Without Malice (The Without Series Book 1) (18 page)

Chapter 51

He found her lying unconscious near the mouth of the cave. The scuffed dirt on the cave’s floor indicated she’d crawled from the spot he’d dropped her deep in the cave with a single LED lamp, back toward the entry.

He looked around, wondering if anyone could see the opening this far up.

Bitch! Where’d she gotten the strength?

He bent over her, felt for a pulse. Steady and strong. Good, she was alive.

Grabbing her feet, he again dragged her deeper into the interior. For good measure punched her in the face and kicked her once in the ribs. The blows roused her for a moment, and she groaned weakly, rolling into a fetal position.

He jerked her flat on her back on the rumpled blanket he’d spread on the dirt. Wouldn’t want to get his own clothing dirty.

Bitch! Miss Self-righteous Angie Hunt, always looking down her nose at reliable, productive members of the community. Favoring the scum she surrounded herself with. He felt the familiar rage roil inside his gut, remembered his father’s disparaging words.

Straddling her, his knees on either side of her hips, he looked down at her bruised face, the gouges and cuts on her arms. He felt the first stirrings of arousal at the sight of her helplessness – not sexual – he wouldn’t screw a diseased whore like her if his life depended on it.

But a thrill at the sight of her fragile, thin neck – the cords standing out like chicken bones – made him hard. Thinking about how easy he could snap it – a twig in a child’s hand – aroused him. The utter vulnerability of the woman and the absolute power he had over her made him shudder with sexual promise.

He wrapped a hand around her throat. He could break her scrawny neck with one twist. He spread his fingers widely and felt another pulse of anticipation jitter through his body. Felt her pulse skitter beneath his touch.

She coughed and sputtered her eyes open, staring at him with round black pits in her chocolate face. “You?” she choked out. “I thought – ” Pure unadulterated hatred, mingled with fear, contorted her face.

He could hardly hear her weak words, but laughed anyway. “Yeah, what a bitch, huh?”

Her eyelids fluttered wildly as she tried to shake her head. Her eyes rolled back, showing only the whites, stark against her brown skin.

He wrapped both hands together around her throat, thumbs hooking at her larynx.

Squeezing slowly, watching her eyes jerk and close – open, jerk, and close as she gasped for air – he brought her almost to death. Then the next moment he allowed her to gasp back to life in a spate of wheezing and coughing. He repeated the actions, excited by the perverted intensity of the act. He began a third time.

All at once with a sudden burst of strength, Angie came to life, fought him, her skinny fingers clawing at his hands, desperately trying to break loose from his iron grip. Her legs kicked, her hips bucked beneath him, but he continued the rhythm – tighten and release, tighten and release.

Finally the exquisite pleasure was too much and he exploded, spasmed in a jerk that bowed his body backward. Sweat dripped down his face onto her rictus of repulsion. He collapsed on her, rolled off and trembled with the greatest sense of release he’d ever felt.

Fuck! That was good. He bathed in the pleasure of the moment until his sweat cooled in the dim cave. Finally he stood, stared at the corpse. His heart slowed down, his brain sprang alive, and he aimed one last kick at the lifeless body.

She didn’t flinch or move. He smiled with thin, cruel lips.

What a rush! And he didn’t even have to screw her.

He rolled her onto the dirt floor and tossed the blanket over her body, looked around. They were so deep inside the cave she wouldn’t be found for years and years.

It was the last phone call Frankie ever expected to receive.

“He what?” she nearly shouted into the phone.

The neutral voice on the other end of the line didn’t belong to a medical person. Frankie could tell by the tone – brusque and military sounding. “He’s been transferred to Sutter General Hospital in Sacramento, the ICU. You’re the only person listed in his files, but you’ll need picture ID to see him. He’s under guarded lock-down.”

She dropped the land line. It fell lopsided onto its cradle. Her father was in critical condition in a trauma center. That meant he might not survive the night. The automaton-like voice had given no details on his condition. She’d have to visit the hospital herself for a status report from a physician.

Involuntarily, Frankie glanced at the stairs winding up to the second level bedroom where Cole Hansen recuperated from his bullet wound. He was getting better every hour, but still was weak.

She didn’t dare leave her patient, but she had to see her father. Learn for herself how critical his condition was. What had happened to him in Folsom Prison? And why?

God, did it have anything to do with her?

Chapter 52

“Both of them can hide out at my place,” Slater offered as he and Cruz sat in the Sheriff’s office discussing the case. “No one would suspect the Bigler County Sheriff of harboring an ex-con on the loose and a pretty prison doctor.”

“Who said Frankie’s pretty?” Cruz asked.

“Oh, ho, I’m the older and wiser man, remember. I can tell by the way you say her name that she’s no ordinary-looking woman.”

It annoyed Cruz that he was so transparent. “Cole Hansen’s a violated parolee, not a runaway,” he corrected. “I had to violate him to keep the heat off me and Dr. Jones.”

Slater smiled slyly. “Dr. Jones, huh?”

“Cut it out. We’ve got three murders, attacks on a respected member of the community, homeless people in jeopardy, and a violated parolee on our hands.” He rose to pace the floor of the small office. “We don’t have time for jokes.”

“I got plenty of room at my ranch,” Slater offered, “and it’s secluded enough to avoid notice. Trick will be to get them out of the ‘ordinary-looking’ Doc Jones’ house.” He smiled at his little joke and rubbed the top of his close-cropped head. Gray threads ran through the thick brush of hair. “How do you figure the
Lords
got to them anyway?”

Cruz shook his head, continuing to pace. “No idea. Whatever this is about, though, I bet it all leads back to Anson Stark and the nasty business he’s gotten into with his gang. The Professor may have started out with an allegiance or pledge of loyalty from his crew, but he would’ve figured out real fast how to turn it into a profit.”

“Maybe,” Slater said slowly. “But if it’s also tied to the homeless deaths, we’ve gotta be careful. Gangs are dangerous, especially when money’s at stake.”

He gave Cruz directions and a set of keys to the ranch north of Placer Hills. “I’d better see what Flood thinks he’s got on the cases.” As they left the office, he placed a hand on Cruz’s shoulder, halting him. “Safety first, Chago, safety first.”

Cruz didn’t need the warning. He didn’t call ahead to warn Frankie about the move to a different safe house. She’d resist the change, especially if Cole was not recovering well, and he didn’t need an argument with her right now. Safety first, he muttered to himself.

“I’m not leaving my patient,” Frankie insisted when Cruz arrived at the Rosedale house and explained the plan to her. “Not until the wound stops seeping.”

Hands on hips, Cruz glared down at her. She looked frazzled. The last forty-eight hours had been brutal for both of them.

He stepped away from her because even while his survival senses were ringing alarm bells, part of him wanted to take her in his arms and soothe her. “All right, okay.”

Striding into the kitchen and rummaging through her refrigerator, he muttered, “No beer? What kind of doctor doesn’t drink beer?”

She trailed after him. “The kind who – ”

“No, don’t tell me,” he interrupted. “The kind who keeps a giant bottle of vodka in her bedroom.”

“The kind whose mother was an alcoholic,” she corrected calmly.

He felt foolish, straightened up, and looked at her over the top of the fridge door. “Oh – sorry. And I guess the vodka is – ”

“A nice little disinfectant and pain killer in an emergency.”

He smiled gently. “Not a reminder to stay on the straight and narrow?”

“Well, maybe that, too,” she admitted, sinking onto a kitchen bar stool. “Seeing as how I’ve kept it in my bedroom since before med school.”

He joined her, carrying a carton of milk and a package of sliced lunchmeat. “We’ve got to figure this out because you and Cole can’t stay here.” He drank from the milk carton with the abandonment of a child and then stuffed his mouth with several slices of ham.

“Who at the prison has the know-how to remove a kidney without someone dying?” Cruz asked Frankie as they moved into the living room.

“Has to be one of the nurses, night-time, probably. No one else would know the mechanics of it, but it would still be a great risk.”

“Another doctor?”

“Dr. Vincent comes in to cover for me, but he’s old, nearly retired. I doubt he’d – ”

“Where would they do it?”

“The SHU clinic is pretty quiet at night, but at least one guard would have to be part of the scheme,” Frankie answered. “They’d have to pack the organ in ice and transport it for immediate use.” She shook her head in perplexity. “I don’t see how they could manage it.”

“Unless ... ” Cruz began, trailing off.

“Unless, what?”

“Unless they don’t plan on using the organs at all.”

Frankie looked shocked. “But – but why would they remove a perfectly good kidney simply to – what, dispose of it?”

“A demonstration of loyalty,” Cruz answered promptly. “Or intimidation.”

Frankie bit on her lower lip, concentrating. “If that’s true, they could dispose of it easily enough in the hazardous waste containers.”

“A ritual for leadership in the gang,” Cruz continued. “Do you have the names of those inmates who had abdominal scars? We could cross-check them against known members of the
Lords of Death
.”

“I have another idea,” Frankie said after thinking a long moment. She retrieved the pilfered note from a folder, and pushed it across the counter where Cruz stood. “Take a look at this again. In light of what you’ve told me, could the letters and numbers refer to human organs?”

Cruz nodded. “Cole was talking about musical instruments ... but ‘organs’ could’ve meant internal body parts.”

Frankie’s brow puckered. “The symbols represent blood types, like O+ stands for O-positive.”

“And the 10p at the end of the note could be 10:00 pm, couldn’t it?” He bent his head close to hers, their cheeks almost touching. “A delivery time?”

“Who was the note meant for? If the note says the – the supplier, I suppose, needs one O-positive or A-negative blood donor of a heart, for example – ”

“Right,” Cruz interrupted excitedly, ‘1O-,O+’ means one organ. either O-negative or O-positive.”

Frankie turned her head quickly toward Cruz, their faces close and unbearably tense. “Ah, because O is the universal donor. And HK?”

“Heart and kidney,” Cruz replied immediately, his voice low, his breath soft against her skin.

The reality of what she’d just said broke the spell and she shuddered violently. “My God, it’s a specialty order for organ transplants.”

Chapter 53

The escape from Frankie’s family home in Rosedale to Slater’s house took place after midnight, but no one was sleepy. Even in the safest place possible – the residence of the county Sheriff in the Sierra foothills – none of them found comfort in, no matter how far from Rosedale. But there was safety in numbers.

Slater’s house, roomy and spacious, was able to accommodate all of them. Frankie and Cruz each took a guest room, and Slater would sleep on the sofa bed in the den. Still recovering from the gunshot wound, but no longer feverish, Cole had been settled into the master bedroom upstairs.

Slater had finished the cleanup at the Rosedale house, repaired the garage door lock and replaced the bedroom door. He disposed the broken glass and blood-stained rug. Examining the residence during the daylight, he found no clues to identify the attacker, but stationed the same deputy outside in case someone returned to the scene of the shooting.

It was now three in the morning, and Frankie and Cruz gathered at one end of Slater’s ancient dining room table with the Sheriff at the head. Fueled by endless cups of coffee and the adrenaline rush of flight, no one was inclined to go to their room. Everyone’s mind was on the brutal attack at Frankie’s family home and the astounding information that’d come at them like a runaway train.

Slater looked into Dr. Jones’ calm eyes, gray like his own. He swiped a large hand over his jaw. “I hate to say this, Dr. Jones, but the attack was aimed at you. Personally. I don’t think it had anything to do with Cole Hansen.”

“We can’t be sure of that,” Cruz contradicted. “The attacker could’ve been looking for Cole, missed seeing him in the garage, and gone searching.”

“And knew just where Cole might be? At Dr. Jones’ childhood house?” Slater shrugged but didn’t argue further. “We won’t know, will we, long as the two of them are together?”

“Are you suggesting we split them up?” Cruz seemed outraged at the idea, and Slater knew for sure the parole officer was starting to take a personal interest in Frankie Jones.

She rose abruptly, nearly knocking over her cup of coffee. Agitated, she rubbed her hands up and down over her crossed arms. She stopped and faced them, stance like someone prepared to do battle. “Talk
to
me, not
about
me.”

Cruz and Slater exchanged sheepish looks. “Sorry, Frankie,” Cruz said at last, “but it will be hard to figure out who did this if we don’t know who the target was.”

“I know that.” She ran her fingers through her thick dark hair, messy and tangled from the recent activities. A good hot shower, she thought, that’s what she needed. No time for one now, though. Her cell phone buzzed in her back jeans pocket.

It was her father’s lawyer. A sharp jolt of guilt ran through her. She hadn’t thought of her father since they’d left the Rosedale house, running for their lives. “I have to take this,” she said, and moved into the kitchen for privacy.

“Where are you?” Wright’s voice was unusually sharp, his normal unflappability gone. “I’ve been trying to reach you.” He paused. “Roger’s in ICU.”

“The prison called me,” Frankie answered. “They said Sutter.”

“Yes, Sutter General, downtown Sacramento, under heavy guard. Frankie, he’s in a bad way. He may not last the night.”

She bit down hard on her lip. “Will they let me visit?”

“Probably not, but as his attorney of record, I can get a message to him.”

Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest, birds’ wings desperate for flight.

“I don’t think you should try to see him,” Wright added after a brief pause. “It might alert whoever’s looking for you. It’s too dangerous. Roger wouldn’t want you taking unnecessary chances.”

“Yes, you’re right.” She felt her cheeks flush and her eyes mist. She’d never, not for a minute, believed her father had killed her mother. If he were dying, she had to find a way to convince him of that continued belief – and her love for him.

“Tell him – tell him I said,
‘semper fi.’”

“Like the Marine Corps?”

“He’ll know what it means.” Frankie cut the connection before she began crying like a baby.

When she returned to the dining room, she got right down to business. “Let’s proceed as if I’m the target. Surely it’s easier to find out where my house is than track down a recently-paroled homeless man.”

Cruz quirked his mouth. “You’d think, but I found Cole pretty fast.”

“Hot shot,” Slater said in an attempt at humor.

Cruz took in Frankie’s pale face and damp eyes. “Everything okay?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I – I know you both want me to hide out here, tend to my patient, but I – I have to visit my father.” She paused and then dropped the bombshell. “He’s in Sutter General Hospital in Sacramento, under guard.”

“Father?” Slater and Cruz spoke at the same time, and it would’ve been comical if the situation weren’t so dire.

Cruz recovered first. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“You gotta give us more than that,” Slater said wryly.

Frankie gave them the short version. “My father is doing fifteen to life for murder two. He was attacked in the exercise yard at Folsom State Prison. Knife wounds. They don’t expect him to live.”

Stunned silence followed.

“I’m going to see him,” Frankie announced, a fierce look on her face. “With or without your approval.”