Once the officer opened the rear door, Radcliff climbed out, then held out a hand and waited for her, as though he thought she might collapse, or maybe make a run for it. But she did neither, ignoring his proffered hand to climb out of the car under her own power and stalk up the carved granite steps leading to the police station, leaving him to follow at her heels.
She paused when she reached the main lobby, where a cross-section of Bostonians waited on padded benches, some chatting or reading dog-eared magazines, others glaring off into space.
“Through here.” Radcliff led her across the lobby, waving to the two uniformed desk officers, who were attending to a straggling line of people from behind the safety of a chest-high desk and a slab of clear, bulletproof Plexiglas.
The thought of someone walking into the lobby and shooting up a police station didn’t seem nearly as far-fetched to Mandy as it might have only hours earlier, and she suppressed a shiver as she headed down a short hallway in Radcliff’s wake.
Nearly to the end of the hall, past a rest room and several offices, Radcliff paused, opened a door and ushered her through into what proved to be a small conference room. The walls were lined with file-stuffed bookshelves, and a large table filled the center of the space, surrounded by a dozen or so utilitarian chairs. An American flag hung in one corner, adding a patriotic dash to the functional space.
There was a second door in the far wall, and before Mandy had gotten her bearings, it swung open and Detective Stankowski strode through.
As before, her first impression was of a darkly handsome man in his early thirties, maybe two or three years older than her. This time, though, she noticed that when his eyes flicked from her to Radcliff and back, the world-weariness in them shifted ever so slightly, giving her the feeling that she was missing something when he took her hand and once again held it a beat too long before guiding her to a chair. As she sat, he said, “Are you sure you’re up for this, Dr. Sparks? Parker says you took a pretty good crack to the head back in that alley.”
“She’s fine,” Radcliff broke in. He stepped in front of Stankowski to pull out the chair beside hers, forcing the detective to give way. “Let’s get on with this.”
Deciding to ignore the brittle undercurrent between the two men for the time being, Mandy waited until Stankowski had taken a seat opposite her, where he arranged a stack of folders and then popped open a slim laptop computer and tapped a few keys. Turning toward Radcliff—she wouldn’t think of him as Parker because that was a name he reserved for his friends and she was feeling far from friendly—she narrowed her eyes. “Okay, we’re here, so let’s have your explanation, and make it good. How about starting with why you followed me tonight?”
Radcliff leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got it backward—I didn’t follow you. I headed for the alley after work for the same reason you did. Lucky for you, we were on the same schedule.”
“You—” Mandy broke off, confused. “Why would you care about that alley?”
“For the same reason you do—because that’s where Irene Dulbecco was attacked a few days before she died.”
“You read my notes?”
He nodded, expression still giving nothing away. “I was in a meeting when she came in, or I would’ve grabbed her case. As it was, I didn’t hear about her until it was too late.”
A chill chased its way down Mandy’s spine as she began to add it up.
“You’ve seen something like this before.” She glanced at the detective, who was watching her as if expecting—what? What sort of response could she possibly have? “You’re working together,” she finally said. “But why? Radcliff isn’t a cop. At least he wasn’t back when—”
“I’m not,” he interrupted quickly, making her think he didn’t want the detective to know about their past history. He continued, “I dug a bullet out of Stankowski here a few years ago. Ever since then, he’s called me when he gets a case that involves something medical.” He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s a nice change from grant writing. But I work very hard to keep this stuff separate from BoGen.”
“Until now,” Stankowski said. He spun the laptop around to face Mandy. On the screen was a computer-generated sketch of a figure wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt and a surgical mask. Above the mask, his eyes were light gray and coldly calculating.
Or maybe the calculation was in her mind, borne on the shiver that started in her gut and worked its way through her body, squeezing the air from her lungs until she was almost unable to breathe. “Oh God. That’s him. That’s the man who attacked me in the alley.” She closed her eyes, trying to blot out the fear of memory. “But you already knew that.”
When she opened her eyes, the detective had closed the laptop. He nodded.
“How many other people has he attacked?” she whispered through a suddenly dry throat.
“Four including you,” Radcliff said, his voice resonating with the deadly sort of calm she’d heard from him only once before, when he’d told her it was over between them. “Of the other three, two are dead and one is missing.” He paused a beat. “You know what that makes you?”
Fear spiked, followed by numbing disbelief, but she nodded, glancing from Radcliff to the detective and back. “That makes me your star witness.”
“As far as we’re concerned, you’re a witness,” Radcliff said. “As far as the killer is concerned, you’re a liability.” His voice changed, roughening. “Damn it, why didn’t you listen to me? I told you to leave the Dulbecco case alone.”
“I couldn’t,” Mandy whispered. Her breath backed up in her lungs when she remembered the syringe, and that terrible moment when the man had held her down and aimed the needle. If he’d managed to inject her with the clear fluid…
She thought of Irene, who’d writhed in pain despite heavy doses of morphine, and the battery of tests she’d run, only to have all the levels come back within normal limits. Her brain spun with terrible questions, like what in God’s name was in that syringe? What would have happened to her if Radcliff hadn’t gotten there in time to save her?
More importantly, what was going to happen next?
Chapter Three
“I want you out of here starting now,” Parker said. “Take a couple of weeks off. Go someplace nice and chill out.” He managed to dredge up what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ll clear it with your boss.”
But instead of jumping at the chance, as any other member of his staff would have, she shook her head, her face set in familiar stubborn lines. “Not on your life. I’m a doctor and Irene Dulbecco was my patient. If there’s any way I can help figure out what was done to her and prevent it from happening to someone else, then that’s what I need to do.”
And there it is, Parker thought on a bite of temper. He’d once warned her that her damned wide-eyed idealism was going to get her in trouble. He hadn’t figured on being there to watch it happen, though, and he hadn’t expected the trouble would be of the life-or-death variety.
Maybe he should’ve known better. Mandy was the sort of person who attracted controversy and chaos—heck, as far as he could tell, she went looking for it. Why else would a prominent surgeon’s daughter become the sort of doctor who’d rather prescribe acupuncture than antibiotics? And that was only the latest incarnation of her hidden rebellious streak as far as he was concerned. Back during her rotation through Boston General, she’d driven him crazy by…well, that was just it. She’d driven him crazy at a time when he’d needed to concentrate on himself, and the job.
Now, she was just plain crazy herself. Only a whacko would’ve gone into that alley alone. If he hadn’t been there—
His mind