A Breath Away (21 page)

“Make a fist.” Finley smiled, but Violet felt the hair on her nape bristle when he touched her. His fingers were long, his nails clipped short, she noticed, as he rolled her arm sideways, examining it. “You have thin veins, don't you?”

She swallowed. “I guess so.”

“Yes, you do.” His lip twitched. “It makes it harder to find a good vein, but don't worry. I'll get it the first time.” He patted her arm. “Drawing blood is my specialty. I've had lots of practice.”

She nodded, but stiffened as he reached for the tourniquet. His voice had grown deeper, his eyes intense, as if he derived pleasure in his job.
I am the blood taker….

“You know, I feel like we've met,” he said in a low voice. He wrapped the tourniquet around her arm and tightened it, his fingers lingering slightly before he released her. The pockmarks on his face were emphasized by the harsh lights.

“I don't think so.” Although his voice sounded strangely familiar. Low. Grating. Almost singsongy. Like the killer's.

Or was she imagining things?

He inserted the needle, and her blood began to flow through the tubing. The victims of the Bone Whistler had watched this same scene as they died.

She would be facing the killer soon. Watching him do the same thing to her. But other women were going to die first.

Unless she figured out the killer's identity.

* * *

“M
AY
G
OD TAKE DOWN
that little bastard!”

Ross Wheeler startled at the sound of his father's fury. He'd prayed that the reverend hadn't seen the news report, but he'd known that was one prayer that wouldn't be answered. Half the town had probably viewed it by now. Knowing the way the old biddies gossiped, the other half would know its contents within an hour.

He slid the cabinet door closed to hide his treasures, and locked it tightly. It wouldn't do now for his father to see what he had collected. No, it wouldn't do at all.

Another string of expletives scorched the walls as the reverend stormed down the steps toward him, and Ross barely resisted the urge to run and hide. He could go into the woods. Back to his secret place. The place where he had seen Kerry.

And his father…

“Son, did you talk to that son of a bitch reporter?”

Ross shook his head, careful to maintain his obedient look.

The reverend jerked him up so hard, his knee hit the edge of the cabinet. He bit back a yelp. Any reaction would only make his father madder. “Are you lying? You know what the Lord will do to you if you lie to me.”

“I haven't talked to him, Father.”

“How about that crazy lady?”

Violet Baker. He shook his head adamantly. No, he hadn't talked to her. But he wanted to. He wanted to do
other things to her, too. To find out what she knew about these women dying.

“Then how the hell did he come up with that nonsense? I'm going to sue the living daylights out of him for saying you aren't mine. That's a lie. Is he trying to ruin my reputation?”

“I don't know, Father.”

Beady, angry eyes glared back at him. But Ross managed to maintain his obedient, docile expression. Finally, satisfied with his compliance, his father slung him backward. Ross fell onto the couch, teeming with anger inside.

“I'm calling my lawyer right now,” the reverend said. “There's no way that weasel is going to get away with telling those lies and maligning my character.”

Ross began to shake as his father climbed the stairs.

He tried so hard to be perfect. But he'd never meet his father's standards.

And a lawyer wouldn't do any good with Bernie Morris. Morris was too greedy. Not just for money, but for fame—fame at any cost. Just like Brother Billy Lee.

Just like Ross's father.

He stroked his sex, safe with his secret for now. But he had other work to do. And it was time to get started.

Then he'd come face-to-face with Violet Baker. If she really was psychic, she might expose his secrets. He couldn't let that happen….

* * *

B
Y THE TIME
Grady reached his father's house, he was livid. He'd told himself repeatedly that Walt hadn't been aware of the sperm donor, but as his mind ticked over all the odd things that had happened, he couldn't make himself believe it. The awkwardness and hatred between
his father and Baker. The argument between Walt and Doc Farmer. The way he'd never mentioned Teresa again after her death. The fact that the night of her accident, the police hadn't been able to locate him for hours.

If his father had been involved in Darlene's death, or had known the killer's identity all these years and hadn't spoken up, Grady would make him pay. It didn't matter who her biological father had been.

And now Violet was in danger again because she was trying to help find this crazy killer.

It wasn't fair. They had all lost so much. Darlene. Violet. Him. And all because of these secrets.

He pushed open the door without even knocking, and barreled in. “Dad?”

His father didn't answer.

Grady stormed through the kitchen to the workshop, but it was empty. Surprised, he spun around and headed to his father's office. Walt hadn't used it in years, but just might be there now. Seconds later, Grady cursed when he found it empty.

He flew up the steps to his father's bedroom, halting at the sight of the closed door. Was his dad inside, sleeping off another drunk?

Grady didn't care. He pounded on the door, then charged in. “Dad?”

His father was rummaging through a lower drawer of his bureau. He jerked upright, gripping something in his hand. Grady's mouth fell open, his heart racing when he recognized the object.

It was a whistle. A whistle made of bone.

G
RADY STARED AT THE BONE
whistle in horror. His father had claimed to have gotten rid of it. He'd lied to Grady.

But he'd kept it all these years…why? Because he thought it might help him find the killer? Or had he kept it as a trophy?

“It's not what it looks like, Son.”

Grady jerked his head up. His father hadn't called him son in years. Why now? To make up for the lies? Hell, he was too damn old to fall for it. “No?”

“No.” His father's sallow face was blanched, his eyes puffy and red. The alcohol was killing him. Or the guilt.

“Then why the hell did you lie to me about keeping it?”

“I don't know.” He ran a shaky hand over his face and sank onto the bed. The covers were rumpled, the sheet hanging askew. “I guess I thought it was sick of me to have kept it.”

“Sick because it was a trophy?”

His father's lips compressed into a narrow line. “Is that what you think, Grady? That I killed my own daughter?”

“But she wasn't your real daughter, was she, Dad?” Anger hardened Grady's voice. “You found out that Teresa had used a sperm donor and you couldn't stand it.
You were jealous so you killed her. Then one day the truth got to you and you killed Darlene.”

“No…” Walt dropped his head into his hands, rocking back and forth. “No, that's not the way it happened.”

Grady inhaled, reining in his temper. He had a job to do, and if it meant arresting his own father, he'd damn well do it. For Darlene's sake. For all the other victims. For Violet.

“What I don't understand is how you could have been so cruel to me. Why you blamed me and made me live with this guilt all these years.”

“I told you it didn't happen the way you said. I never laid a hand on your mother or Darlene.”

Tense minutes stretched between them. Anger, distrust and painful memories had created an unbreachable gap. “I wish I could believe you, Dad. But you've lied to me before. Why should I accept your word now?”

“Because he is your father.”

Grady snapped his head sideways as Laney Longhorse entered the room from the adjoining bathroom. He watched in utter shock as she went to his father and laid a hand on his shoulder. “The truth must come out now, Walt. It's time for Grady to know everything.”

* * *

D
ARKNESS WAS FALLING
as Violet let herself inside her father's house. It would take time for the results of the bloodwork to come back. Although deep down, she already knew the answers.

It all made sense. If she'd been a product of the sperm donor, and she and Darlene shared some genetic abnormality with the other victims, their blood con
nected them all. Hopefully, the FBI would retrieve a list of all the recipients of that sperm and be able to locate the other possible victims before the killer struck again.

An eerie quiet enveloped the room, allowing childhood memories to flood back. She struggled to remember the good moments, but the image of her father shoving her into that station wagon always stood at the forefront of her mind. When had Jed Baker discovered she wasn't biologically his? Had that realization tainted his feelings for her?

And if he wasn't her father, then who was? Who had donated the sperm? Had the donor discovered the abnormalities in his genes and decided to kill the offspring because they weren't perfect?

She flipped on the lamp, halting at the sight of a small brown package on the kitchen table. It hadn't been there when she left.

Suddenly panicking at the realization that someone had been inside the house again, she reached for some kind of weapon to protect herself. A kitchen knife in hand, she listened carefully as she tiptoed toward the den. Empty.

What about the bedrooms?

Inhaling sharply, she held the knife in front of her and slowly padded toward her room, listening for an intruder. The floor squeaked beneath her shoes. A fly buzzed somewhere in the corner. Dust motes floated in the air in front of her.

She peeked inside her bedroom. Nothing. Her grandmother's room was also empty.

And then her father's. No one. The faded chenille spread still hung crookedly. The sheer curtains, yellow with age, were in place.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she headed back to the kitchen and picked up the box. It weighed next to nothing. Fearing the worst, she held the package to her ear and listened to make sure there was nothing ticking inside. No sound. Not even a rattle. It was wrapped in plain brown paper with no postmark or return address. “Violet” had been spelled with letters cut from a newspaper. She'd leave the letters in place for the police in case they could trace them. But she had to know what was inside.

Her hand trembled as she tore the edge of the brown wrapping. Her imagination went wild. Movie clippings flashed in her head. Sometimes killers sent body parts. Fingers, toes…

The paper fell away. A small jewelry-size box came into view. She sucked in a sharp breath as she opened it.

Her heart squeezed at the sight of the object. Emotions clogged her throat. It was half of a Best Friends necklace. She felt the jagged edges of her own. This was the other half.

Darlene's.

* * *

G
RADY STOOD STONE STILL
, trying to recover from the shock of seeing Laney Longhorse here with his father. “What's going on?”

His father gestured for him to sit down, but he couldn't. Not here in his father's bedroom. “Answer me, Dad.”

“I…made some mistakes in the past, Son. But I kept this bone, hoping someday I'd be able to use it to find Darlene's murderer.”

“If you wanted that, you should have given it to me.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“I'm a cop, Dad. It's my job to study evidence, connect the clues to solve crimes.” Grady rocked back on his boot heels, impatient. “For God's sake, that piece of bone could be vital to this serial killer case. We think they're all connected.”

“I'm aware of that,” Walt said.

“And you know all about that research clinic, that Teresa conceived Darlene through a sperm donor.”

“Yes, but at first Teresa didn't realize it wasn't my sperm. And when she found out, well, that's why
they
killed her.”

“Who, Dad?”

His father hissed. “I don't know names. She called me as she was leaving the clinic that day. She was upset, mumbling something about sperm donors and some kind of experiment and the Baker woman. She'd discovered that Darlene wasn't mine, but they warned her to keep silent.” He hesitated, his breathing wheezing out. “Then she had an accident. Just like that Baker woman, she ended up dead.”

“Why didn't you report your suspicions, Dad?”

His father squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Anguish blackened his pupils. “Because I had no proof. And I was mayor. I didn't want word to spread that Darlene wasn't my child.”

Grady shook his head in disgust.

“And then we lost Darlene and I had no proof,” he said, reaching for a match and a cigar. “I was worried if I said something, whoever killed Darlene would come after you.”

“You didn't come forward to protect me?”

“That's right.”

Grady leaned against the doorjamb. “If you wanted to protect me, you wouldn't have blamed me for Darlene's death.”

“I was so screwed up by then,” his father admitted, lighting the cigar. “Tate was beatin' at my door with questions, and I felt guilty. Teresa would never have gone back to work if she hadn't found out I was sleeping around. And she wouldn't have wanted a baby so bad. She thought…” he hesitated, suddenly clamming up.

“She thought having a child would hold him forever and make him love her,” Laney said. “And your father didn't hurt your sister or Teresa. At least not physically. He tried to do right by both of his children.”

“And how would you know all this?” Bitterness edged Grady's voice.

“Because I was with him the night of Teresa's accident.”

Grady gaped at them both. He'd always suspected his father of having affairs, but with Laney? Joseph's mother? Jesus, if Joseph knew, no wonder he hated Grady and his dad.

Grady was shaking inside. He couldn't believe all the secrets. “How long has it been going on?”

His father rubbed a hand over his chest. “A long time. I'm ashamed to say I never had the courage to go public.”

Grady gritted his teeth. “And you were together the night Teresa died? What about when Darlene was killed?”

Laney nodded.

“There's more, Son.” His father stood slowly, as if summoning his courage. “Laney was the first woman I
ever loved. But we didn't think it was right to be together back then. My career, our family name…”

His father's words began to register.

“So I let him go,” Laney said. “I wanted your father to be happy. I thought I was doing the right thing for him. For both of you.”

Grady staggered backward. “What are you saying?”

His father slid an arm around Laney's thin shoulders. “Grady, Laney is your mother.”

* * *

M
AVIS
D
OBBINS HAD TO
protect her son. No matter what it cost her. Even if she had to kill that dang, stupid reporter.

She tossed her apron over the kitchen chair and headed toward Dwayne's room to check on him. She hadn't worked all these years to have some no-account, scrawny-ass man nosing into her and Dwayne's past, throwing their dirty laundry on the lawn for everyone and his neighbor to tromp on. It was all she could do to support herself working at the Rest Easy Nursing Home, what with Dwayne hopping from one piddly job to another. And she owed old man Tate and that doctor a bundle already. Now that Morris feller had reported that filth about her boy. Next thing she knowed, he'd be digging into old police reports and bribing Doc Farmer to talk.

That bastard would sell his own young 'un for a dollar.

And if Morris ever got ahold of Dwayne's medical records…

“Dwayne!” She beat on his door, almost taking it off the hinges in the process. But the boy had locked it. What in the world did he do in there all by hisself?
“Open this door before I get me a crowbar and tear it plumb down.”

Silence.

“Dwayne Dobbins, do you hear me? I said open this danged door.” She banged on it with her fists, the wood vibrating beneath her splotched hands. “Hellfire and damnation, I'm gonna take a stick to you if you don't answer me.”

More silence.

Like a pressure cooker ready to explode, she ran to the garage, grabbed a sledgehammer and hurried back. She'd teach him to lock the door. He couldn't lock it if he didn't have one.

She raised the sledgehammer and slammed it into the thin wood, watching it splinter. Again and again she swung it, until the doorknob fell off, rolled across the floor. Then, on a full-blown tear now, she pushed inside the room.

It was empty.

A pack of matches lay on his nightstand, a newspaper spread on the denim coverlet. The picture showed the fire up at Black Mountain Mental Hospital.

Her heart jumped to her throat. What in God's name had her son been up to now?

* * *

V
IOLET TWISTED
her Best Friends necklace between her fingers, remembering the day Darlene had given it to her. She'd been so happy she'd felt like crying.

Tears dribbled from her eyes now. Tears for Darlene, the best friend she'd lost.

The killer had sent the necklace to her. He'd kept it all these years. And he knew where Violet was. The necklace was meant as a message.

He was coming for her soon.

Was that the reason she would be last? Because Darlene had been first? Start this killing spree with Darlene and end with her?

A tingle traveled up her back. Violet froze, sinking onto the couch as another vision rose from the darkness.

He was on the hunt again. She could feel it. He was prowling, looking for his next victim.

She had long blond hair. Hair that looked like a silken web flowing down her slender back. Hair the color of sunshine.

He liked sunshine. So much better than the darkness. It had been so dark when he'd been locked up. And cold. And lonely.

She wouldn't like it, either.

He sighed, his body humming with adrenaline as he imagined her eyes widening in fright as she faced death. He could almost feel her body, stiff and unbending as he laid her on the altar. He could see her blood. Dripping. Dripping. Filling the tube.

All for the father.

She turned, angling her head as if she sensed him in the crowd. No. Only Violet Baker could do that.

He couldn't wait to take her.

Those big, baby-blue eyes would cry out, plead with him to stop. But he'd remind her that it was too late.

She was the final sacrifice. The last little angel.

And if she was as perfect as he expected her to be, his father would bow to him as the favored. Just as it should have been all along.

“Can you see me, now, Violet? Can you look into my eyes and see yourself as I take your blood?”

Violet dropped her head into her hands and moaned, terror ripping through her. Yes, she could see him. But where was he?

* * *

“N
O
.” Denial, shock, betrayal spread through Grady. Laney Longhorse was not his mother. She couldn't be. She'd been in town, nearby, all these years. His mother had left town….

His mind retraced the years. Years he'd felt abandoned. Years he'd tried to please Teresa and his father, and been unable to do so. Years when he'd blamed himself for Darlene's death.

Years he hadn't known he had a half brother and mother living a mile away.

He had to work to find his voice. “How could you lie to me all this time?”