Silent Scream (40 page)

She met his eyes and he could already see the pleasure he’d hoped to put there. “More.” She rocked up into him, pulling him
deeper. “God, please. David. More.”

His control snapped on the first
more
and he drove deep, making her gasp. But there was no pain on her face, only a growing sensual need as he moved, harder, deeper.
Faster. She met each thrust as he watched her climax build. He could feel the orgasm tingling at the base of his spine and
fought it back.
Not yet. Dammit, not yet
.

Then her short nails dug into his back and once again she went taut. He plunged harder, recklessly driving them higher until
she screamed and the blistering wave hit and everything went black, her name on his lips as he fell.

Tuesday, September 21, 11:30 p.m.

All systems were go. He sat in his van a block away, watching the house Barney Tomlinson had purchased for his whore. Its
destruction would mean more insurance
money for Mrs. Tomlinson and it was one last way to stick it to Barney, in memoriam.

Dorian was currently sprawled facedown on Barney’s desk inside the house. Minus his face, of course. That would give the cops
a fun puzzle to solve. How did Dorian and Barney connect? They didn’t of course,
except through me.

The beauty was that the money he took from both men had been held in offshore accounts that nobody would know to look for.
No connection.

There were Albert and Mary. Right on time. They’d argued earlier about this job. Their voices had come through loud and clear
via the mike he’d hidden in their phone.

Albert had been furious with Mary over the glass balls. Mary had been furious for his having lied to her about Tomlinson being
an environmental villain. Neither one seemed terribly upset over Eric’s demise. Mary hadn’t wanted to do this job. Albert
had threatened to break her neck and throw her in the Mississippi River. It had been most entertaining. But after all that,
here they were. And from the looks of them, still arguing.

He tuned the receiver clipped to his belt to their frequency and listened. Albert had the disposable in his shirt pocket,
so his voice was loud. Mary held her own, though.

“Goddammit, woman, shut up,” Albert growled. He was speaking with his French accent. Maybe he hadn’t faked it after all. Maybe
he’d been trying to get back at Eric.

Given Eric’s present state of death, I’d say he did that pretty well.

“This is stupid,” Mary hissed. “We’re just digging ourselves in deeper.”

“And if we refuse?”

“So he publishes the video. We’ll say we were Photoshopped in. Besides, he’s the one who has the girl on tape. It proves he
was there, not us.”

Mary had a point, but Albert wasn’t buying it. “Just do what I say or the fishes will love you. Big nasty ones in that dirty
river of yours.”

“I hate you.”

“Good thing you don’t need to like me. You just need to do as you’re told.”

You go, Albert. Somebody should have smacked that girl down a long time ago.

He videotaped them as they entered the house and were quickly out again. In minutes the fire was raging. The kids were getting
pretty good at this. Albert pulled the cell from his pocket and snapped a photo, then the two of them ran for Eric’s car.

They drove away and he started his van, taking off in the other direction. He needed to get to the deaf school. He had a date
with Kenny that the boy didn’t yet know about. He glanced behind him at the plastic dry-cleaner bag containing his costume.
He’d have to do a quick change when he got there. His shirt was the wrong style, as was his hat, but he was betting Kenny
wasn’t familar with the exact uniform worn by the Minneapolis PD.

Tuesday, September 21, 11:30 p.m.

O
livia woke slowly, sleepily contented. And totally naked. Her eyes opened abruptly, tensing when she realized where she was
and whose hand possessively covered her breast. She was spooned against David, her back to his hard chest. And he wasn’t asleep,
if what she felt pulsing against her bottom was any indication.

“Don’t leave,” he murmured in her ear, sending shivers over her body. “Please.”

“I won’t. But I need to get my phone, in case I get a call.”

“It’s on the nightstand. I found it in your coat pocket.”

She lifted her head, her eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness. He’d arranged her clothes on a nearby chair, her purse
on top. “How long was I out?”

“Two hours. Thank you for giving me a chance to redeem myself. I did, didn’t I?”

“I’d say you more than did,” she murmured.

He hesitated. “Regrets?”

“No.” She still had questions, but no regrets.

“Good.” He kissed the top of her head. “I needed this.”

“So did I.”

“I thought you would want to talk first.”

Her sigh was silent. “So did I.”

“What changed?”

“Some of it was ‘I want you more than I want to breathe.’ Hell of a line, David.”

He shifted against her and she caught her breath. He was ready, again.
So am I
.

“That was no line, Olivia. I still want you more than I want to breathe. But now I can at least think. If that was some of
what changed your mind, what was the rest?”

Joel Fischer’s wall
, she thought. “We got a lead on one of the condo arsonists. It looks like one of them OD’d and drove his car off the road
Monday morning. He’s dead.”

“Guilty conscience?”

“I think so. I stood in this kid’s room, looking at all the plaques on his wall, all for service to his community. He wanted
to make a difference. I think he got in over his head and couldn’t stand the guilt. I kept thinking that this kid did so much
good, then one thing bad and it all unraveled for him. Then I thought about Lincoln, his guilt.” She paused. “Which you understood.”

Tensing, he moved his hand from her breast to her stomach. Covering it with hers, she held on. “I wondered what it was you’d
understood,” she said. “You said ‘And’ last night when we argued about what happened after Mia’s wedding.”

He swallowed. “And?”

“You thought you’d done something else. Something worse. I wondered if I should have been more worried about that than I was.
Then, I wondered what it mattered. You’ve more than proven the kind of man you are. I still wanted the answer to my question,
but when
I saw you… it seemed a lot less important. Because I wanted you more than I wanted to breathe, too.”

He drew a breath, let it out. “So what is your question, Olivia?”

She rolled to her back, found his eyes guarded. “Who are you, David Hunter?” She smiled up at him, trying to soften the words.
“Besides a cat-saving firefighter who volunteers more than ten people combined?”

He looked away. “I don’t know. I’ve been that man so long, I don’t know anymore.”

She sensed honesty and frustration in his answer. “Then who were you before?”

He flinched. “Not so nice. I don’t think you would have liked that me.”

“How old was ‘that you’?”

“Eighteen.”

Eighteen years then, she thought. He’d lived half his life with whatever it was that he’d done. “And what did the eighteen-year-old
you do?”

He rolled away suddenly, but she sprang to her knees, grabbing his arm as his feet hit the floor. “Don’t,” she said urgently.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me. Whatever it was you did, or think you did, it kept you from coming after me for
two and a half years
. Whatever it was, it affected my life, too. That time is gone, David. Wasted. I don’t want to lose any more. I’m here, right
now, in your bed. I’m not afraid of you. So tell me.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, shoulders hunched. “I can’t.”

Drawing on instinct, she took a chance. “What was her name?” There was a long, long silence and she thought she’d try once
more. “Was it about Dana?”

He turned his head slightly, as if startled. “No. I didn’t meet her until I was thirty.”

“Mia told me about her, how she helped those battered women, running from their husbands. How you helped her do it.”

“No, I just fixed the roof.”

“Which meant a hell of a lot to the frightened women who had a dry place to hide with their children. Why did you do it? For
Dana or for the women and their children?”

“Both. Dana was doing something concrete. She didn’t just talk about the plight of these women and their children. She did
something. I admired that.”

“You loved her. Dana.”

He’d turned back around now and she couldn’t see his face. “Yes,” he said and she felt the stab of envy and dismay. “Or maybe
the idea of her,” he added quietly. “I always knew she didn’t feel the same. Maybe that made her safe. Sounds stupid.”

“No, not at all.” For long minutes they sat in silence. “What was her name, David?”

He shuddered out a weary sigh. “Megan.”

“And she was eighteen, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you love her?”

The harshness in his laugh made her wince. “Not as much as I loved myself.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died,” he said flatly. “Murdered by her step-father. Is my interrogation finished?”

“You said you’d answer my question,” she said quietly. “I’m thinking that who you are now has a great deal to do with who
she was then.”

She waited a long time until finally he sighed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

She ran a hand down his arm. “How about, ‘Once there was a girl named Megan’?”

He swallowed. “We met in junior high. She was my first dance, first date. First kiss.”

“So what happened?”

“Time passed. We went on to high school, drifted apart, but we were still friends. Then my brother Max went pro and everything
changed. He got drafted into the NBA. His life changed, and so did mine.”

“For the better?”

“At the time I thought so. I was sixteen and already so full of myself. I played on my school’s baseball team, my coach said
I was a shoo-in for a scholarship. I was good-looking. Girls wanted me. Lots of girls. Then, that was everything.”

“What happened to Megan?”

“I’d left her way behind by then. I was an athlete. I needed the prettiest girl in class, the fastest. Megan couldn’t compete.
I felt sorry for her… social awkwardness.” He said it with self-recrimination. “I shouldn’t have, not for that anyway.”

“Then for what?”

“Her dad died when we were in junior high. She had a little brother and her mom worked hard to support them. Then when Megan
was sixteen, her mom remarried. Life was supposed to get better for them, but her stepdad was a piece of work.”

“Oh no,” she whispered sadly, as if she already knew what was coming.

“He yelled at them, all the time. Nobody knew he hit them, but we should have. But I was busy,” he said
scathingly, “being popular. Having fun with the beautiful people.”

“It’s just a face,” she murmured, understanding now. “David…”

“I was busy,” he continued, as if she’d said nothing. “Going to dances, playing ball, basking in being the brother of an NBA
star. I never cracked a book. The smart girls did my homework. My mother prayed for me every day, begged me to straighten
up, fly right. But what did she know? I had the world by the tail.”

“How did the tail break?”

“We were seniors and there was a party. One of the kids’ parents were gone for the weekend and we were partying hard. Kegs,
bottles, weed. Lots of girls. I got drunk. And Megan showed up.”

Olivia said nothing. His jaw was tight, his eyes staring straight ahead, unseeing.

“I was so drunk, so self-involved, that I didn’t see she had a black eye. It was dark and the music was too loud and I assumed
she’d come for the same reason the other girls had. For this face. I kissed her, and for a minute she held on. Then I pawed
at her. Ripped her blouse and she tried to push me away. Nobody ever pushed me away.”

“It made you angry.”

“Yeah. Then she started crying. Said she needed my help. Needed my car. She needed to get away. But I was mad, so I pushed
her away, told her to ask somebody that…” His throat worked as he tried to finish, but his voice broke. “That cared. She was
just Megan from down the street. I was David, Mr. Perfect.”

Olivia rested her hand on his back, felt him flinch, but he didn’t pull away. “And?”

“The party went on. No one saw her come in or leave. She was a nobody. We were
popular
. I didn’t give her another thought the rest of the night. I’d never been drunk before and the next morning I had a horrible
hangover. All I could think was that I needed to get home before Ma got back from Mass or she’d kill me. And then I passed
Megan’s house.”

“You remembered what you’d done?”

His lips twisted. “I had a vague recollection of what she’d said, that she’d cried. But I didn’t understand until I passed
her house. There was a cop car parked in front, lights flashing. My heart started pounding. I stopped my car and ran to the
front door and… I saw her. The cop inside tried to block my view, but he was too late. I’d already seen.”

“She was dead?” Olivia murmured.

“They all were. Her mother was on the stairs. Her head… He’d beaten her head in with a bat. Megan was in the middle of the
living room floor.” He drew a shuddering breath. “He’d beaten her, too. She was lying on top of her brother, shielding him.
There were clothes everywhere and an empty suitcase against the wall.”

“She’d been running away.”

“She tried,” he said hollowly. “He must have caught her. Flew into a rage. Killed them all, then shot himself.”

“What did the police do?”

“That day? They asked me what I knew. I said I didn’t know anything. I never told them she’d come to me the night before.”

There was hatred and contempt in his voice, all for himself. Her heart ached for him, even as she struggled for the right
words to say. “And after that day?”

He shrugged listlessly. “Then it was old news. There was no mystery to solve, other than why the hell no one had stopped him
before he killed three innocent people.”