No One Left to Tell

  Tuesday, April 5, 11:00 p.m.

  Adele stood over Allie’s crib, watching her baby breathe. I’d cut off my arm before I’d hurt you. But what if I am losing it again? What if I did something to you?

  “Adele?” Darren whispered from behind her and she stiffened.

  “You were snoring,” she lied, injecting a smile into her voice.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist. “You haven’t been yourself. What’s wrong, honey?” He hesitated. “Are you sick?”

  Yes. Yes. Yes. “No,” she soothed. “Nothing like that.”

  “Then what?” he persisted. “Is there… is there someone else?”

  Stunned, Adele turned to stare up at him. “No. Oh my God, no. Darren… no.”

  He shuddered out a relieved breath. “I was so scared. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

  Adele opened her mouth, trying to find the words when a light caught her eye. On the street. A car. Black. It slowed to a crawl as it passed her house…

  And she was there. Back there. She was twelve years old and it hurt. God, it hurt.

  Tell a soul and you’ll die. No one will believe you anyway. The car slowed to a crawl and the door opened and she was pushed out. Into the dirt. She curled up in a ball and cried. She cried. But nobody came. Nobody helped. Nobody believed.

  “Adele?” Darren’s hands were on her upper arms, squeezing hard. “What is it?”

  Adele looked out the window. The street was dark. Deserted. Had the car even been there? She burrowed her head into his chest. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t.” Darren rocked her where they stood. “I’ll never leave you.”

  Tuesday, April 5, 11:30 p.m.

  Silas rolled his shoulders as he straightened, watching the dark, fast-moving river. Listening for the splash, he nodded when the sound was small. Good. That was done.

  With all the rain, the Patuxent River was swollen, the current even faster than normal. With any luck, Roscoe James would be in the Chesapeake by morning. In any event, he wouldn’t be washing up onshore. Silas had weighted the body down well.

  Exhausted, he got in his van. He’d need to detail it completely. Roscoe had thrown up in the back. Silas had cleaned up most of it, but forensic science was just too good. One speck of puke and they’d be able to connect him to a dead guy.

  Silas pulled off the eyebrows and mustache he’d applied before entering the bar. The cheek implants came out next. Even if he’d been caught on the bar’s camera, nobody would recognize him. He reached for his business cell to call his employer, relieved when he got voice mail. He didn’t want to deal with the bastard. “It’s done,” he said and hung up.

  His family cell was next. The list of missed calls in the log made his pulse race. His wife had called five times. She picked up immediately when he dialed.

  “Why didn’t you call me back?” she cried. “I’ve been calling for two hours.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “What’s wrong? Tell me. Is it Violet?”

  “Yes. I went in to check on her tonight and her window was open. I’d shut it, I know I did. I set the alarm, too, but the phone’s out. I think the wire’s been cut.”

  Silas’s blood turned to ice. “Is Violet all right?”

  “Yes, she’s asleep. But, Silas, on her nightstand, there was a folded-up hamburger wrapper. From Bertie’s Burgers.”

  Silas opened his mouth to breathe, but no air would come. He’d been there. At the drive-through hamburger place tonight. He’d seen. He knew I failed again. Oh God.

  “I’m here,” he managed. “Did you call the police?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “Get a gun from the safe. I’ll be home soon.” Silas hung up, but didn’t move.

  That sonofabitch. The threat had always been dangled. But to touch my child. He’d gone too far. Because Violet was his child. She had been from the moment the nurse had laid her in his arms, all wrinkled and pink and yelling at the top of her lungs.

  He’d held her, tears streaming down his face as he stared at his own baby girl lying on a hospital bed, covered with blood, eyes wide open. Seeing nothing.

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor had said, so sadly. “We did everything we could.” Then the doctor closed Silas’s daughter’s eyes and called her time of death.

  It had been one minute after his granddaughter’s first breath of life.

  I’ll send you to hell before you touch a hair on her head.

  And he knew just how to do it. But it wasn’t as simple as a bullet to the head. It never had been, or he would have done it years ago. His employer kept careful records and made it well-known that were he ever to meet with an unfortunate accident, his “operatives” would be revealed.

  And most of us wouldn’t last a week in prison.

  But the man had crossed the line. He was in her bedroom. My child’s bedroom. What he might have done… The man had to die.

  Silas needed those records or his own life was forfeit. There were two ways this could go. Best plan was to force the SOB to give up his records before killing him. Silas and his wife stayed in their home, their child growing up with her friends, none the wiser.

  Worst plan was to hide his family, then kill the SOB and let the chips fall where they may. It might mean that he’d be a wanted man for the rest of his life. But his child would be safe. And that was the most important thing.

  But today’s video, the one that kid took of Holden when the van crashed, had the potential to make him a wanted man regardless of anything else he did. Hiding his family and killing the SOB would then become the only plan. He needed to know if his face had been caught on that video. Tonight.

  Wednesday, April 6, 2:30 a.m.

  Paige came instantly awake and went completely still. The noise came from the window. Somebody was coming in her window.

  Hell, no. Not again. Not ever again. She shoved her hand under her pillow, then froze. It was gone. The knife was gone. She whipped to her back to try to leap from the bed, but he was there. Holding her down. Let go. Let me go. I’ll kill you.

  “Paige. Wake up.”

  She opened her eyes with a jerk. She was sitting up, fists lifted and ready to fight—

  And a half-naked Grayson Smith had his hands on her shoulders. Peabody snarled and lunged, his teeth bared, but Grayson didn’t back away.

  “Dammit, Paige, wake up.”

  There was no one at the window. She’d dreamed it. Again. She relaxed her fists. “Peabody, down,” she croaked. The dog dropped to his belly, but watched, untrusting.

  Wearing only a pair of sweats hung low on his hips, Grayson stood over her, breathing hard. He slowly released her and, hitching his sweatpants a little higher, lowered himself to sit on the edge of her bed. “You scared the fucking shit out of me. You screamed. It was bloodcurdling. Are you all right?”

  No. Her heart raced like a bird’s. “Yes. Of course,” she said and he shook his head.

  “Of course you’re not. I’m not all right and I only heard you. What did you dream?”

  She looked away. “Same thing I dream every night.”

  He shifted his body so that he was looking at her squarely. “What do you dream?”

  “He’s always coming through the window and I never have my knife.”

  “And he holds you down?”

  “Yeah.” She clutched the blanket in her hands so he wouldn’t see her tremble.

  “Did he break into your women’s center through a window?”

  “No. Into my house. My bedroom.”

  “The second attack,” he said grimly.

  “Yeah. The first attack in the women’s center… they talked about what they’d do once they beat me up. How they’d hold me down and rape me. But they never got a chance. The man in my bedroom… he… he’d already unzipped his pants.” She glanced up to find his eyes flashing fire. “But Olivia stopped him and he’s in jail now.”

  His shoulders visibly relaxed. “Where every con k
nows he was a cop?”

  “Oh yeah,” Paige said with grim satisfaction. “I think it’s safe to say that he knows how it feels to be held down now.”

  He nodded once, hard. “Good. Can you go back to sleep now?”

  No way in hell. “Yes. Of course.”

  One side of his mouth lifted wryly. “Would you like some tea?”

  “I usually have some when I can’t sleep.”

  “I figured that. I saw you’d already set up the teapot. No, don’t get up.” He stopped her when she tried to climb out of bed. “I’ll bring it to you.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Grayson. I’ve already put you to enough trouble.”

  “Hush,” he said gently. Tipping her chin, he skimmed his thumb over her lower lip, across, then back, ending with just enough pressure so that there was no confusing his intent. It was a kiss, or would be when she was ready. “Let me take care of you.”

  She watched him go, then, mind racing, she got out of bed, testing her shaky knees. She went to the window. The parking lot was quiet, the crime-scene tape gone. No one would ever know a woman had died there not even twenty-four hours before.

  Paige closed her eyes and let herself grieve Elena. There’d been no time before. She’d been in shock or fighting for her own life. Or discovering the body of Delgado, executed. She wondered why Jorge had lied. Why he’d betrayed Ramon.

  She heard Grayson’s footsteps long before she heard his voice. He was walking more heavily than normal. Probably to let her know he was there. So I won’t be afraid. It was sweet and thoughtful and another mark in his favor. If she’d special ordered a knight in shining armor, she couldn’t have chosen much better.

  “I thought I said to stay in bed,” Grayson said.

  “I was thinking,” she said, letting out the breath she held when he slid his arms around her waist. Without hesitation she leaned into him, having no idea how this would turn out, but grateful he was here now. Her bare ankle brushed against a wool trouser cuff and she had only a moment to wonder why he’d changed out of his sweats before it became apparent.

  He wanted her. A great deal. The soft fabric of his sweats would have done nothing to disguise the arousal that pressed against her. Her body wanted to turn, wanted to slide her arms around him. Wanted to say to hell with her eighteen-month drought. Bring on the damn rain already.

  In her mind she could hear Olivia scold her for moving too fast. Then again, Liv wasn’t alone. Olivia had David. I don’t have anyone. And she didn’t think she ever had.

  Grayson pressed his lips to her jaw, making her shiver. “You’re cold,” he murmured. “Go back to bed. You can think there.”

  She wanted to go back to bed. But she wanted him there with her. She just wanted.

  Needed. All the months of being alone swelled, filling her mind, sweeping away all the reasons she shouldn’t do what she was about to do.

  She turned quickly, before the reasons rushed back. Slid her hands over those muscled shoulders, lifted on her toes, and kissed him. He stiffened in surprise for a split second before his arms tightened around her and he was kissing her back, hard and deep. Good. The word pounded in her mind. So good.

  “More.” The command rumbled from his chest. Vibrated against her lips. “Open.”

  She opened her mouth and his tongue swept in, probing. Promising. His body was hard, throbbing against her. So good. Her arms wound around his neck and she lifted higher on her toes. Closer. She needed to get closer. Now. “Please.”

  The warmth of his hand burned through the thin fabric of her underwear as he pushed her nightshirt aside, covering one cheek. She shivered again, far from cold. His fingers teased at the elastic and she bent her knee, bracketing his hip. Closer.

  A growl had them freezing in place. They turned as one to see Peabody poised, ready to spring. “Easy,” Paige murmured, as much to herself as to the dog. She’d let things get out of hand. “Peabody, go to your crate.”

  Peabody obeyed and Grayson let out an uneven breath. “That was… different.”

  Paige lowered her heels to the floor. His green eyes were still hot, his mouth damp. She wanted to kiss him again. But there were reasons to take it slow. Good reasons.

  She just had to remember what those reasons were. Which she would, once the blood returned to her brain. “Different, how?”

  “Mostly you.” He pressed a fast, hard kiss to her mouth. “Nearly being bitten in the ass by Peabody ranks up there, though.”

  She had to restrain herself from touching the ass Peabody had nearly bitten. It was probably as hard and amazing as the rest of him.

  She slid her hands down his chest, enjoying the flex of his muscles under her palms. The man worked out. Seriously. And what she’d felt throbbing against her? If and when the time came, it would be worth the eighteen-month drought.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s not used to seeing people with their hands on me.”

  He lifted his brows. “People?”

  “Men… type… people.”

  “Good.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Come on. Your tea’s getting cold.”

  She let him lead her back to bed and climbed in when he held the blanket back. He tucked her in like she was a child, then gave her the cup of tea. “Drink.”

  She took a sip and blinked up at him. “It’s perfect.”

  “You don’t have to look so surprised. I know my way around a kitchen. I used up all your eggs, by the way. I got hungry and you were asleep.”

  “I think a few eggs are a small price to pay for my own guardian.” She patted the edge of the bed and he sat down. “How much do you bench?”

  “Two ninety-five,” he said.

  “Not many of my clients can do that,” she said, impressed as he looked puzzled.

  “You make your clients lift weights? What kind of PI are you?”

  She chuckled. “I work at the Silver Gym part-time as a trainer.”

  Puzzlement turned to surprise. “You said you’d been a paralegal.”

  “I was, until a few years ago. The lawyers I worked for retired and by then I was working at a gym, just to make ends meet. I got a nice severance package when the firm shut down, so I used it to buy a share in the gym.”

  “What happened when you moved here?”

  “I still own the share.” She studied him over her teacup. “You don’t know that much about me, do you?”

  “No.” He looked away for a moment, then back, his eyes intense. “I saw you this morning and it was like… I don’t know. Something clicked. It was like I’d always known you. Or maybe I just wanted to. My assistant made a file on you. It’s very thick.”

  “Really? Where is it?”

  “In my gym bag. She had it for me when I went back to the office after the ER.”

  “Oh.” That stung. “So you knew everything about last summer before I told Stevie.”

  “I haven’t read the file. I wanted to learn about you on my own. And I did. I looked for Peabody’s food when you were asleep. I thought maybe it was in your spare room.”

  She wanted to frown, but didn’t. “It’s not.”

  “I got that. There have to be a hundred trophies in there.”

  “A hundred thirty-five. I used to compete on the US and world circuits. Weapons and kata. Did a little fighting, too.”

  “And now all those trophies are sitting there collecting dust.”

  “Past life,” she muttered. “On to something new.”

  He looked at her for a moment. “Why?”

  “Because,” she said impatiently, “I’m done being Super Karate Woman.”

  “Because of what happened last summer.”

  “Yes,” she said evenly. “Which, I imagine, is in the file your assistant created. If not, you should hire a new assistant.”

  “I didn’t hire her, which is a good thing.”

  She blinked. “What? Why?”

  “Because if it’d been my call, I wouldn’t have given her a chance. Sh
e’s brash and bold and…” He shrugged. “Damn good. If I’d listened to myself, I would have lost out.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “And aren’t you the clever armchair shrink?”

  He grinned, so artlessly that she couldn’t stay mad. “My sister Zoe is a shrink, so I learned it honestly.”

  “How many sisters do you have?”

  “Three. Lisa, Zoe, and Holly. Then there’s Joseph, our brother.”

  “They’re all Carters? No other Smiths?”

  His grin all but disappeared. “They’re all Carters. My mother and I are Smiths.”

  “Then how did they come to be family?”

  “My mom and I came to live with the Carters when I was a kid,” he said carefully. “We were just about homeless when Mrs. C. gave my mom a job. We became close. The Carters are wonderful people.”

  “They sound like it. Why were you homeless?”

  “Because my dad left us.”

  She knew there was a lot more story there. She wanted to know it all, but his expression had tensed and she decided to ask more about his father at another time. “What did Mrs. Carter hire your mom to do?”

  “To be a nanny. Holly was a newborn with health problems. Mrs. C. needed help with the other kids. She offered us the apartment over the garage, and seeing as we had no home, Mom jumped at the opportunity.” He hesitated. “By the way, she wants to meet you. My mother, I mean. She’s invited you to dinner tonight.”

  Paige bit her lip, guilt pricking her conscience. Yes, I know. “Grayson, about that… I need to tell you something.” A loud thud from the apartment above shook the walls. Her teacup clattered on the nightstand and a photograph fell off the wall.

  Peabody sprang from his crate, once more crouched and growling.

  “What was that?” Grayson said, looking up.

  “Peabody, easy.” Paige glared at the ceiling. “It’s those idiots that live upstairs.” Another thud had her whipping back the blanket and throwing open the closet door.