Don't Make a Sound: A Sawyer Brooks Thriller

by T. R. Ragan

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Except for a gauzy stream of moonlight coming through the window, the room was dark. He lay in bed and wondered why he’d fought the urge to kill again for so long. Last night had blown him away.

  Exhilarating.

  He closed his eyes to relive the moment. There hadn’t been any blood. Maybe a few scratches on her tender skin caused by the sharp bits of bark covering the tree. It was her face, her expression, the way her shiny, long hair stuck to the trunk of the tree, spread out like a fan around her face. The picture she made had been visually striking, intense, and unnerving all at once.

  She had tried to fight him off, but once he had her restrained beneath the ropes, she’d grown quiet.

  She was so beautiful.

  He hadn’t been able to resist her. It wasn’t until he rested his mouth on hers that she started protesting again. That’s when he realized how much he liked it when her brow furrowed and her nostrils flared. He also liked her body wriggling against his chest when he pressed his body on hers.

  He inhaled, did his best to calm his racing heart.

  Last night had been nothing like the others. He’d snuck up behind both girls and swung the hammer fast and swift, crushing their skulls. So much blood. So fleeting and anticlimactic. Both times he’d felt nothing!

  But that was then, and this was now.

  He was calling the shots and making his own decisions.

  A giggle escaped him. He clapped his hand over his mouth.

  Killing the girl had been more than pleasing. Maybe because she had never, at least that he knew of, made fun of him or teased him like the other girls had.

  “Isabella,” he said aloud, feeling each consonant on the tip of his tongue.

  When he’d finished touching and playing around with her, he’d wrapped his hands around her neck. The last thing he’d expected was to enjoy listening to her beg for her life. But that’s exactly what had happened. Listening to the unsteady shrill of her voice while watching her fear bloom—slowly at first, like a seedling sprouting from the ground, and then shifting suddenly to full-blown horror—that’s when he was brought to the very peak of sexual excitement.

  A first for him.

  He’d killed chickens and other animals to get off, but that was nothing compared to what he’d experienced less than twenty-four hours ago.

  He smiled into the darkness.

  Killing the girl had given him wings. He was taking flight; he could feel it, the lightness within and the breathlessness as joyful tears came to his eyes.

  He would kill again. How could he not?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  There was a knock at Aria’s one-bedroom garage studio before the door swung open. She shut her laptop and stood, surprised to see Harper arrive with a pet carrier. She hurriedly scooped Mr. Baguette, her cockatiel, off her shoulder and put him in his cage before crossing the room to shut the door. “What’s going on? Where did you get that carrier?”

  “I went to the store. No way was I going to let Raccoon get his claws into me.” Harper set it on the floor.

  Aria made a face. “Raccoon?”

  “Sawyer named him. Not me.”

  “Why can’t he stay with you? You guys have a lot more room than I do. And Mr. Baguette won’t be able to wander around outside of his cage.”

  “Nate is allergic. You should have seen his eyes this morning. They’re puffy. He’s practically blind, and his nose was red and super dry.”

  Aria knelt down to take a look at Raccoon. “I’ll have to talk to Sawyer about this and see what she plans to do with him.”

  Aria loved animals. She’d been fostering dogs and cats and birds for years. She’d even taken in a pig for a few days, and a parrot. Mr. Baguette was one of the few foster animals she’d gone on to adopt. She was happy for the animals when they were adopted, but she always cried too when it came time to say goodbye.

  The cat hissed at her when she put her hand on the side of the carrier. “You are a feisty raccoon, aren’t you?”

  Harper was in the kitchen, a super compact area that had everything most kitchens possessed. Nate had built it within an alcove at the far corner of the studio. Harper was opening and closing drawers.

  “What are you doing?” Aria asked.

  “Looking for latex gloves. This place is a mess.”

  “It’s my mess. Leave it alone.”

  Harper’s gaze was fixated on something Aria couldn’t see. “Why do you have a gun sitting out in the open? What if Lennon or Ella had come over?”

  “I had an early shooting practice, and I was going to clean it. It’s not loaded, and I knew Ella would be at camp for a week and Lennon is with his dad.”

  Despite telling Harper to leave her mess alone, her sister was still piddling around in her kitchen, which was set off from the rest of the living space by a countertop and two high stools.

  Aria sat down on one of the stools and watched her sister clean the dishes. She was used to it. She’d learned to keep her mouth shut when her sister went on one of her cleaning frenzies. But it wasn’t easy, having a conversation while she scrubbed, her face and body tense. Harper’s kids and husband had also learned to move around her as they went about their daily lives.

  Aria loved her sister more than anything, but she worried about Harper. Once, she’d found Harper in her bedroom with all the curtains pulled shut, simply sitting in the dark, doing nothing. Those moments worried Aria the most.

  When Harper finished with the dishes, she mixed vinegar with dish soap and then put the bristle end of a long-handled dish brush into the solution and swirled it around. “Leave the brush for about an hour and it’ll be good as new.”

  “Great.”

  Harper peered into Aria’s eyes. “You can talk to me, you know, if you ever need to get something off your chest.”

  Aria sighed. “Thanks, but no thanks.” Harper was always wondering why she didn’t go on dates or have many friends. Her issues with people were all connected to Uncle Theo and dozens of other shadowy faces, but she knew better than to tell that to Harper. Aria slid off the stool and went to Mr. Baguette’s cage. The cockatiel began to whistle the theme from Star Wars.

  “He’s gotten that tune down,” Harper said. She pointed at Aria’s sleeve. “Looks like he pooped on you again.”

  Aria grabbed the tissue she kept tucked under her belt and cleaned it off.

  “Have you talked to Sawyer since she left?” Harper asked.

  “We’ve been playing phone tag for two days,” Aria said. “She left a message, though, letting me know she was fine and planned to stay for a few more days.”

  “I still can’t believe she would go anywhere near that place.”

  “I can.”

  Harper arched a brow.

  “Sawyer’s not like us,” Aria said. “She might experience anxiety at times, but she’s strong. She faces her fears head-on.”

  The truth was, Sawyer’s return to River Rock had stirred up all kinds of shit from Aria’s past. She had hardly slept last night. Anytime an image of a man from the past crept into her brain, she’d jumped out of bed, covered her ears, and started humming and jogging in place.

  Maybe Raccoon would be the distraction she needed.

  “I think Sawyer is too fearless,” Harper said. “It’s as if she’s trying to prove to herself or maybe to us. She jumps into things too quickly, like moving in with Connor, a man she hardly knew. Never mind her new job as a crime reporter. Now she’s back in River Rock. It’s like she’s drawn to death and destruction like a moth is attracted to flame.” Harper shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s lost all sense of self-preservation.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sawyer’s hands were full. She was carrying a bucket filled with cleansers, a mop, broom, dustpan, and a box of garbage bags.

  “What are you doing?” her mom asked.

  “I’ve had a change of plans. I need to stay in River Rock for a few more days, so I though
t I’d move into Gramma’s cottage if that’s okay with you and Dad.”

  “It’s dirty, cluttered.”

  “That’s why I’m going to clean it.” Sawyer used her chin to gesture at the doorknob. “Can you get the door for me?”

  “I thought you were leaving after the weekend?”

  Sawyer set everything on the floor. “I talked to my boss, and he’s agreed to let me stay and cover the Estrada murder.”

  Mom’s stony expression gave away her disappointment. “I don’t understand you.”

  “You’ve never tried to get to know me. How could you possibly understand me?”

  “Right there,” Mom said. “The way you talk to me. All three of you were always disrespectful, running around like wild animals.”

  “You were never here. How would you know what we were doing?”

  “I don’t appreciate your tone.”

  “What don’t you like exactly? That I’m being straightforward, or that I’m speaking the truth when I remind you that you and Dad weren’t always there when we needed you? That you left a sexual predator to look after us.”

  The upper half of her mom’s body sagged. “It’s been years since you left, and yet that’s all you focus on.”

  “If I’m hurting inside, shouldn’t you—my mother—be hurting too? I’ve had a chance to watch Harper with Lennon and Ella, your grandchildren. She’s an amazing mom, always there for them.”

  “I suppose she spoils them,” Mom said with a shake of the head. “Parents give their children everything these days. Harper’s children will never understand that life can be difficult and that you don’t always get what you want.”

  Wow. Better to be neglected and abused than lathered with love. Sawyer wondered why she bothered. Her mother had never listened to her. Mom wore blinders. She’d always been married to her views. She was always right, unable or unwilling to bend. “Why didn’t you believe me when I told you what Uncle Theo had done?”

  “I never said I didn’t believe you.”

  The truth had never felt so heavy, like a brick settling inside Sawyer’s stomach, weighing her down. “So why would you allow him into this house?”

  “He’s your father’s brother. He’s family. He’s done his time.”

  Chills ran through Sawyer’s body. Harper had been right—Mom had known.

  More than anything, Sawyer felt the urge to pack up and leave River Rock for good. Never look back. But she had a job to do, and her mom wasn’t the only stubborn one standing in the room. Sawyer wasn’t going to leave River Rock and mess with her career because of a woman who never gave two shits. She used her shoulder to give the door a push to get it to open. She scooped up the cleaning supplies, turned toward her mom, and said, “You never once told me you loved me.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s the truth.” Sawyer stepped outside, didn’t bother shutting the door before walking toward the cottage.

  Sawyer dropped everything once she got to the cottage door. Her hands shook as she slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. Breathe.

  She used to constantly make up stories in her head, telling herself her mom was human, and like most parents, she’d simply made mistakes. But that wasn’t true. Mom had known what Uncle Theo had done, and she’d done nothing about it. She’d never reached out to offer emotional support, never held Sawyer in her arms or offered a kind or sympathetic word. Their relationship had always been fraught with tension.

  Suddenly she understood why Harper had cut Mom out of her life. It had been the only way to preserve her sanity and save herself.

  Sawyer’s anger at Harper for leaving her behind had blinded her to her parents’ faults. Determined to punish Harper, she’d thrown her parents in Harper’s face, making them out to be good, decent people, which was far from the truth.

  Standing beneath the doorframe, Sawyer’s shoulders fell as she looked inside the cottage. The place was a wreck. She was a wreck.

  The windows were dirty, and there were cobwebs in every corner of the room. The wastebasket was filled to the brim with used tissues and trash. Had Gramma been living in this filth?

  There were no blankets on the bed. Just as Dad had said, the mattress was stained. Sawyer was no Harper when it came to cleanliness, but this was simply more abuse at the hands of her parents.

  The floors creaked beneath the weight of her feet when she stepped inside. Holding her breath, she crossed the room and opened the window to get some air flowing through. A spider dropped onto the windowsill. She gasped. Its body was thick and round, and it crawled down the wall and skittered under the bed before she could try to capture it and put it outside.

  Hands on hips, she looked around the room. Where to start? She didn’t have a lot of time. She needed to get the place cleaned up and take a ride to town. She had a lot to get done in a minimal amount of time. Her phone buzzed. It was Aria. Damn. She’d forgotten to tell her she wasn’t coming home. She picked up the call, said hello.

  “Where are you?” Aria asked.

  “I’m inside Gramma’s cottage.” She glanced at the bed and imagined Gramma Sally propped against pillows, warm beneath her quilt, telling one story or another in hopes of making Sawyer smile. She wondered where all Gramma’s knickknacks and books had been taken.

  “You’re still in River Rock?” Aria asked.

  “I meant to call earlier. I didn’t want to say anything the other night, but I’m going to do a write-up about River Rock and the unsolved murders.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because somebody needs to dig a little deeper. Somebody needs to remember those girls.”

  “Well, that shouldn’t take long, right?”

  Silence.

  “What’s going on?” Aria asked.

  There was no way to soften the truth, so she blurted it all out, quick and to the point. “There’s been another murder—a young girl—and my boss wants me to stay to cover the story.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Harper is not going to like this one bit. Can’t they send somebody else to do the story?”

  “Harper is not my guardian. And no, they can’t send anyone else. I know this town inside and out, and that alone makes me the right person for the job.”

  A long pause. “You know I—we—only want the best for you.”

  “I get it,” Sawyer said. She wanted to tell Aria everything . . . that Aria and Harper had been right and she never should have come to River Rock in the first place. Gramma was gone forever, and coming here wouldn’t bring her back. She wanted to tell Aria how seeing Uncle Theo had been a jolt to her system. But she also wanted to stay in River Rock and prove to herself and to Sean Palmer that she had what it took to be a damn good reporter. “I’m fine,” Sawyer said, as if to convince herself more than her sister.

  “So how old was the victim this time?” Aria asked.

  “Sixteen.”

  Aria said nothing. She didn’t need to. She was thinking of the other girls—the unsolved murders.

  “Did you know the other victims?” Sawyer asked. “Peggy and Avery?”

  “Not the first girl . . . but when Avery James was killed, I was freaked out. Avery was in the class ahead of mine. We were all scared,” Aria said. “The teachers watched us like hawks. Every day they reminded us to walk home in pairs. I was fourteen at the time, and I can still remember everyone in River Rock looking at each other as if they were a possible suspect.” She paused. “Of course, Mom and Dad never seemed too affected by it all. With all the tourists coming in to pan for gold at the time, it was easy to blame the murder on some nebulous stranger. But it never made sense to me.”

  “What didn’t make sense?” Sawyer asked.

  “If it was a stranger, you know, an out-of-towner, why would the killer return to the same place to kill again? Wouldn’t he go to Shasta or Yreka or some other town close by?”

  Sawyer said nothing
.

  Aria asked, “Do you know if the newest victim had a chunk of her hair cut off?”

  Sawyer already knew the answer, but she pulled up the digital pictures she’d taken yesterday, zoomed in to look at the missing clump of hair above Isabella’s right brow. “Yes. She did.”

  “Don’t you think there’s a good chance it’s the same killer?”

  “It could be a copycat.”

  “The first girl was found in 1996. If this is the same guy, why would he come back to River Rock to kill again after all this time?”

  “That’s what I need to find out.”

  “It’s not your job to solve the crime, Sawyer. If you go around asking too many questions, you could put yourself in danger.”

  “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “You can’t make promises like that. Besides, I thought you were working on a murder case in Sacramento.”

  “I am—I was. They have a whole team of people working that case. In fact, the police already have their eyes on someone they think might have killed the girl.”

  “That was fast.”

  “Yeah,” Sawyer said wistfully. “I do wish I could talk to the guy.”

  “The killer?”

  “Innocent until proven guilty,” Sawyer reminded her.

  “Why would you want to talk to him?”

  “I don’t know. It’s the weirdest thing. The morning after the murder, I was called in to take pictures of the crime scene, and I saw him sitting in his truck, crying. It didn’t look like remorse to me. It looked like a man who had lost someone he loved.”

  “Maybe he killed her in the heat of the moment and regretted what he did,” Aria said. “If you could have talked to him, though, what would you have talked to him about?”

  “Are you kidding me? Everything. Why was he sitting in the parking lot, crying? What the hell happened? Where was he when Kylie was strangled to death? The list goes on.”

  “You are passionate about what you do, aren’t you?”

  “I guess I am.”

  There was another pause before Aria said, “You need to call me.”

  “I’m talking to you right now.”