Silence: The Faces of Evil Christmas Prequel

by Webb, Debra

  This case was a perfect example. It couldn’t wait. Even so guilt was her constant companion. Particularly when she had no choice but to disappoint her sister each time she asked. There simply was no other way. Christmas or not, the important thing right now was finding answers for the families of the victims in this case.

  This lead might not pan out but there was only one way to find out. Jess dug out her cell and put through another call to Gant. She’d called twice already and he’d been in a meeting. Taylor had apparently been in the same meeting. She hadn’t wanted to leave a message for Gant until she had something he didn’t know already. Another glance at the sky warned that, at this point, she just needed someone to know where she was.

  Gant’s voice rattled across the line, the sound going in and out. Jess checked the bars on her screen. “Dammit.” Only one. She braked to a stop, causing the car to skid a little. She held her breath until it stilled.

  “Harris?”

  “Sorry about that,” she said to Gant. “I had to stop, the reception is really, really bad.”

  “Where... you?”

  He was breaking up. Hopefully he could hear better on his end. “I’m following up on a lead Delia Potter gave me. A Dale Pritchard. He and Aniston were POWs together in Vietnam.”

  Gant was shouting unintelligible words at her again.

  “I’m at a farm on Green Leaf Road off Route 610 near Ruckersville. Green Leaf Road,” she repeated. “Off 610.”

  “I don’t like this... ready... me.”

  Frustration shortened her patience. He sends her to learn what no one else had and now he says he doesn’t like this. “I can’t hear you.” She repeated the address a third time and ended the call. There was nothing else to do. If Pritchard had a landline, she would call Gant from there. Hopefully he was expecting her. Potter had said she would try to reach him.

  “Ready or not.” Jess resumed her journey.

  The old farmhouse sat in a clearing at least a mile off the main road. An old pickup truck was parked next to the house. A barn was visible near the tree line. Not much else around but woods and snow.

  “Fun. Fun.” She turned off the engine and reached into the passenger floorboard for her boots. She’d had the foresight to get them out of the trunk this morning.

  When she climbed out of the car the snow almost reached the tops of her boots. She grimaced. Cold feet were bad enough. If the snow got into her boots, cold, wet feet would be way worse. Before closing her door she tucked her Glock into her coat pocket... just in case.

  That was the thing about having spent eight years in the field, you learned to buy the right clothes. No shallow pockets. No thick, lined gloves either. The thinner, formfitting kind kept her hands warm enough and allowed for a good grip on her weapon.

  She trudged the short distance to the porch steps. The snow crunching under her boots was the only sound. Spooky quiet. Three steps up and she was on the porch. The faintest whistling of wind through the trees whirred in the air.

  Jess scanned the area again. The truck hadn’t moved since the big snow dump last night. Maybe he didn’t use that old truck. Could he even drive? Potter hadn’t mentioned anyone else living here. Although there was a visible set of ruts where it appeared a vehicle had driven past the house some time earlier today. She couldn’t accurately judge how long ago but snow was beginning to fill those tracks now.

  Moving to the end of the porch, she checked the area around the barn. Nothing there either. Maybe someone had made a delivery. Or, for all she knew, Pritchard had a housekeeper or nurse. A relative may have come to take him home for the holidays.

  She hoped she hadn’t come all this way to find an empty house.

  Jess rapped on the door. Nothing. She banged a little harder.

  Still nothing.

  She reached into her pocket with her right hand and curled her fingers around her Glock. “Mr. Pritchard, you in there? I’m Special Agent Jess Harris from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Delia Potter sent me to check on you.” She reached for the doorknob with her left hand. “Mr. Pritchard?”

  The knob turned easily. Not locked. Braced for trouble, she stepped to the side and gave the door a shove with one booted foot. No lights on inside. “Mr. Pritchard, are you okay in there?”

  Total silence was all she got for her trouble.

  “Mr. Pritchard, I need to speak with you, sir.” She felt on the wall by the door for a switch. Flipped it. Still no light. Either the power had gone out from the storm or the man hadn’t paid his bill. Then again, could be a blown bulb. She moved a few feet deeper into the house. Pritchard was an elderly, disabled man. He could be in need of medical care, giving her reasonable cause to enter the premises.

  Damn. She shivered. It was as cold in here as it was outside. There was a fireplace with enough ash to suggest someone had been burning wood but not recently.

  She blinked repeatedly to help her eyes adjust faster to the dim interior as she took another step toward what she estimated to be the kitchen. “Mr. Pritchard, please call out to me if you if you can hear me. Do you need medical attention?”

  The house was relatively small. Paneled walls and low ceilings with wood floors. Newspapers were stacked in a neat pile on the sofa. A half empty glass of water sat on a table next to a well-used chair. The place was as silent as a tomb.

  A soft sound jerked Jess to the left, toward the far side of the living room. She aimed her weapon in that direction.

  “Hello?”

  The sound came again. Help! Too indistinct to determine if it was male or female.

  “Mr. Pritchard?” Moving quickly, she entered a long narrow hallway. Three doors. Two on the left, one on the right. Bedrooms and a bath most likely. Calling for backup would be the preferred protocol about now, but there was no time. If the old man needed medical attention she was going to have a hell of a time getting him out of the house. With no cell service and no sign of a landline as of yet, she might not have a choice.

  Where the hell was that phone Potter claimed he had?

  The faint cry for help came again. Seemed to be coming from door number two on her left. She edged closer. Her pulse rate revved up as adrenaline pumped through her body. The door was ajar.

  Leading with her Glock, she pushed the door inward. Next to the bed a man sat slumped in his wheelchair. A dark green blanket covered most of his torso.

  “Mr. Pritchard?” Jess moved toward him. It was even colder in here. She crouched down to get a look at his face. “Mr. Prit—”

  His face was frozen in pain... eyes wide open... mouth gaping in mid-cry. Throat slashed. Blood had soaked into the green wool of the blanket and dried. He had been dead for a while. Days, maybe a week.

  Jess swore. She might as well drive back out to the main road where reception was better and call—

  Something went around her neck—rope—and she was jerked backward. She scrambled to get up... to get free. She twisted, tried to get her weapon around to shoot at whoever was choking her.

  The rope tightened.

  A weight settled on her back, pressed her face to the floor.

  Jess bucked and twisted her body to throw off the weight. Didn’t work. She jabbed her elbow at her attacker. Couldn’t connect. The rope grew tighter and tighter. Her weapon discharged. The room was spinning... growing darker.

  No air.

  7

  Christmas Eve

  Downtown Birmingham, 8:55 p.m.

  “This is it.” Dan grinned at her as he shoved the key into the lock. “It’s not where I hope to be in a couple of years but it’s home for now.”

  He opened the door and waited as Jess stepped into the apartment. Dan’s place. She had lost her mind. “It’s... nice.”

  Her body had started trembling as they walked across the street from the pub and hadn’t stopped yet. Dammit. He’d have to be blind not to see. She’d mentally kicked herself at least a dozen times during the elevator ride to the eighth floor.

  What
was she doing?

  Lil was upset. She hadn’t said as much but Jess had heard it in her voice when she’d called to explain they shouldn’t hold dinner for her. She’d be there in time for dessert.

  What kind of sister did this make her? She hadn’t bothered to come to Birmingham for a visit in over four years and now that she was here she’d chosen him over Lil.

  The man who had shattered her heart. The same one who had walked away and left Jess to pick up the pieces alone.

  The shrinks were right. All this time the stress had been building and now she had cracked.

  “I’m still not organized.” Dan picked up the newspaper he’d probably left on the sofa that morning. “It’s a great location.” He snagged the coffee cup on the end table next. “I walk to work most days.”

  He stood in the middle of the room holding the newspaper and coffee mug as if he didn’t know what to do next. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who was nervous. Now that they were in his personal territory, his confidence seemed to slip. The idea provided a tiny fraction of relief since she had gone from shocked and unsettled to shaking and uncertain herself. And maybe just a little terrified.

  All these years she’d wondered what it would be like if they ever ran into each other again. This was not how she’d pictured the meeting.

  Her heart beat faster and faster. She had pretended to forget all about him. The way he smelled and tasted had been blocked to save her sanity. Every moment of the way he’d made love to her that first time—her first time—had been totally exiled. The very concept of how she had loved Daniel Burnett with her entire heart and soul had been buried.

  Until now.

  All of it. Every tiny detail had flooded her as she’d walked across that dark street at his side.

  Oh yes. She was out of her mind.

  He tossed the newspaper into a recycle bin then deposited the coffee mug on the counter near the sink.

  Take a breath, Jess. Stop fixating on his every move. “That’s great. The place...” she glanced around “...suits you.”

  He moved toward her and the breath she’d only just managed to squeeze into her lungs locked there.

  “Let me take your coat.”

  It wasn’t until he reached toward her that she snapped out of the daze she couldn’t seem to shake and yanked at the belt knotted at her waist. Fingers fumbling, she wasn’t having much luck.

  He deftly took over, easily releasing the knot. “You must be exhausted after that drive.”

  “It wasn’t so bad.” She squeezed her hands into fists to stop their confounded shaking.

  He lifted her purse from her shoulder and placed it on the sofa. “I’m glad the weather cooperated.”

  “That makes two of us.” Somehow she managed a smile as she eased out of her coat. Her body complained, reminding her that it had taken a beating.

  He draped her coat on a hook near the door and then he shouldered out of his jacket and hung it next hers. That simple action affected her somehow, made her yearn for things she would only regret wanting. This was such a bad idea.

  “Good thing that snow storm the Weather Channel was taking about didn’t follow you south.”

  “A very good thing,” she agreed. The memory of falling onto her knees in the snow and staring up at the moon filled her head. She forced it away.

  Before more images from the scene she’d left in Virginia could intrude, she distracted herself with taking in more details of his place. The main living area was one big room. A leather sofa, a chair and a couple of tables made up the furnishings. The décor was single male. No paintings, just a couple of family photos his mother had probably added. Of course there was a large television presiding over one corner. In sharp contrast, the kitchen was small, perfect for a bachelor or a couple. The ceiling soared to about twelve feet preventing the urban space from feeling so cramped.

  But the true focal point was on the other side of the room. Massive windows looked out over the city. Memories from their shared past crowded in on her. She couldn’t seem to stay focused.

  “Have a seat.”

  She turned back to him and watched as he crossed to the kitchen. She wanted to kick herself for salivating as if she’d never seen a man walk across a room before. You are so truly pathetic, Jess.

  “Wine?” He held up a bottle and grinned. “I was assured this Prosecco was among the top ten best wines for Christmas.”

  How could she say no to that hopeful face? “Sure,” she relented, aware that she still had to drive to Lil’s.

  With yet another bad decision behind her, rather than permit herself to stand there and gawk at him, she drifted to the windows. She peered through the night and tried to make out the landmarks unique to this city.

  How was it that she couldn’t look at a starry Birmingham night without thinking of all those times driving through the city in that old convertible. He’d always kept one strong arm wrapped around her shoulders. She’d felt like the world was theirs and theirs alone. Anything had been possible as long as they had each other.

  Sadness mushroomed so swiftly, so sharply inside her she lost her breath again. How had everything fallen apart? They’d planned their lives so carefully... where had they gone wrong?

  “I know I’m repeating myself,” he said as he joined her at the window, “but I can’t believe you’re here.”

  They hadn’t gone wrong. He was the one who had walked away. Jess turned on him, ready to say what she’d wanted to say for years. But his smile stole her words. Or maybe it was his eyes. What a complete idiot she was. He thrust a glass at her and she took it. Wished it were a double shot of bourbon.

  “It has been a long time.” She kicked aside the confusing emotions and focused her attention on the spectacular view. “I’ve been busy.” A blast of foolish anger shored up her confidence. “I just got a big promotion. Did I mention that?”

  “You look exactly the same, Jess.”

  Was he even listening? She wanted to rant at him.

  “I can’t stop staring at you,” he said, his voice filled with awe.

  She warned herself not to risk meeting his gaze after a statement like that but she’d never been very good at following orders, not even her own. “I hope that’s a compliment.”

  “That’s definitely a compliment.” He frowned. “What’s this?” He reached out with his right hand, pushed her hair back and traced the bruise at her throat.

  “It’s nothing.” She drew away from his touch. Sipped the wine. Sweet and sparkly, the kind she liked. She’d hated wine when he’d first introduced her to it. Beer had been the illicit beverage of choice among the teenagers on her side of the tracks. He’d taken her to the best restaurants and bought her expensive gifts... and she’d fallen head over heels in love with him.

  “It doesn’t look like nothing,” he countered.

  The edge in his voice warned that he had the wrong idea. “Just a work thing. That’s all.”

  He nodded but he looked far from convinced. She looked away. Staring at him had gotten her into trouble more than once... like when she’d lost her virginity.

  Time to get this conversation back into less treacherous territory.

  “You’re the one who hasn’t changed a bit other than you apparently lost your razor.” Judging by the dark stubble on his jaw he hadn’t shaved in at least a couple of days. His hair was a little longer. Daniel Burnett had always been the clean cut all-American guy. What was up with the new look? “The mayor doesn’t mind that you’re working so hard to resurrect that eighties unshaven look?”

  “This,” he laughed and scrubbed at his unshaven chin, “is my mother’s doing.”

  Jess’s self-confidence level dropped another couple of notches. Why had she asked? Katherine Burnett had never liked Jess. She doubted her opinion had changed. Since Dan was an only child, Katherine’s entire existence revolved around trying to mold his life and to ensure it turned out the way she wanted it. Part of Jess would always believe his mother was t
o some degree responsible for their break up.

  Ancient history.

  “She staging a Christmas production for her church. I was volunteered to play Joseph. Tomorrow night’s the big show.”

  See, Jess, his life was everything his mother had planned without you. What was she doing here?

  “You know,” she shoved the glass back at him, “I really should go. Lily is—”

  “Please,” he urged, shutting down her excuse. He stared at her lips for long enough to have her heart racing before finally lifting his gaze to hers. “I want to hear all about you and that promotion. It could be years before I see you again.”

  Suddenly the trouble she’d gotten herself into yesterday seemed like a walk in the park.

  The only thing she’d risked then was her life.

  Tonight she was risking her heart...

  He had to think of a way to persuade her to stay.

  What he was asking was too much, he realized that, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know all about her life now. His own had been so upside down the past few months he’d hardly had time to think about anything but work and the divorce.

  Memories crashed against him. The gun aimed at his head... the hurt of knowing he had failed.

  Not going there.

  Jess was here. He couldn’t believe his eyes. She was here... with him if only for a little while. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe they would ever have a second chance at a life together—hers was in Virginia and he didn’t see that changing—but maybe they could be friends. They’d shared too much to pretend there wasn’t still some connection between them.

  “Okay.” She squared her shoulders and gave him a firm look. “But just this one glass of wine and then I really have to go.”

  The gut-wrenching tension receded. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that much relief. Maybe when his ex had missed putting a bullet in his head with his own weapon.

  “Then let’s make it count.” He tapped his glass to hers. “To a Christmas to remember.”