She Can Scream

by Melinda Leigh

  “Cute,” Brooke said.

  Haley signed out of her profile. “I’m going upstairs to study.” She left the laptop on the table and disappeared down the hall.

  Brooke stared at the computer, her mind still fixated on Haley’s Internet profile.

  “What are you thinking?” Luke asked.

  “I’ll bet Maddie has accounts and profiles too. If she’s anything like most of my students, it’s full of personal information.” Brooke logged in under her own name.

  “You have an account?” Luke sounded surprised.

  “I do. I use it to keep track of what my kids are doing online. I have rules for social media use, and I’m not afraid to police them.” Brooke smiled.

  “There’s nothing like a nosy mother to keep kids honest.”

  “Exactly.” Brooke found Maddie in less than a minute. The young woman was very active. “Wow. He didn’t have to physically follow her much. She practically posts her minute-to-minute daily agenda online, and she doesn’t have her data fully protected.”

  Brooke scrolled through pictures of Maddie and her friends. There were long lists of places she’d been and organizations she belonged to. “There’s no way she knows all those people.”

  Forever Fitness was on her list, as was the law firm that employed her. The community college she attended and her former high school were both listed. Brooke scrolled through pages and pages of pictures. She stopped on a photo of a group of skirt-clad girls holding sticks. Shock rippled through her.

  “Hey, that’s Haley’s field hockey team. Why is it posted on Maddie’s page? She didn’t go to Westbury High.” She swept the mouse over the picture. Players’ names popped up every time she hovered over a face. She paused on her daughter’s image. “It’s the local newspaper shot from their first big win last year.”

  Luke leaned over to get a better view of the screen. “On sites like this one, anyone can post pictures and tag them with names. Maddie didn’t post this picture. She just shared it. From the number of links attached, it’s made the Internet rounds. She’s shared dozens of pictures and articles about all the local high school field hockey teams.”

  Unease lodged in Brooke’s chest. Labeled pictures of young girls all over the Internet were a predator’s dream. Brooke clicked on another link. “Maddie played for Coopersfield High. Here’s a picture of her team. They won the state championship last year. It was a big deal. Lots of news coverage. I didn’t realize she just graduated last June.”

  “It’s hard to estimate her age with her face all swollen and bruised.” Luke’s voice was grim.

  She flipped back to the picture of Haley’s team. Her daughter’s smiling face stared back from the first row. Brooke went back to Maddie’s profile. “Everything about Maddie’s life is right here.”

  “If he used the Internet to find her, then there should be a link to him somewhere.”

  “To use this site, he has to have an account, right?”

  “Yes, but it can be a fake account with fake personal data. All you need to provide is a working e-mail address.”

  Brooke paged through Maddie’s profile. Every page went to another page, which was connected to its own set of people, and so on. “I wonder if he interacted with her on one of these pages.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “We need to narrow it down.” Brooke continued to scroll.

  “Narrow what down?” Suspicion tinted Luke’s voice.

  “Where Maddie’s attacker found her.”

  “Brooke, this is a police investigation. You can’t interfere.”

  Panic rose behind Brooke’s breastbone, the pressure building with no outlet, constricting her lungs. Her next breath was tight. Westbury police could hardly keep a guard on Maddie forever, and there was no police cruiser parked in Brooke’s driveway. Luke was leaving in five days. Then what? “There are two different towns working this case: Coopersfield, where Maddie was attacked, and Westbury, where her assailant left the earring for her. Three police departments are involved if you count the Hillside rape. What if they don’t coordinate? What if the Hillside rape and Maddie’s attack in Coopersfield aren’t even related?”

  Luke put his hand over hers. “You aren’t with the police. You need to let them do their job.”

  “So I should do nothing?” That wasn’t an option for Brooke.

  “You should stay informed about the case.” Luke squeezed her hand. “And you should be very careful.”

  “This guy is focused on Maddie.” Brooke needed to move. She pulled her hand out from under his and stood. She went to the cabinet, pulled down a glass, and filled it with water at the tap. “He went into a crowded hospital to let her know that.”

  “And the police have an officer with her right now.”

  “But for how long?”

  Eventually Maddie would be alone and vulnerable—and so were Brooke and her kids.

  “Brooke, you have to let the police handle this.” Luke pushed to his feet. He rounded the table and crossed the room to face her.

  Her hands were trembling, her skin had paled, and her movements lost their grace. She looked like he felt when he had a nightmare. Shaky, full of energy that had no outlet. She lifted her cup to her mouth and drank. Nerves radiated from her jerky motions.

  The phone rang. Brooke jumped. Choking, she sputtered coffee and reached for a pile of napkins on the counter. A second digital ring reverberated through the kitchen. She coughed and pressed a hand to her chest, but she didn’t move toward the charging cradle on the counter.

  Luke picked up the phone. “Hello.”

  “This is Officer Ethan Hale. May I speak to Brooke?”

  Brooke’s coughing slowed. She took a deep breath, and Luke gave her the handset.

  “Hello.” She rubbed her temple. “Of course I understand. It’s not a problem. Thanks for calling.” She hung up the phone. “Ethan was supposed to help with my class tonight but he’s tied up. He didn’t say, but it’s probably because they have a man at Maddie’s house. Westbury is a small police force. They only have a handful of officers. No doubt watching Maddie is straining their resources.”

  Luke held a hand up to stop her speech. “Wait a minute. You’re teaching class tonight?”

  Brooke’s forehead crinkled. She tilted her head. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because you’re hurt.” And upset and obsessed.

  “It’s the last class of the unit. I can’t miss it.” She waved away his concern.

  He gave her knee a pointed stare. “Can’t you reschedule?”

  “No.” Her tone sharpened. “My knee is much better, and the community center books the room out months in advance.”

  “Brooke, I’m sure your students would understand if you couldn’t make it tonight.”

  “No.” Brooke’s voice rose. “This is an important lesson.”

  “I’m sure it is, but—”

  “I won’t let them down. What happened to Maddie could happen to any one of those girls. He is still out there. You don’t understand. I have to teach tonight.” She set the empty mug in the sink with a shaky hand. “Do you remember my roommate, Karen?”

  “The girl that was murdered by her boyfriend?” Wade had said Brooke felt guilty about her roommate’s death. “Brooke, she was killed by an angry ex. That’s not your fault.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Brooke interlaced her fingers and brought her knuckles to her chin, as if she was praying. “If I can prevent just one woman from being killed…”

  “You’ve already done that.”

  She paused, opening her mouth as if she was going to say something else. Then she clamped her lips together and shook her head. “It’s not enough.”

  “OK.” Luke raised his hands, palms out. Brooke’s agitation and sense of responsibility were out of proportion. But maybe teaching her class was the best thing for her, a constructive outlet for nervous energy. “I do understand. How much did Wade tell you about the explosion I was in?”
r />   Brooke blinked. “Just that terrorists bombed the building, and you were burned.”

  He would give almost anything to make his story that simple. “My assistant was killed in the blast.” Luke closed his eyes. He could see Sherry bleeding out in front of him. But Brooke didn’t need all the gory details. “It was her first international project. It was my job to take care of her, but I failed. She died.” His throat tightened as if clogged with smoke, and he struggled for his voice. “Her name was Sherry. She was twenty-eight, beautiful and vibrant, with a wicked sense of humor. I’m as obsessed with keeping you safe as you are with your girls.”

  Horror filled her eyes. “Wade shouldn’t have asked you to protect me. It wasn’t fair.”

  “Wade doesn’t know. No one knows except my shrink.” Luke met her eyes to see his pain reflected back at him. “And you.” He reached out to touch her, but his hand fell short. Who would want a man as messed up as him? Brooke had enough baggage of her own. She didn’t need to lug his around too.

  “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”

  Why had he told her? He’d intended to let her know she wasn’t alone, but he hadn’t succeeded. Now she felt like she was a burden. “None of this is your fault.”

  “I guess.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  “I’ve had some other issues too. Going into a high-rise is still really hard. That’s why I’ve been out of work so long.” Huh. Sharing that humiliating fact was easier than he’d expected.

  Her palm settled on his forearm, and instead of the pity he’d dreaded, understanding passed between them. “Fine pair we are.”

  “Seriously.” He covered her hand with his for a few seconds. Unexpected emotion swelled in his chest. Whoa. Overload. He drew back a few inches. “Now, what was the cop going to do for you tonight?”

  Brooke smiled. “He was my attacker.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Brooke’s expression lightened and the corners of her mouth turned up. “He was going to wear the padded suit and let my girls beat on him.” She turned thoughtful. “I suppose I can wear the suit.”

  Like hell.

  “No, you can’t.” Luke scowled. “You’re already injured. Can I do it?”

  She considered him with a quick head-to-toe appraisal. “We’d have to practice.”

  What? He knew he’d lost weight, but dammit, he wasn’t weak.

  “Seriously?” Luke lifted his hands, palms up. “I’ve taken Krav Maga on and off for years. I don’t need practice to let someone hit me.” Krav Maga was the fighting style of the Israeli military, known for its blunt and brutally effective techniques. A typical class involved plenty of contact.

  Brooke stopped. New interest sharpened her expression. “You took Krav?”

  “Whenever I’m in the States, I go to a class or two.” Luke shrugged. “I travel all over. Sometimes, the locations can be dicey.” If only the worst thing he’d faced was a mugger. All that training hadn’t done a damned thing against a briefcase full of explosives. “What about you? Where did you learn all this stuff?”

  “I’ve done some mixed martial arts along with plenty of basic women’s self-defense,” Brooke said. “Nothing fancy. I prefer simple, effective, and easy-to-remember techniques. Come on. I’ll show you.” Brooke headed for the basement. Luke followed her down the wooden stairs. She pulled down a large, black hockey-equipment bag from the wall shelves. She set it on the floor and unzipped it. “Do you want to try the suit on?”

  Luke pulled a padded vest out. Underneath was a heavy-duty groin protector. He didn’t want to think about why he’d need that. But the prospect of practicing with him had shifted Brooke’s demeanor from paranoid to productive. So he’d do whatever she wanted.

  He was hardly one to judge. What would he do if he woke up from a nightmare and couldn’t go for a run? Sitting on the floor shaking like a cold kitten sucked enough when he was alone. The only thing worse was having someone watch him disintegrate.

  “There’s a helmet too.”

  “I think for now we can just pretend.” He zipped the bag. “Are you sure you’re up for this? You’re still hurting.”

  “We’ll just go over the mechanics. We don’t have to get physical.” Brooke limped to the middle of her mat. She waggled her fingers at him, and he went to her like a puppy.

  Sad. Pathetic even.

  But he’d do anything to keep that helpless, panicked look off her face.

  “For the purposes of this class, I stick to a few basic grabs and strikes. Most of the girls have no martial arts experience. Grab my wrist.” She held one arm out. “I want you to use enough pressure to provide some resistance, but not enough to leave a mark. The girls have practiced these moves with each other, but there’s an entirely different feel between the grip of a man than that of another girl.”

  He wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist. Her pulse throbbed under his thumb, the beats rapid considering they weren’t doing anything physical.

  “Perfect.” She broke his hold with a twist of her arm. “That’s the first escape we practice.”

  They went over the mechanics of a few other techniques for hair grabs and chokes. Brooke’s hold breaks were simple and effective. Strikes were focused on soft targets: the eyes, nose, throat, and groin.

  “Last one. Give me a bear hug.”

  Luke stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her. The softness of her body nestled against him. Her hair smelled like flowers. She shifted sideways and mimicked dropping a hammer fist into his groin. Luke flinched, though she didn’t make contact. That blow could be a total mood killer.

  “That’s it. I keep it pretty basic. This isn’t a martial arts class. The class is designed to get them used to practicing safe behavior and learn that they can fight back.” She pulled against his arms.

  But Luke didn’t release her. Her body snuggled up against his felt right. He turned her around and did what he’d been thinking about for two days—no, his whole life. He pressed a gentle kiss to her injured lip. She froze. Luke didn’t, couldn’t stop. He shifted his lips to take her whole mouth. She responded suddenly, as if there was a two-second delay between her brain and body. Her hands splayed against his chest, then clenched in his shirt, pulling him closer. Her mouth opened under his. She tasted of chocolate and coffee.

  Instinctively, he leaned in. The full body contact set off a buzz in his blood, a need to be even closer. His mind drifted to the hungry look in her eyes when she’d seen him outside the shower earlier. He’d backed away before she could get a look at his back. How would she react to his scars?

  Maybe he could just keep on kissing her all night. His tongue slid passed her lips. She responded with enthusiasm.

  The muffled ring of the doorbell echoed above their heads. They froze. She released his shirt and pulled her head back. Her eyes reflected the bewilderment he felt to his bones. The connection between them went further than mouth-to-mouth. It had speared him through his damaged soul.

  How did he let this happen? Luke wanted to run, but he was trapped by his promise and by the bone-deep yearning to maintain his connection with Brooke.

  “I can’t.” She splayed a hand in the center of his chest. “I don’t do casual flings. I’m sorry.”

  He had no response. He had no right to start a relationship he couldn’t maintain—definitely not with Brooke. She deserved more. But her eyes were darkened with desire, her lips swollen from his kiss. Selfishly, he wanted to keep going. Disappointment rumbled through him.

  “The pizza’s here.” She pivoted and headed for the stairs at too brisk a pace. Running away from the kiss? He didn’t blame her. One thing was certain. No more of that mouth-to-mouth or full-on body contact for them. He could no more taste her than an alcoholic could have just a sip of wine.

  With a vow to keep his physical distance, and an adjustment of his jeans, he gathered up the equipment and hauled it upstairs.

  The pizza was consumed in rapid-fire, mostly by Chris. Brooke
didn’t make eye contact throughout the meal. Not a good sign. But every time he looked at her she flushed, which gave him a big boost to his masculine pride, even thought he’d sworn it would never happen again.

  Brooke stashed the sole surviving slice in the refrigerator. “We have to leave in a few minutes.”

  Neither Chris nor Haley argued. Both likely sensed it was pointless. Twenty minutes later, Luke’s breath locked up as he parked in the lot in Coopersfield. The woods stretched out behind the community center, dark and threatening. A vicious assault had occurred just a few hundred feet away.

  He scanned the area before escorting Brooke and her kids into the building. She was favoring her leg more than she had earlier.

  A group of young women gathered in the main room. They surrounded Brooke with a chorus of, “Omigod, Ms. Davenport. Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine.” But Brooke sank into the chair one of the girls brought her. “This is my friend, Mr. Holloway. He’s graciously agreed to let you all practice on him tonight.”

  The glances turned on him varied from the shy interest from a set of tall dark-haired twins, to holy shit, blatant flirting from a tiny blond. Luke was tempted to hide in the car. It wasn’t the girls’ fists that scared him.

  Haley joined the class. Chris burrowed into a corner with a book.

  Brooke paired up the girls and ran them through a quick review of the same techniques she’d shown Luke in her basement. Luke zipped and Velcroed his way into the thick foam pads. He took particular care with adjusting the groin protector.

  The girls bunched up, high-pitched giggles projecting nerves. No one took point.

  “Natalie, why don’t you go first?” Brooke suggested.

  One of the twins stepped forward. Her identical sister fell in behind her, and the rest of the girls queued up.

  Luke tentatively took her slim wrist in a gentle grasp.

  “No!” She broke the hold just as Brooke had taught her.

  Once they warmed up, the girls’ voices grew louder, their responses stronger as their confidence was bolstered. Thirty minutes later, they were yelling in his face and hitting him like they meant it. Haley must practice with her mother because she drilled him in the chest with a palm strike he felt through the padding straight to his solar plexus.