A Breath Away (23 page)

She'd thought she was in love with Grady. Would he be so vile as to deceive her?

No…she didn't believe it.

Your own father sent you away. Why would Grady love you?

Trembling, she paced the room. Even if Mr. Monroe was guilty and Grady hadn't known about his father's involvement, would he defend him? Let his feelings for his dad come between them? After all, he'd slept with her without telling her the truth.

It was only one night, Violet reminded herself. Grady hadn't made any promises.

The telephone rang, jarring her from her troubled emotions. She stared at it for a moment, wondering if it was the killer. Wondering why she hadn't had another vision tonight. Where was he holding the woman?

The phone trilled again, and she stumbled forward and grabbed it. “Hello.”

“Miss Baker, this is Dr. Sternum at the rehab facility. It's about your grandmother.”

Violet swayed dizzily. “What? Is she okay?”

“Yes, but she's asking for you now. She's agitated and disoriented. It might help if you'd come by.”

Guilt suffused Violet. She'd promised she'd visit, but she'd gotten so tied up in solving these murders, in alleviating her own guilt, in Grady, that she had neglected her grandmother. The only person who had ever really loved her.

“I'll be right there.” She hung up the phone and ran
to the bathroom to clean up. She had to wash off the scent of Grady's lovemaking so she could forget him. If Grady's father was the killer, and in jail, maybe these visions would stop and she could go back to Savannah tomorrow.

Remembering Grady's promise to send his deputy back to guard her, she decided to forgo a shower. She didn't trust Deputy Logan. He'd been at the mental hospital the day she'd been attacked and nearly died. What if he had knocked her unconscious and set the fire? As a deputy, he could easily approach women without frightening them. Even Grady trusted him.

But Violet's instincts warned her to be wary of him. It was eerie the way he always kept his eyes hidden behind those Ray-Bans. Death and darkness surrounded him. And there was something else…something she couldn't pinpoint.

There was no way she'd get in the car with him or ask him to take her to the rehab facility.

* * *

S
HE WAS ALONE
. And she was coming to see her grandmother.

Perfect. Ross Wheeler had known Violet Baker would run to granny if she thought her grandmother needed her. And he had done a good job of impersonating a doctor. He was right proud of himself.

He bowed his head and said a prayer, asking forgiveness for what he was about to do. But he had to do it for his father. Violet Baker had stirred up too much trouble in town. She had to be dealt with now.

He knew exactly where he was going to take her, too. Yes, Violet had messed up his life with her stupid psychic visions, just like that idiotic reporter had with his
lies. Morris was gone now, but Violet…she could expose his secret if she saw into his mind. Or into his lover's. That worried him most.

He couldn't let it happen. Not now, when his father thought he had the obedient son he wanted. And when he had finally found the love of his life.

* * *

V
IOLET SHOVED THE CAR
in gear, backed from the driveway and headed out of town. Heavy clouds rumbled with thunder, threatening another summer storm and adding to the blackness of the night. These country roads needed better markings. She could barely discern the white lines in the middle as she rounded the corner near Flatbelly Hollow.

A streak of lightning zigzagged above the treetops. The back of her scalp prickled. She glanced in her rearview mirror to see if someone was following her. Distant headlights flickered. She sped up, not willing to take any chances. But just as she took the curve near the old dirt road leading to the fishing camp, a deer ran in front of her. She braked and swerved to avoid hitting it, but her car raced forward. She braked again, but the vehicle only jerked and skidded into a tailspin. She pumped the brakes again. They weren't working!

Panic charged through her. She was sliding, out of control! There was nothing she could do to stop it! She braced herself for the impact as the car slammed against the guardrail and bounced off. It flipped and rolled over, again and again. She screamed as glass exploded. Blood filled her mouth, and her vision grew blurry. She was losing consciousness.

No, she had to get out. She could smell gas leaking. The car was going to catch on fire.

Then someone was at the window. Trying to open the door. Grady.

No…Ross Wheeler.

She reached for his hand. Swiped at the blood trickling down her lips. Let him help her crawl through the shattered window.

Her head spun. Darkness swirled around her. She was so dizzy she couldn't see. Then the car exploded in a fiery inferno. Metal spewed, pelting her.

Then the world went black, and she sank into nothingness.

G
RADY WAS WORRIED
about Violet. He hated leaving things unsettled between them, but he had to take care of business. Not that he owed his father anything, but Grady wasn't convinced his dad was guilty of all these crimes.

Only of lying to his son all his life. And withholding information that might have led them to the truth years ago. Grady wasn't sure he could ever forgive him for that.

“Go back and guard Violet's house,” he told Logan.

“Can't I help here?” the deputy asked.

“No, I've got it covered.” Besides, he needed time to himself, to gather his thoughts, to check information on all the other suspects, especially Dwayne Dobbins and Ross Wheeler.

Logan left, jingling his keys, and Grady strode into his office, where Agent Norton was waiting.

“I know you have my father, but I thought we were looking at people with medical backgrounds. Have you got that list from the research facility where all these in vitro fertilization treatments took place?”

“Not yet. My other agents are on it,” Norton said.

Grady nodded. They spent the next hour interrogating his father. Grady watched silently as Agent Norton and Adams grilled him. His father boomeranged from
one emotion to another, everything from guilt to fury. He finally confessed knowing of the sperm donor, then admitted he'd had suspicions about Teresa's death, as well as Baker's and Violet's mother's.

“As God is my witness, I didn't kill any of them.” Walt pressed a shaky, freckled hand to his chest. “You have to believe me, Grady. I kept quiet because I was afraid for you.”

“What about your hair fibers being found at Kerry Cantrell's?”

“I…I don't know how they got there,” his father said.

“Someone must have planted them.”

“You didn't have an affair with her?” Grady asked.

His father stretched his hands in front of him. “No. I…I've been faithful to Laney the last few years.”

Unlike with his wife.

Grady shifted his gaze to Agent Norton. “Is it possible the hair was planted?”

He offered a noncommittal shrug. “It's possible.”

Grady assimilated that information. Who would want to plant evidence against his father? The real killer, maybe. Joseph Longhorse…he certainly hated them both. He must have despised Walt for sneaking around with Laney all these years. And he'd probably thought Grady had a great life.

“What about Dr. Farmer?” Agent Norton asked. “Our files indicate that he worked at the research center. Did he know about the sperm donor?”

“He recommended people to the fertility clinic,” Walt admitted. “Some of the women had no idea they were receiving sperm other than their husband's.”

“We've confirmed that through our interviews,” Agent Adams added.

“We need the names of everyone involved,” Norton said.

“I don't know names.” Walt scrubbed his face, looking weary and too old for his years. “Farmer might, though.”

“We sent someone for him,” Agent Adams interjected. “But apparently he's left town. I've put out an APB on him.”

“Damn,” Grady muttered. “I should have seen that coming.”

“You can't keep me here,” his father argued.

“Yes, they can,” Grady said. “We have to check your story.”

Walt glared at him and sat back down, twisting his hands in his lap. “You know I didn't kill anyone, Grady.”

Grady gave him a blank stare. The reporter had been shot, meaning the M.O. was different from the Bone Whistler victims. But if it was the same killer, he could have panicked, thought the reporter was onto him, and decided to get rid of him, the same way he had Violet's mother, Teresa and Jed Baker.

Frustrated, Grady stalked to his office and grabbed the data coming in by fax. Unfortunately, the records for Logan were sealed. But his deputy had medical training. He'd been at the mental hospital the day Violet had almost died in that fire.

And Grady had sent him back to Violet's.

Dear God. If Logan was the killer, Grady had put her right into his hands.

His pulse jumping, he dialed Logan's cell phone, but got no answer. He phoned Violet's, but there was no answer there, either. Hopefully, she was lying down or
in the shower. Or maybe she just didn't want to talk to him.

Unable to sit still, Grady put in a call to the police department where Logan had previously worked, but the sheriff was out, so he had to leave a message. He'd try Violet again in a few minutes.

Forcing himself not to jump to wild conclusions, he flipped a page and skimmed the file on Dwayne Dobbins. Apparently, the man had gotten in trouble for some petty crimes. Shoplifting. Vandalism. Abuse of animals. Hmm, wasn't that a sign of a more serious psychosis? The bone whistle had been carved from a dead animal.

He read further. Dwayne had set fire to an old warehouse, although the crime had been deemed an accident—he'd dropped a match after lighting a cigarette. Interestingly enough, Mayor Tate had covered up the incidents. How much had Mavis Dobbins paid for that to happen?

Could Dwayne have set the fire at the Black Mountain Mental Hospital? Even if he had, was he smart enough to carry off these serial killings and not get caught?

Grady doubted it.

He was still waiting to see if the feds turned up anything on the medical personnel at the hospital. So far, Gardener and Farmer looked clean, although Farmer had sent patients there for treatment and knew about the sperm donor recipients. The doc had probably gotten a kickback.

He turned to the report on Ross Wheeler. Sexual harassment and two counts of sexual misconduct with a minor. Both charges dropped. Had the girls been paid off, or decided they couldn't suffer through the abuse
of a trial? He skipped to the next part. Wheeler was applying for jobs in Nashville. And Savannah. So he had been in both cities recently.

Special Agent Adams poked her head in. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

“We found another man's DNA in Kerry Cantrell's bedroom. This time from semen. We're running tests now.”

“Run it against Ross Wheeler's,” Grady said.

“Right. And I'm going to get a search warrant for his house.”

* * *

B
ITTERNESS TIGHTENED
Joseph's muscles. His mother had finally confessed the truth to Grady Monroe about her and his father. Joseph would never forget the day he'd discovered that Grady was his half brother. Grady had been eleven, Joseph eight at the time, the apple of his mother's eye. Then he'd seen his mother with Walt Monroe. He'd been disgusted. Sickened. Furious.

Still reeling from shock, he'd overheard them arguing. Discussing Grady. His mother had cried, saying she missed her Grady. Wanted to tell him the truth. Was worried about him growing up without a mother.

But Grady had everything.

Joseph was the one who had nothing. A father he'd never know. A mother who pined for her other son, the son she'd given up so he could have a good life.

Joseph had run into the woods that day, had searched for peace. Had wondered if his mother had had an affair and gotten pregnant with him to replace the son she'd lost. But he'd never found peace. Only solace in the hunt.

And now he wanted to talk to Violet. He shifted the old pickup into gear and drove along the mountain road toward her house. He'd seen her hanging out with Sheriff Monroe a lot. Was Grady screwing Violet the way his father had Joseph's mother?

Walt Monroe had screwed his mama all Joseph's life. He didn't want to see Grady doing the same to Violet.

Ahead, an orange blaze lit the sky. He hit the brakes, staring as plumes of smoke rose toward the heavens. Fire shot upward like a big yellow ball. The scent of metal burning assaulted him as he approached. The car was a Civic, just like Violet's.

Was she inside?

His pulse pounding, he swerved to avoid the glass and parked on the embankment as a black Cadillac spun away from the scene.

Joseph jumped out and sprinted toward the burning vehicle. Heat scorched his face and body as he neared, the flames shooting sparks onto the asphalt. He peered inside and yelled her name, but no one answered. He didn't see a body.

Panicked, he ran to the other side and checked the back seat. Nothing.

He muttered a prayer of thanks to the heavens above. Maybe Violet had been thrown from the car, and she was still alive.

“Violet!” He shouted her name over and over, and was heading into the bushes to search when a police car rolled up, blue lights flashing. The sheriff's deputy jumped out.

“What's going on?” Logan asked.

“I just drove up and found this accident.”

“Is anybody hurt?”

“I don't know. It's Violet Baker's car, but she's not inside.”

Logan reached inside the car for his radio. “I'll call it in. Then we'll search the area.”

* * *

G
RADY POUNDED ON
Wheeler's door as Special Agent Adams shifted beside him.

“His father's a preacher. He fits the profile,” she said while they waited.

“He was also accused of sexual misconduct by some students he taught. He hasn't been able to get a job anywhere since.”

“I imagine he has some anger and hostility built up,” Adams stated.

Grady knocked again, and finally footsteps approached. Reverend Wheeler opened the door, straightening his suit jacket. A frown creased his thick brows at Grady's presence, then transformed completely at the sight of the female agent.

“Reverend, this is Special Agent Adams of the FBI.”

The smile froze in place. “What can I do for you?”

Grady pushed through the door. “We have a search warrant.”

“What?” The preacher's nostrils flared with shock.

The televangelist, Reverend Bilkins, pushed to his feet and stepped forward. “What's wrong, Brother Wheeler?”

“It's some mistake,” Wheeler screeched. “It has to be.”

“Is your son here?” Grady asked.

“No, but I'm calling my attorney right now.”

“Go ahead,” Grady said. “Meanwhile step aside.”

“Where's your son's room?” Agent Adams asked.

The reverend ran his palm over his forehead, sweating. “Downstairs. The basement.”

Grady gestured for the federal agent to go first, then he followed her down the stairs. The minute he stepped inside Wheeler's room, a weird feeling crept over him. “It's immaculate.”

“Obsessive-compulsive tendencies,” Agent Adams said as she cataloged the items on his wooden desk. “That behavior fits the profile of our killer. Remember what Violet said—he's following a definite order, looking for the perfect blood.”

The mention of Violet's name caused a pang of regret in Grady's chest. He wanted to go back to her, to explain and hold her. Reassure her that he hadn't meant to keep things from her. But he had a job to do. To protect her, he had to find this killer.

Agent Adams searched through a desk drawer, while Grady opened the closet. Wheeler's suits and shirts were all hanging neatly, the pants in one row, the jackets another. His shoes were lined up, polished and new, organized on a shoe rack. Grady spotted a tall metal locker in the corner. He reached to open it and found it locked.

“Did you find any keys in that desk?”

Agent Adams turned and jangled a ring holding two small keys. “There's a nice stash of porn in here,” she said. She held up one of the magazines. “But he likes them young.”

Grady glanced at the nude photos of the preteens and felt sick. Oddly, most of the magazines featured men, not women. “Makes me wonder about those allegations about him.”

“He uses condoms,” she said, indicating two boxes of ribbed ones on the bottom shelf. “I guess he's into cleanliness, or worried about disease.”

“Yeah, what a guy.” Grady inserted the first key and tried the lock. It didn't work, so he inserted the second. Bingo. The metal door screeched open.

Grady's blood rushed to his head. There were more pictures. But instead of porn, photographs of the Bone Whistler victims were taped inside.

Violet's photo had been placed in the center.

* * *

V
IOLET FADED IN AND OUT
of consciousness. She was in a car. Moving. The ride was bumpy. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“Shh. Rest now. You should see a doctor.”

Her head was throbbing. She tasted blood. And she was trembling. Unable to keep her eyes open, she leaned against the headrest in the front seat. She must have hit her skull when the car rolled, she was so dizzy and disoriented. Her vision was blurred. Flames clawed at the car.

No, the flames were gone. There was only darkness.

Another vision was coming on. Instead of fighting it, she tried to embrace it, get into the woman's mind. Maybe she'd see something to save the woman this time. Recognize some clue as to where he'd taken her.

The woman's cry screeched against the quiet. Her eyes were frightened, glassy with shock. Needles of numbness plucked at her skin. The medication the killer had injected her with was paralyzing her. He had left her for a short time.

But he was coming back.

“Help me.”

The room was so cold. Like a refrigerator. The walls
were dark, the shades drawn. No light. She was scared. So scared she couldn't move.

She didn't want to die.

The drip-drip-drip of water floated through the haze. The stench of alcohol. Antiseptics. His smell, musk and sweat and cleaning soap. He had washed his hands over and over. Scrubbed them until they were raw.

He had the needles lined up. The tubes ready for her blood. He had already taken one vial.

What did he plan to do with it?

He'd frowned when he looked at her. Said hers wasn't the right one. It wasn't perfect. Then he had laughed. Murmured that he was sorry.