by T. R. Ragan
PRAISE FOR DON’T MAKE A SOUND
“Those who like to see evil men get their just desserts will look forward to Sawyer’s further exploits.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Overall, a great crime read.”
—Manhattan Book Review
“[A] dizzying flurry of twists and turns in a plot as intricate as a Swiss watch . . . Ragan’s warrior women are on fire, fueled by howling levels of personal pain.”
—Sactown Magazine
“A heart-stopping read. Ragan’s compelling blend of strained family ties and small-town secrets will keep you racing to the end!”
—Lisa Gardner, New York Times bestselling author of When You See Me
“An exciting start to a new series with a feisty and unforgettable heroine in Sawyer Brooks. Just when you think you’ve figured out the dark secrets of River Rock, T.R. Ragan hits you with another sucker punch.”
—Lisa Gray, bestselling author of Thin Air
“Fans of Lizzy Gardner, Faith McMann, and Jessie Cole are in for a real treat with T.R. Ragan’s Don’t Make a Sound, the start of a brand-new series that features tenacious crime reporter Sawyer Brooks, whose own past could be her biggest story yet. Ragan once more delivers on her trademark action, pacing, and twists.”
—Loreth Anne White, bestselling author of In the Dark
“T.R. Ragan takes the revenge thriller to the next level in the gritty and chillingly realistic Don’t Make a Sound. Ragan masterfully crafts one unexpected twist after another until the shocking finale.”
—Steven Konkoly, bestselling author of The Rescue
“T.R. Ragan delivers in her new thrilling series. Don’t Make a Sound introduces crime reporter Sawyer Brooks, a complex and compelling heroine determined to stop a killer as murders in her past and present collide.”
—Melinda Leigh, #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author
OTHER TITLES BY T.R. RAGAN
SAWYER BROOKS SERIES
Don’t Make a Sound
Out of Her Mind
JESSIE COLE SERIES
Her Last Day
Deadly Recall
Deranged
Buried Deep
FAITH MCMANN TRILOGY
Furious
Outrage
Wrath
LIZZY GARDNER SERIES
Abducted
Dead Weight
A Dark Mind
Obsessed
Almost Dead
Evil Never Dies
WRITING AS THERESA RAGAN
Return of the Rose
A Knight in Central Park
Taming Mad Max
Finding Kate Huntley
Having My Baby
An Offer He Can’t Refuse
Here Comes the Bride
I Will Wait for You: A Novella
Dead Man Running
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2021 by Theresa Ragan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542093927
ISBN-10: 1542093929
Cover design by Damon Freeman
Jesse, Joey, Morgan, and Brittany
Thanks for bringing so much joy to my life!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
The first thing Nick Calderon noticed as he walked up the stone path leading to the front door of his house was that the entry light wasn’t on. He glanced at his watch: 7:10 p.m. The light should have automatically gone on an hour before he arrived home. He slipped his key into the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside.
The air-conditioning was on full blast, and his dog was nowhere to be seen. “Rocky! Come here, boy!”
Feeling uptight after another shitty day at work, Nick headed for the kitchen, dropping his coat and briefcase on one of the dining room chairs along the way. That’s when it dawned on him that something was very wrong. It was too quiet. Where was the dog?
“Linda? Are you here?”
Linda was his ex-wife. He had a restraining order against her. Obviously that hadn’t stopped her from sneaking into his house uninvited. He’d filed for divorce three years ago. She’d fought him tooth and nail for everything they’d owned. In the end, even though he’d moved out, he’d been court-ordered to continue paying the mortgage and utilities on the house where they had lived together for ten years. His ex-wife would leave all the lights on and crank up the air-conditioning with the windows open so that the utility bills would skyrocket. Three months ago, Linda had finally met someone else and sold the house. He’d thought the whole dirty mess was behind him, but apparently he’d been wrong.
He heard a dog whimper. “Rocky?”
A thought struck him. What if it wasn’t Linda? His gun was upstairs, locked away in a safe in his closet.
A lot of good that did him.
He figured he had two options: sneak upstairs and get his gun, or head back the way he came and let the police handle whoever might be hiding inside. Opting for the latter, he took slow, careful steps back toward the front door.
“Leaving already? Aren’t you worried about Rocky?”
At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, he whipped around. Someone was standing in the shadows near the pantry. Too tall to be his ex-wife. “Who are you?” he asked, not liking the squeaky sound of fear clogging his throat. “What are you doing in my home?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be leaving soon. I just want to ask you a few questions.”
The voice
was muffled. The black, shoulder-length hair told him it was a woman. She was slender. Nick hadn’t worked out in a while, but he had at least fifty pounds on her. He figured he could overtake her if it came to that.
Her arms hung loose at her sides, her hands visible. She didn’t appear to have a weapon. That gave Nick a boost of confidence. If she came closer, he could take her down. “How did you get inside?” Nick asked.
“I’m the one who’s going to be asking the questions, so why don’t you take a seat.”
She gestured to the chair where Nick had left his coat and briefcase.
Nick thought about making a move, lunging for her and taking her to the ground, but decided against it. She was too far away. He needed her to move toward him before he made any rash decisions. He took a seat. “Okay. So what do you want to know?”
“I have a couple of questions, but there are rules.”
This was ridiculous. Nick didn’t need this shit. He had problems of his own. “I’ve had a really bad day, and—”
“Shut up!”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Did my wife send you?”
The intruder folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t realize you were married. Where is she?”
“At work. She should be home any minute now.”
“Liar.”
In three long strides she was next to him. Hand in her pocket.
Before Nick had time to blink, she pulled out what looked like a gun. Without much time to react, Nick raised an arm in a defensive move to stop her, but it was too late. He felt a sting as an electric current whizzed through his chest. His muscles contracted. Gritting his teeth, he fell sideways from the chair to the floor. She had zapped him with one of those high-tech Tasers used by law enforcement.
The lights came on then, bright and blinding, right before a heavy foot landed on his chest, pressing down. “No lying. And no talking unless you’re answering my questions.”
Unable to think clearly, Nick concentrated on breathing. His vision blurred. His arms and legs were stiff. He couldn’t move.
The intruder’s movements were jerky. She worked fast, removing one of his shoes and his sock, tossing them aside. He tried to pull his foot away, but his leg wouldn’t budge.
Nick had read about people who’d been tased. If he recalled correctly, the effects didn’t last long. He needed to wait this thing out. As soon as he regained his strength, he would get control of the situation. The bitch wouldn’t stand a chance.
She held up a syringe.
Something wet dripped down Nick’s thigh. He’d peed himself. “What are you doing?” His question came out sounding like one long squeal as the needle was inserted into his big toe. A burning sensation swept through his body.
He’d been injected.
With what?
His limbs tingled as the effects of the Taser began to wear off. He waited, glad she turned and walked off. When she returned, he had regained enough strength to lift both legs and slam his feet into her knees.
She stumbled backward, overturning a chair and crashing into the nearest wall.
Nick struggled to get to his feet. His adrenaline was off the charts as he lunged for her and took her to the ground. They rolled across the floor. His head hit the wall. Another chair toppled over. He reached blindly for the woman, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling hard, surprised when the silky locks slid off her head.
Beneath the wig, she wore a skintight cap.
She pushed him away, jumped to her feet, and reached for the Taser lying on the table.
Nick’s heart pounded against his ribs as he staggered to his feet. He needed to get outside and shout for help. He felt dizzy and nauseous.
What is happening?
He reached out for something to grab hold of, but it was no use. He toppled over like a newly felled tree. His head crashed into the floor. He was on his back, once again unable to move. Whatever had been injected into his system was taking effect. “What do you want?”
She hovered over him, her face inches from his. Her wig was crooked now, her red lipstick smeared and looking like blood. “I want to know if you ever once regretted what you did to me when you were sixteen and I was only ten.”
Sixteen? Twenty years ago? Do I know this person? His erratic breathing slowed until he found himself gasping for breath. His chest drenched in sweat, his throat constricted.
“You and your friends treated me as if I were inhuman,” the intruder said. “You threw bottles and trash at me and kicked me every chance you got. You called me Cockroach. I begged you to leave me alone. Your friends laughed when you tied me to a tree and raped me. And now you’re being punished.”
Nick struggled to breathe. He needed air. His mouth was dry. What had she given him? “Thirsty” was the only word he managed to push out of his mouth.
“Yes,” she said. “You must be thirsty. That’s one of the side effects.” She squinted at him as she leaned closer. “Your pupils look like tiny pinpoints.”
Nick’s hand came to his throat. He tried to beg for help but choked instead.
“There it is,” she said. “That gurgling noise is what they call the death rattle. Your lips are turning blue, just as I read about.”
“What—you—give me?”
“Karma. I gave you karma. Oftentimes karma simply happens, but in your case I decided to give it a nudge.” Her brow furrowed. “You ruined my life. I did all I could to ‘let it go,’ but every single day, I think about what you and your friends did to me. I can’t let you get away with it. You must be held accountable for your actions.”
Nick’s mind was muddled. All energy had drained from his body.
He was dying.
As he struggled for each breath, he heard her walk away. There was no mistaking the sound of a bedroom door being opened, followed by the pitter-patter of dog feet against the tile floor.
Maybe Rocky would save him—alert the neighbors or bite the intruder.
The refrigerator door came open. The woman was in the kitchen. “What’s this, Rocky? Looks like leftover steak from last night’s dinner.”
Rocky barked with excitement.
“Let’s cut this up for you. And how about some nice fresh water? I bet you’re thirsty.”
Rocky whined.
“Such a good dog. Maybe I’ll bring you home with me. Would you like that?”
Nick’s mind traveled back in time to when he was sixteen. He’d done a lot of bad things during his teen years. Too many bad things to count. He’d taken a bat to hundreds of mailboxes. He’d stolen cars, taken whiskey from a bum and money from an old lady.
The sounds of slurping and chewing, and of Rocky’s tail thumping happily against a lower cupboard as he ate, drew Nick back to the present. “Rocky,” he tried to say, hoping the dog would come to him. Man’s best friend. Rocky was all he had. He wanted to feel the dog’s wet tongue on his face. He attempted to tap his hand against the floor to get Rocky to come, but his finger merely twitched.
It didn’t matter. Rocky would never help him.
Nick had kicked the dog in the ribs, whipped him with a belt, and left him out in the cold too many times.
Nobody would come to his aid. His mother had made sure of that the day she’d given birth to him and then tossed him into a public trash bin. No basket or warm blanket. Just tossed away like garbage.
The anger he’d felt growing up had consumed him. Nick couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t causing others pain. He’d always been a bully. Which was why the intruder could be anyone. Tied to a tree? Why can’t I remember?
Nick’s eyelids grew heavy. He could no longer keep them open.
I was sixteen and she was ten.
Nick gasped for air as a crystal-clear image of the ten-year-old kid popped into his mind.
Did she say he’d called her Cockroach? It couldn’t be.
He remembered it all—every horrifying second.
As he struggled to fill his lungs with air, a tear slid
down the side of his face.
CHAPTER TWO
Investigative journalist Sawyer Brooks pulled up behind a police cruiser and parked. She then shut off her engine and climbed out of the car. The time was 9:43 a.m. It had taken her about twenty minutes to get to Elk Grove, a city just south of the state capital of Sacramento. Although she didn’t own a police scanner, she had the next best thing—Geezer, the crime scene photographer for the Sacramento Independent. Minutes after he texted her about a homicide that was being linked to the Black Wigs, a group of female vigilantes getting revenge on the men who brutalized them, Sawyer had rushed out of her cubicle at work and made her way to Elk Grove in record time.
Farther up the block, she saw Geezer talking to an officer outside a pale-yellow, well-landscaped house with brick accents. The warmth from the morning sun felt good on her back as she headed their way. By the time she reached Geezer’s side, the uniformed officer had walked away.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” she said to Geezer.
He looked surprised to see her. “That was quick.”
“Not much traffic. So what’s the deal?”
“Dead guy’s name is Nick Calderon. You’ll have to wait for the police report for all the details, but apparently the neighbor’s security camera caught a slender person of about five foot nine walking toward the house around two p.m. yesterday. Six hours later, about an hour after Nick Calderon returned home, the same person was seen leaving through the front entrance followed by a dog.”
Sawyer took notes on her cell. “Was the dog on a leash?”
“Not that I know of.” He lifted the camera hanging around his neck and began adjusting the lens. “A bystander, Tim Moore, he lives over there”—Geezer pointed to a blue house on the corner—“told me that the dead guy had a dog named Rocky.”
Sawyer made note of the dog’s name, then waited for Geezer to finish fiddling with his camera before she asked, “I wonder if the killer took the dog?”
Geezer shrugged. “My guess is the dog followed the intruder right out the door and then ran off.”
“Anything else?” Sawyer asked.
“The intruder appeared to be wearing a black wig that fell to their shoulders and dark lipstick.”
“How could you tell it was a wig?”
“It didn’t sit right—it looked as if it had been put on haphazardly.”