Chapter 4 - THE BLOOD TYPE SOMEBODY HUNTED
The police took Graham Pike into custody the following afternoon after reviewing evidence connected to threats, fraudulent lending, and the attempted use of my medical information.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, I felt watched.
The same gray sedan had passed our apartment twice that morning.
Someone had called the diner asking whether I was scheduled that evening.
And at noon, Evan received a text from an unknown number.
Your sister shouldn't have helped that man.
I stared at the message until my hands went numb.
Leo arranged for a security consultation and encouraged us to report every threat.
He offered a guarded apartment in a building owned by one of his legitimate companies.
I refused.
At first.
"I'm not moving into a place where you control the keys."
He studied me.
Then nodded.
"Fair enough."
That surprised me.
Men like Leo weren't accustomed to hearing no.
But he didn't argue.
Instead, Rebecca helped us find temporary housing through an independent victim-support organization while investigators assessed the danger.
Evan complained about leaving his gaming console behind.
I complained about everything else.
But that night, for the first time in months, I slept without expecting Graham to knock on our door.
The next morning, Frank called.
Graham had agreed to cooperate through his attorney.
He claimed Vincent Rourke's people had approached him six months earlier.
Their instructions were simple.
Keep me financially desperate.
Monitor my schedule.
And make certain I was near St. Catherine's Hospital on a specific night.
I listened in disbelief.
"But why?"
Frank hesitated.
"Because someone knew Leo would need a compatible donor."
My stomach turned.
"You can't predict that."
"Not normally."
A terrible thought entered my mind.
"What if the ambush was planned around the hospital?"
Silence.
Then Frank said, "That's what we're trying to determine."
I looked toward Evan.
He sat at the table doing homework, unaware that strangers had apparently been tracking our lives.
"Who gave Graham the instructions?"
"An intermediary connected to Rourke."
"And why my blood?"
Frank paused.
"Because your donor records identified you as AB negative."
I frowned.
"Lots of people have AB-negative blood."
"Not many in the immediate area were listed in the records they obtained."
I swallowed.
"How did they get those records?"
"That's part of the investigation."
After the call, I sat on the couch.
For months, I'd believed I was simply unlucky.
Unlucky enough to need a loan.
Unlucky enough to encounter Graham.
Lucky enough to be at the hospital when a stranger needed blood.
Now every piece of my life seemed connected to someone else's plan.
That afternoon, Rebecca arrived carrying a sealed envelope.
"We've identified the person who authorized Graham's payments."
My pulse raced.
"Vincent Rourke?"
She shook her head.
"Not directly."
"Then who?"
She placed a photograph on the table.
A man stood beside Vincent Rourke at a charity gala.
He wore a dark suit.
His hair was silver.
And he had a familiar smile.
I recognized him immediately.
He'd attended every one of Evan's cardiology appointments for the past three years.
May you like
Dr. Michael Voss.
My brother's heart specialist.
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