A Silent Terror

“Just myself. My parents didn’t know Suzanne very well, and my dad wasn’t feeling well anyway, so Mom wouldn’t let him come out in the cold.” She paused, bit her lip and looked away from him. “I spent the night at my parents’ house again last night. I just couldn’t…I guess tonight I’ll stay at my house.” Tears pooled and this time she couldn’t fight them. Several dribbled down her cold cheeks.

A warm cloth swept them away. Ethan had pulled out a handkerchief. Grateful, she took it from his hand and finished mopping up. “Thanks. I’m sorry. I suppose the tears will stop one day.”

“Let yourself grieve. It’s okay to hurt. And it’s okay to stay with your parents awhile. No one would blame you.” All gentleness and compassion, his eyes said he hurt for her.

She pocketed the handkerchief. “I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”

“No hurry. Come here.” He took her hand in his and urged her along behind him.

She followed, stopping when he placed a hand on her arm. Wondering what he was doing, she watched his face, waiting for him to speak. “Okay, now, you can see the people getting in their cars. Tell me if you see anyone who sticks out.”

Marianna turned. She and Ethan stood at the top of a gently sloping hill, making it easy to watch the crowd scatter to their various vehicles below. The rain had slacked off. People closed their umbrellas, affording Marianna a pretty good view of faces she hadn’t been able to see earlier.

She gasped, “There’s Bryson.”

“The ex-boyfriend, right?”

“Yes. I mean, I don’t know why I’m surprised he’s here. It was a mutual breakup without any hard feelings. Of course he would be here. I’m sure Suzanne’s death came as a shock.”

“I still want to talk to him and maybe catch him off guard so I’ll see a true reaction. Excuse me, okay?”

Marianna watched the good-looking young attorney head for his black BMW. Ethan set off after the man, leaving her trailing slowly behind and watching the two of them. Then the feeling of being watched caused her to glance over her shoulder once more. Nothing and no one around her stood out as suspicious.

Her BlackBerry vibrated. Shoving her hand in her pocket, she kept her eyes on Ethan as he approached Bryson. When the device hummed again, she glanced at it. And groaned.

Curt Wentworth. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone?

She flipped the cover and read his text.

“We need to talk. Stop being so stubborn and meet me this evening for dinner.”

Not in this lifetime, buster. What would it take for him to get the message she wanted nothing more to do with him? He’d put his hands on her in anger and left bruises on her. He’d also been verbally abusive. He was the last person she wanted to have dinner with. For at least two minutes, she stared at it, debating what to say. Unable to come up with anything she wouldn’t regret, she closed the unanswered message and the machine, clenching her fist around the device.

A gentle hand covered hers. Startled, she realized Ethan had come back. She shivered. And realized something else. The feel of his hand on hers felt right.

“Problem?” His brows climbed to reach into the shaggy blond hair that lay across on his forehead.

“What?” She’d missed what he’d said. Trying to speech read through a red fog of anger didn’t come in her little bag of tricks.

“Is there a problem?” he repeated.

“Oh. Yes. But nothing I can’t handle.” And she would handle it. Just as soon as she figured out how.

“I don’t mind helping out.”

“I said I could handle it.” She appreciated the offer but didn’t need another person in her life trying to take care of her. Winning her independence had been a tough battle, but she’d done it.

Hands held up in a gesture of surrender, he backed up a little. “Gotcha.”

Feeling a tad guilty at her snappiness when he’d been nothing short of wonderful, she bit her lip and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little…”

“…stressed,” he finished for her. “Understandable.”

“So, what did Bryson have to say?”

“I get the impression he was truly upset.” Ethan recalled the man’s red-rimmed eyes and genuine air of grief. “He said something about the fact that they’d been talking about getting back together.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“I asked him if he’d be willing to give us a DNA sample so the crime scene investigators could compare it with anything they found…if they find something. He said he’d go down first thing Monday morning.”

“I always liked Bryson. I’m not exactly sure why they broke up, but I think he was pressuring Suzanne to get married and she wanted some space. She never really talked about it, though, even with me.” She shrugged. “I didn’t push, figuring she’d tell me if she wanted to.”

Ethan watched her features, marveling once again at her physical beauty. And yet she was so much more than just a pretty package. In just the short time he’d known her and under the worst circumstances, she’d shown herself to be the epitome of…what? He searched his brain for the right adjective.

Class. The woman was pure class.

Shadowed dark brown eyes stared at him, and he realized he hadn’t responded to something she’d said. “Sorry, my mind went wandering.” No sense in telling her where.

Marianna flashed a dimpled smile, brief but sincere. “It’s fine. I was just saying that I needed to get…home.” She grimaced, and he knew she wasn’t excited about the idea. After a minuscule hesitation, she took his hand between hers and gave it a quick squeeze, her closeness and light, fruity perfume scrambling his senses. Biting her lip, she gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you for everything. I hope you’ll keep me updated on the case.”

“Absolutely.”

Marianna left the cemetery and began the short drive home. She dreaded going into her house alone, yet had turned down several offers of accompaniment. Not exactly sure why, she just knew she didn’t want to be around a bunch of people, including family. She knew she faced a lot of cleaning up and most likely more uncontrollable tears. Better to do that without an audience. Ethan had started to insist that he follow her but had gotten a call and had to leave. That had been fine with her.

She’d texted Joseph, asking him to bring Twister home so the dog would be there to greet her. He’d agreed against his better judgment, arguing she didn’t need to be by herself.

She pulled into the driveway and turned the car off. The house loomed, small and empty. It shouldn’t seem particularly scary, yet a tremor shook her at the thought of walking up the path to her porch. Memories almost overwhelmed her, tempting her to once again run home to her mom and dad.

At least the door was closed today. Please, God, take this fear away. I know it’s only natural after what’s happened, but I don’t want to be afraid. Help me trust You.

The curtain in the window to the right of the door moved; a black nose pressed against the glass. The familiar sight caused her to release a relieved breath.

Twister’s welcome home. He was waiting for her.

Marianna scrambled from the car, grabbing the overnight bag Joseph had packed for her the day of the murder, and headed for the door.

Climbing the steps, she paused, noticing the footprint had disappeared. Someone had scrubbed it away. Shuddering, unease still very much present, she unlocked the door and pushed it open.

And gaped.

Her house sparkled, from top to bottom. Someone had scrubbed, mopped, vacuumed and more.

How…what…who?

Ethan.

She frowned. Now why did she automatically assume it was him? It could have been Joseph or some other member of her family.

Someone had hired a professional to clean up the mess left by the criminal and the crime scene investigators. Her heart warmed at the thoughtfulness as grateful tears blurred her vision. A piece of paper lay on the table just inside the foyer. Picking it up, she read, “I didn’t want you to come home to a mess. Hope everything is better than when you left it. Ethan.”

“Thank you, Ethan,” she whispered.

Twister nudged her hand and whined. Absentmindedly, she scratched his head as she went from room to room, examining everything.

A lump clogged her throat as she moved, sensing Suzanne’s presence even though she was now with the Lord.

When she reached Suzanne’s room, the door stood open, inviting. Hitching her breath, she stepped in and looked around. It, too, had been scrupulously cleaned.

And stripped bare. Suzanne’s family had come and gone, leaving not even a trace of their presence. Or Suzanne’s. Unable to stop herself, she looked to the spot where her roommate had died.

Even the stain was gone. It was as if Suzanne had never been there. Marianna walked over and knelt, running her hand over the area, feeling the carpet spring back beneath her palm. Anger, fear and a troubled helplessness burned within her.

Help the police find her killer. And help me deal with this, Lord. Please give me peace.

Tired beyond belief, Marianna called to Twister and stepped from the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

Entering her bedroom next door, she stared at the familiar sight of her haven that was supposed to offer comfort and knew she couldn’t sleep here tonight. Her stomach rumbled, but she had no energy to fix anything to eat. Doing a one-eighty, she trod the short distance to the small living area and crashed on the couch. She pulled out her hearing aids and laid them on the end table beside her.

All sound ceased to exist for her, and all she wanted to do was snuggle into the silence.

Twister settled on the floor beside her and she let her hand dangle over the edge to rest on his back as she stared at the ceiling, thinking, praying, drifting.…

With a start, Marianna’s eyes popped open, confusion holding her captive until her brain caught up. She’d fallen asleep on the couch. But something had awakened her. A vibration: Twister?

Darkness blanketed the room broken only by the glow of the night-light coming from the hall. The clock on the DVD player read 3:18 a.m.

What had awakened her? Rubbing her face, then running a hand through her tangled hair, she swung her feet to the floor, eyes probing the blackness. That was odd. Where was Twister?

Uneasiness swept over her. The hardwoods floor beneath her trembled. No doubt the vibrations had awakened her. Fingers groped the table beside her, grabbed up her hearing aids and shoved them in her ears.

Still, mostly silence surrounded her.

Again the floor shook. As though cushioning a footstep? Uneasiness climbed into fear. She strained to hear something, anything. Her breathing quickened as spider feet scrabbled up her spine. Her stomach cramped with a sudden thought, what if the killer had come back?

Would he do that? But why?

Adrenaline pumping, she fumbled to remember where she’d left her purse, which held her BlackBerry.

The recliner. In the corner by the fireplace. Guided by eyes adjusting to the darkness and the dim hall light, she crept across the floor to the chair and shoved her hand into her purse, located the device and snatched it out.

She realized she still had her shoes on: low-heeled black pumps she’d worn to the funeral. Sliding them off, she set them aside and tried to think of a possible hiding place. The kitchen pantry? Or should she try to slip out the front door?

Lord, what do I do?

A sense of urgency caused her hands to shake. She felt more vibrations and a hard thud sent her adrenaline into overdrive. Was that a muttered curse she picked up? She inched the volume up on her hearing aid but had to be careful not to bump it up too far or it would start whistling.

Then she tuned in to Twister’s furious barking, causing her to flinch. He’d probably been barking for a while if he’d already reached the pitch she needed to hear him.

With her heart thudding and her blood pounding, her brain switched to survival mode. Her fingers found the numbers on her BlackBerry and punched Send.

She needed help fast.

Someone was in her house.

FOUR

Ethan leaned back in the squeaky chair, tapping the pencil against his chin, staring at the ceiling as weariness washed over him. He should be in bed. But the nightmare had returned full force, and his escape to his desk had been the only thing that had allowed him to push the memories to the back of his mind.

Thankfully, it hadn’t been the dream about the death of his sister. Unfortunately, it had been the one about his other failure. A hostage situation. The one where he’d been in charge and the woman had died. He’d just finished his crisis negotiation training, fresh from his sister’s funeral…and drunk. Oh, not stumbling, falling-down drunk, but he’d definitely had one too many. And he’d made a very bad decision that cost a young woman her life. At least he felt as if it was his fault. He was supposed to have had backup, someone with more experience, but the man hadn’t shown up in time. So, it had fallen to Ethan…and he’d failed.

His fault…all his fault.

The words echoed in his mind. I’m sorry, God. Are You listening? I’m sorry.

The pencil snapped with a crack. Startled, Ethan dropped the pieces to his desk, then rubbed his bleary eyes, wishing he could make it all go away. But he couldn’t.

So, here he sat at approximately three o’clock in the morning, trying to make sense of Suzanne’s murder. The place wasn’t exactly a ghost town, since other officers, suffering a similar affliction to Ethan’s, chose to work the graveyard shift. He grimaced when realizing he felt more comfortable at his desk than he did in his home.

His personal cell vibrated on his hip, and he sat up with a start. Who in the world…? A quick glance at the caller ID showed Marianna’s cell number. He’d memorized it with ease the first time he’d seen it in her file.

Dread hit his chest. She must be in trouble. Why else would she be calling at this time of night…morning. With his left hand, he grabbed his keys; with his right, he pulled the phone from the clip.

“Hello?”

No answer.

“Hello?” He raced for the door and down to his car. She couldn’t hear him, but surely she could see that he’d answered. Why didn’t she say something?

Unless she couldn’t. He had the bad feeling his first reaction—that she was in trouble—was right. Indecision, fear of making the wrong move, made him pause for a fraction of a second; then he found himself praying. A simple litany. Let me get there in time. Let me save her.

Bolting from the office, he raced for his car.

Marianna prayed silently as she felt another tremor beneath her stockinged feet. The vibration felt stronger. Once again she had called 911 and had no way of knowing if the police were on the way. She’d placed a call to Ethan as backup, praying he would wake up to hear his phone ringing.

More vibrations. Was that a door slamming? It felt closer. Was he searching for her? Whatever he was doing, he was heading her way. Panting her fear, she clung desperately to control, forcing her mind to think, to reason, to figure a way out. Visions of Suzanne lying on her bedroom floor, blood pooling beneath her head, caused a wave of nausea followed by dizziness to rush through her.

Her world turned choppy, the survival instinct strong. Her eyes darted around the room.

The fireplace. The poker. A weapon.

Then a thump. Vibrations. Marianna quickly moved toward the front door, her hand now on the knob. It was locked, of course.

More of Twister’s furious barking, then nothing. Worry for her pet churned within her. Oh, God, protect Twister. Did she have time to get out, or should she hide? Would whoever was in her house come looking for her? How much time had the dog bought her?

Shaking hands fumbled with the dead bolt. Precious seconds ticked by as the key fell to the floor. The thumping stopped, vibrations ceased. She froze, her breath strangling her as she tried not to gasp, desperately wishing she could hear how much noise she was making.

Her BlackBerry buzzed in her pocket; she ignored it. Trembling, she bent down, snatched the key, jammed it in the lock and finally got the door open. She slipped out the opening, onto the porch, and felt hard hands grasp her upper arms.

Marianna’s screech nearly ruptured Ethan’s eardrums. He hadn’t meant to scare her, but she’d come stumbling out the door so fast that if he hadn’t caught her, she’d have taken them both to the floor of the cement porch.

Twisting, struggling against him, she had her eyes closed. “Marianna, it’s me.” She can’t understand with her eyes closed, remember?

Not knowing whether to let go or give her a shake, he figured releasing her might surprise her into opening her eyes. He let go and stepped back. She stumbled, gasped and opened terror-filled, tar-black eyes to stare at him. Finally, recognition dawned, and relief swept away the fear…for a moment. Then she whispered, “He’s in my house. I dialed 911, so the police should be on the way.”

Ethan set her behind him and stepped in. His right hand pulled his ever-present gun from his shoulder holster. Pointing the weapon to the ceiling, he turned and mouthed to Marianna, “Stay here, okay?”

She nodded, then whispered in a small, worried voice, “Something’s happened to Twister, too. He was barking his head off, then stopped abruptly. So be careful.”

Lips tight, Ethan gave a nod, pulled his cell phone from the clip on his belt and dialed a number requesting backup. After he hung up, he stepped back farther into the house. He started to shut the door—only to stop when Marianna stepped in behind him. He frowned at her. “I told you to stay out here.”

“Please, I’ll stand right here.” Fear oozed from her, and his heart clenched in anger at the person doing this to her.

A small crash from the back of the house snapped his attention in that direction. If the noise was coming from back there, she was probably fine standing next to the door—probably. He gave her another pointed look, then started making his way toward the sound, nerves tense, senses alert.

A whispered curse followed by the sound of glass breaking.

Then silence once again.

With quick, measured steps, he headed toward the back room, gun ready. Adrenaline flowed, but he kept his breathing steady. The memory of the first time he’d entered the house haunted him. He felt as if he was in a time warp, déjàvu kind of thing. Ignoring the sensation, he moved into the first bedroom on his left.

Marianna’s room. Empty. Except for shards of broken glass littering the area under her window and—his gut clenched—Twister, lying motionless at the foot of the bed.

Marianna cowered by the front door, torn with the desire to run and the determination to back up Ethan should he need it. Squaring her shoulders, she watched Ethan disappear down the hall, then crept over to the fireplace to grab the poker she’d considered earlier.

Hefting the weight of it in her right hand, she felt slightly more prepared to face the danger that lay just down the hall. Oh Lord, protect Ethan. And I know Twister’s just a dog, but please take care of him.

The hardwood floor vibrated once more, and she tightened her grip on the makeshift weapon, ready to swing if an unfamiliar face appeared in front of her.

But it was only Ethan, looking grim and tight-lipped. He held up a finger as he walked past her to the front door and yanked it open. Flashing red-and-blue lights fought for space in the small opening. The cops were here, she realized belatedly.

Her gaze followed Ethan’s retreating back as he flashed his badge to the two startled officers, who’d started grabbing at their guns the minute the door opened. At the sight of the badge and the man behind it, they relaxed. He said something and their posture tensed once again. One took off around the side of the house; Ethan went the other way, and the third man walked toward Marianna.

She looked at him. “What’s going on?”

“I’m Officer Tom Bell. Ethan thinks the guy slipped out of your bedroom window and headed off through those woods in the back. Ethan didn’t want to follow him out the window in case the guy left behind some evidence.” He kept his face turned toward her and enunciated his words clearly. Ethan must have told him she couldn’t hear. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or appreciative. She settled for appreciation…this time.

Within minutes the two men were back. The disgust on Ethan’s features said whoever had been in her house had escaped.

Dread crept around in her stomach, finally settling in a hard knot at the pit. She looked at Ethan. “Now what?”

“We need to get the crime scene team back over here and see if he left any evidence behind.” Concern slid across his face as he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Twister’s hurt. Who’s your vet?”

“Oh, no.” She whirled to rush back into the house. His hand grasped her upper arm, halting her progress. She spun around. “What?”

“Let me get him. I don’t want you destroying any evidence.”

“Is it bad?” Anguish squeezed her heart.

“I don’t think so. The guy hit him with the lamp from your end—” Ethan blinked, his attention caught by something behind her. She followed his gaze—Twister slowly made his way down the hall, his eyes cloudy with pain but fixed on his mistress. A trickle of blood made its way from the middle of his head down over his brown-and-black snout.

“Oh, Twister,” she whispered, dropping to her knees. He came slowly, weaving slightly. When he arrived at Marianna, he dropped to the floor with a cross between a whimper and a grunt to lay his head on her knee.

“Will you make the call for me?” She wondered if he could hear the tears she felt clogging her throat as she asked him the favor.

“Sure.” He squeezed her hand in silent sympathy and pulled his phone from the clip. She looked up the number on her BlackBerry and Ethan complied.

As once again her house flooded with authorities and crime scene investigators, Marianna gave her statement, then sat in the back of Ethan’s car, hugging her beloved pet to her as Ethan drove them to the vet’s office.

After leaving Marianna’s dog at the emergency veterinarian’s office, Ethan replayed his part in the scene of the break-in. What had he done wrong? How had he let the guy get away?

Fatigue gripped him. It had been a long while since he’d had a good night’s sleep. And now the sun crept toward the horizon. Soon it would be dawn…and he’d yet to go to bed. Oh well, he’d survive.

Marianna, however…“Hey,” he said as he touched her arm. She swung her head around to look at him. He kept his face angled toward her so she could see his lips but he was still able to keep his eyes safely on the road. “Where do you want to go, your parents’?”

She gave a listless shrug. “I guess so.”

“Twister is going to be all right. You heard the doctor.”

Marianna blew out a sigh. “I know and I’m grateful, but I’m also terribly frustrated. What is going on, Ethan?” Tears surfaced once again. He watched as she held them at bay with sheer determination.

He shook his head. “I don’t know, Marianna. I think you’re the only one who can really answer that. Unfortunately, you might not even know what you know.”

“Well, that’s clear.”

A rueful chuckle slipped out. “I’m sorry. I wish had something more to tell you.”

“I’ve racked my brain trying to come up with something. Why someone would kill Suzanne? Why did, possibly, the same someone come back to the house and was willing to break in with me there?” She turned thoughtful. “Although, he may not have known anyone was there, because I parked my car in the garage when I got home.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you think he’s looking for something?”

Ethan pulled into her parents’ driveway and glanced at the dashboard clock. It read 6:42. “It’s certainly a possibility. At first, when I got to your house the day of the murder, I thought there’d been a huge fight in Suzanne’s room. But there was no evidence she’d struggled. So, it could be the guy was definitely looking for something. Could Suzanne have been involved in something shady? Something you wouldn’t have known about?”