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A Silent Terror
Lynette Eason
When Marianna Santino's roommate is killed, Detective Ethan O'Hara can't fathom the motive. Then he realizes the deaf teacher was the intended target. Marianna must have something the murderer desperately wants. But what? Digging for the truth, the guarded cop tries to learn everything he can about Marianna. Her world. Her family. Her beauty, faith and fierce independence.In spite of himself, Ethan finds that he can't keep his feelings at bay. Soon, he's willing to risk everything–including his heart–to lay the silent terror stalking Marianna to rest.



Was he searching for her?
Whatever he was doing, he was heading her way. Panting her fear, she clung desperately to control. Forcing herself to think, she tried to figure a way out. Visions of Suzanne lying on her bedroom floor caused a wave of nausea to rush through her.
Her world turned choppy, the survival instinct strong. Her eyes darted around the room.
Then she heard a thump. Vibrations. Marianna quickly moved toward the front door. It was locked.
Shaking hands fumbled with the dead bolt. Precious seconds ticked by as the key fell to the floor. The thumping stopped. She froze, her breath strangling her as she tried not to gasp.
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….

LYNETTE EASON
grew up in Greenville, SC. Her home church, Northgate Baptist, had a tremendous influence on her during her early years. She credits Christian parents and dedicated Sunday School teachers for her acceptance of Christ at the tender age of eight. Even as a young girl, she knew she wanted her life to reflect the love of Jesus.
Lynette attended the University of South Carolina in Columbia, SC, then moved to Spartanburg, SC, to attend Converse College, where she obtained her master’s degree in education. During this time, she met the boy next door, Jack Eason—and married him. Jack is the executive director of the Sound of Light Ministries. Lynette and Jack have two precious children, Lauryn, eight years old, and Will, who is six. She and Jack are members of New Life Baptist Fellowship Church in Boiling Springs, SC, where Jack serves as the worship leader and Lynette teaches Sunday School to the four-and five-year-olds.

A Silent Terror
Lynette Eason




Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings, from the wicked who assail me, from my mortal enemies who surround me.
—Psalms 17:8–9
As always, to Jesus Christ. Let me be a good
steward of what you’ve given me.
Thanks go out to:
The wonderful crime scene writers group on Yahoo. It’s such a relief to know if I have a question, I can ask it and get an accurate answer in, sometimes, under a minute! You guys rock.
Emily Rodmell, editor extraordinaire.
I’m honored to work with you. Thank you so much for taking a chance on a newbie and for making all my books shine.
Thank you to my deaf friends who are always eager to share their ideas, culture and language.
Thank you, dear hubby, for all the time and effort you put in to getting my books out there and for being proud of me.
Thank you, Lauryn and Will, I love you so much.

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
EPILOGUE
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

ONE
Something was wrong. Goose bumps pimpled on Marianna Santino’s suddenly chilled flesh as she walked up her driveway. The door to her small home stood open. That in and of itself didn’t bother her. The open door combined with the facts that it was January and slightly below freezing didn’t bode well. And where was Twister, her large German shepherd, who normally bounded out to greet her?
Her internal fear alarm screeched. Adrenaline rushed.
Run. Get away.
She turned to run—and paused. But what about Suzanne?
Investigate or flee? What if Suzanne, her roommate, needed her? What if she was hurt?
What if whoever broke in was still in there?
Jamming her right hand into her coat pocket, she pulled out her Blackberry and punched in 911. When the screen lit, indicating the call was connected, she put the device to her ear to hear someone speaking. Unable to make out the words, she spoke softly into the phone. “Someone broke into my house.” She gave the address and clicked off to wait. No doubt the dispatcher was probably yelling at her about hanging up, but it wouldn’t do any good to stay on a phone with a person she couldn’t hear.
Marianna scanned the house again. Her hearing aids picked up nothing out of the ordinary, just the wind whipping all around her, causing a whooshing sound to rumble in her ears. Other than that, all was quiet. Silent. Like a tomb.
Was the person still in there? Did Suzanne need help? Again the questions swirled in her brain, worry agitating her. Please God, don’t let anything be wrong. Maybe the wind blew the door open.
But that didn’t explain Twister’s absence. And Suzanne, who always arrived home before Marianna, would have shut the door immediately.
Her eyes darted to the street. No police yet. Fear for her friend finally overrode her concern for her own safety. Slowly, she walked forward until she reached the front porch steps that led up to the door. The stain on the step stopped her.
Blood.
In the form of a shoe print. Leading out of the house.
She was beyond fear. Now she was terrified.
“Suzanne? Twister?”
Desperately, she strained for any sound that would penetrate the shroud of silence she lived with on a daily basis. With a shaking finger, she bumped up the volume on her hearing aid. Slowly, she stepped toward the door once more. The footprint led away from the house. That was good, right? Whoever had been there was now gone.
Or watching.
Glancing over her shoulder, she scanned the quiet street. After school normally meant children on bicycles and neighbors walking dogs. But the frigid weather had everyone inside. The street was deserted. Suddenly, the windows seemed ominous, staring back at her like empty eyes.
Where were the police?
Shivering, she stepped closer, avoided the bloody print and slipped inside the door. Looked down. Another print. A blast of warm air from the vent above her blew a lock of raven-colored hair across her eyes. Pushing it aside, she swallowed hard and made a concerted effort to control her fear-induced ragged breathing.
She continued on.
The kitchen to her right. Peered in. Nothing but an empty mug on the counter.
The den to her left. Again, nothing seemed out of place.
That left the three bedrooms down the hall. And the trail of bloody footprints leading to the room at the end.
With nerves taut, the hairs on her neck standing straight up, she took another deep breath and stepped into the hall, doing her best to avoid smudging the prints, which grew 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 blue-gray gaze narrowed, zoomed in on her. For some reason she noticed the touch of gray at his temples. “Oh, I’m sorry. You said something. I was thinking, picturing poor Suzanne…” She bit her lip. He didn’t need her to break down again. He needed her help.
“Are you with me here?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry.” She really needed to stop apologizing. None of this was her fault. “I’m almost deaf and need you to face me when you talk to me so I can read your lips, all right?”
Understanding flashed across his rugged features. The flicker of pain she glimpsed on his face confused her, but then it was gone and he was all business. “I need to ask you some questions, all right?”
Marianna nodded. Probably the same questions she had running through her mind. They walked to the curb, Twister trotting beside her.
Ethan asked, “Does Suzanne have any enemies?”
“No, like I said, she teaches…taught…kindergarten.”
“A fight with a boyfriend?”
“She doesn’t have a boyfriend right now. She recently broke up with a guy named Bryson James, but it was amicable.”
He jotted something in the small notebook he had pulled out. When he looked up, his electric gray-blue gaze connected with hers again and she felt a pull, sensed comfort, strength…a hidden pain?
She jolted, not wanting to feel anything right now or notice the good-looking cop sitting on her couch. Suzanne was dead, and the police needed her full attention to help solve her murder.
“Family?”
Marianna rubbed her hand across her forehead, swallowing another wave of grief. She whispered, “Her parents live here in town. They’ll be devastated.” He shifted next to her. She stared helplessly at him. “What can I do? How do I help?”
His big calloused hand reached over to take hers, his gaze intense as he said, “You’re helping in just answering the questions. Don’t leave anything out, tell me everything you know about her. The smallest detail could wind up being the biggest clue, okay? Then we’re going to have to find you a place to stay for a couple of days until we can release the scene—” he cleared his throat “—um, your house, back to you.”
Marianna nodded and sucked in a fortifying breath, and for the next hour and a half, while officers, a CSI unit, the medical examiner and the coroner paraded through her home and Suzanne’s privacy, she did her best to give Ethan O’Hara something to work with to enable him to find Suzanne’s killer.

Ethan waited while Marianna sent a text message to her parents that she would be coming to stay for a couple of nights. He was glad texting was such an in thing these days, since it made communication so much easier for the deaf. His sister would have loved the technology. Instead of dwelling on the past, however, he focused on what the crime scene investigator was saying.
“The medical examiner ruled out suicide. Ms. Miller was killed when she cracked her head on the corner of the bedside table. Blunt force trauma, if you want the official term. The M.E. said she’d do an autopsy to be sure, but she doubted she’d find anything else.”
“I’ll talk to her later. Thanks for the help and let me know if you find anything else, will you?”
“You bet, Ethan.”
Marianna walked toward him, her beauty not one bit diminished by her puffy eyes, red nose and blotchy cheeks. The grief stamped on her face pierced him. Why was it always the good ones? The ones who didn’t deserve to have their lives shattered this way? Not that anyone deserved to come face-to-face with murder, but…
Melancholy thoughts would haunt his after-hours work tonight. He smirked at that thought. What after-hours? As a homicide detective, he lived his job twenty-four/seven. Maybe if he had a family, someone to go home to at night, he’d make more of an effort to work less and spend time at home.
He smiled at her and noted the well-trained Twister at her side. Ethan commented, “He reminds me of the dogs on the K-9 squad.”
Tilting her head, she grinned. His heart slammed against his chest, and his breath whooshed from suddenly constricted lungs. Wow. Twin dimples flashed at him as her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Twister is a special dog, specially trained to be my ears. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
Then the dimples disappeared, the brief moment of levity gone. It shocked him to realize how much he wanted her to smile again. “Do you need a ride to your parents’ house?”
“No, but thank you. My brother, Joseph, is on the way to pick me up. He’s home, visiting. My mother let him know I needed a ride, but she didn’t tell him why.” Her hands clasped in front of her, she kept her eyes on his face. She looked lost, shell-shocked.
The urge to gather her in his arms singed him. Instead, he cleared his throat. “Why didn’t she tell him?”
Well-shaped shoulders lifted in a shrug. “A lot of reasons. The main one being the safety of the other drivers on the road between her house and mine.”
“Right. Okay, well, there’s nothing else we can do here.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder, felt a tremble run through her.
Don’t do something dumb, O’Hara, like hug her.
He pulled her to him for a brief moment, patted her back, then stepped back. The surprise on her face matched the disbelief he felt. He’d hugged her. Now why did he go and do that? What was it about her that had him tossing his professional detachment to the wind? She offered him a small smile filled with gratitude.
Swallowing his rampant thoughts and emotions, he realized he’d only just met the woman and was getting in deep, reacting with his heart, instead of his head. Clearing his throat, he said, “Hey, it’ll be all right. Everything will work out, okay?”
Unblinking identical vats of chocolate stared up at him.
Her eyes made him think of Hershey’s—and kisses…and not necessarily the candy kind. She asked, “Will I see you again?”
“Oh, yeah, I think that’s definitely going to happen.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken the words aloud until he watched the flush rise from her neck to her cheeks.
Oops.
Catelyn stomped the mud off her shoes, diverting his attention from the woman in front of him. When he looked to the door, Marianna did likewise.
His partner said, “I’ve questioned all the neighbors I could find.” Her lips twisted in disgust. “Nobody saw anything. Her next-door neighbor was home from work with the flu. Said he heard a crashing sound sometime this morning but felt too bad to get up to see what it was.”
Ethan’s eyes sharpened, “Probably that trash can that was overturned. Check that out to make sure he didn’t dump anything.”
A car turned into the drive. He turned back to Marianna. “I think your ride has arrived.”
Marianna winced. “You mean trouble has arrived.”

TWO
How was she supposed to go back to a normal life? Marianna had taken off yesterday and the day before, calling in sick and staying at her parents’ house, she and Twister fortunate enough to be wrapped up in her mother’s love and concern. Now it was Friday morning and she was on her way to the school. According to Suzanne’s mother, the autopsy had been finished and her funeral was tomorrow.
But, first, Marianna had to make it through today. She’d chosen to go to work instead of sitting around thinking about the brutal loss of her friend, so she was expected to teach without falling apart. But how? My strength is in You, Lord. Please get me through this day.
The day of the murder, Joseph, her eldest brother, had picked up her and Twister up from her small house and taken them to her childhood home, drilling her like a dentist for the entire ten-minute drive. When she’d said trouble had arrived, she should have said the Spanish Inquisition had been revived.
She chalked it up to his being an FBI agent and the boredom of vacationing having set in. And the fact that someone had just killed his baby sister’s roommate. Concern came naturally for him, overprotectiveness his first instinct. One of the reasons her mother hadn’t told him about the murder when she’d ask him to pick her up. Joseph could handle just about any situation with a coolheaded professionalism except when it came to his baby sister.
It drove her nuts.
Throughout her entire childhood and most of her adult years she had fought to prove she could take care of herself and to get her family to stop hovering simply because she was deaf. She was just glad Joseph had agreed to go get her car yesterday afternoon. Being stuck without transportation made her feel trapped, like a bird with clipped wings.
She’d snuck out this morning, avoiding her mother’s delicious-smelling breakfast. When she’d considered eating, her stomach had lurched in protest. The only thing she’d been able to force down yesterday had been soup and some fruit.
As the school building came into view, she glanced across the street at the entrance to her neighborhood. Would it hurt to drive by? Just to see? A quick glance at the clock told her she’d be late if she did. Resisting the urge to spin the wheel to the right, she entered the campus. Waving to the guard at the entrance, she made her way down the road, cut a right into the first parking lot she came to and whipped into an empty spot.
The building where she taught sat up on a hill. A big hill. Unfortunately, some brilliant architect had designed the nice building but neglected to add a parking area anywhere near it. Hence the lower-level parking and the breath-stealing hike to her classroom.
At least she got her exercise every day. Grabbing her ever-present backpack from the passenger seat of her car, she slammed the door and began the ascent. Other staff members were in the process of arriving and several waved.
“Marianna!”
She turned at the sound of her name. Julie had obviously been calling it a few times as the woman rushed up to her, panting, bending over to catch her breath. “I keep forgetting you can’t hear people yelling at you.”
Marianna laughed for the first time since Suzanne’s death. Julie Thomas, friend and fellow teacher, could always be counted on to produce a smile. “Nope. You just have to hit the right pitch. How long have you been calling me?”
Julie shot her a dark look. “Long enough.” A frown knitted her blond eyebrows together. Sucking in a deep breath, she said, “Okay, I can finally breathe again.”
She waved toward the hill they still had to climb. Fortunately, some bright soul had taken pity on the Green Hall staff and had built steps into the side of the hill. Marianna headed for them, watching Julie’s lips and listening intently as her friend asked, “Are you all right? I mean, I can’t believe someone broke into your house and killed Suzanne. It’s just…”
“Insane?” Marianna asked quietly.
“Yes. That’s the only word for it.” Thankfully, while Julie had her funny side, she could be serious when the time called for it. Marianna felt Julie’s hand on her arm. She stopped walking and looked around into her friend’s green eyes, which held a sheen of compassion-induced tears. “Truly, are you all right?”
Sighing, Marianna leaned over to give the concerned woman a hug. “No, I’m not all right yet, but with God’s help and by finding Suzanne’s killer, I will be,” she whispered. “I have to be.”
They finished the walk to the two-story building in silence. Julie went to the bottom floor, which contained the middle school. Marianna went upstairs to the multi-handicapped school. The middle school students were on an academic track that would prepare them for college. The students in the multi-handicapped school were on the occupational track. They would find themselves with a job suited to their needs and live either with family or in a group home.
And while their IQs might not be the highest, they still had a great love for socialization. In fact, most of her students were just like any other teenagers, discussing the current television programs and the newest dance, and using the latest technology to communicate with each other. The school was a great place and Marianna loved it.
She greeted the secretary with a smile. “Hi, Jean.”
“Oh, you poor girl.” All five feet two inches of Jean Witherspoon ejected from behind her desk, and she rushed over to give Marianna a maternal hug. “What on earth happened? Has there been any word on who…well, any more developments?”
No one wanted to say the word killed or murdered. Marianna certainly didn’t want to either read the words on peoples’ lips or hear them with the help of her hearing aids. No, she’d rather avoid both words.
She shook her head. “No, nothing. I’m hoping to hear something soon.”
“Are you going to be okay? Do you think you can concentrate today?”
Leave it to Jean to cut to the heart of the matter. “No, probably not, but I’m going to give it my best shot.”
A pat on her arm pulled her attention to the boy standing next to her. Actually, the word boy wasn’t exactly accurate for this student, Josh Luck, who was six feet four inches tall and would normally be called a man if it weren’t for the fact that he had the mental capacity of about a five-year-old. At twenty-one years old, he would “age out” and graduate in five months. His handicapping label also read “autistic,” but he had a mild form of it, because he enjoyed hugs and physical touch.
And he loved to bring her gifts. Specific gifts.
Just about every day Josh would bring her some new computer piece from his seemingly endless supply. She’d talked to his father about it and the man just laughed it off, told her to throw them out or whatever. Josh had so many computers and parts at home that there was no way to keep up with it all. If the boy wanted to give her something, he obviously didn’t think he’d need it. But each week she would send the parts home…just in case.
Josh was also known as a savant. He knew how to take apart a computer down to the last screw and put it back together almost with his eyes closed.
He was going to have a great career in computer repair…with a little help from the school-to-work transition team.
Marianna said, “See you later, Jean. I need to see what Josh’s brought me today.”
She led Josh down the hall to the third classroom on the right. He followed her and tapped her shoulder again. Marianna shook off her coat and hung it in the closet. Josh waited patiently.
Then she turned and held out her hand, palm up.
Josh placed a computer piece in the center of it, then clomped off to sit in his specially designed desk. His lumbering, bulky frame had decimated several regular student desks before the maintenance department workers finally took it upon themselves to build him an indestructible one. So far, so good.
Several more students made their way into the classroom, stopping for their morning hug and encouraging word.
The single wooden door to her classroom suddenly seemed to morph into a revolving one. One by one, other teachers and staff stopped by to express concern and condolences. Marianna kept a smile on her face and the tears at bay by sheer willpower.
It wasn’t until she placed her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk that she realized something seemed…off. She turned to her assistant, Dawn Price, and said, “Did you move things around on my desk?”
Forty-five years old and a veteran assistant, Dawn looked up from where she’d been asking a student about his morning. “No, why?”
Marianna looked at the small potted plant that normally sat on the back corner of her desk. It had been moved up closer to the edge above the drawer. Her stapler was on the left side instead of the right. Several papers she’d stacked neatly looked as if they’d been rifled through.
She shook her head. “Things just aren’t where I left them.” She shrugged. “Maybe the cleaning crew had to move my desk and things got shifted.”
Soon, a student had her attention and she focused on getting through the morning.
Praying the day would end soon, she did her best to concentrate on the students, pouring as much as she could into their eager minds.

Ethan threw the pen down on the report and rested his head in his hands.
“What’s wrong, partner?” Catelyn asked as she found a perch on the side of his desk.
“This case,” he mumbled into his palm.
“Yeah.” Confusion colored her voice. “I don’t understand the complete lack of evidence.”
He snorted and looked up. “We’ve got evidence, such as the shoe print, it just isn’t leading us anywhere. The fact that there were no viable fingerprints leaves us cold. Not even a stray hair. I don’t get it. Suzanne put up a struggle—didn’t she? The room was torn apart.”
“There’s no indication she fought back.” Catelyn dropped a sheaf of papers on his desk. “The M.E.’s report. Nothing under her fingernails, nothing on her clothing.”
“Then she surprised him. The room’s not trashed, because she fought him, he trashed it before she got there.” Tapping his chin, he looked at the papers but didn’t pick them up. “He wasn’t expecting anyone to be there.”
“Okay, so he broke in, started gathering his loot in the bedroom, was there maybe a couple of minutes when Suzanne walked in on him.”
Nodding, Ethan said, “She startled him and he grabbed her, she probably would have pulled back, maybe stumbled and fell, hitting her head? Or maybe he pushed her trying to get out of the room. I don’t know, just speculation, but…” he said, shrugging.
“But where was her car? The one in the driveway was registered to Marianna. And it was clean. No sign of a search or tampering.”
His gaze snapped up to hers. “You’re right. There was only Marianna’s car. The garage was empty.”
“Suzanne may not have owned one.”
“One way to find out.” A few taps onto the computer keyboard brought up a number of Suzanne Millers in the Spartanburg area. He scrolled down to the right one listing her address and clicked. Suzanne’s pretty features as shown on her driver’s license filled the top right corner of the screen. Finding the area of the screen he wanted, he clicked again.
She owned a black Honda Accord. Glancing up at Catelyn, he pointed to the monitor. “Look.”
Catelyn looked at him. “So, what are you waiting for?” She glanced at the clock on the wall opposite his desk. “It’s twelve forty. I’ve got another appointment, but it’s plenty of time for you to be waiting on Marianna when she walks out of class. Actually, she’s probably at lunch. It’s Friday, so the buses start picking up the kids at one.” The residential school dismissed the students early on Friday because some of the kids had a four-to five-hour trip home. The drivers and attendants who staffed the buses stayed the weekend in whichever city was at the end of their route, then brought the students back on Sunday night.
“Yeah, I know the schedule.” Without another word, Ethan grabbed his coat and headed out the door.
Fifteen minutes later, he’d flashed his badge to the guard at the entrance and refused the offer of directions to the building called Governor’s Hall, the cafeteria where the students gathered each day to eat, then stand outside to wait for the buses. He knew the way.
Ethan now sat outside the building watching the end-of-day activity. Two high school boys tossed a football with one hand and signed back and forth with the other, talking in a language Ethan had done his best to forget, yet remembered with no trouble. Another young man stole a kiss from the girl he held hands with as they strolled up the hill toward the area where they would wait for the bus to pick them up. A group of elementary students crossed the street at the crosswalk, and a little girl about seven years old stooped to entice a cat to come to play until she was hurried on by the worker bringing up the rear.
Nothing changes, he thought. When his sister had been a student here a little over three years ago, the same two boys played football, the same couple held hands—everything was the same. Then he shook himself. Of course everything wasn’t the same, but it sure did bring back memories.
Memories that brought the pain of his sister’s death to the surface one more time, along with the resentment of his parents’ just moving on as if nothing had happened, as if his world hadn’t been ripped apart. A week after her funeral, his parents had left to tour Europe. Sure, they’d asked him to go with them, but he’d been shocked at their plans, had thought they were crazy, insensitive, unfeeling.
Forcing his thoughts from the past, he concentrated on watching for the one person he hadn’t been able to push from his mind.
Marianna Santino.
And then there she was. Coming out of the cafeteria, her heavy wool skirt swaying against her endless stretch of legs. The baby-blue, cable-knit sweater only enhanced her dark beauty. She had her raven-colored hair flowing around her shoulders and down her back, just as she had two days ago.
His palms suddenly itched, curious to feel what it would be like to let that hair flow through his fingers. Curling his traitorous hands into fists, he told himself to focus. He was here on a case, not a date.
And soon she would be gone from his sight. Where was she going? Climbing from his car, he followed her. She was on her BlackBerry, texting someone, her fingers flying over the keys. Totally focused on her task, she kept her head down, never looking left or right—not exactly the best defensive walk. But then she wasn’t the one who needed to be on the defensive; Suzanne was the one who’d been killed.
He wondered how Suzanne had walked. Probably like Marianna, completely unaware of her surroundings. The thought chilled him.
“Marianna!”
She didn’t turn. Instead, she flipped her phone shut, pulled open the glass door and slipped inside the building. Closing in fast, Ethan saw her enter the third classroom on the right.
Reaching the door, he entered after her. Her desk faced the door and she stood behind it, pulling a box from a drawer. “Marianna?” He moved farther into the room.
Looking up, she gasped. “Oh, Detective O’Hara.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. And it’s Ethan.”
“Ethan, then. And it’s all right.” She held up a shoebox. “I’d forgotten to give this to Josh to take home last Friday, and with all the craziness this week, I forgot to give it to him today. He loves to bring me computer parts each week. I believe in recycling, so I was just going to rush down to the bus pick-up area and give it to him.”
“Come on, I’ll drive you. I’ve got a few questions to ask if you don’t mind.”
She blew out a sigh, grief crossing her flawless features for a brief moment. She shut the drawer and walked around the side of the desk. “I don’t mind. I can’t think of anything I haven’t already told you, but maybe your questions will jar something.”
Together, they walked back to his car, with Marianna greeting various staff and students along the way. When they reached his vehicle, he drove her around to the where the buses picked up the students and she hopped out. Ethan stayed put and watched her approach an on-duty staff member. She asked in sign language while voicing, “Cleo, has Josh already gone?”
Cleo signed back, “Yes, his bus left about five minutes ago.”
Marianna sighed, hands gracefully forming the words, “Oh well, it wasn’t anything major, just his box. I guess I’ll save it for next week.”
“You want me to keep it until Monday? I have to go back to my classroom anyway, so I don’t mind.”
“Sure, thanks.” Marianna handed over the box of treasures with a dimpled smile, then walked back to climb in Ethan’s car. “Do you want go up the street to the coffee shop to talk?”
“Sounds good to me.”
The sooner he got this investigation out of the way, the sooner he could start thinking about asking Marianna Santino out on a date. Maybe. If he thought his heart could handle it.

Ice Cream and Coffee Beans, home to tasty milk shakes and fresh-brewed coffee. Sandwiches could be ordered, too. Marianna chose a peanut butter shake with whipped cream. Ethan decided on a chocolate one, sans the white topping, and a club sandwich.
A plain, no-frills kind of guy, she thought. Nice. He kept his beard trimmed close and his mustache neat. A well-shaped mouth with firm lips smiled at her through the facial hair. Sometimes it was hard to read the lips of people who hid them behind beards and mustaches, but not Ethan. He was an easy read. His lips anyway; his eyes were another story.
He said, “I can’t believe you went to work today.”
Taking a sip of her milk shake, she relished the sweet richness on her tongue for a minute before swallowing. “I had to.” She leaned back against the booth. “I love my parents, and my mom would like nothing better than for me to come home on a permanent basis, but one day was enough.” She gave a wry smile. “And Joseph was driving me nuts.”
“Your brother?”
She nodded, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, the strength that he exuded. “He’s an FBI agent who works in New York. He works a lot of missing person cases. It’s the first time he’s been home in almost a year, and he gets confronted with this. I told him to stay out of it, but don’t be surprised if you get regular calls for updates from him.”
“Not a problem.”
Sucking in a deep breath, she asked, “So, what kind of questions did you have?”
“Catelyn and I were hashing over the case and we realized there was only one car in the driveway—yours. Where’s Suzanne’s?”
Marianna furrowed her brow. “Oh, I’d forgotten all about that. It’s in the shop getting new brake pads. She was supposed to pick it up yesterday. Since we live so close to my school, I let her use my car to drive to work and I just walked.” She rubbed a hand across a forehead that was beginning to ache. “I’ll have to call her parents and let them know to go get it.”
“I’ll take care of that. I also called Suzanne’s school. They said she arrived on time Tuesday morning and signed in but left early because she was sick. We do know that she signed out at four minutes after ten. Assuming she didn’t stop anywhere because she felt bad and wanted to get home and go to bed, I think it’s safe to say she probably arrived home around ten-fifteen. The murder happened shortly after that.”
Grief cut into Marianna. She didn’t want to think about it anymore but was determined to do whatever it took to catch Suzanne’s killer.
Running a hand over her hair, she smoothed it down around her ears, a habit she’d picked up two years ago. Curt Wentworth, her ex-boyfriend, hadn’t wanted to see her hearing aids. They made him self-conscious and uncomfortable. Which was really strange, since he’d chosen audiology as a profession. She hadn’t realized until too late that his constant stroking of her hair hadn’t been out of affection; he’d been covering up her hearing aids. Marianna sighed. No use thinking about him.
Forcing her thoughts away from Curt’s unpleasant memory, she focused on an awful thought. “So, Suzanne came home sick and walked in on a burglary. He killed her and ran.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
Tears choked her, blurring her vision. She blinked, refusing to let the endless tears fall. “She should have stayed at work,” she whispered.
His hand covered hers, and she shivered at the contact. It had been a long time since she’d been attracted to a man; she had been a little gun-shy since she and Curt had broken up six months ago. Her surprising feelings scared her and yet…
She watched his mouth and focused on his words. “Yes, if she had she would probably be alive. But, she didn’t and…” he sighed, then looked up at her. “Was Suzanne a Christian?”
That question startled her. “Yes, she was.”
“Then there’s comfort in that, right?”
Marianna relaxed a fraction but nodded and offered a feeble smile. “Yes, of course, but I, and everyone else who loved her, will miss her.” Tears gathered again. She sniffed, grabbing up the napkin with her free hand to dab her eyes.
“I know.” His fingers squeezed. Marianna started at the tingle that raced up her arm. Trying to be discreet, she pulled her hand from his and picked up her milk shake. The sparkle in his eye said she hadn’t fooled him.
But now wasn’t the time to pursue the mutual attraction. Marianna had a funeral to attend, and Ethan had a murder to solve.

Feet thudded against the stairs, phones rang, voices raised in argument filled the air. The person seated at the desk ignored the chaos coming from the room to the right. “Where have you been?” Tense fingers gripped the phone as the frantic voice shook, wobbled, fought for control and said, “I had things to take care of. The girl’s dead. She surprised me. I didn’t mean to kill her. She fought back and I pushed her….”
“Do you know what you’ve put me through having to explain your absence? Look…never mind. So, you didn’t find it.”
“No.” Harsh, frantic breathing.
“Calm down. We have to have it. If the wrong people get their hands on that…everything we’ve worked so hard for is down the toilet.” A string of curses rent the air.
“I know, I know. But she probably doesn’t even realize what she has.”
“Doesn’t matter. If she looks at it…”
“I can’t do this. If anyone finds out, if I get caught, our careers are finished. I can’t believe this. I never meant for…” A frustrated sigh sounded, then, “Let someone else do it. I can’t.”
“Are you crazy? The last thing we need is someone else involved. Right now, the only people who know about this are you and me. We need to keep it that way. This is your fault. If I have to come up there and take care of this…”
“I know, I know. Maybe I should just go to the police…explain that it was an accident.”
A harsh laugh echoed. “What fantasy world are you living in? Now, quit being a wimp and fix it.”
“No way. I’m out. You fix it. Tonight.”

THREE
Thunder rumbled, shaking the air surrounding the mourners who’d come to the afternoon funeral to say goodbye to Suzanne Miller. Thankfully, heavy rain continued to hold off, but Marianna knew it wouldn’t hold much longer. The fine mist they’d started the service with had progressed to a steady drizzle; soon it would be a downpour. She clutched the curved handle of her umbrella and scanned the crowd.
She spotted Ethan and Catelyn a few yards away, looking alert and watching those gathered. Their diligent surveillance sent a shiver crawling up her spine to settle at the base of her neck.
The minister spoke but she couldn’t see his face clearly through the sea of shifting heads and the service wasn’t interpreted, so Marianna couldn’t actually understand much of anything being said. Which gave her time to focus on the people.
She knew a lot of them, their sad faces grabbing her heart. But it was Suzanne’s parents who speared her emotions and clogged her throat with tears yet again. Unmitigated grief, stunned disbelief and rampant rage alternated across their faces. Marianna could relate. She hoped they’d gotten everything they’d wanted from the house this morning. Suzanne hadn’t had a lot of things and as soon as the police had cleared the scene, her family had wanted to gather the last of their loved one’s items.
Marianna shivered again. When she took her focus off Suzanne’s family, became aware of her surroundings, she felt…watched. After finally admitting the unsettling sensation wasn’t just in her imagination, her stomach quivered.
And then she realized…he probably was here.
Suzanne’s killer might be somewhere in this crowd.
She’d heard of killers showing up at their victims’ funerals but couldn’t fathom that she might actually be standing somewhere near a murderer. Shuddering, she wrapped an arm around her middle in a one-arm hug.
Fear churned; she swallowed it down.
Ever since the viewing and short service at the church, and then upon arrival at the burial site, she’d felt someone staring holes in her back. Yet each time she turned, she saw nothing strange and no one out of place. At first, she chalked it up to being the dead woman’s roommate. Of course people would stare at her.
But maybe it was more than that.
As though in slow motion, she turned a full circle, examining every face, trying to see around hats, scarves and umbrellas.
Movement caught from the corner of her eye brought her head around. Ethan headed her way. Nerves cluttered up her stomach. If he leaned over and whispered in her ear, would she be able to catch the words? Pulling the collar of her coat snug around her neck, she stepped to the left to get a better view of the minister. She’d been invited to sit with the family, but the number of relatives in attendance had clearly been underestimated, so Marianna had surrendered her chair to an elderly aunt.
Ethan stepped next to her. She looked up at him. He smiled and mouthed, “Are you all right?”
She shrugged, ignored the threat of tears for the hundredth time that day, then dared to ask, “He’s here, isn’t he?”
Ethan didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t understand who she meant. She could see it in his eyes. “Probably.” Keeping his voice low, he looked over her shoulder and asked, “Do you see anyone who shouldn’t be here?”
Once again, Marianna let her eyes trail over the people. The minister had finished and the mourners started their exit. “There’re too many people, too many hats and umbrellas. I can’t see all of their faces.”
“I’m having that problem, too.” His eyes scanned the group, but his body remained relaxed, hands tucked loosely in his pockets. “Who did you come with?”
“Just myself. My parents didn’t know Suzanne very well, and my dad wasn’t feeling well anyway, so Mom wouldn’t let him come out in the cold.” She paused, bit her lip and looked away from him. “I spent the night at my parents’ house again last night. I just couldn’t…I guess tonight I’ll stay at my house.” Tears pooled and this time she couldn’t fight them. Several dribbled down her cold cheeks.
A warm cloth swept them away. Ethan had pulled out a handkerchief. Grateful, she took it from his hand and finished mopping up. “Thanks. I’m sorry. I suppose the tears will stop one day.”
“Let yourself grieve. It’s okay to hurt. And it’s okay to stay with your parents awhile. No one would blame you.” All gentleness and compassion, his eyes said he hurt for her.
She pocketed the handkerchief. “I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”
“No hurry. Come here.” He took her hand in his and urged her along behind him.
She followed, stopping when he placed a hand on her arm. Wondering what he was doing, she watched his face, waiting for him to speak. “Okay, now, you can see the people getting in their cars. Tell me if you see anyone who sticks out.”
Marianna turned. She and Ethan stood at the top of a gently sloping hill, making it easy to watch the crowd scatter to their various vehicles below. The rain had slacked off. People closed their umbrellas, affording Marianna a pretty good view of faces she hadn’t been able to see earlier.
She gasped, “There’s Bryson.”
“The ex-boyfriend, right?”
“Yes. I mean, I don’t know why I’m surprised he’s here. It was a mutual breakup without any hard feelings. Of course he would be here. I’m sure Suzanne’s death came as a shock.”
“I still want to talk to him and maybe catch him off guard so I’ll see a true reaction. Excuse me, okay?”
Marianna watched the good-looking young attorney head for his black BMW. Ethan set off after the man, leaving her trailing slowly behind and watching the two of them. Then the feeling of being watched caused her to glance over her shoulder once more. Nothing and no one around her stood out as suspicious.
Her BlackBerry vibrated. Shoving her hand in her pocket, she kept her eyes on Ethan as he approached Bryson. When the device hummed again, she glanced at it. And groaned.
Curt Wentworth. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone?
She flipped the cover and read his text.
“We need to talk. Stop being so stubborn and meet me this evening for dinner.”
Not in this lifetime, buster. What would it take for him to get the message she wanted nothing more to do with him? He’d put his hands on her in anger and left bruises on her. He’d also been verbally abusive. He was the last person she wanted to have dinner with. For at least two minutes, she stared at it, debating what to say. Unable to come up with anything she wouldn’t regret, she closed the unanswered message and the machine, clenching her fist around the device.
A gentle hand covered hers. Startled, she realized Ethan had come back. She shivered. And realized something else. The feel of his hand on hers felt right.
“Problem?” His brows climbed to reach into the shaggy blond hair that lay across on his forehead.
“What?” She’d missed what he’d said. Trying to speech read through a red fog of anger didn’t come in her little bag of tricks.
“Is there a problem?” he repeated.
“Oh. Yes. But nothing I can’t handle.” And she would handle it. Just as soon as she figured out how.
“I don’t mind helping out.”
“I said I could handle it.” She appreciated the offer but didn’t need another person in her life trying to take care of her. Winning her independence had been a tough battle, but she’d done it.
Hands held up in a gesture of surrender, he backed up a little. “Gotcha.”
Feeling a tad guilty at her snappiness when he’d been nothing short of wonderful, she bit her lip and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little…”
“…stressed,” he finished for her. “Understandable.”
“So, what did Bryson have to say?”

“I get the impression he was truly upset.” Ethan recalled the man’s red-rimmed eyes and genuine air of grief. “He said something about the fact that they’d been talking about getting back together.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“I asked him if he’d be willing to give us a DNA sample so the crime scene investigators could compare it with anything they found…if they find something. He said he’d go down first thing Monday morning.”
“I always liked Bryson. I’m not exactly sure why they broke up, but I think he was pressuring Suzanne to get married and she wanted some space. She never really talked about it, though, even with me.” She shrugged. “I didn’t push, figuring she’d tell me if she wanted to.”
Ethan watched her features, marveling once again at her physical beauty. And yet she was so much more than just a pretty package. In just the short time he’d known her and under the worst circumstances, she’d shown herself to be the epitome of…what? He searched his brain for the right adjective.
Class. The woman was pure class.
Shadowed dark brown eyes stared at him, and he realized he hadn’t responded to something she’d said. “Sorry, my mind went wandering.” No sense in telling her where.
Marianna flashed a dimpled smile, brief but sincere. “It’s fine. I was just saying that I needed to get…home.” She grimaced, and he knew she wasn’t excited about the idea. After a minuscule hesitation, she took his hand between hers and gave it a quick squeeze, her closeness and light, fruity perfume scrambling his senses. Biting her lip, she gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you for everything. I hope you’ll keep me updated on the case.”
“Absolutely.”

Marianna left the cemetery and began the short drive home. She dreaded going into her house alone, yet had turned down several offers of accompaniment. Not exactly sure why, she just knew she didn’t want to be around a bunch of people, including family. She knew she faced a lot of cleaning up and most likely more uncontrollable tears. Better to do that without an audience. Ethan had started to insist that he follow her but had gotten a call and had to leave. That had been fine with her.
She’d texted Joseph, asking him to bring Twister home so the dog would be there to greet her. He’d agreed against his better judgment, arguing she didn’t need to be by herself.
She pulled into the driveway and turned the car off. The house loomed, small and empty. It shouldn’t seem particularly scary, yet a tremor shook her at the thought of walking up the path to her porch. Memories almost overwhelmed her, tempting her to once again run home to her mom and dad.
At least the door was closed today. Please, God, take this fear away. I know it’s only natural after what’s happened, but I don’t want to be afraid. Help me trust You.
The curtain in the window to the right of the door moved; a black nose pressed against the glass. The familiar sight caused her to release a relieved breath.
Twister’s welcome home. He was waiting for her.
Marianna scrambled from the car, grabbing the overnight bag Joseph had packed for her the day of the murder, and headed for the door.
Climbing the steps, she paused, noticing the footprint had disappeared. Someone had scrubbed it away. Shuddering, unease still very much present, she unlocked the door and pushed it open.
And gaped.
Her house sparkled, from top to bottom. Someone had scrubbed, mopped, vacuumed and more.
How…what…who?
Ethan.
She frowned. Now why did she automatically assume it was him? It could have been Joseph or some other member of her family.
Someone had hired a professional to clean up the mess left by the criminal and the crime scene investigators. Her heart warmed at the thoughtfulness as grateful tears blurred her vision. A piece of paper lay on the table just inside the foyer. Picking it up, she read, “I didn’t want you to come home to a mess. Hope everything is better than when you left it. Ethan.”
“Thank you, Ethan,” she whispered.
Twister nudged her hand and whined. Absentmindedly, she scratched his head as she went from room to room, examining everything.
A lump clogged her throat as she moved, sensing Suzanne’s presence even though she was now with the Lord.
When she reached Suzanne’s room, the door stood open, inviting. Hitching her breath, she stepped in and looked around. It, too, had been scrupulously cleaned.
And stripped bare. Suzanne’s family had come and gone, leaving not even a trace of their presence. Or Suzanne’s. Unable to stop herself, she looked to the spot where her roommate had died.
Even the stain was gone. It was as if Suzanne had never been there. Marianna walked over and knelt, running her hand over the area, feeling the carpet spring back beneath her palm. Anger, fear and a troubled helplessness burned within her.
Help the police find her killer. And help me deal with this, Lord. Please give me peace.
Tired beyond belief, Marianna called to Twister and stepped from the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
Entering her bedroom next door, she stared at the familiar sight of her haven that was supposed to offer comfort and knew she couldn’t sleep here tonight. Her stomach rumbled, but she had no energy to fix anything to eat. Doing a one-eighty, she trod the short distance to the small living area and crashed on the couch. She pulled out her hearing aids and laid them on the end table beside her.
All sound ceased to exist for her, and all she wanted to do was snuggle into the silence.
Twister settled on the floor beside her and she let her hand dangle over the edge to rest on his back as she stared at the ceiling, thinking, praying, drifting.…
With a start, Marianna’s eyes popped open, confusion holding her captive until her brain caught up. She’d fallen asleep on the couch. But something had awakened her. A vibration: Twister?
Darkness blanketed the room broken only by the glow of the night-light coming from the hall. The clock on the DVD player read 3:18 a.m.
What had awakened her? Rubbing her face, then running a hand through her tangled hair, she swung her feet to the floor, eyes probing the blackness. That was odd. Where was Twister?
Uneasiness swept over her. The hardwoods floor beneath her trembled. No doubt the vibrations had awakened her. Fingers groped the table beside her, grabbed up her hearing aids and shoved them in her ears.
Still, mostly silence surrounded her.
Again the floor shook. As though cushioning a footstep? Uneasiness climbed into fear. She strained to hear something, anything. Her breathing quickened as spider feet scrabbled up her spine. Her stomach cramped with a sudden thought, what if the killer had come back?
Would he do that? But why?
Adrenaline pumping, she fumbled to remember where she’d left her purse, which held her BlackBerry.
The recliner. In the corner by the fireplace. Guided by eyes adjusting to the darkness and the dim hall light, she crept across the floor to the chair and shoved her hand into her purse, located the device and snatched it out.
She realized she still had her shoes on: low-heeled black pumps she’d worn to the funeral. Sliding them off, she set them aside and tried to think of a possible hiding place. The kitchen pantry? Or should she try to slip out the front door?
Lord, what do I do?
A sense of urgency caused her hands to shake. She felt more vibrations and a hard thud sent her adrenaline into overdrive. Was that a muttered curse she picked up? She inched the volume up on her hearing aid but had to be careful not to bump it up too far or it would start whistling.
Then she tuned in to Twister’s furious barking, causing her to flinch. He’d probably been barking for a while if he’d already reached the pitch she needed to hear him.
With her heart thudding and her blood pounding, her brain switched to survival mode. Her fingers found the numbers on her BlackBerry and punched Send.
She needed help fast.
Someone was in her house.

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, déjàvu 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 reign.”
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.
Alonso rolled his eyes and ignored her order.
Then she noticed Ethan’s frown. He placed his fork on his plate and reached for his phone, lifting it to his ear. He listened for a minute and a half, then hung up. His fierce expression was back, his tenseness from the break-in returning twofold.
She raised a brow in question.
He signed, “That was Catelyn. The lab found some evidence, and I need to get over there to find out what’s going on.”
“On a Saturday?”
He gave a small smile. “No rest for the weary.” When he stood, everyone looked up at him. He signed, “It was a pleasure to meet you all, but duty calls.”
Marianna’s mother frowned and signed back, “They don’t let you eat?”
Joseph shot him a sympathetic glance and saved him from having to answer by saying, “Mama, you know how it is in law enforcement. You’ve got to do what you can when you can.”
Maddelena rolled her dark eyes and signed, “Bah, you go do your job, then, but only if you promise to come back when you can eat a decent meal. And come to church with us tomorrow. We go to the church with the interpreter on the other side of town.”
Ethan said his thanks for the breakfast, made no comment about church and headed out the door.
Marianna stabbed a bite of pancake as she watched him leave, wondering why the fact that he was so comfortable with her family made her nervous.

Ethan climbed into his car, never so glad to get out of someone’s home. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed the crazy clan, but they made him think about the past. About what might have been.

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