A Silent Terror & A Silent Fury. Lynette Eason

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СКАЧАТЬ when he saw the gash on her cheek, the blood on her face, smeared and still seeping. He made sure his face stayed illuminated by one of the flashlights. She said, “I want this person caught.”

      “Do you remember anything about him? Did you see him?”

      “No, it was pitch-black. But I felt him.” She shuddered and the tremble went straight to his heart. Then he felt guilty. Once again, someone he cared about had been hurt. If only he’d come to check on her earlier; if only…

      His fault…his fault…

      Shrugging those memories aside, he told himself to focus. “Did you notice anything about him? Did he have on a mask? Come on, Marianna, give me something to work with.”

      Overhead lights came on, slowly brightening in intensity as they warmed up. Flashlights flicked off, and Ethan finally got a full look at her face, noticing the gash on her cheek looked worse in the glaring brightness.

      “We need to get you to a doctor to check that out.” He reached out a hand as though to touch it, and she flinched away from him. His hand dropped.

      “He…pushed me into the bleacher and…”

      Ethan pulled out a clean handkerchief and pressed it to the wound. “I think it’s slowing down, but you may need a stitch.” He backed up a bit and turned to see paramedics coming through.

      Ethan glanced at Kevin, who shrugged. “Didn’t figure it would hurt anything to call them.”

      Respect for the man went up a notch. “Good move. Thanks.”

      Marianna fought the idea of going to the hospital. “Just put a butterfly bandage on it and it’ll be fine.”

      One of the paramedics said, “If you insist, but you still might want to have a doctor look at it. It may need a stitch or two. If you don’t get it taken care of, you might end up with a scar.”

      She nodded and Ethan vowed to see she took care of it.

      Finally, after all the commotion calmed down, the statements had been taken and the gym closed off so crime scene staff could do their job, Ethan said to Marianna, “I’ll give you a ride to your parents’ house.”

      “That’s all right. I have my car.”

      “Then I’m following you home.”

      At first he thought she would protest; then she gave a weary nod and headed for the exit.

      Before she could place her hand on the door, it burst open and a young teenage boy exploded through. Spotting Marianna, he broke into a flurry of signs. Her face paled and she looked at Ethan. “Did you understand what he said? Someone vandalized my car!”

      Grim, jaw tight, he nodded. “Let me call the police back.”

      “Why would someone do this? What did I do? Who hates me so much? What is going on?”

      * * *

      Stunned, Marianna could only stare in disbelief. Every window in the little red Honda gaped as if it, too, were shocked at the violence perpetrated on it. Glass lay shattered on the ground around the perimeter of the vehicle. Sickness swirled in her stomach. The glass was on the outside. Someone had kicked the windows out…from the inside.

      “Seems to me trouble keeps following you, little lady.”

      Marianna read the policeman’s words, her brain on autopilot as it took in the shapes formed by his lips. Her hearing aids picked up some of the sounds and she processed his sentence.

      “No kidding,” she muttered.

      Grateful for Ethan’s supporting arm around her shoulders, she leaned into his embrace. It appeared that was going to be his job tonight, holding her upright.

      The officer spoke again. “We’ll let the investigative team haul the car down to the lab, since you’re concerned this may be in connection with that other woman’s murder.”

      Weariness like nothing she’d ever felt before made her light-headed. She must have sagged slightly, because Ethan’s arm tightened. He turned her to face him and said, “We need to get you home. There’s nothing more you can do here.”

      With a grateful heart, she allowed him to lead her toward his car, then stopped abruptly when she remembered the paper.

      “Oh, no!”

      Ethan looked alarmed. “What? Are you okay?”

      “No! He shoved something in my hand. What did I do with it?” She opened both hands, palms up, and there it was, still in her right hand, crunched and crushed into a flat mess. Her fists had been clenched the entire time, she realized, even when she’d used the heel of her palms to wipe her tears and the blood from her face. Dried, dark streaks still stained her skin.

      He sucked in a deep breath. “Hold on. Just…don’t do anything with it yet.” Turning, he hollered over his shoulder. “Hey, Henry, you got a pair of gloves and a plastic bag on you?”

      Henry hurried over, a frown on his slightly pudgy face, which hadn’t seen a razor in a while. “Of course I do, I’m working a crime scene,” he said, holding the items out. “Why?”

      Ethan took the gloves and pulled them on. To Henry he said, “Hold that open, okay?”

      Still frowning, the man complied. With one gloved hand, Ethan reached for the paper in Marianna’s shaking hand. Gripping it with the edge of thumb and forefinger, he held it and, with his other hand, unfolded it.

      Marianna looked over his shoulder and tried to see what it said, but it was too dark. Ethan moved about ten yards to his right and held it up to the light. She watched his lips as he read aloud, “Keep your mouth shut, or else.”

      EIGHT

      Exhausted, worried, frustrated by the lack of progress on the case, Ethan had fallen into bed after making sure Marianna was safely ensconced in her family’s care. Her mother had seen Marianna’s cheek and immediately ushered her off to examine the wound. Now, he lay sleepless once again, staring at the ceiling. Slowly, his body relaxed and he drifted.

      The bright sun pounded the asphalt, sending heat waves radiating over anyone brave enough to expose himself to it. May wasn’t supposed to be this hot, he remembered thinking.

      Then he was in the huge, almost deserted parking lot, waiting for Ashley. Somewhere in his sleep-fogged brain, he knew he was dreaming, yet hope remained that this time the ending would be different.

      As he watched his Camaro pull under the lone tree providing the only shade in the entire parking lot, he told himself to park in a different spot. Suddenly, he was behind the wheel, watching, still waiting, clueless. He told himself to crank the car and drive off, move, park anywhere but there.

      Instead, he just sat there.

      The familiar blue hatchback pulled in and parked about forty yards away. The occupants couldn’t see him positioned as he was behind the tree.

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