She Can Scream (28 page)

Luke wrapped his long arms around her and held her against his chest. He tipped her chin toward his face, momentarily speechless. That had been the most amazing sexual experience of his life. Nothing in his history could even come close. It felt as if he’d never truly made love to a woman before tonight.

Sex with Brooke was a miracle. She was a miracle.

Luke concentrated on the woman in his arms. He inhaled deeply, drawing the scent of her sex into his nostrils. He could
still taste her on his lips, feel her soft skin pressed against him. She filled his senses with pleasure and blotted out the pain.

He would never have enough of her.

“Brooke. I…” He didn’t know how to express the gratitude that swelled in his chest and clogged his throat.

“Sh.” She pressed her finger against his lips. “I’m going to consider what just happened as one major benefit to dating a younger man.”

“Thank you.” Luke lightly kissed her temple and pressed his forehead to hers. She had no idea what she had just done for him, what he felt for her.

“I wouldn’t thank me just yet. Now that I know what you can do, I’m going to want a lot more of that.” She smiled up at him.

He grinned back at her. “Sure as hell beats a ten-mile run in the freezing rain.”

“I should hope so,” she answered with mock indignation and smiled up at him.

He tucked her against his chest, her body soft and warm against his, her scent in his nostrils. And for the first time since he returned home, he fell back to sleep.

The basket of laundry dug into her hip. Selena Vasquez trudged down the three flights of stairs to the basement of her apartment building. Her slippered feet scuffed on the dingy blue carpet, worn to a muddy gray down the center of the treads. In the vague light of the stairwell sconces, she rounded the last turn, the metal handrail wobbling under her grasp. At 5:45 a.m., the sky was still dark. Her aching head and feet yearned for sleep, but she didn’t have a clean uniform for tonight’s shift. She just couldn’t bring herself to put one on that already stank of grease. It didn’t matter that the fresh outfit would absorb the oily odors within minutes of starting her shift at the diner. She just couldn’t do it.

Nor could she rest well with chores undone. She blamed her mother, who had ruled the family house with a combination of hard work and Catholic guilt. Selena would wash the scent of French fries from her hair and finish her English paper while her clothes washed. Then she’d sleep until her night class at the community college and yet another shift.

Two more years.

She bumped the door open with a hip and flipped the wall switch. The bare bulb flickered and went out. Awesome. Just what this creepy room needed—more creep. She propped the door open. Light from the hall trickled in. The pocket full of quarters jingled as she crossed the concrete and dumped her clothes into the empty machine. She added detergent and closed
the lid. Six coins were inserted in their slots. She slid the metal tray in with a
click
. Water rushed into the tub and the machine churned.

Dust tickled her nose. She sneezed and sniffed. Another odor reached through the dust, something simultaneously sweet and raw. She set her basket on top of the dryer and scanned the space. Dirty and dark, it was not a room she cared to dwell in any longer than necessary, but something was wrong. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. A primitive alarm cramped her belly. Was someone hiding in here? She squinted into the shadows. Her gaze fell on a form in the corner.

A sheet draped over something.

She shuffled two steps forward. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Her gaze fell on a lock of dark hair poking out from under the gray fabric. Her belly clenched tighter. Her eyes refused to believe what her instincts were telling her. Her slippers scuffed the concrete until she stopped a foot from the base of the bundle. She reached forward and tugged on the bottom hem of the sheet. It slid down to reveal the bloody face of a dead woman.

Selena stumbled backward and screamed.

Gray light washed over the stark bedroom. Brooke moved her legs under the covers. The crisp sheets slid, smooth and decadent, against her naked skin. Luke’s apartment was stark, but she couldn’t deny enjoying the luxurious linens and fixtures, like an indulgent vacation in a five-star hotel. She felt safe here too. Isolated from the fear that had taken over her usually routine life, but also separated from the responsibilities of single motherhood and her teaching career.

When was the last time she’d slept naked? She couldn’t remember, which was just plain sad. Nudity was something a mom of teenagers just couldn’t indulge in outside of the shower. But here, with Luke, she wasn’t just someone’s mom. She was a desirable woman.

She turned her head. Next to her, Luke slept on, the covers pooled around his waist, his bare torso on display. Her hands itched to stroke the sinewy muscles of his chest and shoulders, but he needed the rest after last night’s panic attack—and all that had come after.

He hadn’t shared the source of his pain, but he’d no doubt dreamed about the explosion. The incident had left deep scars on his back—and in his soul. Strangely enough, his vulnerability had drawn her closer to him, like she wasn’t the only one with a violent past she couldn’t shake. In sharing his pain, she was less alone.

She snuggled back down into the duvet and pillows. One heavy arm was thrown across her waist, and the possessive feel of it pleased her more than it should. This was temporary. She shouldn’t get used to it. But a warm bed and a sexy man were an intoxicating combination she hadn’t experienced in many, many years. She deserved some time to enjoy it, but the fact that this moment was fleeting dimmed her pleasure.

Luke had grown on her more than she should have allowed. The joy booming in her chest after last night’s lovemaking blindsided her. One night together and she was this attached? How would it feel when he left for another continent?

Buzz
.

She tracked the sound to the nightstand, where her cell phone rested next to the clock. She hadn’t slept until nine in years. Of course, she hadn’t exactly slept through the night. Satisfaction and heat pulsed through her veins at the memories. Her
heart might be timid, but her body was definitely not. Maybe he could be persuaded to take another shower together this morning. She closed her eyes, determined to ignore the phone. It vibrated again, and the irrationally worried mother inside of her reached for it on instinct.

The number read T
OWNSHIP OF
W
ESTBURY
. Her heart jolted as she pressed the green
ANSWER
button. “Hello?”

Luke stirred. Bedding rustled as he turned toward her.

“Brooke?” A male voice asked.

“Yes.” Brooke’s voice quivered with nerves. She cleared her throat.

The caller exhaled hard. “This is Mike O’Connell. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, why?”

Next to her, Luke rose to his elbow and watched her with groggy but worried eyes. She lifted the phone an inch from her ear so he could hear.

“We called your house, but no one answered,” Mike said.

“I took your advice and left town for the night.” Why would the police be calling her house? Fear pulled Brooke to a sitting position. She tugged the duvet up over her breasts and hugged her knees. “What happened?”

“That was smart. I need you to come down to the station and answer some questions.” The chief evaded. “Where are you?”

“New York City.”

“It’s important, Brooke.” Mike’s tone was dead level. “Can you come in later this morning?”

Brooke’s empty stomach clenched. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Mike hesitated. He breathed the words out in a sigh. “A woman was killed last night.”

“Maddie?”

“No. Maddie is fine.”

“Who?” Brooke felt Luke’s hand on her arm, steadying, calming. She took it in hers and held on.

“We don’t know yet.” Mike said in a soft voice. “We were hoping you might help us figure that out.”

“Why do you think I might know her?” Panic rose in Brooke’s chest. Luke squeezed her hand tighter. He scooted over to wrap his other arm around her shoulders. Brooke leaned into him as she waited for an answer she knew was going to be horrible.

“Because she was laid out like your roommate.” The chief paused. “And your name was carved into her skin.”

Brooke shielded her eyes against the late morning sun as she got out of the car in the Westbury police station parking lot next to a Coopersfield PD cruiser. The breeze that swept dead leaves across the asphalt was bitterly damp and cancelled out any warmth the sunshine could have provided. She burrowed deeper in Luke’s borrowed sweater.

Luke opened the door and steered her through the entrance. In the lobby, Brooke wiped her shaking hands on her jeans. The rest of her body was twitchy too, each round of trembles started in her bones and radiated through the rest of her before fading like the final tremors of an earthquake. Her knees were loose as yarn. She hugged her arms and concentrated on the warmth of Luke’s hand at the small of her back. It was the only part of her anatomy not freezing cold, and those six square inches of support might be all that was between Brooke and the floor.

Ethan spotted them and waved them past the counter.

“This way.” He led them to a small conference room. Chief O’Connell and another man in his late forties sat on the backside of an oval table. Officer Kent occupied the chair on the right. Open files and papers were strewn across the pale gray laminate.

As they entered, O’Connell closed a file of photos. He stood, his face straining with the effort, and shook their hands. “Thanks for coming.”

Ethan followed them inside and closed the door.

“You know Officer Kent from Coopersfield.” The chief introduced them. “This is retired Philadelphia homicide detective Jack O’Malley. Due to his experience with violent crime, I’ve asked him to consult on this case.”

The former cop was tall and thin, with some gray mixed into a head of short, dark hair. A cane hung on the back of his chair. “Call me Jack.” He stood to shake their hands.

“Please sit.” The chief waved toward the empty chairs opposite him. “Thanks for driving back.”

“After the break-in last night, I wanted to get Brooke away from here.” Luke pulled out an office chair for her.

“I can appreciate that.” The chief frowned. “Unfortunately, it gets worse.”

Brooke sank into the cushioned seat. Luke sat and edged his chair closer. Under the table, his hand found hers and gripped it tight. She gathered strength from her reserves—and from him. After last night, she knew he had faced enough horror to understand. “What happened?”

The chief began. “A woman was found in the basement laundry room of an apartment building early this morning. She was positioned similarly to the mannequin in your basement.”

Brooke held on to Luke’s hand. “Do you know who she is?”

The chief’s fist balled up and thudded once on top of his file. “We’re waiting on confirmation.”

“I don’t understand.” Terrible-information overload was frying Brooke’s brain. “Why wouldn’t you…?” The dots connected themselves. Her empty stomach rolled over, and her head did a quick swim. She hadn’t even been able to get a cup of coffee down this morning.

“Her face was too damaged for a visual identification,” the chief confirmed. “But there is a local woman who’s been missing since late Wednesday night.”

“Who?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t say anything until we have confirmation. The family deserves to know first.” The chief lifted the corner of his file. He slid a picture out. “Do you recognize this?”

Brooke pulled the picture toward her by one finger as if it were tainted by violence. Her lungs collapsed. “That’s Maddie’s earring, the match to the one her assailant left on her hospital tray. You’re sure Maddie is all right?”
Please, please, please God.

Luke wiggled his hand from her grip and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Did he know she needed help staying upright?

“Maddie is fine,” the chief said. “I spoke to the officer at her house this morning.”