Karen Rose - Suspense 04 - Nothing To Fear, ciekawe, Karen Rose

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Nothing To Fear – Suspense 04
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Nothing to Fear
Suspense – Book 4
By Karen Rose
Prologue
Western Florida, June 5, 2:30 P.M.
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It had been a traditional funeral. A few mourners wore green polyester golf pants, but most
wore black despite the steamy humidity of the Florida afternoon.
From her vantage point five tombstones away Sue Conway could hear the minister intone the
familiar“shestoashesanddusttodust.”Shedroppedhereyestotheflowersshe’dputona
stranger’sgravehidingherscowl.Thedamnfuneralwouldbeoversoonandshestillhadn’t
seentheonepersonshe’dhopedtodrawout.
The minister stepped back, letting the mourners say their final good-byes and wander away.
The group was still in a state of stunned disbelief as evidenced by the murmurs Sue could easily
hear through the surveillance device she wore in her ear.
“Iusedtofeelsosafe”saidone.
“Thecommunitywillneverbethesame”saidanother.
“Ineverusedtolockmydoorsbefore.Isureashellwillnow.”
No one in their cluster had been murdered before. And to be murdered so viciously . . . it was
more than they could comprehend.
Themurderhadn’tbeenherfirstbuthadgivenhermorepleasurethananyother.Themoans
thesoundofbonescrunchinginherhands.Thebloodspurtingasshe’dcutjustalittleata
time.She’ddreamedofitforsolongfantasizedeachlittlecryeachsliceintofleshandbone
each drop of blood. It had been pure, unadulterated pleasure. If nothing else, she had that to
hold on to even as she continued her search.
Because even under extremetorturehervictimhadnotgivenherwhatshe’ddemanded.She’d
have to continue her search and when she found the real prize . . . this murder would seem like
a walk in the park. She had years to make up for, a host of fantasies stored, an amazing amount
of retribution to mete out. But nothing would begin until all the players were on the stage.
Becauseonceshestartedshedidn’twanttostop.
She knelt, her pose prayerful as the service ended and the mourners dispersed. A few minutes
passed, then she heard the rasping voice of the cemetery director.
“Loweritinboys.”
Sue pulled the earpiece from her ear before the amplified sound of the crane lowering the
coffin shattered her eardrum. She sighed. This show was now over, and the guest of honor had
never appeared. She stood up, brushed the dirt from her skirt, and set off for her car, only to
slow her pace when a peripheral movement caught her eye.
She stepped behind a large monument and watched as a small car with an Avis sticker pulled
into the access road servicing this part of the cemetery. The car stopped and the driver got out.
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Sue’sheartbegantopound.hundreddifferentthoughtsrushedinatonce.
Finally,
was the
thought that rose to the top of the pile. With difficulty she silenced what would have been a
shout of triumph.
The guest of honor had come after all. Now, retribution could commence. But carefully, and
according to the plan of her making. It would not be today. All the pieces needed to be in place,
the destination carefully chosen.
But now she held all the cards. She was in control.
BeafraidI’mcoming
Chapter One
Wight’sLanding,IsleofWightBay,MarylandWednesday,July28,200A.M.
Ow.
That hurt. It was his first blurry thought as fingers gripped his shoulder and shook. Hard.
That really hurt.
Stop it.
Theshakingcontinuedbuthewouldn’topenhiseyes.Itcouldn’tbemorningyet.Hedrewina
breathsmelledherperfume.Itwasn’tfair.She’dpromisedhimthewholeweekoff.Nolessons.
No flash cards. No stupid word games or speech therapy. Just fun in the sun. Fishing, crabbing.
Riding the waves. Video games all night. Sleeping in as long as he wanted. Yet here she was,
shaking him awake.
Heknewshe’dbreakherpromise.Theyalldidsoonerorlater.He’djustwaitheroutjustlike
he’dwaitedout alltheotherspeechtherapists.Soonerorlaterthey’dleave.Cherylhadstuck
around longer than most. He had to give her credit for that.
He swatted her hand and tried to roll over, but she grabbed him and yanked him up by his T-
shirt. Her hand clamped over his mouth just as his eyes flew open. Just as he took in her face,
white as a ghost in the moonlight, and her dark eyes, wide and scared. Not just scared. Cheryl
was terrified, and in that moment, so was he. He stopped struggling.
“Saynothing.”She mouthed it. He nodded. She let go of his mouth and pulled him from the
bed, shoving the processor in his hand. Normally he fought putting it on, put her off as long as
he could. Now, he slipped it behind his ear without a word.
And flinched as the roaring began.stheprocessor“turnedonhisears”asCherylwouldsay
instantly changing the calm, quiet world of his deafness to a loud painful mess of sound. He
concentrated to ignore it. To hear what he needed to hear in the ocean of noise. Now she
didn’tsay anything, just pulled him across the room, into the closet.
She pushed him in the corner of the closet and to the floor. Crouched down to meet his eyes.
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“Someone’sdownstairs.”Shewhisperedandsigneditatthesametimehernormallysmooth
hands shaking.Herwholebodywasshaking.“Paulwenttocheck.Don’tcomeoutuntilIcome
getyou.”Shegrippedhischin.“Understand?Stayhere.
Say nothing
.”
He nodded and she snapped upright, grabbing the stack of life jackets that his father had stored
on the top shelf of the closet. Then they were covering him, smelly and musty. The door closed
and he was left in the darkness.
He was hiding. Like a coward.
Temperbegantosimmermixinginwiththefear.Hewasn’tacoward.Hewasgoingtobe
thirteen, for God’ssake.She’dshovedhimintheclosetlikealittlekid.Buriedhimunderapile
of smelly life jackets, while
Paul
went to check. Carefully he pushed one of the life jackets far
enough away from his eye to stare at the door, trying to think of what to do.Hewasn’tgoingto
justsitherewhilesomeonebrokeintohishouse.Hecertainlywasn’tgoingtolet
Paul
take all
the credit for chasing them away.
Dim light appeared at the crack under the door and all his courage disappeared. Someone was
in his room. He shrank back into the corner of the closet, his heart beating so loud he thought
he could hear it. The hairs raised on the back of his neck. Painful shudders shook him.
No way. I
have to do something.
A scream cut through the ocean of sound.
Cheryl. I have to help her.
But his body was frozen. Frozen into a useless lump in a closet under a pile of life jackets. He
concentrated, listening. Pushed the roar aside like Cheryl had taught him to do. And listened.
There was nothing. They were gone. He should get up. He should.
Then there was a loud crack of sound, so loud it hurt. His head jerked back, struck the closet
wall, that pain mixing in with the other.
gun.Theyhadagun.Someonehadshotagun.Cheryl.They’dkilledCheryl.
ndthey’dkillhimtoo. Or worse.
Do something. Do something.
What?Hedidn’tknow.Didn’tknowwhattodo.
Dad.
What would his father do?
He felt a sharp pain in his chest. He was too old to cry for his parents, but he wished they were
here.Wishedtheyhadn’tpickedtonighttogointonnapolis.Itwastheiranniversary.They’d
gonedancing.They’dcomebackandfindhimdead.Momwouldcry.
He blinked, realized his own face was wet. He was hiding in a closet, crying like a baby, while
theykilledCheryl.ndhecouldn’tmove.
He flinched at the second shot, quieter this time. Then more screaming.
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She was screaming. Cheryl was still alive. Screaming. The sound stabbed his brain like a million
knives. He could hear it. Feel it. A million knives slashing. Heart pounding, hands trembling, he
yanked the processor from behind his ear.
And it was quiet. The minutes ticked by in his head. Then the closet door opened.
He shrank back into the corner, clenching his eyes shut, his teeth together. Trying not to make a
sound. One life jacket was pulled away. Then another. And another. The musty smell no longer
tickled his nose and he could feel the air on his face.
He made himself open his eyes, felt the whimper stick in his throat. Looked up.
She was tall, taller than Cheryl. Bigger. Her hair was wild.
Her eyes were crazy. White.
She has white eyes.
Her mouth was smiling, an evil smile that made him want to scream.
Buthedidn’t.Becausehershirtwassplatteredwithbloodandinherhandshe was holding a
gun and it was pointed at him.
Eastern West Virginia, Thursday, July 29,
3:30 A.M.
Theshrillringingofhercellphonewokehereasily.Shewasalightsleeper.Shehadn’talways
been, but prison had a way of changing little things like that.Eventhoughshe’dbeenoutforsix
monthsnowitwasoneofthechangesthatstuck.Eventhoughshe’dbeenoutforsixmonths
now, prison was still the first thing she thought of when she woke.
For that alone, there would be retribution.
Only her brotherBryceknewhercellnumberstillshecautiouslyanswered“Yeah?”
“It’sme.”
She sat up, cursing the stiffness in her back. Sleeping in the backseat of a small car was far from
idealbutshe’dcertainlysleptinworseplaces.“They’rehome?”Hermouth curved and her
heart began to beat a little faster. The Vaughns had come home. Found the wrecked house. The
emptybed.Thenotepinnedtothepillow.Thegiftwaitingforthemintheshed.They’dbe
terrified.They’dcry.They’dbepowerless.
Powerless.
Itwasn’tnearlyenoughbutitwasadamngoodstart.
“I’mn-not r-really sh-sure.”Brycestammereditoutfearlacingeverystutteredsyllable.
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