Lynette Eason - A Silent Terror & A Silent Fury - A Silent Terror / A Silent Fury

Two suspenseful Santino siblings novels—in one volume for the first time!—by bestselling author Lynette Eason

A Silent Terror

When Marianna Santino’s roommate is killed, Detective Ethan O’Hara realizes the deaf teacher was the intended target. Marianna must have something the murderer desperately wants. Digging for the truth, the guarded cop tries to learn everything he can about the charming beauty. Soon he’s willing to risk everything—including his heart—to lay the silent terror stalking Marianna to rest.

A Silent Fury

With one student murdered and another missing, it’s up to homicide detective Catelyn Clark to find the culprit. She’ll even work with her ex-boyfriend, FBI agent Joseph Santino, to solve the case. Relationships between cops never work so she’s learned to rely on herself. But when the killer starts targeting Catelyn, it’s only by opening her heart to love that she can finally bring the threat to an end.

Praise for Lynette Eason and her novels

“A wonderful mystery.”

— RT Book Reviews on A Silent Terror

“[A] suspenseful mystery and a great love story of personal discovery.”

— RT Book Reviews on A Silent Fury

“Eason’s third Santino sibling [story] has a wonderful mystery and plenty of suspense.”

— RT Book Reviews on A Silent Pursuit

“Fast-paced scenes and a twist…keep the reader engaged.”

— RT Book Reviews on Her Stolen Past

“Fast-paced and thrilling.”

— RT Book Reviews on Holiday Hideout

A Silent Terror & A Silent Fury

Lynette Eason

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A SILENT TERROR A Silent Terror Lynette Eason

A SILENT FURY Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Lynette Eason

Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings, from the wicked who assail me, from my mortal enemies who surround me.

— Psalms 17:8–9

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

As always, to Jesus Christ. Let me be a good steward of what You’ve given me.

Thanks go out to:

The wonderful crime scene writers group on Yahoo. It’s such a relief to know if I have a question, I can ask it and get an accurate answer in, sometimes, under a minute! You guys rock.

Emily Rodmell, editor extraordinaire. I’m honored to work with you. Thank you so much for taking a chance on a newbie and for making all my books shine.

Thank you to my deaf friends who are always eager to share their ideas, culture and language.

Thank you, dear hubby, for all the time and effort you put into getting my books out there and for being proud of me.

Thank you, Lauryn and Will,

I love you so much.

Something was wrong. Goose bumps pimpled on Marianna Santino’s suddenly chilled flesh as she walked up her driveway. The door to her small home stood open. That in and of itself didn’t bother her. The open door combined with the facts that it was January and slightly below freezing didn’t bode well. And where was Twister, her large German shepherd, who normally bounded out to greet her?

Her internal fear alarm screeched. Adrenaline rushed.

Run. Get away.

She turned to run—and paused. But what about Suzanne?

Investigate or flee? What if Suzanne, her roommate, needed her? What if she was hurt?

What if whoever broke in was still in there?

Jamming her right hand into her coat pocket, she pulled out her Blackberry and punched in 911. When the screen lit, indicating the call was connected, she put the device to her ear to hear someone speaking. Unable to make out the words, she spoke softly into the phone. “Someone broke into my house.” She gave the address and clicked off to wait. No doubt the dispatcher was probably yelling at her about hanging up, but it wouldn’t do any good to stay on a phone with a person she couldn’t hear.

Marianna scanned the house again. Her hearing aids picked up nothing out of the ordinary, just the wind whipping all around her, causing a whooshing sound to rumble in her ears. Other than that, all was quiet. Silent. Like a tomb.

Was the person still in there? Did Suzanne need help? Again the questions swirled in her brain, worry agitating her. Please God, don’t let anything be wrong. Maybe the wind blew the door open.

But that didn’t explain Twister’s absence. And Suzanne, who always arrived home before Marianna, would have shut the door immediately.

Her eyes darted to the street. No police yet. Fear for her friend finally overrode her concern for her own safety. Slowly, she walked forward until she reached the front porch steps that led up to the door. The stain on the step stopped her.

Blood.

In the form of a shoe print. Leading out of the house.

She was beyond fear. Now she was terrified.

“Suzanne? Twister?”

Desperately, she strained for any sound that would penetrate the shroud of silence she lived with on a daily basis. With a shaking finger, she bumped up the volume on her hearing aid. Slowly, she stepped toward the door once more. The footprint led away from the house. That was good, right? Whoever had been there was now gone.

Or watching.

Glancing over her shoulder, she scanned the quiet street. After school normally meant children on bicycles and neighbors walking dogs. But the frigid weather had everyone inside. The street was deserted. Suddenly, the windows seemed ominous, staring back at her like empty eyes.

Where were the police?

Shivering, she stepped closer, avoided the bloody print and slipped inside the door. Looked down. Another print. A blast of warm air from the vent above her blew a lock of raven-colored hair across her eyes. Pushing it aside, she swallowed hard and made a concerted effort to control her fear-induced ragged breathing.

She continued on.

The kitchen to her right. Peered in. Nothing but an empty mug on the counter.

The den to her left. Again, nothing seemed out of place.

That left the three bedrooms down the hall. And the trail of bloody footprints leading to the room at the end.

With nerves taut, the hairs on her neck standing straight up, she took another deep breath and stepped into the hall, doing her best to avoid smudging the prints, which grew darker with each step.