by Vella Day
Most likely the dispatcher told her to stay on the line, but she knew that wouldn’t do any good. She couldn’t respond to any instruction.
It was time to plan.
Lara disconnected and searched her room. Neighborhood lights from the homes behind her streamed in through the opened bedroom drapes. After double-checking she’d secured the window lock, she drew the drapes closed. Should she crawl out the window to escape the madman or stay put?
Part of her screamed she should escape. The more sensible half questioned where she could go on a gimpy foot. A sickly old woman lived to her right, and the neighbor to the left was on vacation this week. She didn’t dare cross the street and pound on doors at three in the morning. The intruder would nab her for sure.
The floor moved. Or had it? Her heart jumped up to her throat. Were those vibrations coming toward her or away from her? Had the person heard her on the phone and was finally about to make contact?
The wooden bedroom door would bow if he tried to break it down. Then, and only then, would she slip outside.
In case she needed a fast escape, she threw on her socks and running shoes, but as she did so, pain raced up her calf from the tugging. She might not be able to run, but she could hop.
As she yanked on a pair of stretch pants under her nightgown, she kept watch on the door. Why wasn’t he coming into her room? Had he broken in only to leave the note and was now gone?
Had Bernie decided he wanted to make a statement of his sick affection? After all, he was the only one who called her Princess. It had to be him.
Her chest constricted, preventing her from drawing in a deep breath. Get a grip.
Trevor! Even though 9-1-1 was hopefully on the way, she wanted to call him. He’d given her his business card, and she’d used it as her bookmark.
Without her powered implant, she wouldn’t be able to hear him either when he answered. Damn. He wouldn’t have any fancy GPS equipment like 9-1-1 did. She could text him, but would he wake when the beep sounded on his end? Better question, at three a.m., would he hear the phone ring at all? If he did, would he even bother to answer it if he wasn’t on call?
Aw, hell. She had nothing to lose. With shaky fingers, she dialed his number not having any idea if the phone was still ringing or if he’d already answered.
“Trevor, it’s Lara. I can’t hear you. Someone broke into my house. Can you come over? Now?” Please let him hear me. She carefully stated her address and gave him directions to her house.
The more she repeated the refrain, the more she wanted to vomit. “Trevor, if you can hear me, please come. I’ve called 9-1-1, but I’m afraid.” The words stuck in her throat.
After what seemed like an eternity, she hung up. As an extra precaution, she texted him directions to her house. He had to come.
She set the phone down and sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, searching her mind for something to use as a club. Somehow, a knife seemed too limiting.
Uh, oh.
When the police came, how would they be able to enter if she remained in her room? Breaking down her front door would be their only option.
Whoever had left the note could have harmed her while she was asleep, only he hadn’t. If robbery had been his motive, he would have taken whatever he wanted and left by now.
She inhaled, and with a death grip on the knife, unlocked her bedroom door and peeked out. There were no shadows and no vibrations from pounding feet.
One step at a time, she edged across the hallway, through the dining room and into the living room, checking right and left. She couldn’t smell the intruder, which gave her hope he’d gone. If Bernie had been the culprit, she would have detected his scent. He smelled of body odor. Yellow, body odor, if such a thing even had a color.
Her gaze shot to the windows. Tree branches banged against the wet glass from the relentless storm. Adrenaline pumping, she moved back to the kitchen where she had access to the door leading to the garage. Should she chance leaving by car? The intruder could be outside waiting. He might follow behind and run her off the road. Besides, what would the cops do if they arrived and she wasn’t there?
Decision made. Inside with the lights on was safer than being outside where the intruder could be setting a trap.
Her gaze flicked repeatedly to the kitchen window overlooking the street. Where were the police? They must have received the call. Surely, they understood the need to hurry.
To minimize her exposure from anyone seeing inside, she flipped close the blinds over the sink, turned off all but the kitchen light and remained motionless by the garage door. Being in the open gave her more options for escape.
Butch. Where was her beloved cat? She surveyed the kitchen and parts of the living room from where she stood. If the intruder had harmed her precious kitty, she’d have to kill the bastard herself. Lara tightened her grip on the knife and waited.
5
Trevor slapped the siren on top of his car and let it wail, more to make himself feel better than to pressure other cars to move out of the way. At this hour, he’d passed only one car going in the opposite direction.
He refused to end up in the same situation as in New York.
You fuck with me and I’ll fuck with your fiancée. The gravelly voice from the past bore into his brain—William Alfredo’s voice, mob boss from New Jersey. Trevor swore the man was bluffing. Only he hadn’t been. The bastard had run Claire off the road. Her frightened words still echoed in his head. She was weak, pleading, and hurt. Before he or the paramedics could reach her, she’d bled out. If only he’d been able to read between the lines when interrogating Alfredo’s number two man, Claire might be alive today. Never again would he let some sick bastard hurt anyone he cared for.
A clap of thunder lit up the sky and drew his attention back to the road as the driving rain nearly obscured his windshield. He pressed the accelerator harder and cruised through red lights as if they didn’t exist. Lara’s frightened voice still rang in his ears. Her panicked cry gave him a punch in the gut. Each time she repeated her name and address, her voice rose. He’d shouted into the phone despite knowing she wouldn’t hear a thing.
Hurry. Lara needed him. She wouldn’t end up like Claire. That was a promise he wouldn’t break.
Wait a minute. When had Lara’s well being become so important to him? Was he transferring his grief from Claire to her? The two weren’t anything alike. Maybe it was because Lara lived in silence that drew him to her. He didn’t pity her—not even close. In fact, he respected her a lot. Living alone in a silent world much of the time would be sheer terror. True, she’d adapted well but with what scars? The way she always played with her hair to hide her implant proved she wasn’t comfortable in her skin. Someone had done a real number on her self-confidence about being hearing impaired.
He ran his hand along the top of the wheel trying to imagine what it would be like to hear nothing. Fear shut down his musing. He loved noise and couldn’t function without it. With five siblings and a loud parrot, not to mention his motorcycle that never had a muffler, he grew up with constant chatter, banter, and enough explosions to make firework technicians envious.
Focus. She’d called close to ten minutes ago. No telling what had happened in that time. He glanced at the GPS and turned right down a main thoroughfare. He had to lean over the wheel and squint to see through the pummeling squall. As he reached her street, he took the corner so fast his two right side wheels lifted up, causing the car to hydroplane a few feet. Shit. Slow down. He wouldn’t do her any good if he crashed.
Good thing Lara didn’t live at the end of a maze of streets, or he might not have found her place so fast, GPS or not. He cut the siren and slowed as he neared her address, praying he wasn’t too late. The porch lamp reflected off the large, gold street numbers, and the lights glowed in one room, making her house easy to find on the dark street.
He parked in front, killed the ignition, and surveyed the large home with the wrap-around porch. No one was ou
tside banging on her door trying to get in. Good. Ignoring the deluge, he leapt over shrubs to gain access to the living room window and peered in. She stood frozen in the kitchen with a knife dangling by her side. Jaw clenched, eyes wide, she didn’t even glance his way.
He scanned the elegant living room, stately dining room, and when he ran his gaze back to the open kitchen and detected no intruder, he let out a breath.
She raised her face toward the kitchen overhead light. Crap. Was that blood on her cheek and chin? A bandage covered her forehead. A vision of assault sent him into overdrive. He vaulted back over the hedge, took the steps to the porch two at a time and tried the knob. Surprised she hadn’t locked the door, he charged in. Her eyes widened as he took in the rest of the room, gun drawn.
Lara stepped from behind the counter and threw herself in his arms. “You came!”
Her body trembled against his chest. He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to say, but her warmth and sweet scent made his pulse race. With his left hand, he eased her away from him and stepped back to face her. “Stay here. I have to check the rest of the house.” He didn’t want to run into the intruder with Lara in tow. She wasn’t wearing her battery pack, so he stared straight at her and struggled to enunciate his words in his hurry to ensure her safety. “Put the knife back.”
Hadn’t she realized if an intruder had attacked her, the man could have wrestled the knife from her and used it against her? Thankfully, she placed the weapon in the drawer without arguing.
“Hurry,” she said.
He first checked the garage since that would be the most likely place to hide. Except for her Mercedes, some boxes and a table full of tools, the neat three-car garage held no hiding place. He returned inside and held up his finger. “I’ll be right back.”
Weapon poised, he headed toward the hallway off the living room and turned on every wall switch. Three doors on each side lined the hallway. He flipped on the light in the first room. It was an office—a very neat one. After searching both closets, nothing appeared out of place. He stepped back into the hall and ran into Lara. Her sweet face made him suck in a breath.
“I thought I asked—”
She grabbed his arm. “I didn’t want to be alone.” Her haunted face nearly ripped his heart in half.
Thank goodness she could read lips. “Okay, but stay close behind me.” He pulled a clean handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbed blood from her face. “Here. Hold this against your cheek. It’s oozing.”
A brief smile flitted across her lips. “Yes, Doctor.” She pressed the cloth against her skin and color returned to her cheeks.
“What happened?”
“I went jogging and fell.”
Relieved the intruder hadn’t caused the harm, his pulse slowed. “Are you okay? Despite the obvious scrapes.”
“Yes.”
He’d make sure she tended to her injuries later. “As we walk through each room, tell me if anything is missing.”
Lara nodded.
As he methodically checked the rest of the house, he held her hand to make sure she didn’t trip. One of the rooms was actually a library, complete with leather chairs and a ladder against one wall of shelves. Considering she hadn’t been in the workforce very long, he hadn’t expected her to own a place so nice, nor have furniture that probably cost more than he made in a year. He was lucky if his folks bought a new chair every five years. He figured her family must have money.
“Nothing seems to be disturbed, so how do you know there was an intruder? Did you see him?”
“No, but he left a note.”
“A note? Where is it?” He’d been so focused on clearing the scene he hadn’t asked how she knew someone had entered her house.
She led him to the dining room table and pushed what looked like a card toward him.
He slipped on his latex gloves and read the note several times. “I don’t like any part of this, especially the reference to needing you alive.” The implication being that at some point the note writer expected her to die. “I’ve got to call for help. If they dust for prints, we might learn the identity of the intruder.”
She sniffled and shivered. “I thought I told you I called 9-1-1.”
“You probably did.” In his worry about her, he’d forgotten that part of her message.
The lights from the dining room backlit her see-through nightgown she’d tucked into sweat pants. “Why don’t you slip into something more comfortable? You don’t want to catch a cold. And put on your hearing aids for when the responders arrive.”
She stared at him for a moment as if he’d mumbled or spoken too fast. “The batteries are charging.” Her gaze shot to the ground. “I forgot to plug them in.”
“That’s okay.” He pulled out his phone and made the call to the department. While he waited for the staff to patch him through to the CSU techs, he covered the mouthpiece. “Go change.”
Only after he shot a glance at her chest did her face turn a pretty shade of pink. She wrapped her hands over her breasts and averted her gaze.
Sirens sounded outside, signaling the response to her emergency call. What did that say about their response time if he beat them? He stepped over to her and lifted her chin. “The police are here.”
“Oh.” Lara gimped back to her bedroom.
A loud knock sounded and Trevor answered the door. “Max?” He’d met him at a class they’d attended in downtown a few months ago. “Come in.”
The other officer, Thomas Diego, didn’t look old enough to have graduated from high school.
Max raised a brow, clearly annoyed he’d come all this way for nothing. “What are you doing here?”
“Lara wasn’t sure if the 9-1-1 call went through, so she called me.”
Max pulled out a pad. “What happened?”
Trevor showed him the note. “Nothing was taken and there was no evidence of a break-in.”
Max slipped the evidence into a paper bag. “We’ll send it off to our lab.”
Standard procedure required them to bring the evidence to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement Lab, which could take weeks or months to process. “The sheriff’s department can handle this. We have a case in which eight Native Americans are missing and this note refers to Lara as Native American.”
“Be my guest.” Max handed him back the evidence. “Is Lara Romano here? You know the rules. She was the one to call so we need to speak with her.”
“I’ll get her, but in case you weren’t told, she’s deaf. Unfortunately, her implant batteries are charging, but she does read lips if you speak slow enough and face her.”
Max speared Diego a look that said it all. Trevor wanted to explain that Lara was more competent than most hearing people, but he’d only be wasting his breath on these two.
He was half way down the hall when Lara stepped out of the bedroom dressed in a pair of jeans and an oversized flannel shirt. Much better.
With his help, Max took Lara’s statement, and Trevor assured them the intruder had gone.
“We’ll do a perimeter sweep to make sure,” Max said.
“Go for it.”
After she signed a report saying nothing had been stolen, the two cops left.
As Lara took a step toward the kitchen, she winced.
Trevor rushed next to her and gently turned her around. “Your ankle hurts?”
“That and my throbbing thigh.” She brushed away his helping hand. “I’m fine.” Her hands shook. “Do you want some coffee? I do.”
“Sure.” He wanted her calm before he questioned her again for details.
As she prepared the java, a low mewing came from behind the door to the garage.
“Is it okay to let the cat in?” She’d mentioned she had a pet, but he didn’t know if the cat lived inside or out. Ethan had bad allergies to all furry animals, so the family bought a bird.
With her back to him, she didn’t respond. Trevor moved to her side so as not to startle her. He repeated the question
to her face about the cat.
“You found Butch?”
Butch? He guessed that name fit. “Yes.” He pointed to the garage door. He hadn’t seen the animal when he’d looked before, but cats were notorious for hiding.
Lara limped toward the door and tugged hard on the knob to open it. The cat shot inside and wrapped itself around her legs. She picked him up and practically smothered the poor animal. “I was afraid that mean intruder had killed you,” she said into the cat’s back.
The bell on the microwave dinged, and he removed both mugs. Lara set the cat down, dragged a bowl from the cupboard and filled the dish with milk.
With the cat seemingly happy, she fixed them their hot coffee.
“Tell me what happened, step by step.” He pried one of the steaming cups from her fingers. The rich coffee aroma gave him a much-needed wake up jolt.
He followed her to the kitchen bar where she set down her drink. “I’ll be right back.”
He was tempted to go with her, but he’d cleared the house. If the intruder had tried to jimmy a bedroom window, he would have heard. She returned a minute later and pointed to her hip battery pack. “I can hear you now, but the charge will only last a few hours.”
Relieved he could speak normally, he motioned she sit down. “So tell me about this intruder.”
She didn’t move, leaning heavily on one leg. “I already told those two officers everything I know.”
“Sometimes going over it again helps you remember. Small details can be important.” He slid onto the chair.
She took a long sip of her drink. “I went out running around seven and a car hit me.”
His body jerked. “You what? You said you tripped.”
“I did, but I landed in the road. As I was moving out of the way, a car drove by and clipped my hip.”
He slammed the cup on the counter and hot liquid sloshed on his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or mention the accident to the two officers? Didn’t you think it important?” Any sensible woman would have included a near fatal experience when telling her story. The heat from the liquid finally registered, and he wiped his hand on his jeans.
