A Silent Terror. Lynette Eason

darker with each step.

      Was she destroying evidence the police might need?

      Hesitating, she chewed her lip. Her instincts screamed at her to get out. To leave.

      But Suzanne might be hurt. What if she needed immediate medical help?

      Those thoughts kept her going, ignoring the raging fear flowing with every heartbeat.

      “Suzanne?”

      A noise, caught by her hearing aid, pulled her to the left as did the prints. Suzanne’s bedroom. The door was shut.

      Reaching out, she almost touched the knob. Stopped. Every crime show she’d ever watched seemed to replay through her mind in a five-second span. She caught the edge of her shirt, gripped it with her thumb and pointer finger, and twisted the knob to open the door. No sense in marring any fingerprints that might be there.

      No, you’re just possibly wiping them off.

      But Suzanne was her priority.

      Another muffled sound. What was that? Run!

      Please, God!

      The knot in her throat grew tighter as the door swung inward. A bloody smudge marred the hardwood floor. And another one just behind it. The room lay trashed, items broken and strewn about.

      Oh, please, Jesus, let the police get here soon.

      “Suzanne? Twister?”

      Another sound. From the closet. Slowly, she walked toward it. Using her shirt again, she grasped the knob and turned it.

      The door exploded open, pushing her backward to land on her rear. She let out a little scream, then groaned.

      Twister. Licking her face, he expressed gratitude for his freedom.

      “Get off. Down,” she ordered.

      Immediately, he dropped to his haunches, ears perked, brown eyes gleaming. Cocking his head, he whined, seemed restless, his attention on something beyond her bed.

      She whirled, rounded the bed and stopped.

      “No!” she screamed and dropped to her knees.

      Suzanne lay faceup, eyes fixated, unseeing, on the ceiling above her. Beneath her dark hair, a pool of blood soaked into the light brown carpet.

      

      As Ethan O’Hara approached the house, the scream reverberated from within. The wide-open door and the brown bloody footprint on the front porch told him that the 911 hang up call signified real trouble. Definitely not a prank. Catelyn, his partner, pulled her gun and gave him the nod; he entered the house, his own weapon held ready in his right hand. They’d been passing by the neighborhood when the scanner went off. When Catelyn heard the address, she gasped, “That’s Marianna’s house, I think.”

      “You know her?”

      “I’m better friends with her sister, Alissa, but I’ve met Marianna a couple of times.”

      Instead of waiting for a unit from the county, he and Catelyn had simply made a right turn into the subdivision, calling in that they would handle it.

      She followed behind him, covering his back. Silently, senses on high alert, he tracked the prints.

      Again he heard, “No!” coming from the back bedroom on his left.

      Not wanting to call out and possibly alert the perpetrator who could still be around, he controlled his breathing, felt the familiar rush of adrenaline he always had going into a potentially dangerous situation and stepped into the bedroom.

      The bed sat centered on the opposite wall. Sobs came from the right of it. He took in the debris-littered room. Someone had put up a violent fight. Catelyn came up behind him indicating the rest of the house was clean.

      Lowering his gun to his side, he met her eyes, then turned back to see a woman lying on the floor beside the bed, her head resting in a stain of red. The crying came from the other woman who knelt at the figure’s side, long dark hair hiding her face.

      “Ma’am?”

      No response.

      “Ma’am?” He touched her shoulder.

      She jerked, screamed and scrambled sideways. Movement to his right brought him around and face-to-face with a German shepherd, whose sharp teeth, bared in a snarl, looked capable of tearing Ethan’s throat out.

      “Easy, boy,” he soothed, backing up a step, flashing his badge to the scared woman trembling just out of reach.

      “Twister, no. Sit,” the woman commanded, her voice clogged with tears.

      The snarling stopped. The dog sat, popped a yawn, then, with his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, grinned up at Ethan.

      Breathing a little easier, Ethan was able to turn his attention back to the body on the floor…and the woman whose liquid ebony eyes flicked between him and Catelyn. Catelyn moved over to see the action this side of the bed. In a gentle tone, she said, “Marianna, it’s me, Catelyn, Alissa’s friend. This is my partner, Ethan O’Hara. What happened?”

      Marianna blinked, swiped a few stray tears and gave a shuddering sigh. “Oh, Catelyn. I…I don’t know. I just…came home from work and found…this…her. The front door was open and…I called 911, but couldn’t wait for help. I had to make sure she was all right, but…she’s not.”

      Another muffled sob, more silent tears.

      No, the woman definitely wasn’t all right. The coroner would need to make a trip out here. Ethan asked, “Who is she, your sister?” They looked enough alike.

      A negative shake caused her hair to shimmer, a few strands stuck to the salty tracks on her cheeks. She brushed them aside. “My roommate. Suzanne Miller.”

      Twister crawled over to rest his head on his mistress’s knee. Her slender fingers buried themselves in the animal’s silky fur.

      “Who are you?” he asked.

      He knew Catelyn could fill him in, but he wanted to know now. He told himself his wanting to know was strictly professional and had nothing to do with the fact that she was probably the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid eyes on. He blinked, forcing himself to focus on her words, not her looks. Or the sound of her voice, which had an accent he couldn’t quite place.

      Marianna glanced at Catelyn, then looked back at him. She said, “I’m Marianna Santino. I teach at the Palmetto State School for the Deaf across the street.”

      The deaf school. He’d refused to acknowledge it as they’d passed it on their way to this subdivision. His sister had gone to school there for many years. It held a mixture of bittersweet and painful memories for him.

      Looking straight at her, he said, “I hate to tell you this, Ms. Santino, but it looks like your roommate either surprised the perp…or he was after her and caught her.” He looked around, then motioned to Catelyn. “We need to get out of here. This scene’s been contaminated enough. Call it in and secure the area, will you?”

      Catelyn went to do as he requested. Ethan held his hand out to the woman.

      “But everyone loves Suzanne,” Marianna protested even as she accepted his helping hand. Twister stayed right beside his mistress. “She teaches kindergarten at Pine Wood Elementary School.”

      “Well, it looks like she made someone really mad about something.”

      

      Marianna missed that last part; he’d turned his head and she’d not been able to read his lips. Something about someone being mad. But who?

      She followed him from the room, down the hall and out the door. What had Suzanne stumbled upon? Had she been up there all day, or had she come home early from work?

      A hand on her arm brought her attention back to the man before her. His concerned