Kathleen Long - Silent Warning

He jerked her into motion, excitement slithering through him as they reached the edge of the trees. The glistening water of the sound appeared as they broke through to the clearing. Pale moonlight dappled the surface like a ghostly dance of lost souls. Perfect.

A small boat sat anchored next to the marshy beach. He shoved her forward. “Get in.”

“No.” Rachel stiffened as if steeling herself in one last desperate effort to appear fearless.

He leveled his gun at her face. “Now.”

Her body sagged as she climbed into the boat and dropped onto the unforgiving bench. Her teeth chattered noisily. She wrapped her arms around her waist as he pushed the boat from the shore, the small vessel slipping like a whisper through the murky water.

When they neared the inlet, he started the motor, raising his gaze to meet her terrified stare. “Enjoying your ride?”

Her trembling intensified. She lowered her head, her long blond hair covering her face as she gagged, vomiting onto the floor of his boat. The acrid smell mixed with the damp, salt air. He winced. So weak. Useless, actually. It was unfortunate. With her brains and investigative skills, she could have accomplished great things.

He kicked her foot, grinning as she looked up. “Chin up. You’re about to get the story of your life.”

He watched as her eyes darkened, the reality of her fate settling upon her. She lowered her head again, this time to pray, her words whispering into the unforgiving night.

“God, please help me….”

Too bad he didn’t have his camera. She’d be one to immortalize. One more example of how untouchable he was.

She’d thought she could expose him, but he was about to prove her wrong.

Dead wrong.

He laughed, throwing back his head to let his laughter mingle with the sound of her prayer.

Kelly Weir shifted her Jetta into Park, staring up through the windshield at the gray bungalow. Cool, autumn air whipped through the sunroof, surrounding her with the smell of salt air and sunshine. She snapped off the volume on the radio then cut the car’s ignition.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since Rachel’s brother, Jim, had called, yet here she was in Summer Shores, North Carolina. Her agreement to help the family by packing up Rachel’s things had been a knee-jerk reaction, the news of Rachel’s death having rocked her to the core.

Scrutinizing the weathered lines of the small house, she blew out a slow breath and tamped down the sadness lurking at the back of her brain. How long had it been since she and Rachel had spoken? More than a year?

Kelly climbed from the car, popped the trunk and threw her backpack over her shoulder. Time to get this over with. She grabbed two other bags and headed for the stairs, the distressed wood creaking beneath her as she climbed toward a screened-in porch.

She dropped one of her bags onto the painted decking, shifting to reach the key she’d shoved in her pocket. Her elbow brushed against the front door and it cracked open. Kelly’s pulse quickened. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, pushing the door open wide to glance inside.

The floors and furniture gleamed, an orange scent heavy in the air. Jim had mentioned there might be housecleaners here when she arrived. Judging by the appearance of the place, she’d just missed them, and they’d obviously forgotten to lock up.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she stepped inside, lowering her bags to the floor. She tossed her backpack onto a faded teal sofa and crossed to the kitchen window to let in some additional fresh air.

She’d no sooner slid up the old wooden sash than a noise sounded from another part of the house. Kelly stopped short, anxiety whispering through her.

Her imagination. It had been a long day and her mind must be playing tricks on her. She gazed out the window, trying to focus on the scent of brine hanging on the ocean breeze.

Thump.

A chill rippled down her spine. Darn it. She wasn’t that tired.

She steadied herself, trying to think rationally. The sun was out. People didn’t rob houses in broad daylight, did they? It was probably a neighbor doing something…neighborly. Surely everyone knew of Rachel’s death by now. Maybe someone had stopped by to help pack her things.

Better still, maybe a window was loose, or a door or something. This was Summer Shores, North Carolina after all. Small town. Friendly. Safe. There were a multitude of possibilities for why the house was making a—

Thump.

Her nervous gaze landed on a spiral staircase that dropped to the lower level just past the main section of the living room. Whatever—or whoever—was making the noise was downstairs.

The small hairs at the nape of Kelly’s neck pricked to attention.

Eyeing a pair of pewter candlesticks, she tiptoed across the floor to grasp one, the metal cold and heavy in her now-shaking hand.

Thump.

She started, white-knuckling the candlestick and holding it high. “Who’s there?” She forced out her voice, strong and loud. Not bad for being completely rattled. Not bad at all.

Keeping the candlestick between herself and the stairs, she fumbled in her backpack for her cell phone, pulling it free and pressing the Power button.

She moved toward the front door, planning to get out before anyone could answer.

The noise from below had stopped. Probably a stray animal or something completely harmless, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She backed toward the door, trying to punch 911 on the tiny keypad. Darn these things.

“Whoever you are,” she yelled. “I’m calling the police.”

“I assure you I’m harmless,” a man’s voice answered.

The deep timbre sent awareness and fear washing through Kelly. She stumbled and the candlestick fell from her grasp, clattering loudly against the wood floor.

A dark-haired man appeared at the top of the steps, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.” His midnight-blue gaze moved from Kelly to the candlestick to Kelly again. One dark brow arched. “Were you planning to use that on me?”

Kelly picked up the heavy metal object, pointing it at him. Her heart jackhammered in her chest. “Who are you?”

“I’m a…was…a friend of Rachel’s.” His expression softened, but the furrow between his brows remained. Deep lines etched into his forehead, leaving no doubt he was a man on a mission. “She had something of mine and I thought I’d pick it up before you got here.”

Kelly blinked, her head spinning from the surge of adrenaline racing through her. The man took a step forward and her breath caught. His well-worn denim shirt stretched taut across broad shoulders, his stance conveying nothing but sureness and pure male virility. Her heart slapped so loudly against her ribs, she had no doubt he could hear her fright.

She glanced at the cell phone in her hand. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? I should call the police.”

“The name’s Dan Steele.” He continued toward her, close-cropped chestnut-brown hair framing his rugged, thirtysomething face. “They know me.”

“Oh. This is a frequent activity of yours?” Kelly backed onto the porch and punched the last digit into the phone. “Don’t push your luck.”

“I’m telling the truth. Here.” Steele dangled a small silver object toward her. “She’d given me a key.”

Kelly suddenly felt like an idiot. She knew nothing about Rachel’s recent life. This guy might have been her lover for all she knew.

She concentrated on calming her whirling mind. “How did you know her?”

“Friend,” he repeated.

“And what did you need?”

He hesitated, reawakening her suspicions. “Something.”