Cynthia Eden: Fear For Me

Her job had given her an up-close and far too personal look at the darker side of life. She wasn’t about to take any crazy chances. She knew what happened when those chances were taken.

But she also knew that a girl didn’t get to call the cops on a storm-filled night just because she thought she’d heard a whisper. That was a surefire way to get a not-so-stellar reputation at the prosecutor’s office.

Taking a deep breath, she edged forward. She kept her hold on the knife. She took one step. Two—

A scream cut through the night. No, not a scream, a siren. The flash of red-and-blue lights lit up her kitchen. Her heart beat faster. She lunged for the back door, clutching her knife as she shoved her phone into her back pocket once more. As she rushed outside, Lauren saw the cops, already jumping from their vehicle. Her body was on high alert, and something was very wrong .

Her feet thundered down the stairs of her back porch. Rain began to pelt her even as the bright light of a flashlight locked on her. No, not just one flashlight.

Two.

“Lauren Chandler?” one of the officers shouted.

Lauren froze. Crap. She still had the knife. Instinct. But she knew better than to approach a cop with a weapon, so she let the blade drop from her fingers. In the glare of the flashlights, she knew the cops would see the weapon fall. “Yes, yes, I’m Lauren Chandler.” She kept her hands up. “What’s going on?”

The cop on the right took a step toward her. “Why do you have the weapon, Ms. Chandler?”

“I thought I heard something inside.” If they’d only witnessed what she had. Hell, if they’d been privy to all the details of her cases, most folks wouldn’t even be able to sleep at night.

She’d sure been through her own share of sleepless nights. Sometimes, she’d only made it through after late-night phone calls with her best friend, Karen. Karen knew all about the darkness, too. She never thought Lauren’s fears were crazy—not when Karen shared them.

We’ve seen the monsters out there. Karen’s voice, the low drawl that dipped beneath it, whispered through Lauren’s mind. Seen ’em plenty, and we’re smart enough to be afraid. The rest of the world—maybe they’re better off not knowing. Hell, sometimes, I wish I didn’t know.

But Karen’s job was to know. Just like mine is.

What would Karen think if she’d seen how scared Lauren had been in that dark house?

She’d probably tell me I need a drink to calm down…and that next time, I should immediately get my ass out of the house.

“Is there anyone else in the house?” the cop asked as he took another step toward her.

“There shouldn’t be.” She wasn’t even sure she’d heard the whisper. Lauren glanced over her shoulder at her dark house.

That was when she realized lights glowed from the homes of her few neighbors. The lots were big and private, but she could clearly see illumination coming from those houses. Hers was the only house with a power outage. The only dark house on the road.

Lauren crept toward the cops. “Why are you here? What’s happening?”

“We’re under orders to take you back to the station, Ms. Chandler.”

“Is this about one of my cases?” This wasn’t standard operating procedure. The rain kept falling onto her.

“The order came from the U.S. Marshals’ office, ma’am.”

Her racing heart stopped. U.S. Marshal. “Why?”

“We got word that a prisoner escaped from Angola, and the marshal wanted you to have protection.”

“Jon Walker,” she whispered through numb lips.

The cop replied, but the rumble of thunder swallowed his answer.

She hurried toward them, her fear making her move faster. Her feet slipped in the slick grass, but she didn’t slow down. In the middle of the storm, the uniformed cops looked like the safest port she’d ever seen.

The taller of the two opened the back of his patrol car. “Ma’am, why don’t you get out of the rain?”

Grateful, Lauren slid inside. But the cops didn’t follow her. They were staring over at her house, and she knew suspicion when she saw it.

“Why aren’t your lights on?” the cop nearest her asked. His face was round, his shoulders stooped just slightly.

“The power didn’t work,” she confessed. Her hands pressed over her jeans as she tried to wipe the moisture from her palms. Part rain and part plain old sweat and fear.

The cops had their guns drawn. She saw the quick nod they exchanged. The taller cop ran toward her house while his partner took up a position near Lauren.

Guarding her.

“We’re just gonna do a quick sweep,” he told her, flashing a grin that she was able to see in the glow of the patrol car’s interior lights. “To make sure that the area is secure.”

Right. Goose bumps had risen on her arms. It was an early summer night, warm despite the rain, and she was shivering.

A few moments later, the cop’s partner made it into her house. She could see the glow from his flashlight.

“I’m Officer Hank Lane,” the man standing near the open car door said. “And you don’t have anything to worry about, understand? You’re—”

The radio on his hip crackled. They both tensed as Hank picked up the radio.

“Get an ambulance,” his partner’s voice barked. “Get one now !”

Lauren… She shuddered when she remembered the whisper.

Her gaze flew back to the house. She tried to push out of the car, but Hank held her back. No one should have been inside her home.

Get an ambulance…

Someone had been there. In the dark. Waiting for her?

The cop’s grip tightened around her.

“Go inside,” she said, voice desperate. “Help him!”

Hank hesitated. Lauren pulled away from him. The man scrambled and called for backup and an ambulance.

She could almost smell his fear. He was a uniform, probably new to patrol duty, and he’d just thought he was heading out to pick up the DA for a little babysitting job.

Hank pointed at her. “Stay here, ma’am.”

No, no way. If someone was in there—possibly hurt—she had to help. She was the one to run toward those in need, never away. Helping victims was her job.

When he took off running, so did she.

Hank jumped up the back steps. He whirled when he heard her footsteps. “Ma’am, you’re supposed to stay—”

“We’re wasting time!” Her voice held the whip of command. She was the DA, dammit.

Gulping, Hank spun around and headed into the house.

She hurried behind him, using his flashlight to guide her. The milk had fallen to the floor. Spilled everywhere. Her tennis shoes slid through the white liquid. A few seconds later, she and Hank were in her narrow hallway. Then—

Her bedroom?

Hank’s flashlight hit the face of the officer. He was over Lauren’s bed. Crouched over the woman sprawled on Lauren’s covers.

A woman who wasn’t moving. A woman whose eyes stared sightlessly above her. A woman covered in blood.

So much bright, red blood.

The light hit the woman’s face. Lauren lost her breath. I know her. “Karen?” She tried to rush forward. No, no, that couldn’t be Karen.

Hank caught her arms. “No, you need to stay back!”

Because it was a crime scene. Because they were looking at a murder victim. Because they were looking at—

“Karen!” Her best friend. Sometimes…sometimes it seemed Karen was her only friend.

The wail of a siren reached her. It was the ambulance coming to help them.

Coming too late.

Because Karen Royce, Lauren’s best friend, was dead.

“Why did you have the knife, Lauren?”