Lynette Eason - A Silent Terror

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?