Karen Rose - Silent Scream

On his way out he unlocked the cage that held Tomlinson’s dog, just as Tomlinson did every night when he left. The dog didn’t like Tomlinson at all. The warehouse manager handled the hound, feeding it and putting it back in its cage where it would pace all day. He hoped Eric and Albert didn’t plan to kill it. It was a beautiful animal.

He closed the back gate and yanked on the twine Tomlinson kept tied to the door of the dog’s cage, just as Tomlinson did every night. The dog bounded out with a ferocious growl, jumping at the fence, teeth bared. Truly a magnificent animal.

Buh-bye, he thought as he got into Barney’s car and drove away. He’d park it a few blocks over, then retrieve his own vehicle. That way when Eric and the gang arrived, they wouldn’t see the car and think anything was amiss-like that Tomlinson was dead inside. They’d start the fire, and by morning, his grip on them would be even tighter.

Monday, September 20, 8:57 p.m.

“I’m in.” Eric was hunched over his laptop, staring at Tomlinson’s company server.

“About time,” was all Albert said, his gaze glued to the television set. He’d been watching the news to get a feel for where the cops were on the condo investigation.

Eric let Albert’s words roll off his back. He couldn’t worry about the two of them right now. He had to figure out how to get past the alarm or there would be no “them” to worry about. It had taken a lot longer than he’d expected to break into Tomlinson’s server, but he was nervous and not thinking, which explained most of the delay.

Opening a folder labeled “Maintenance,” he nodded. “The alarm’s an old design. The documentation here is from a system they bought ten years ago.”

Albert’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care about the make and model. Can you turn it off?”

“Yeah. It’ll be easy. I just have to-”

Albert held up his hand. “Shh. It’s nine.”

On the television, the anchor looked grim. “Good evening. We have an update on the fire that destroyed the lakefront condo last night. Police have identified the female victim as Tracey Mullen. Tracey was just sixteen years old.” The screen split, a photo of a pretty young girl with big brown eyes appearing next to the anchor’s face.

Eric’s stomach turned inside out and he was glad he’d eaten nothing for hours. Tracey Mullen. He stared at the face on the screen, but what he saw was her face pressed against the glass, her mouth open on the scream that echoed in his mind. Next to him, Albert had tensed and Eric wondered if the guilt was eating him like acid, too.

The screen changed to a video of a woman with bright red-orange hair wearing a jacket with SAR printed on the back and holding the leash of a German Shepherd. The woman and the dog entered the burned-out condo while three others looked on-a blond woman, a dark-haired man, and a tall guy wearing a fedora. Hat Squad, Eric thought. The guy with the hat was a homicide detective.

“This was the scene this afternoon as a cadaver dog searched for additional remains in the building,” the anchor’s voice said. “Fortunately, they found none.”

Eric released a breath. At least they’d killed no one else. The girl was a tragedy, but she shouldn’t have been there to begin with.

The video changed abruptly, now grainy and far away. “News 8 has obtained this video, taken with a bystander’s cell phone. You’re looking at the cadaver dog, who, after searching the burned building, continued tracking on the other side of the property, ending up at this stretch of beach. Police captain Bruce Abbott had no comment as to the relevance of the dog’s find on the ongoing investigation.”

The anchor reappeared. “In other news, a fatal car accident claimed the life of Joel Fischer early this morning. Joel’s car ran off the road between his home and the university, where he was a prelaw student. No one else was injured. Funeral services will be tomorrow afternoon…”

“The dog found where the blackmailer left after killing that guard,” Albert said coldly.

“But they’ll still think it was us,” Eric said, fear in his voice.

“They don’t know about us. Yet. We need to make sure they don’t find out.”

Monday, September 20, 9:02 p.m.

Olivia rubbed her hands over her arms briskly. She was partly cold, partly nervous. Mostly nervous, she admitted. She stood in the cabin’s living room, which was dominated by a wooden table covered in linen, candles, and china. The man knew how to set a nice table. And he planned to cook for her.

And then what? Nothing, she decided firmly. Nothing, until I get some answers.

He’d been “paying attention.” Watching me.

She caught a flash of white from the corner of her eye and turned to follow it. It was his shirt, she realized, thrown from the bathroom into a waiting basket. Which meant that right now, the man was half naked. Olivia drew a breath, her arms no longer cold. None of her was cold. She knew what he looked like half naked.

She knew what he looked like all the way naked. Therein lay the problem. The water started to run and Olivia started to walk, her feet having a mind of their own, stopping in the open bathroom doorway.

He was washing up in the sink, his head bent to the water. He still wore his trousers and she told herself that was a good thing. Otherwise, she would have had serious trouble keeping her resolve. Must have answers before… well, just before.

She leaned against the doorframe undetected and simply watched him. If anything, he looked better than he had that night, stronger, muscles more defined… just better, which really wasn’t fair. At the moment though, she found it hard to complain.

The dark hair at his nape was wet and curled just a little, and her fingers itched to reach out and touch, but she silently stayed where she stood. He still hadn’t seen her. Razor in hand, he lifted his eyes to the mirror, then froze, watching her reflection. When she said nothing, he straightened and started to shave, meeting her eyes in the mirror every time he rinsed his blade.

It was an intimate thing, watching a man shave. She’d watched Doug shave, all the months they’d been engaged. She’d missed this, the intimacy. She missed the sex, too, but the intimacy most of all. That sense of belonging to someone, that he belonged only to her. She’d thought she’d had that with Doug, but had painfully learned she had not.

She drew a breath, steadying herself. She wouldn’t have it here either. David Hunter would never belong to her. She knew that. She wondered if he knew it, too.

As she watched his muscles move, his eyes meet hers, and she felt everything inside her go liquid and needy… she wondered if belonging, the exclusivity of it, even mattered. Too soon he was finished with the blade. But he didn’t turn, still watching her in the mirror.

“Why have you watched me?” she asked huskily.

His throat moved as he swallowed hard. “I needed to be sure you were all right. You were working that case… all those bodies coming out of the pit. You were pale and stressed. Evie said you weren’t sleeping. Not eating. I worried.”

She lifted her chin. “So if you were so worried, then why didn’t you call?”

He turned then and the room seemed a whole lot smaller and the air seemed a whole lot thinner. His silver gaze was piercing, yet uncertain.

“Well?” she pressed and had only a second to prepare before he stepped forward and slid his fingers into her hair, lifting her face.

“I’m sorry. I need to know,” he said harshly, and then she couldn’t breathe at all. His mouth was on hers and it was exactly the same. Exactly as she remembered. Hot and necessary. All the reasons that she shouldn’t kiss him back vanished like mist as she stood on her toes, her palms flat against his chest, touching all that bare skin and hard muscle. Mine. For this second, mine. Then her arms were around his neck, winding tight, pulling herself higher. Closer.