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FOUR
Ethan leaned back in the squeaky chair, tapping the pencil against his chin, staring at the ceiling as weariness washed over him. He should be in bed. But the nightmare had returned full force, and his escape to his desk had been the only thing that had allowed him to push the memories to the back of his mind.
Thankfully, it hadn’t been the dream about the death of his sister. Unfortunately, it had been the one about his other failure. A hostage situation. The one where he’d been in charge and the woman had died. He’d just finished his crisis negotiation training, fresh from his sister’s funeral… and drunk. Oh, not stumbling, falling-down drunk, but he’d definitely had one too many. And he’d made a very bad decision that cost a young woman her life. At least he felt as if it was his fault. He was supposed to have had backup, someone with more experience, but the man hadn’t shown up in time. So, it had fallen to Ethan…and he’d failed.
His fault…all his fault.
The words echoed in his mind. I’m sorry, God. Are You listening? I’m sorry.
The pencil snapped with a crack. Startled, Ethan dropped the pieces to his desk, then rubbed his bleary eyes, wishing he could make it all go away. But he couldn’t.
So, here he sat at approximately three o’clock in the morning, trying to make sense of Suzanne’s murder. The place wasn’t exactly a ghost town, since other officers, suffering a similar affliction to Ethan’s, chose to work the graveyard shift. He grimaced when realizing he felt more comfortable at his desk than he did in his home.
His personal cell vibrated on his hip, and he sat up with a start. Who in the world…? A quick glance at the caller ID showed Marianna’s cell number. He’d memorized it with ease the first time he’d seen it in her file.
Dread hit his chest. She must be in trouble. Why else would she be calling at this time of night…morning. With his left hand, he grabbed his keys; with his right, he pulled the phone from the clip.
“Hello?”
No answer.
“Hello?” He raced for the door and down to his car. She couldn’t hear him, but surely she could see that he’d answered. Why didn’t she say something?
Unless she couldn’t. He had the bad feeling his first reaction—that she was in trouble—was right. Indecision, fear of making the wrong move, made him pause for a fraction of a second; then he found himself praying. A simple litany. Let me get there in time. Let me save her.
Bolting from the office, he raced for his car.
* * *
Marianna prayed silently as she felt another tremor beneath her stockinged feet. The vibration felt stronger. Once again she had called 911 and had no way of knowing if the police were on the way. She’d placed a call to Ethan as backup, praying he would wake up to hear his phone ringing.
More vibrations. Was that a door slamming? It felt closer. Was he searching for her? Whatever he was doing, he was heading her way. Panting her fear, she clung desperately to control, forcing her mind to think, to reason, to figure a way out. Visions of Suzanne lying on her bedroom floor, blood pooling beneath her head, caused a wave of nausea followed by dizziness to rush through her.
Her world turned choppy, the survival instinct strong. Her eyes darted around the room.
The fireplace. The poker. A weapon.
Then a thump. Vibrations. Marianna quickly moved toward the front door, her hand now on the knob. It was locked, of course.
More of Twister’s furious barking, then nothing. Worry for her pet churned within her. Oh, God, protect Twister. Did she have time to get out, or should she hide? Would whoever was in her house come looking for her? How much time had the dog bought her?
Shaking hands fumbled with the dead bolt. Precious seconds ticked by as the key fell to the floor. The thumping stopped, vibrations ceased. She froze, her breath strangling her as she tried not to gasp, desperately wishing she could hear how much noise she was making.
Her BlackBerry buzzed in her pocket; she ignored it. Trembling, she bent down, snatched the key, jammed it in the lock and finally got the door open. She slipped out the opening, onto the porch, and felt hard hands grasp her upper arms.
* * *
Marianna’s screech nearly ruptured Ethan’s eardrums. He hadn’t meant to scare her, but she’d come stumbling out the door so fast that if he hadn’t caught her, she’d have taken them both to the floor of the cement porch.
Twisting, struggling against him, she had her eyes closed. “Marianna, it’s me.” She can’t understand with her eyes closed, remember?
Not knowing whether to let go or give her a shake, he figured releasing her might surprise her into opening her eyes. He let go and stepped back. She stumbled, gasped and opened terror-filled, tar-black eyes to stare at him. Finally, recognition dawned, and relief swept away the fear…for a moment. Then she whispered, “He’s in my house. I dialed 911, so the police should be on the way.”
Ethan set her behind him and stepped in. His right hand pulled his ever-present gun from his shoulder holster. Pointing the weapon to the ceiling, he turned and mouthed to Marianna, “Stay here, okay?”
She nodded, then whispered in a small, worried voice, “Something’s happened to Twister, too. He was barking his head off, then stopped abruptly. So be careful.”
Lips tight, Ethan gave a nod, pulled his cell phone from the clip on his belt and dialed a number requesting backup. After he hung up, he stepped back farther into the house. He started to shut the door—only to stop when Marianna stepped in behind him. He frowned at her. “I told you to stay out here.”
“Please, I’ll stand right here.” Fear oozed from her, and his heart clenched in anger at the person doing this to her.
A small crash from the back of the house snapped his attention in that direction. If the noise was coming from back there, she was probably fine standing next to the door—probably. He gave her another pointed look, then started making his way toward the sound, nerves tense, senses alert.
A whispered curse followed by the sound of glass breaking.
Then silence once again.
With quick, measured steps, he headed toward the back room, gun ready. Adrenaline flowed, but he kept his breathing steady. The memory of the first time he’d entered the house haunted him. He felt as if he was in a time warp, déjà-vu kind of thing. Ignoring the sensation, he moved into the first bedroom on his left.
Marianna’s room. Empty. Except for shards of broken glass littering the area under her window and—his gut clenched—Twister, lying motionless at the foot of the bed.
* * *
Marianna cowered by the front door, torn with the desire to run and the determination to back up Ethan should he need it. Squaring her shoulders, she watched Ethan disappear down the hall, then crept over to the fireplace to grab the poker she’d considered earlier.
Hefting the weight of it in her right hand, she felt slightly more prepared to face the danger that lay just down the hall. Oh Lord, protect Ethan. And I know Twister’s just a dog, but please take care of him.
The hardwood floor vibrated once more, and she tightened her grip on the makeshift weapon, ready to swing if an unfamiliar face appeared in front of her.
But it was only Ethan, looking grim and tight-lipped. He held up a finger as he walked past her to the front door and yanked it open. Flashing red-and-blue lights fought for space in the small opening. The cops were here, she realized belatedly.
Her gaze followed Ethan’s retreating back as he flashed his badge to the two startled officers, who’d started grabbing at their guns the minute the door opened. At the sight of the badge and the man behind it, they relaxed. He said something and their posture tensed once again. One took off around the side of the house; Ethan went the other way, and the third man walked toward Marianna.
She looked at him. “What’s going on?”
“I’m Officer Tom Bell. Ethan thinks the guy slipped out of your bedroom window and headed off through those woods in the back. Ethan didn’t want to follow him out the window in case the guy left behind some evidence.” He kept his face turned toward her and enunciated his words clearly. Ethan must have told him she couldn’t hear. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or appreciative. She settled for appreciation…this time.
Within minutes the two men were back. The disgust on Ethan’s features said whoever had been in her house had escaped.
Dread crept around in her stomach, finally settling in a hard knot at the pit. She looked at Ethan. “Now what?”
“We need to get the crime scene team back over here and see if he left any evidence behind.” Concern slid across his face as he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Twister’s hurt. Who’s your vet?”
“Oh, no.” She whirled to rush back into the house. His hand grasped her upper arm, halting her progress. She spun around. “What?”
“Let me get him. I don’t want you destroying any evidence.”
“Is it bad?” Anguish squeezed her heart.
“I don’t think so. The guy hit him with the lamp from your end—” Ethan blinked, his attention caught by something behind her. She followed his gaze—Twister slowly made his way down the hall, his eyes cloudy with pain but fixed on his mistress. A trickle of blood made its way from the middle of his head down over his brown-and-black snout.
“Oh, Twister,” she whispered, dropping to her knees. He came slowly, weaving slightly. When he arrived at Marianna, he dropped to the floor with a cross between a whimper and a grunt to lay his head on her knee.
“Will you make the call for me?” She wondered if he could hear the tears she felt clogging her throat as she asked him the favor.
“Sure.” He squeezed her hand in silent sympathy and pulled his phone from the clip. She looked up the number on her BlackBerry and Ethan complied.
As once again her house flooded with authorities and crime scene investigators, Marianna gave her statement, then sat in the back of Ethan’s car, hugging her beloved pet to her as Ethan drove them to the vet’s office.
* * *
After leaving Marianna’s dog at the emergency veterinarian’s office, Ethan replayed his part in the scene of the break-in. What had he done wrong? How had he let the guy get away?
Fatigue gripped him. It had been a long while since he’d had a good night’s sleep. And now the sun crept toward the horizon. Soon it would be dawn…and he’d yet to go to bed. Oh well, he’d survive.
Marianna, however…“Hey,” he said as he touched her arm. She swung her head around to look at him. He kept his face angled toward her so she could see his lips but he was still able to keep his eyes safely on the road. “Where do you want to go, your parents’?”
She gave a listless shrug. “I guess so.”
“Twister is going to be all right. You heard the doctor.”
Marianna blew out a sigh. “I know and I’m grateful, but I’m also terribly frustrated. What is going on, Ethan?” Tears surfaced once again. He watched as she held them at bay with sheer determination.
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Marianna. I think you’re the only one who can really answer that. Unfortunately, you might not even know what you know.”
“Well, that’s clear.”
A rueful chuckle slipped out. “I’m sorry. I wish had something more to tell you.”
“I’ve racked my brain trying to come up with something. Why someone would kill Suzanne? Why did, possibly, the same someone come back to the house and was willing to break in with me there?” She turned thoughtful. “Although, he may not have known anyone was there, because I parked my car in the garage when I got home.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you think he’s looking for something?”
Ethan pulled into her parents’ driveway and glanced at the dashboard clock. It read 6:42. “It’s certainly a possibility. At first, when I got to your house the day of the murder, I thought there’d been a huge fight in Suzanne’s room. But there was no evidence she’d struggled. So, it could be the guy was definitely looking for something. Could Suzanne have been involved in something shady? Something you wouldn’t have known about?”
“Absolutely not.” She spoke without hesitation. “Suze was a great girl and a devoted Christian. There’s no way she would be associated with something illegal.”
“Then the incidents may not be related. It’s possible our burglar read the story about Suzanne’s murder in the paper, did a simple online search to find out where Suzanne lived and decided to help himself to anything he could find.”
“Only I was there.” She frowned, her dark, finely arched brows coming together above the bridge of her delicate nose. “It mentioned me in the article, so he had to know she had a roommate.”
“Maybe. Then again, he may have figured no roommate would want to stay in a house all by herself after her friend had been killed in said house, and therefore he would have free rein.”
She rolled her eyes, her gorgeous, chocolate eyes. He blinked. She was saying, “There are so many possible explanations it makes my head hurt. Thank you for having my house cleaned up, by the way. That was a very thoughtful thing to do.”
Ethan could feel the heat rising to his face. He didn’t really know why he was embarrassed; it was just that her smile did crazy things to his emotions. He reached out to brush a finger under her hair, to push it away from her face, then moved his hand, cupping her cheek. “You’re quite welcome.” She looked…kissable. He leaned closer and let his hand slide to the back of her neck.
The porch light came on; a face appeared in the window. Ethan felt another flush start to creep up his neck as he slowly pulled back, turning from the watchful eyes peering at them from behind the glass and connecting his gaze with Marianna’s once more. He felt as if he was back in high school on a date and his girl’s dad had just sent him a warning.
Marianna’s short, lilting laugh told him she’d read his thoughts. He smiled at her. “Aw, stop,” he drawled. She grinned, her dimples flashed and his heart sputtered. Crazy.
A light tap on his window jerked his attention from the woman beside him. He pressed the button and the glass slid down in a smooth ride. A tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed male replica of Marianna stared down at him. In his early thirties, the man had the air of one who knew what he wanted and had what it took to get it.
Ethan had the uneasy feeling this man wanted him, or at least Marianna, out of the car.
Marianna leaned forward and asked, “Joseph, what are you doing up?”
“When I hear a car pull up in the driveway and then silence, I’m going to investigate a bit.” Sarcasm dripped, but Ethan could tell the man wasn’t angry. Joseph, FBI agent and big brother. He could handle the FBI agent part; it was the big brother part that had him leery. But there was no way he was letting that little secret become public knowledge. Ethan gave Joseph a cool nod and held eye contact as he shoved open his door.
Joseph stepped back and Marianna took the cue to climb out her side. She walked around and slid her arms around Joseph’s waist. Ethan felt a twinge of jealousy that took him by surprise as her brother gave her a comforting hug. He wished she trusted him that way. Then he gave a mental roll of his eyes and told himself to get it together.
He said, “Marianna had another little incident early this morning.”
Joseph’s gaze sharpened. “What kind of incident?”
“Someone broke in my house. Twister scared him off. I called 911 but must have hung up too soon. I couldn’t tell if someone answered or not. Then I called Ethan and he came to the rescue. Now, I want to go to bed.”
Joseph’s expression said he wouldn’t be satisfied with that piddling explanation, but wasn’t going to push it for now because he could see the exhaustion on her face. Ethan’s respect for the man went up a notch…and it was already high to begin with.
The light flickered off, then on, then off, then back on—a way of getting a deaf person’s attention. Marianna pulled away from Joseph, turned and saw her mother standing on the porch, her fingers on the light switch. The glow from the ceiling fan light illuminated the area. She signed. “Hey, Mom, it’s just me. I’m moving back in for a little while, if that’s okay.”
* * *
Questions formed in her mother’s eyes, but she didn’t say anything, just motioned for Marianna to come in. Then she gave a pointed look at Ethan. Marianna signed, “Mom, meet Ethan O’Hara. He’s the detective working on Suzanne’s case.” Then she said, “Ethan, meet my mother, Maddelena Santino.”
Ethan walked toward the women, his smile sincere and charming at the same time. He signed, “Nice to meet you.” Surprise lit Maddelena’s eyes and Marianna gasped.
He directed a sad smile toward her as he signed and spoke at the same time. “Yes, I sign. I had a deaf sister. She was…she died…three years ago, but I’ve never forgotten her language.”
Marianna thought her jaw might hit the ground. Then her mother said with graceful hands, “It’s freezing out here. Everyone come in and let me feed you breakfast.”
Her mother’s answer to every disaster: Food. Right now, Marianna wouldn’t complain. With her life so crazy, she’d welcome the familiar routine. Plus, she was cold and wanted to get inside.
Once Maddelena had everyone settled, she fired up the gas stove and cooked a breakfast fit for a five-star restaurant. The rest of her family made their way into the kitchen, and the introductions began.
Her terror fading in the chaos of family, Marianna felt herself relaxing and enjoying Ethan’s shell-shocked look. She said, “You don’t come from a large family, do you?”
He shook his head. “Nope. It was just me for a long time. My sister was almost ten years younger. Then, she died….” He trailed off, his gaze fixed on two of her siblings arguing over who got the next piece of toast. Alonso, her sixteen-year-old deaf brother and youngest member of the clan, had lightning-fast reflexes and beat out Gina, her twenty-six-year-old hearing sister who was a real estate attorney in North Carolina. Gina had come home last week to visit and announce her recent engagement.
Gina punched Alonso in the arm hard enough to make him wince. She signed, “You need to learn to respect your elders, boy.”
Alonso signed back, “When I see an elder that deserves it, I’ll give it.”
Gina very maturely stuck out her tongue, then turned her back on him to plop another piece of bread in the toaster.
Marianna smiled at the craziness. She told Ethan, “If you think this is bad, you should see us all at Christmas!”
“I can’t even imagine.” He took a bite of his eggs and chewed, but she noticed he never took his eyes from the antics of her family.
She also noticed Alonso refused to look in Ethan’s direction. Lasering the evil eye on her brother, she subtly signed, “He’s not the cop who arrested you. Be nice.” Unfortunately, about six months ago, Alonso had been arrested for being in the wrong place at the wrong time when a friend of his decided to shoplift. Protesting his innocence to this day, he still had an aversion to cops. Including his own brother, Joseph.
