by Karen Rose
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Noah said. “Your mom’s a good cook. I guess she taught you.”
“Everything I know. All the good things anyway.” He put his arm around Olivia’s shoulders. “Let’s see Lincoln, then I want to get back and see my brothers and sisters.”
Thursday, September 23, 3:15 p.m.
David had to blink as he sat down across the table from Lincoln Jefferson. Lucid and cleaned up, he looked like a different man. In one corner of the interview room stood Special Agent John Temple, who seemed rational. Always a good thing. David knew that on the other side of the glass a small army watched—FBI agents, Lincoln’s psychiatrist, Truman, and Olivia. Sitting next to Lincoln was his attorney.
“Hi, Lincoln. How are you?”
For a moment, Lincoln said nothing. He simply sat and studied David, his eyes sharp. Piercing, even. “I’m fine,” he said finally. “How are you?”
“A bit banged up, but I’ll live.”
“I’m glad. I asked to see you. I wanted to thank you. I broke into your place and threatened you, but you were kind to me. Kinder than you should have been.”
“It’s okay.”
Emotion flickered in Lincoln’s eyes. “They told me Mary is dead.”
“Her brother killed her. I’m sorry. Your brother told me that you two were friends.”
“I loved her. I stayed on my meds for her. But I found out she had someone else.”
“Joel.”
“Yeah. I saw them together, at the university, two weeks ago. She didn’t know I was there. I got depressed, went off my meds. When I heard a glass ball had been found at those fires, where people had been shot to death… I lost it and I don’t even remember doing it.”
“You don’t remember my friend’s cabin?”
“No. I read the police report. Read how you’d been kind. Read what I said.”
“Always there,” David murmured and Lincoln briefly closed his eyes.
“I lived with that guilt for so long. I’d go off my meds so I couldn’t see her face, but it never helped. She was always there. I’ve given a full confession about that night we set the fire twelve years ago. It’s time to face what I did. I can’t make amends, though.”
David thought about how hollowed out he’d felt after telling Olivia his own secret. There had been peace, but also the knowledge that the clock could never be turned back. “I understand. How did you meet Mary?”
“She sent e-mails to me through the webmaster address on my site. She seemed so sincere. She was a believer, or so I thought. Now I hear she was only using me to get back at her stepfather, and Truman says the police are reopening the case of his old receptionist as a possible homicide. I never saw that side of her. But she killed people. On purpose.”
“If it helps, she told my mother she wouldn’t have let Crawford kill you. ‘I won’t let him kill him,’ she said. She’d planned to kill Crawford herself.”
“That helps. Thank you. I fell for her, like a rock. I’d never told a soul about Moss, but I told her.”
“You trusted her.”
“I was a fool.”
“No, Lincoln. You weren’t a fool to trust. She deceived you.”
Lincoln shrugged. “Regardless, I told her everything. All the details. That’s how she knew to leave the ball at the fires.”
“And to scratch VE into the North Pole, for authenticity. Lincoln, right before she died, she told her brother that she knew where Preston Moss was.”
Lincoln smiled. “And believe me, this nice FBI man really wants to know where he is. That’s why you’re here. I wouldn’t give them that until I’d had a chance to meet you.” He pointed to his attorney’s notebook and pen. “May I?”
David watched as Lincoln drew a detailed map, finishing with an X to mark a spot.
“The day after that fire twelve years ago, I went to see Moss. He had a place where we’d meet, a place nobody knew about but us. His most devoted followers. We’d sit there and listen to him talk, like disciples. He was… mesmerizing. Anyway, the next day I went there, so upset. We’d all scattered after setting the timer on the device, like we always did. But I heard on the radio that there was a fatality. I couldn’t believe it. I rushed back in time to see the body and I just fell apart.”
“I can imagine,” David said steadily. “That’s the kind of thing that haunts you.”
Lincoln nodded. “Forever. I got there, found Moss. He’d taken a bottleful of pills. He was dead.” He let out a breath. “It was horrible. I couldn’t think. I just reacted. I took his body, put it in my car, and buried him.” He tapped the map. “Here. I go there often. The grave is undisturbed. You should find him there.”
“And the place where you met?”
“Burned it to the ground. Fitting, I thought.”
“And then?”
Lincoln shrugged. “Time passed and reality slipped away. I knew it and was terrified. I thought I was losing my mind because God was taking it, to punish me.”
I understand that, too. “Thank you, Lincoln, for telling me.”
Lincoln regarded him evenly. “I don’t remember going to your place. But I remember your voice. I remember… compassion. And I felt safe.”
“I’m glad. Good luck. I mean that.”
Lincoln’s smile was sad. “I know.”
David shook his hand and watched as they took him away. Special Agent Temple took the map Lincoln had drawn. “Thank you, Mr. Hunter,” he said.
“I didn’t do anything. Not really. Will you release a statement when you confirm the remains are Moss’s? I know a lot of firefighters who need the closure.”
“Of course. I know a lot of agents who need the closure, too. And now I understand you have a celebration to attend. I’m glad it ended well for you and your mother.”
“Me too.” David found Olivia in the observation area, on her cell phone.
“I have to go,” she said. “I love you, too.” She hung up, her eyes a little too bright. “That was Mia. We’ve been playing phone tag for days. She said she worked all night to tie up some loose ends so she could come out for the weekend. I told her she and Reed and their kids could use my place. I assume we can still stay at the cabin?”
David smiled at her. “You bet. It’ll be good to see her again.”
Olivia’s lips twitched. “You might change your mind. She says she wants to talk to you. She didn’t realize we’d had a ‘biblical thing.’ Where the hell did she get that?”
“From Paige to me, overheard by my mother and Glenn.”
“Ah, well, then that explains everything.”
“So she’s going to talk to me? Just talk, right?”
“Hey, you fought off Lincoln and Kirby. You’re the cat-saving fireman. Surely you can hold your own against Mia.”
“I don’t know. She’s a sister. They fight dirty.”
Olivia chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
Friday, September 24, 2:55 a.m.
Olivia heard the cabin door open, then close. Sitting on the edge of the dock, she wiped at her wet cheeks with her sleeves. The dock rumbled as David came closer.
He lowered himself to the edge of the dock, then slid his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, burrowing closer, feeling safer than she had in a very long time. It had been an evening full of joy and laughter with every member of David’s considerable family. Brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews. The Hunter clan had unnerved her at Mia’s wedding with their boisterous ways. But now… I belong.
Phoebe Hunter, an arm around her shoulders, had proudly introduced her as the woman who “saved David’s life.” And somehow Olivia had known Phoebe hadn’t meant just from Kirby.
Mia had arrived an hour after the party started and had immediately taken David aside with a stern expression. But she must have approved of what he said because he still lived. Her sister was a tigress with a marshmallow center and Olivia was so glad to have her. Mia promised to stay through Kane’s funeral. I’ll ne
ed her. Because despite the laughter and love around her, Olivia was continually, painfully conscious of who was absent.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she murmured, and David kissed the top of her head.
“You didn’t,” he said. “Painkillers wore off and I woke up. But you weren’t there.”
“I had a bad dream,” she confessed. “Kirby killed you and you were lying on the ground. And then you were Kane. So I’ve been sitting here, thinking of him. Missing him. Trying to think of what I could have done differently. If only I’d been a little faster.”
“Olivia, missing Kane is natural. Trying to think of what you might have done differently will eat you up inside.”
One side of her mouth lifted. “Pot calling the kettle?”
“Yes, but you’d say the same thing to me and you know it. You did everything you could have done. Everything you should have done. You’re a good cop.”
He made her believe it was so. “Thank you.”
“You’re too hard on yourself, you know.”
She considered. “Yeah, I am. So are you.”
“Well, we both need to stop. We do only what we can and that has to be enough.”
“Because it can never be enough,” she whispered, then drew a breath. “I talked to the shrink. Dr. Donahue. I’ve been having panic attacks at crime scenes. Since the pit.”
“I’d be shocked if you didn’t,” he said in a matter-of-fact way that made her shame seem silly. “What did she say?”
“That the hard part’s just starting.”
“She’s right. Still, I’m proud of you. It’s not easy to open up.”
She hesitated. “I think it was harder to tell you just now.”
“Why?” he asked softly.
“Because your opinion means more. I didn’t want you to think I was”—she hesitated, then shrugged, looking away. “Less.”
“Less than what? Less than who? You are not less than anyone.” He frowned when she said nothing. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”
He rose and pulled her to her feet, up into the house, and back to the bedroom where he quickly searched his duffel bag. “Look at this.”
It was a letter from the Minneapolis Fire Department. “‘Dear Mr. Hunter, We’ve received your application for employment. We will inform you should any openings become available.’” She looked up at him, confused. “Why did you give me this?”
He didn’t answer and her eyes dropped back to the page. And then she saw the date. Her eyes shot back to his. “You applied a month after Mia’s wedding.”
“Actually the week after. They didn’t get back to me for a few weeks.”
Her mind was racing. “You were willing to leave your job for me? Way back then?”
“Yes. I’d been looking for you for a long time, but I didn’t know it until I saw you. I thought if I ever had the courage to approach you after that night, I should be prepared for whatever followed. I always hoped it would be this. You and me, together after a long day. Just like this. Except I hope that our future days aren’t quite so long.”
“David…” Her words failed her.
“You asked if I’d go back to Dana if she were free. I thought about telling you this then, but after what I’d said that night, I didn’t think you’d believe me. I still don’t have the right to expect you to believe me, but once I’d met you, I knew what I wanted. Who I wanted. If I’d known how you felt I never would have let so much time slip away. I’m sorry, Olivia. If I could get the time back, I would.”
She stared up into the face she’d never been able to forget. His face was bruised and battered from his battle with Jonathan Crawford, but he was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Inside and out. “Then let’s not waste another minute looking back.” Sliding her arms around his neck, she kissed him, intending to keep it gentle, but he pulled her closer and the kiss became deeper. Just… more.
He walked her backward to the bed and followed her down. “What do you want?” he asked huskily.
Everything. I want everything. “You. I want you.”
The earlier times they’d loved, it had been urgent. Explosive. This time it was slow and deliberate. Their eyes stayed open as they moved together, watching every flicker, every nuance. Her climax came as a huge swell, lifting her up, enveloping her so that there was nothing in the world but him. When he came, it was her name he groaned, his head thrown back, body bowed.
In the moments after, they held each other in the quiet. This was comfort, solace. Refuge. This they could give each other, again and again.
About the Author
KAREN ROSE is an award-winning author who fell in love with books from the time she learned to read. She started writing stories of her own when the characters in her head started talking and just wouldn’t be silenced. A former chemical engineer and high school chemistry and physics teacher, Karen lives in Florida with her husband of twenty years, their two children, and the family cat, Bella. When she’s not writing, Karen is practicing for her next karate belt test! Karen would be thrilled to receive your e-mail at [email protected]. Visit her website at www.karenrosebooks.com.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed David and Olivia’s story! Thank you all so much for inviting my characters to spend time with you in your home, on the train, or wherever you read. To show my appreciation, I’ve written an epilogue to SILENT SCREAM, which will be posted on my author page on my publisher’s website by clicking on this url, www.karenrosesilentscream and on my website, www.karenrosebooks.com. It’s totally free and I hope you’ll love it! In this scene you’ll be able to visit with many characters from past books, catch up on their lives, loves, kids—all the good stuff that makes a “happily ever after.”
Again, many thanks. Until we meet again between the covers of a book,
There’s nowhere left to run.
Don’t miss this thrilling
novel by Karen Rose!
Please turn this page
for a preview of
I Can See You
Available now in paperback.
Prologue
Minneapolis, Saturday, February 13, 9:10 p.m.
She was shy. Nervous. Mousy. Midforties and dowdy, even though she’d obviously dressed for the occasion in an ugly brown suit. She shouldn’t have bothered.
Martha Brisbane was just as he’d expected. He’d been watching her from across the crowded coffee shop for close to an hour now. Every time the door opened, she’d straighten, her eyes growing bright if a man entered. But the man would always sit elsewhere, ignoring her, and each time, her eyes grew a little less bright. Still she waited, watching the door. After an hour, the anticipation in her eyes had become desperation. He wondered how much longer her bottom-of-the-barrel self-esteem would keep her waiting. Hoping.
He’d found bursting their bubbles simply added to his fun.
Finally she glanced at her watch with a sigh and began to gather her purse and coat. One hour, six minutes, and forty-two seconds. Not bad. Not bad at all.
The barista behind the counter aimed her a sympathetic look from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “It’s snowing outside. Maybe he got tied up.”
Martha shook her head, defeat in the gesture. “I’m sure that’s it.”
The barista flashed an earnest smile. “You be careful driving home.”
“I will.”
It was his cue to exit, stage left. He slipped out of the side door in time to see Martha Brisbane huddled against the wind as she made her way to her beat-up old Ford Escort, mincing her steps in the two-inch heels that looked as if they pinched her fat feet. She managed to get to her car before the waterworks began, but once started, Martha didn’t stop crying, not when she pulled out of her parking place, not when she got on the highway. It was a wonder she didn’t run off the road and kill herself.
Drive carefully, Martha. I need you to arrive home in one piece.
By the time she parked in front of her
apartment, her tears had ceased and she was sniffling, her face red and puffy and chapped from the wind. She stumbled up the stairs to her apartment building, grappling with the heavy bags of cat food and litter she’d purchased at the pet store before arriving at the coffee shop.
There was a security camera in the building’s lobby, but it was broken. He’d made sure of that days ago. He swept up the stairs and opened the door for her.
“Your hands are full. Can I help you?”
She shook her head, but managed a teary smile. “No, I’m fine. But thank you.”
He smiled back. “The pleasure is mine.” Which would soon be very true.
Wearily she trudged up three flights of stairs to her apartment, teetering on the two-inch heels as she balanced the heavy bags. She wasn’t paying attention. She didn’t know he stood behind her, waiting for her to put the key in her lock.
She set the bags down, fumbled for her key. For God’s sake, woman. I don’t have all night. Hurry up. Finally she opened her door, picked up the bags, and pushed the door open with her shoulder.
Now. He leapt forward, clamping his hand over her mouth and twisting her around into the apartment with a fluid motion. She struggled, swinging her heavy bags as he closed her door and leaned back against it, dragging her against him. A pistol against her temple had her struggles magically ceasing.
“Hold still, Martha,” he murmured, “and I just might let you live.” As if that was going to happen. Not. “Now put down the bags.”
Her bags dropped to the floor.
“Better,” he murmured. She was shaking in terror, just the way he liked it.
Her words, muffled against his hand, sounded like a terrified “Please, please.” That’s what his victims always said. He liked a polite victim.