Under His Skin

Grace frowned and waited to see if they mentioned the corpse from the night before, but the reporter spent most of the segment on interviews at the church scene. Sighing, she chided herself for worrying, took her salad plate to the sink, rinsed it and stuck it in the dishwasher, then stepped outside on the back patio. The smell of the marsh assaulted her, and the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore filled her ears. But thunder rattled her nerves, and the wind brought the whisper of her brother’s voice.

“Help me…”

She froze. She must have imagined the words, had been thinking about Bruno too much lately because of these missing corpses.

That and the fact that his killer had never been caught.

Suddenly exhausted, she went back inside, stripped her clothes and slipped into a cool, cotton nightshirt. For a brief moment she allowed herself to think about Parker Kilpatrick, and imagined him beside her, watching her undress. Imagined him smiling as he ran his hands over her bare breasts. Imagined him erasing thoughts of dead bodies and replacing them with an erotic night of lovemaking.

But the image of his frown when he’d told her to leave returned, drowning out the fantasy, and she crawled into bed, reminding herself that nothing could happen between them.

He was a cop. She’d lost her mother and the two most important men in her life, everyone she had ever loved, to the job, and she refused to take the chance on that again. Besides, he wasn’t interested in her.

Feeling claustrophobic, she left the window open so she could feel the breeze and hear the waves during the night and soon fell into a deep sleep.

But rest didn’t come. Instead nightmares of her childhood did.

THE STORM RAGED outside, shaking the walls and beating the thin windowpanes. She was seven years old, huddled in bed with her teddy bear, trying to drown out the noise by covering her ears with her hands. Her little brother had gone to a friend’s for the night, and she wanted to climb in bed with her parents, but her daddy told her earlier she had to be a big girl.

Her chin wobbled as she fought tears. Suddenly a loud boom split the air. The storm?

It sounded like thunder. No…someone had screamed.

Her heart pounding, she slipped from bed and padded toward the door to the den. Mommy would hold her and make everything all right. Would keep her safe from the storm, and tell her the screams were all in her head.

But when she peered through the crack in the door to the den, she saw her parents hovering together on the sofa. Her mommy was crying.

Then she saw the other man. A big guy in black clothes with a ski mask over his face. He was waving a gun at her parents.

Another streak of lightning fell across the room and he shoved her father back onto the sofa and pointed the gun at his head.

Her mother screamed, then a gunshot blasted the air. Blood splattered the floor and walls. Grace closed her eyes and sank to the floor in horror, then covered her ears as a second shot blasted.

Without looking she knew her parents were dead.

TIME TO GO under the knife.

Parker grimaced as the first strains of daylight stole into the hospital room. In spite of his resolve not to get involved with Grace Gardener, he searched the faces of the nurses for her sea-blue eyes. Another nurse prepped him for surgery and when she started to give him a shot to relax him before they transported him to the operating room, he finally accepted that Grace wasn’t coming.

She had given up on being his friend. He’d driven her away.

Good. He didn’t need or want her hovering over him. Doing him any favors. Smiling at him like he meant something special to her when she probably treated all her patients the same way.

Besides, he knew she wanted answers about her brother’s death. Answers he didn’t have. As soon as he’d joined the precinct, the serial arsonist had struck and he and his partner had been swamped with the case.

But when he got back on track, he’d investigate and see what he could find out about Bruno’s death. All he’d heard when he’d replaced the investigating cop was that Bruno had committed suicide, although some of the locals suspected he hadn’t killed himself. He’d been found with a bullet in his head and had fallen over a cliff. They wouldn’t have a body if a storm hadn’t washed it back in. Which made him suspicious.

That was probably the only reason Grace had been so friendly. She wanted his help.

Still, he felt a tug of disappointment in his chest that she hadn’t dropped by to see him this morning. Hadn’t he learned? People only used you when they needed something. Promises were only words that were broken.

The medicine kicked in and his head became fuzzy, the room a kaleidoscope of beige on white that swirled in a drunken haze.

Suddenly two blue circles appeared in the haze. Grace’s smiling eyes. Then her angelic voice penetrated the fog, calling his name.

“You’re going to do great, Parker,” she whispered. “And when this is over, you’ll heal just like you want. One day you’ll walk out of here and we’ll never see you again.”

He smiled, or at least he thought he did. His face felt funny, as if it was melting clay, and his lips seemed gluey, his tongue thick as if it was swollen inside his mouth.

“I’ll see you when you wake up.” She squeezed his hand and he tried to squeeze back to let her know he heard, that he appreciated her visit, but he didn’t know if he’d actually moved his fingers.

Then they were rolling him into a room with bright lights. The operating room. A mask slid over his face. Faces blurred, voices became a rumbling echo, distant and indiscernible.

Slowly the world faded into nothingness, where he dreamed about death. He was being buried but someone had stolen his body from the casket…

GRACE TRIED NOT TO WORRY about Parker during the surgery—after all, this was routine compared to the condition he’d been in when he’d first been admitted. But something about the tissue recalls disturbed her.

What exactly was the problem with the initial tissues? Although the hospital was affiliated with CIRP and took advantage of all the cutting-edge techniques, it had an impeccable reputation. The area had become a hubbub of high-tech medical research, and patients came from all over the States to utilize the latest treatments available. Sometimes in desperation, they agreed to new treatments offered through the research projects as a last resort.

But these tissue transplants were fairly common. Perhaps the problem wasn’t with the hospitals but with the tissue banks.

She spent the morning tending to other patients, and when the orderlies wheeled Parker to ICU after he was released from recovery, she rushed to check on his condition. He was breathing fine, his vitals were normal, and he had come through the surgery with flying colors. He didn’t need her, just a nurse to take care of routine tasks.

So why did she stay close to his side all morning? Why did she run every time she heard his breathing turn erratic or hear him moan in pain?

Furious with herself, she allowed another nurse to help him walk the first time. And when they transported him to a regular room, she was relieved. No more making a fool of herself over the man. He was on his own.

Still, the questions concerning the tissue transplants needled her. When she stepped into the hospital lounge for a midmorning cup of coffee, two surgical nurses hovered together in low conversation. “So far, we’ve had at least twenty patients affected,” one of the nurses said.

“The hospital will get flack for this,” the other nurse muttered.

“I just hope the police don’t ask questions,” the first nurse said.

“Why would they?”

“With this many patients involved, and with one of them a cop, the press will have a heyday. There’ll probably be lawsuits.”

Suddenly they spotted her and clammed up. But the rest of the morning, their conversation haunted Grace.

When she slipped into the hospital cafeteria for lunch, she spotted Dr. Whitehead and his colleague Dr. Nigel Knightly in deep conversation. She grabbed a chicken salad sandwich and a glass of sweet tea, half hoping to avoid Wilson Whitehead, but he cornered her and insisted she join them for lunch.

Dr. Knightly had performed Parker’s surgery so she decided to broach the subject of the tissue transplant with him. “The surgery with Parker Kilpatrick went okay?”

“Yes, it was a success,” Dr. Knightly said.

“This tissue was checked prior to surgery so we don’t expect any more problems,” Dr. Whitehead added.

She sipped her tea. “Did you get any more details on the recalled tissue?”

Dr. Knightly shrugged. “It wasn’t processed properly after extraction. That causes infection, rejection in some cases, and in one case now the patient has reacted, become septic and a limb had to be amputated.”

“Where do you think the problem originated?” she asked, digging for more information.

Dr. Whitehead arched his blond brows. “Why are you so interested, Grace?”

“Patients ask questions,” she replied quickly. “Sometimes they’re afraid or hesitant to go to the doctors. I just want to be prepared.”

He studied her for a long moment as if assessing the truth of her statement, then offered a small smile. “The problem didn’t occur in our hospital, that’s for sure. Probably an inexperienced or sloppy lab technician who didn’t know what he was doing.”

And since more than one hospital received tissue from designated tissue banks, other facilities and patients might be affected. “Then the problems might be far more widespread than our hospital here. Have the necessary parties been notified?” Grace asked.

The doctors exchanged an odd look, then Dr. Whitehead covered her hand with his. “Yes. Now, don’t worry yourself over this, Grace. We have the situation under control.”

She tensed at his patronizing tone. And the strange look in Dr. Knightly’s eyes sent a tingle of nerves up her spine. They obviously didn’t want her asking questions about the transplants.

THE NEXT WEEK passed in a blur of pain, physical therapy and frustration for Parker. Not wanting to grow addicted to the medication, by midweek he refused the pain pills.

By Friday, his leg felt remarkably better than after the first surgery.

He walked the halls with the help of one crutch instead of two, and hoped to be transferred to the rehab facility soon.

The only downside to the transfer was that he wouldn’t get to see Grace every day. Pathetic though it was, he looked forward to the five-minute, drop-in visits that she’d carved out of her busy day for him.

Unfortunately while he’d been laid up, several more bodies had been stolen from different morgues, two of which were involved in pranks. Three others had gone missing, only to be discovered later at a different morgue or funeral home. The coroner’s office had argued improper tagging and blamed a shoddy body-moving service.

Tests were being run to see if any trace evidence had been left on the bodies.

He’d also heard whispers about other patients being brought in for tissue replacement surgeries. One man had died from an infection.

He shuddered, knowing he should be grateful. And he wanted to repay Grace by finding out the truth about her brother’s death.

Dark storm clouds cast a gray fog over the sky, the rolling thunderstorms mirroring his mood. He hadn’t been out in days and missed the sunshine on his face and the fresh air.

The barometric pressure seemed to affect his knee and made it ache. Thunder burst into a roar, and the power flickered off then back on, making him think about the hospital and potential problems if a power shortage occurred. Backup generators would kick in, but what if they lost a patient during the time that took?

Funny how he never considered those issues before he’d been imprisoned in the facility. He had too damn much time to think. Which he’d been doing a lot of. The problems with the tissue banks disturbed him. He’d heard rumors that one of the doctors might have known about the problems but used the tissue anyway.

He was taking a final spin around the hospital wing when he spotted Grace approaching him. She looked tired and agitated but so beautiful his gut tightened, and arousal speared him. At least that part of him hadn’t been injured. The only pleasurable sensation he’d experienced lately.

Unfortunately he couldn’t assuage the ache.

He had to spend all his time and energy on getting better. Returning to his job was all that mattered.

HE CHECKED the toe tags on the stiffs in the crypt, choosing the one that had been preordained for his mission, a John Doe. It was past midnight, the place was deserted, and although corpses didn’t faze him, being inside the cold room alone at night reminded him of the chilling stories his grandmother told about ghosts rising from the dead.

The heavy scent of formaldehyde and other chemicals blended into the icy air, the shadows casting ominous shades of gray across the chalky-white pallor of the deceased. Sometimes he thought he heard their voices calling from the steel tables, heard whispers of lost ones trying to rise again.

Dressed in surgical scrubs, he blended in with the other staff members as he zipped up the body bag and pushed the gurney through the side door for transport by the body movers.

There would be no rest for him tonight, though. He had work to do and only hours to perform his tasks. He’d better get started.

Chapter Four

Parker sucked in a sharp breath and walked toward Grace, proud of his progress, that he could stand upright instead of having to look up at her from a hospital bed. He’d also asked Bradford Welsh, his partner, to get him Bruno’s file so he could study it while he was recuperating.

“You look amazing,” Grace said.

He nodded, pride filling him. “The leg is feeling better.”

“Obviously the healthy tissue made a huge difference.”

Something about her tone disturbed him. “Yes. I guess I’m one of the lucky ones.”

She frowned. “You heard about some of the other patients?”

He nodded. “One dead of infection, and three lost limbs.”

Her eyes flickered with worry. “That never should have happened.”

He frowned. “What’s wrong, Grace?”

She glanced around the nurses’ station, then lowered her voice. “Are you up for a walk to the coffee machine?”

He’d pushed himself to the limit with his therapy this morning, and his leg was throbbing, but damned if he’d admit it. “Sure.”

She began walking down the hall, obviously slowing her gait to match his. Irritation nagged at him, but he wrestled it under control. “Okay, what’s on your mind?” he asked as they settled in a deserted corner with coffee.

“I probably shouldn’t say anything. The hospital staff doesn’t want gossip.”

“Did someone ask you to keep quiet?”

“Not exactly. But I can’t help but wonder if someone here knew the tissue was faulty and used it anyway.”

He sighed. Hadn’t he wondered the same thing? “You have a name?”

She shook her head. “Nothing definite, just hints here and there. Everyone is very hush-hush.”

“That’s no surprise. They’re probably concerned about lawsuits.”

“And criminal charges now with this man’s death,” she murmured.

“What do you think happened, Grace?” he asked bluntly.

Her troubled gaze met his, then she took a long sip of her coffee. “I’m not sure. We get the tissue from tissue banks. One of the physicians said he thinks that’s where the breakdown occurred. It was processed improperly, probably by a technician who didn’t know what he was doing.”

“But you have another theory?”

“His speculation makes perfect sense. But those missing corpses have me perplexed. I know some have been used in pranks for Halloween, but the others…”

His skin prickled. “What about them?”

“Sometimes we have live donors, but often tissue is taken from the deceased.”

Suspicion twitched at him. “You think the missing corpses are being used to extract tissue?”

“I don’t know, Parker, it’s just a thought.” She chewed her bottom lip. “There’s something else. When my brother was killed, his body went missing for two days. Eventually it turned up at a different morgue. The coroner said that it was a clerical error, but now I’m wondering…”

“Wouldn’t the autopsies show if tissue was removed?”

“Yes, although some tissue might be removed after the autopsy.”

“Didn’t the ME check the bodies after they were recovered?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “I guess I’m just going off on a tangent. Trying to find something that isn’t there.”

“Like the fact that you don’t believe your brother killed himself?”

She gave him a withering look. “I know Bruno wouldn’t take his own life. The bullet in the head sounds like a professional hit to me. Maybe he was investigating some kind of mob crime.”

“Grace, I saw Bruno’s file. He left a suicide note. They analyzed the handwriting and it matched your brother’s—”

“Someone could have forced him to write that, and you know it.” She knotted her hands in her lap so tightly her knuckles turned white. “And then for his body to go missing…”

“What did the coroner say after they recovered his body? Had it been mishandled?”

She reluctantly shook her head. “They said it hadn’t.”

Parker twisted his mouth in thought. Unless the police hadn’t told her. Sometimes they withheld details of a crime from the family and press to use later in case of an arrest.

Besides, if she was right and her brother hadn’t committed suicide, then she might also be correct about the hit.

“My partner thinks there’s a group of teens stealing the bodies,” Parker said. “He found a pentagram painted on the lawn of a local church, and dead animals left around it. They may be using the corpses in some kind of ritualistic ceremony.”

“I read something about that in the paper,” she admitted. “Sounds feasible.”

Parker wanted to console her, but didn’t know how. Not unless he found the truth. “I’ve requested the police reports on your brother’s death.”

Her gaze jerked to his. “Did you find anything?”

“Not yet,” he said quietly. “But I’ll find out what happened to him, Grace. I promise.”

The relief in her eyes made his chest squeeze, although guilt plagued him. Family members always wanted to deny that one of their loved ones would commit suicide, but it happened. Men, even cops, folded under pressure.

He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he didn’t dare. Because touching her once wouldn’t be enough.

And he had no illusions that she wanted anything from him but answers about her brother’s case. After all, he was weak. A scarred man.

Lying in bed helpless he might have fantasized about having a woman in his life on a permanent basis.

But when he returned to the job, that was not an option.

THUNDER POPPED OUTSIDE, and lightning crackled, streaking the dark sky with jagged lines that jarred Grace from her seat.

She wrapped her arms around her waist, then glanced at Parker and saw him watching her. Good heavens, she must look like a ninny.

Still she moved away from the window. Tried to forget that all week she’d felt as if someone was following her. That she wondered if the man she’d seen in the woods at the graveyard might be after her.

If the person who’d killed her brother might want her dead because she wouldn’t leave the case alone.

She wanted to confide in Parker, but the man had enough on his plate right now. He would probably think she was paranoid if she confessed her fears.

At least he was going to look into her brother’s death.

Not that he could do a lot while recovering, but he could ask questions, maybe convince his partner to help him. She certainly hadn’t gotten anywhere on her own.

Curious about the tissue banks and the possibility of a cover-up, she decided to dig around a little after she walked Parker back to his room. She’d subtly questioned other nurses and Dr. Whitehead again, but he assured her that the hospital administrator was investigating the matter and would inform them of the results when he found the source of the problem.

So why did she sense they were hiding the truth?

Having a cop for a brother and father must have made her suspicious of everything. She didn’t trust anyone.

Parker’s face materialized, but she reminded herself that he was a detective, as well. Cops kept secrets, even from people they cared about. Her brother had. And so had her father.

Those secrets had gotten them killed.

Remembering the body she’d seen in the graveyard and the figure in the woods, she shivered. He’d been painted so grotesquely that he was probably part of a prank, but still the police weren’t sure. And they weren’t telling her anything.

Maybe she could sneak into records and find the man’s autopsy. Maybe she’d find Bruno’s and check it out, as well. She especially wanted to see the report the coroner had filed after Bruno’s body had been recovered.

Unable to rest for the questions needling her, she headed toward the records department. A crowd filled the elevator, so she waited for another. But the power blinked off, then on again, and she panicked. No way she’d get trapped in the elevator, so she darted into the stairwell.

She’d made it to the second-floor landing when the sound of something scraping broke the silence. She froze, her breathing vibrating in the quiet. Was someone in the stairwell with her? Maybe behind her?

She turned to look, but the lights blinked off again, pitching her into darkness. She swallowed hard as thunder roared, and prayed the lights would be restored immediately. But the stairwell remained cloaked in a black fog. The scent of some kind of chemical and stale air permeated the space. Then the sound of a shoe padding softly on cement broke the silence. Someone was in the stairwell with her, and they were coming toward her.

“Who’s there?” she called.

No answer.

The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end, and she called out, but again no answer. The footsteps drew closer, louder. Ominous.

Panicking, she gripped the handrail and began to feel her way down the steps. One step, two, three, her heel caught the edge and she stumbled. Her heart pounding, she grabbed the rail and steadied herself, breathing heavy. The footsteps sped up.

She had to hurry. But the whisper of a breath bathed her neck, then someone shoved her from behind.

She screamed, clawing for the railing, but her hands connected only with air.

Then she lost her balance and went careening down the staircase.

Chapter Five

Grace’s questions about the tissue transplants aroused Parker’s curiosity. Although Bradford had informed him about the Coastal Island Research Park and some unethical projects that had taken place, stealing dead bodies to remove tissues seemed far-fetched. Captain Black and Detective Clayton Fox had investigated the center for over a year. Fox had gotten too close to one case and they’d performed a memory transplant on him. For months he’d actually believed he was a guy named Cole.

Police had also exposed another experiment where children had been trained and brainwashed to be spies. A twin identity experiment had taken one of the participant’s lives, and a few months back, someone had poisoned unsuspecting people with a chemical that caused depression, delusions, agoraphobia, and eventually lead to suicide. Bradford’s wife and brother had also been subjects of a study on paranormal abilities.

Then again, the painted corpses definitely read like teenage pranks.

But worry nagged at him. He didn’t like the fact that the paper had printed Grace’s name as a possible witness to a crime. Or that they’d revealed that she was pushing the police to find her brother’s killer.