She Can Scream

by Melinda Leigh

  “Still keeping up with those self-defense classes you teach, though?” Wade wanted the same thing as everyone else in her life, for her to move on.

  “That’s only two hours a week.”

  “Time isn’t really what you sacrifice.” Wade put a hand on her shoulder. “I appreciate that you want to give back, Brooke, but you should give yourself a break. What happened to Karen wasn’t your fault.”

  Brooke wished he was right, but Wade didn’t know the whole story. Other than Brooke, only two people knew everything that happened that night. One was in prison, and the other was dead.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Boom.

  The force of the blast threw Luke to the floor face-first. Glass shattered. Smoke and falling dust filled the air. The echo of his heartbeat muffled sounds with an underwater effect, as if his head had sunken to the bottom of a muddy lake. Through the auditory haze, fire roared. People screamed.

  An explosion. He needed to get out of here. Sherry. Where was Sherry?

  He lifted his head a scant inch, but the pain that ricocheted through it blackened the edges of his vision. He inhaled, and the salty, coppery taste of blood ran down the back of his throat. He touched his nose, and his hand came away wet and red. He looked beyond his hand. There was blood everywhere. A lake of it spread toward him across the commercial carpet. Way too much to come from his nose. Just way too much.

  Seeking the source, he lifted his head, slowly this time. His eyes drifted right. The horror made him want to squeeze them closed. But he couldn’t.

  His assistant, Sherry, was crumpled on her side. Blood splattered her skin and soaked her clothing. A gash in the side of her neck gaped. One arm stretched across the floor. Her fingers twitched. Luke grabbed hold. Her weak squeeze drenched him in terror. Crack. The world shifted. Debris rained down on him. Survival instinct kicked in, and his free hand covered his head. A heavy object landed on his back, the impact shooting the air from his lungs.

  Yet his eyes were still locked on Sherry’s face. Her body didn’t move, but her eyes pleaded.

  He was almost grateful for the pain that burned through the concussion and overshadowed everything. Agony seared a path across his back. He rolled, bumping up against something unforgiving.

  The impact jolted Luke awake.

  Breathing hard, he took stock. Rag rug under him. Bed to his left. The dresser he’d just slammed into on his right. The steady tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. His grandmother’s house. Not a burning high-rise in Manila.

  Disappointment floored him nearly as much as the nightmare. After three months of intensive therapy, he thought he’d kicked the late-night creep show.

  He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Four o’clock was too early for breakfast. He sat up and waited for his heart rate to slow, his breathing to ease. Didn’t happen. His body was convinced a full-flight response was warranted.

  He had a choice. Crawl under the bed and hide or get moving. Option number one looked damned appealing, but he’d have to come out sooner or later.

  Time to get his ass in gear then.

  He dressed in sweats and a hoodie, laced up his running shoes, and headed out into the darkness. He gave his eyes a few minutes to adjust, then jogged down the brick walk, the chill stinging his face and his lungs like pinpricks, his breath puffing out in front of him. The best cure for the need for flight was to give his body exactly what it wanted, a hard run.

  His feet hit the road. His stride lengthened. On either side of him, the warm ground and cold night combined into a floating mist that drifted like smoke. He passed a meadow and the neighboring farm, with its burned-out shell of a barn. Arson, Gran had said. Not even the idyllic community of Westbury could escape violence. The smell of charred wood drove him forward. Luke ran harder, adrenaline-charged muscles eager for action. In New York, he couldn’t outrun the dream. The scents of diesel exhaust and burnt rubber followed him everywhere, reminding him of smoke and fire.

  And death.

  But here it was different. He put some distance between him and the rubble. Gradually, the sky lightened. The smell of damp grass and wet earth cleansed his nose. His pace and heart rate steadied. He pulled up suddenly. The old farmhouse rose in front of him, its solid bulk jutting into the predawn sky.

  Not only had he run away from his past, he’d run all the way to Brooke’s house.

  His psychiatrist would have a party with this one.

  But last night, the vulnerability in her eyes had shaken him and given him the disconcerting urge to camp out in front of her house with a weapon. The impulse was primal and disturbed him nearly as much as his promise to protect her.

  The windows were dark. Nothing moved inside or out. Was she awake? How badly did she hurt this morning? Had nightmares ripped her from her sleep during the night?

  Sweat dripped into his eye. He wiped it away and turned his feet around. Brooke’s house was about four miles from his grandmother’s place. He had a long run back. Gran was an early riser. She’d have breakfast on the table for him before six. No sleeping the day away in her house.

  With the panic burned off, he eased his pace on the return run, enjoying the countryside. A stretch through the woods filled his nose with the scent of pine. He passed cows and sheep. A small herd of deer dotted an open meadow. Heads snapped up from the deep grass. With a flip of their white tails, the animals bounded away as he jogged by.

  By the time he turned into his grandmother’s driveway, he was covered in healthy sweat and more relaxed than he’d been in months, maybe even years. A light in the kitchen window told him Gran was up. He jogged up the porch steps and left his wet running shoes on the mat just inside the door. “Lucas?” His grandmother’s call was punctuated by a cough.

  He followed her voice back to the kitchen. Her head of precise gray curls barely came to his chest. He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

  She held up a hand and blocked him. “You’re going to catch my cold.”

  “Never. Living with eight million people is good for the immune system.” Was it his imagination or was her papery skin paler than it had been yesterday? “You’re up early.”

  “Couldn’t sleep. No sense wasting the day.” She cracked an egg into the same chipped porcelain bowl she’d been using for thirty years. Her nose wrinkled. “Go shower. Pancakes and bacon in twenty.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The shower was stocked with a bottle of generic shampoo and a bar of Ivory soap. Letting the hot water sooth his tired muscles, Luke raised the white block to his nose. The familiar scent filled him with warmth. He’d had a New York address for years, but Gran’s house was the place that always felt like home. Though he’d only lived here for his high school years—after his parents had been killed in a car accident—they had been long years full of grief and turmoil and, ultimately, healing from his parents’ shocking deaths.

  Could this old house work its magic one more time? Probably not in a week.

  Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he went back downstairs. The scent of frying bacon wafted down the hall. His stomach rumbled. He went back to the kitchen. As usual, the table was loaded with his favorites. He slid into a ladder-back chair.

  Gran set a mug of coffee on the scarred table. “Eat. You have some weight to put back on.”

  “Yes, ma’am. This looks great.” He filled his plate, the run establishing an appetite despite his rude awakening. Gran sat opposite him. One slice of bacon and a single pancake sat on her plate, but she didn’t touch her food. “Are you all right?”

  She cleared her throat and waved off his concern. “I’m fine. Takes more than a cold to keep me down.”

  She sipped her coffee, picked at her food, and let him eat in comfortable silence. After he pushed his plate back, Gran cleared the table. “Weren’t you with Wade Peterson last night?”

  “Yes, I was helping him get ready to ship out.”

  “Shame what happened to his sister.”

  “How
did you hear about that?” Silly him. His grandmother knew everything and everyone in town. Since retiring from a long career as an elementary school teacher, she’d turned her attention to community service and raising money for local charities. Gossip was her fuel, guilt her weapon of choice, and figurative arm-twisting her superpower. At seventy, Gran could crack wallets like walnuts.

  Gran set his dishes in the sink. “My friend Nancy called me. She’s the secretary to the police chief here in town. Did you see Brooke last night?”

  “Yes.” He’d come in late. Gran had already been in bed. But he still suspected she already knew he’d picked Brooke up from the hospital.

  “How was she?”

  “Banged up her knee, but otherwise she seemed fine.”

  “Good. I hear she’s quite the hero.”

  “She is.” A picture of Brooke, with her stubborn and scraped chin lifted in determination, filled Luke’s head. Emotions shifted in his chest, like they were making room. Brooke had saved a young woman’s life. That was more than he’d been able to do.

  The vision intruded. Smooth olive skin streaked with blood. The mischievous eyes that had flirted with him not two minutes before the world exploded turned glassy with pain and fear.

  Now Brooke might be in danger.

  “Lucas?” His grandmother was staring at him with sharp gray eyes that defied her age.

  He cleared his throat and shook the image from his mind. “Is there more coffee?”

  “Or course there is.” Gran refilled his cup. “Wade’s leaving soon, isn’t he?”

  “Today. Soon, in fact.” Luke glanced at the digital clock on the microwave.

  His grandmother sighed. “What terrible timing. I hate to see Brooke and her children alone with a violent criminal running around.” Was that a pointed statement?

  Luke studied an errant ground swirling in his coffee. “I promised Wade I’d look after them until I have to leave.”

  “Oh, that’s a relief. I’ll call Nancy and see what the Westbury police are doing about the situation. No doubt they’re on the lookout, but Michael O’Connell—he’s the Chief of Police—has been out on disability. I told you he’d been stabbed in the leg, didn’t I?”

  “No.”

  “Well, he was. But I’m sure he’s keeping tabs on things.” Gran opened the refrigerator and pulled out a covered rectangular dish. “I made a casserole for Brooke. Why don’t you take it over to her?”

  “How did you know I’d be going over there this morning?”

  Gran put the heavy dish into Luke’s hands. “Because I know what kind of man you are. You couldn’t do anything else.”

  Luke left the house as the coming dawn warmed the horizon to dark gray. Gran’s confidence in him felt empty, hollow, backed up only by her faith. Where had it come from? He’d never done anything to warrant her unwavering support. He’d gone to college, then devoted most of his time to his career, to himself, really. He had a fat bank account and plenty of expensive things to show for it. He couldn’t think of one instance where he’d done significant good for others. In fact, the one time he’d been asked to help another person, he’d failed miserably.

  He would keep his promise to Wade, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to run back upstairs and crawl under the bed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “And now we go live to an update on last night’s brutal assault in Coopersfield.”

  Riveted to the TV screen, he barely tasted his morning coffee. A blond reporter in a red suit stood in front of Westbury Community Hospital. “The young woman who was attacked last night while jogging is in stable condition at an area hospital this morning…”

  So close. Maddie was barely a ten-minute drive from his house. He’d been denied, but that wouldn’t last forever. He wanted so badly to see her. To watch her. To plan their next—their final—encounter.

  An idea festered inside him. It might be fun to let Maddie know he was thinking of her. That he hadn’t forgotten.

  He let the newswoman’s recap of his failure roll over him. It wasn’t as much fun as listening to the news reports of his successful exploits.

  Lady Luck had given him the metaphorical finger last night. Was fate telling him something? Perhaps that he’d been lazy. He hadn’t challenged himself. He’d picked easy targets and relied on technology. And the worst offense? Last year’s killing had been same old, same old rather that the fresh thrill it was supposed to be.

  He started his laptop, opened his social media app, and checked on Maddie. Lots of well-wishes from her friends. No responses from his girl. Had he done more damage than he’d thought? A visit to the hospital was in order tonight. He had to know more than the official statement the hospital released on the news, and he was definitely going to plan a special surprise for Maddie.

  “And a victim was saved by the intervention of one courageous woman.” The reporter’s sign-off caught his attention.

  His head swiveled back to the TV. He stared at the photo of the attractive brunette on the big screen. Her age, her self-assured posture, and the determination in her gaze would normally cause him to cross her off his list of potential victims. It wasn’t that he didn’t find thirty-something females attractive, but younger women were often careless and therefore easier targets. But maybe picking off the easiest prey was killing his buzz. Pursuing a woman like that would change everything.

  She’d be a challenge worthy of his talents.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Brooke stared at her clock. The alarm wouldn’t go off for another hour, but she’d slept off the worst of her exhaustion. Had the police caught the assailant during the night? There was no point trying to go back to sleep.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and tested her knee. The joint was sore and stiff but not as painful as she’d expected. She hobbled into the bathroom and showered. The soapy water stung when it ran over the abrasion. She taped a fresh gauze pad over it and dressed in loose slacks.

  “Time to get up!” She rapped on both kids’ bedroom doors and waited for the morning moans and groans to seep through the wood before making her way downstairs. In the foyer, she stopped cold.

  The hallway smelled like coffee. She heard the quiet slide of drawers opening and closing. Of someone looking for something. Already on edge, her nerves prickled.

  Who was in her kitchen?

  Wade should be long gone. The kids were still upstairs…

  Get real. Criminals didn’t make coffee. Wade must be running late.

  Sunshine sprawled in the center of the kitchen floor. Instead of her brother, Luke was filling a coffee mug at the counter. As she limped into the room, he turned. Worn jeans sat low on lean hips, and a faded blue Penn State T-shirt highlighted his broad shoulders. Brooke ripped her stare off the giant letter S front and center on his muscular chest. “You made coffee.”

  “I did. How’s the knee?” Deep green eyes gave her a critical once-over. Just like the night before, he saw through her brave face, as if he didn’t even have to ask about her emotional state. He knew.

  “Not too bad.” She was instantly glad a few dabs of concealer had masked her scraped chin, which was ridiculous. Her appearance should be the least of her worries this morning. Unsettled, she hobbled around the sleeping dog and sat down. “How did you get in here?”

  “Wade let me in before he left.” Luke poured her a cup of coffee and set it in front of her. “He gave me his key, too, in case of an emergency. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Brooke didn’t answer. Wade trusted Luke enough to suggest she… No. She wasn’t going there before coffee. Luke having a key to her house shouldn’t make her nerves do a jig. But one thought dominated her brain. While she’d been naked in the shower, he’d been in her kitchen. Her skin warmed. She reached for her mug. It was too early to contemplate her brother’s attempt at matchmaking. Her own unfamiliar response to Luke was more than she could handle at the moment.

  “Thanks.” She sipped, praying the caffeine would
machete its way through the haze. Between her knee and the instant replays in her head, her night had been fitful. Was it just the residual anxiety from last night’s attack that unsettled her? Or did Luke’s masculine presence in her kitchen add to the jumble? Her last smooth nerve threatened to wiggle free, and she fought to restrain the irritation in her tone. “Why are you here?”

  “Wade asked me to keep an eye on you.”

  “I know. He told me, but I didn’t expect to see you this early.” Sadness fractured her heart. Her little brother, soon on his way to a hostile country, was still looking out for her. But he should have asked her before giving his friend a key to her house. “You didn’t by any chance catch the news this morning, did you?”

  His mouth tightened. “They haven’t caught him.”

  With that one sentence, Luke’s presence shifted from unsettling to reassuring. “The more time that passes, the less likely it is that he’ll be caught.”

  For a brief second, fear flashed in Luke’s eyes. Or was that a reflection of the panic brewing inside her? Out the back window, a gray predawn mist rolled across the foothills. A secluded location and expansive windows were two of the house’s best features, but this morning the lovely view represented sheer vulnerability.

  “Let’s hope they find him this week.” He blinked the raw emotion clear and turned away. At the sound of pans rattling, the dog lifted her head. “How about some eggs?”

  Sunshine scrambled to her feet, arthritic limbs sliding on the tile with the shaky grace of a newborn fawn.

  He gave the dog a pat. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  Sunshine’s tail arced in a slow, hopeful wag.

  “She wants her breakfast.” Brooke put a palm on the table and started to push to her feet.

  Luke raised a hand in a stop gesture. “Sit. I’ll do it.”

  “OK.” Brooke eased back down. “There’s a bag of kibble in the pantry. Thank you.”