A Breath Away (11 page)

“A serial killer?” Bernie Morris, a reporter from the
Nashville Nighttime News
trotted up, microphone in hand. Norton glared at him and swept his hand for the locals to keep the man and his camera crew back. “Come on, Detectives,” Morris screeched, “if we're dealing with a serial killer, the public has a right to know.”

Norton bolted forward and jerked him by the collar instead. “No one said anything about this being a serial killing, so don't you dare report that and start widespread panic.”

“I heard you say it.” Morris thrust his patrician nose up with an air of bravado. “And you have no right to keep it from the press or the people.”

“We're trying to conduct an investigation here,” Norton snarled, “and we can't do it with you interfering. Now, when or if we determine what happened, we'll release a statement.”

Morris tried to push forward again, but at Norton's sudden gesture, two locals hauled him backward, guarding the taped crime scene area with weapons drawn.

“I'll get this story,” Morris shouted.

Norton ignored him. He hated reporters, always had. One had interfered and nearly gotten his partner killed before. Another had nearly cost him a collar on a child molester.

He wouldn't let this jerk mess up this case.

This poor woman—victim number two, as everyone would start calling her—deserved to have some privacy. And he needed to find the person responsible for her murder. Time meant everything.

If they were dealing with a serial killer, the psycho was probably already choosing his next victim.

V
IOLET SHUDDERED
,
unable to think of anything except this last woman. If only she could tell them where the killer chose his victims or even why he was choosing them. And if she could just see his face….

Grady remained quiet, seemingly oblivious to the tense silence between them as he drove her back to her father's house. What was he thinking? That she was crazy? That she'd make up a bizarre story about hearing and seeing things to get attention?

She didn't know why it meant so much to her that he believe her, but it did.

As he pulled into the drive, he frowned at the vandalism. “I wish you'd gotten the make of those cars.”

She shrugged. In light of this recent woman's murder, the vandalism seemed petty. “Don't worry about it, Grady. I'm sure the kids had their fun and games and I doubt they'll return.”

His gaze shifted toward her. “You don't know that, Violet.”

The air crackled with tension. His grim voice slid over her nerve endings, triggering a disturbing mixture of feelings. Discomfort that he thought she might be in danger. And an aching need… What would it be like to have a man like Grady actually care for her?

“It's my job to protect this town,” he said, heat rippling between them. “I take my job seriously.”

Right. His job… She was just another citizen.

His fingers curled around the steering wheel. They were long, wide, rough with calluses, but so masculine they sparked her senses to arousal. She imagined those big tough hands stroking her, giving her comfort, maybe even pleasure. Bringing her to life in a way she'd never experienced.

“How long are you staying in Crow's Landing?” he asked, oblivious to her train of thought.

Violet fidgeted with her hands and opened the car door. She was such a novice at reading a male's psyche. He obviously didn't feel this attraction. And he probably didn't want her around asking questions. He and his father were satisfied they had Darlene's killer, and were ready to close the case. She was only a painful reminder.

“I'm not sure, but I refuse to let anyone run me off.”

The deputy pulled in behind them and began to assess the vandalism. Something about Grady's assistant made her uncomfortable, but she couldn't put her finger on anything specific. She closed the door, aware that Grady disagreed with her intentions, then steered a wide berth around Deputy Logan as she and Grady walked up the sidewalk.

A muscle ticked in Grady's jaw. “You should consider staying at a hotel, at least until that window gets fixed.”

She shook her head and unlocked the front door. “Forget it, Grady. I'm not running.”
Not this time.
“I came here for the truth, and I intend to find it.”

His gaze locked with hers, his dark eyes full of turmoil. She understood that feeling.

“Even if it gets you hurt?” Grady asked.

A long, weary sigh escaped her. “The truth can't hurt any more than thinking my father might have killed Darlene.”

* * *

G
RADY FELT A PANG
of sympathy for Violet. Even after being here and facing the town, she still intended to defend her father.

Part of him wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her, protect her from the harsh truth, from the people in town like his dad who didn't want her around. Another part of him wanted more. To slide his hands over her delicate skin, through that long dark hair, and kiss the pale flesh at her throat… To skim off her clothes, turn that pained look in her eyes to one of rapture, and let her wrap her legs around him while he sank deep inside her.

But he wasn't sure she was stable. Besides, she'd come here to defend her father. They were on opposite sides. “How do you think you'll find out anything? The police worked on this case for months and came up with nothing.”

Her lips parted a fraction, indecision flashing in her eyes. “I don't know, but there has to be someone in town who knows the truth.”

“Do you think you might know something about the killer, something you forgot?”

“I told my father and grandmother everything I knew back then,” she said, emotions tinging her voice. “I tried to help them find Darlene, Grady.”

She sounded so lost, he barely resisted dragging her into his arms. “I meant that maybe you haven't tapped into all your memories. Maybe subconsciously there are details you've forgotten.”

“You mean like repressed memories?”

“It's possible.”

She rubbed at her forehead as if probing her brain for the past, and he silently cursed himself for pushing her when she'd just suffered an injury. Her head was probably pounding. Her complexion was pale, her eyes gaunt as if she hadn't slept in days. And he had felt her fragile body sway in his arms a half hour earlier.

“Why do you ask that?” she asked in a low voice.

“You were only a child, Violet. Sometimes children are so traumatized by a crime that they block out details.”

Her shattered look rose to meet his eyes. “You think I saw my father kidnap Darlene, maybe even murder her, and that I've repressed that memory?”

He shrugged, uncertain. “It's a theory,” he said cautiously.

“No…I don't believe it.” She dropped her hand, her expression anguished. “But if I have repressed memories, then being here might jog them back to the surface.”

It also might put her in danger. The thought of someone hurting her disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. “You need to get some rest,” he said, his voice more gruff than he'd intended.

She started to argue, and he realized she wasn't quite as fragile as he thought. She had to be gutsy or she would have never driven back to town to face the past after her father's confession. But Grady cut off her arguments, anyway. “Look, I promised the paramedic I'd make you go to bed. If you don't rest, I'll take you to the hospital.”

The phone rang, preventing a reply. She hesitated, then answered it. “Hello?”

Grady waited, wondering who would be calling Vi
olet. Did she have a special someone back home? A boyfriend, lover?

“Hello?” Her voice sounded agitated.

He lifted his eyebrows in question.

“Hello.”

She bit her lip, then dropped the phone in its cradle.

“They hung up.”

A knot of apprehension tightened Grady's belly. First vandalism. Now hang-up calls. He didn't like it. “Go on to bed and I'll watch out. I'll make sure Logan questions the neighbors, then we'll get someone out here to clean up that mess outside.”

“What?” She swung her gaze toward him, her voice a startled whisper.

“I said I'd get someone to clean up—”

“No, not that. You said you'd stay and watch out.”

“That's right.”

Her eyes flickered with panic. “Not all night?”

He thought he'd detected heat between them moments earlier, but her discomfort at the idea of him staying suggested the opposite. “Yes, Violet, all night.”

“But…why?”

He ticked the reasons off on his hand. “First, the window is broken, so anyone could climb in. Second, your house was vandalized tonight. And third, I told the paramedic I'd wake you up every few hours and check on you. We want to rule out a concussion.”

A strained heartbeat passed. “You don't have to do that. I'll be fine.”

“Yes, I do. I'm the sheriff.” He gripped her arms, turned her and gently shoved her toward the bedroom.

“But, Grady—”

“It's my job to protect the citizens and enforce the
law.” He paused at the threshold of her bedroom, the scent of some kind of potpourri drifting outward, eliciting a momentary lapse in his thoughts while a vision of Violet stretched out on her bed flitted through his mind. He quickly banished it. “I'm not about to leave you here alone tonight, Violet. Not until you get some damn good dead bolts on this shack and that window fixed. Now go rest before I carry you to bed myself.”

Her shocked look twisted his insides. He hadn't meant the threat as an invitation for sex, but somehow his traitorous body had reacted, anyway. She backed away, looking panicked, then slipped into the bedroom, closed the door in his face and locked it behind her. Obviously she didn't like the idea of him taking her to bed, or even entering her room. Her attitude rankled, although he had no right to want her so badly. She was innocence itself compared to the black mark left on his soul after Darlene's death.

Or was she as innocent as she seemed?

Confused, he turned away from the door, reminding himself that he was the sheriff, here to do a job, not the boy she'd known as a child. She wasn't the bedraggled, lost little girl, either. She was the daughter of the man who'd confessed to killing his sister. She'd come here to prove her father's innocence. And Grady wanted nothing but to see the killer pay no matter what the costs. Even if it hurt Violet.

And he'd damn well better remember it.

* * *

V
IOLET HAD TO WASH
the stench of death off of her. Although the killer hadn't actually touched her personally, she could still feel the pinpoints of pressure from where he'd strangled the other woman. Where was she now?
Had he left her body on the steps of a church, as he had Amber Collins's? Had the police found her yet?

Had her family been told?

Violet stood beneath the hot spray of water and closed her eyes, willing away the fear and the memories. Where the killer's hands had dirtied her body with evil and violence, Grady's strong fingers cleansed her. In her fantasy, he stroked her gently, massaging away the terror and bringing her body alive with warm, delicious sensations. Sensations she'd only fantasized about before.

Maybe because every man she'd met she'd compared to the version of the grown-up Grady she'd carried in her mind. The real one was so much better. Stronger. Tougher. Harder. Sexier.

Darker.

And even though they stood on opposite sides of the fence where her father was concerned, he'd assigned himself her protector.

But he had stayed to guard her because he was a cop. A decent lawman who protected the people in the town. Not because he wanted a personal relationship with her.

Or maybe he'd stayed hoping she'd remember something to incriminate her father.

The tingling, erotic sensations she'd experienced moments earlier faded, an icy chill engulfing her. In spite of the oppressive heat in the unair-conditioned house, she turned off the water, stepped from the shower and wrapped herself in a thick terry-cloth robe, huddling inside it to ward off the cold that gripped her. Seconds later, she picked up a comb and studied her reflection in the mirror. She had mousy, wavy hair and a plain face. But her grandmother had always told her that her eyes were beautiful—the windows to the soul.

What did Grady see when he looked at her?

Darlene's childhood friend? A homely child who'd worn hand-me-downs to school? A misfit who was unstable?

The evil her father had seen?

Or could he possibly look beyond to see the woman yearning to break free and take her first taste of love?

Love? What did she even know of the concept? The only people she'd ever loved had deserted her. Except her Grammy. And now her grandmother needed care that Violet couldn't provide.

Her feelings for Grady were simple attraction. Normal hormone surges that had been late to bloom. At least they proved she wasn't a cold fish after all, as one college date had called her.

But why now? Why had Grady awakened these dormant feelings and desires when no other man before him had?

Because you're scared and vulnerable. Because he represents one of the few happy childhood memories you have—your childhood crush on him. And your friendship with Darlene.

Although that memory was marred in pain, as well.

And Grady would always see her as part of that pain, especially after her father's confession.

Tomorrow, she'd visit more people in town, learn everything she could about the past. It was the only way she could move on with her life and leave Crow's Landing. Then she would return to Savannah, work in the shop, resume her artwork. Forget Grady.

Her head throbbing, she turned off the bedroom light, crawled into bed and closed her eyes. But darkness surrounded her, bringing with it the eerie sound of the
woman's cry, and the sound of the killer blowing through that piece of bone.

A bone whistle.

The same sound she'd heard right after Darlene had died.

* * *

G
RADY HAD FORCED HIMSELF
to go outside and confer with Logan. His libido had taken a roller-coaster ride when he'd heard the shower kick on. For some reason, Violet's big sad eyes had gotten to him tonight. And so had her slender lithe body.

He couldn't afford the distraction.

“Did you ask the neighbors if they saw anything?”

Logan nodded. “Not much luck. Mrs. Corn lives next door. She's almost ninety, has a hearing aid and is just about blind.”

“Great.”

“Levelle Hubbard on the left side was visiting her great-aunt. I got an earful about her ailments.”

Grady chuckled. “I can imagine. She's always in to see Doc Farmer. I think he gives her sugar pills to satisfy her hypochondria.”

“The rest of the street was the same. No one heard or saw anything specific.” Logan checked his notepad, where he'd jotted down details from the interviews.

“Rowdy Paul's thirteen-year-old son avoided eye contact. He might have been in on the vandalism.”

“Or hell, maybe he had a stash of cigarettes,” Grady said. “Or he'd slipped one of his daddy's beers, and he thought we were onto him.”

Logan made a clicking sound. “That's possible. I'll check around town about the paint, but I wouldn't hold my breath.”

“Thanks. Maybe we can get a crew out here tomorrow to clean it up.”