we were coming the first time, which was her right. I don’t intend for him to know about tomorrow’s visit.”
“Even so, aren’t you worried about what might happen to the cruiser we drive?”
“We’re taking my Porsche. It’s got an alarm.”
Nodding, Sky swiveled her stool and began straightening the papers on the counter. “It sounds like you’ve got things under control, Sergeant.”
Grant gave a quick thought to the folded pages of information on Kirk Adams inside the pocket of his sport coat. Some things, he was no longer sure he could control. “I’m doing my best,” he said quietly.
“I need to call my captain and let her know we’re going back to the prison tomorrow.” Sky took one last look at the photographs, then slid them into a file folder. “This is driving me nuts. Maybe if I get my mind off DNA for a few hours, something logical will come to me.”
“Here’s something that’ll do the trick.” Grant placed a hand on her arm and turned her back to face him. The scent she wore reminded him of dark, mossy glades. “You and I are spending the night together.”
He thought that if he had coldcocked her, she couldn’t have looked more shocked. “Grant, I…”
He took her hands in his. “Whether the blood sample was the target of the fire or not, the fact is that someone tried to burn you alive. If he decides to take another shot at you, he’ll have to deal with me. That means you’ve got a roommate until I get my hands on him.”
Sky stared at him for a long moment. “My apartment has a state-of-the-art security system.”
“Security systems have been known to be breached.”
“You might remember that I’m pretty good at taking care of myself.”
“I’m not likely to forget.” At the police gym, she’d flicked her arm and sent him airborne. Then in McAlester, she’d slammed him into a wall with one expertly placed kick. Feeling a tic of pride in her ability, Grant slid a hand beneath the lapel of his sport coat to rub his chest where the bruise still lingered. “Humor me, Milano, it’s a macho thing.”
“What about your clothes? You’d need a change of clothes.”
“I’ve got my gym bag in my Porsche with my shaving stuff inside. I went by the cleaner’s today, so I’ve got a fresh suit and shirt for tomorrow.”
“I can see you’ve got this all thought out.”
He grinned. “I’m like the Boy Scouts—always prepared.”
Her eyes stayed locked with his as she ran her tongue over her lips. The gesture went straight to his gut, then shot lower. Her taste was in his system, the feel of her in his arms branded into his memory. He had never felt such raw-edged want of a woman as he felt for her. He also knew he had to let her call the shots if their relationship had a chance of moving into intimacy.
“A roommate,” she murmured, dropping her gaze.
With one finger, he nudged her chin up until her eyes met his. “You’ve got a couch, Sky. I’ll sleep there. If, and when, that location changes, you’ll be the one making the decision. I’m not doing this to pressure you. I’m doing this to make sure no one has a chance to hurt you again.”
Her mouth curved at the edges. “I’ve never had a white knight before.”
“You do now.”
She took a deep breath. “Grant, about us sleeping together. It’s something I want, I’m just…”
Afraid. She didn’t have to say the word, he could see the nerves swimming in her eyes. He clenched his jaw, forcing back thoughts of the scum who had put fear inside her. Those thoughts he would address later.
Moving his hand from her chin, he cupped her cheek. “You need to understand something, Milano. I don’t want to sleep with you.”
“Oh.” With color flooding her cheeks, she began to lean away.
He slid his palm to the side of her throat, held her still. “I want to seduce you, very slowly, then make love with you.”
Beneath his palm, he felt the quick jerk and scramble of her pulse.
With her blue eyes locked on his, she raised a hand and circled her fingers around his wrist. “That sounds wonderful.”
“It will be. When you’re ready, it will be.”
Chapter 9
Sky stood in the small interview room at the state penitentiary where she’d drawn Ellis Whitebear’s blood three days before. This time she’d left her evidence kit back in the lab—her tests had already revealed all the scientific data they could about the man’s blood. She and Grant had come today to try to find the answers to the secrets that lurked in that blood.
The death row inmate had yet to be escorted into the room where the vague scent of sweat and fear hung in the air, so Sky allowed her gaze to linger on Grant. He stood near the gunmetal-gray door with its barred window, talking in low tones to a guard who pointed to information on a clipboard.
Grant’s summer-weight silk-and-linen suit looked as if it had been made for him, which was probably the case. The same was true of his pearl-gray shirt and matching tie, and ma
ybe even his Italian leather shoes.
As she studied him, Sky felt her mouth go dry. He had not looked nearly so polished after spending the night on her couch.
A quiet breath escaped her lips while she pictured how he’d looked early that morning when he’d wandered into her kitchen. She’d been pouring water into her coffeemaker when she’d looked up and saw him leaning against the doorjamb, clad only in a pair of low-slung gym shorts. His sandy hair had been sleep-tumbled and a night’s growth of beard shadowed his chin. The surge of need that had shot through her had been so immediate, so powerful that she’d sloshed water across the countertop and onto her bare toes. While she sponged up the mess with unsteady hands, the unrepentant grin he’d flashed her had kicked her nerves into high gear. If they hadn’t had important, out-of-town business to tend to, she would have forced away the last skitters of disquiet that lingered inside her, and stepped into Grant’s arms.
Even now, hours later, desire thudded with unexpected force in the pit of her stomach.
Tonight, she thought with a sudden realization that had her shoving her hands into the pockets of her slacks, then pulling them out again. Tonight, she would take that last step. She was ready. She had not known, really known, how ready until this moment. She felt indecision slide away to be replaced by a heady anticipation that had her palms going damp.
The sound of the heavy metal door swinging open pulled both her gaze and her thoughts across the room. Just as he had three days ago, Ellis Whitebear shuffled through the door in handcuffs and leg irons, a guard close behind him. His thick, black hair still lapped over the collar of his white T-shirt; his copper-tinted skin stretched with the same tautness over high cheekbones.
The interview room, the prisoner, the guard were all the same, she realized. She was the one who had changed.
The guard with the clipboard nodded to Grant, then walked out of the room, securing the door behind him.