She Can Scream (She Can Series) Read online

  Luke dropped his overnight bag on the floor and walked over to take the linens. “I can get everything. You should get off that leg.”

  “Thank you for doing this.” She looked up into his eyes. The rich brown was brimming with an emotion he couldn’t quite identify. Gratitude? He leaned closer. His gaze dropped to her mouth. For the second time, the desire to press his lips to her injured lip shocked him. And the scrape on her chin? He wanted to kiss that too, then maybe work his way down the delicate column of her throat, where her pulse throbbed.

  He jerked his gaze back to her eyes. They widened as gratitude shifted to surprise, then darkened with the first stirrings of desire.

  He’d always thought Brooke was beautiful, but had he ever looked closer, to see the complexity of the woman beneath her exterior? She was a cocktail of strength and vulnerability, intelligence and beauty, compassion and resolve.

  Teenage crush aside, her sensuality was something he’d never truly appreciated.

  Luke lifted the sheets and pillow from her arms. He backed away before he was tempted to ease her down on the sofa and explore every inch of her courage. “Thanks.”

  He couldn’t get any closer to Brooke. Sherry had been his assistant. There hadn’t been any relationship between them beyond a little harmless flirting. But her death had left him devastated. If he fell for Brooke and couldn’t protect her, he’d never recover.

  She blinked, breaking the connection. “Thank you.”

  He cleared his throat. “Can I use your computer?”

  “Help yourself.” She gave her head a slight shake and moved toward the doorway. “It’s in my office. Do you want this?” She raised the shotgun.

  “No. I’d feel better if you keep that with you. Goodnight, Brooke.”

  She fled as fast as the bad knee would allow. Sunshine followed her, nails tapping on the floor as the dog went back to her spot by the front door.

  Luke should have asked if he could take a cold shower, but he hadn’t anticipated what had just passed between them. Still keyed up, he went into Brooke’s office and booted up the computer. Her machine could use a tune-up.

  While he waited, he opened the file drawer. Folders were labeled with names and dates. Luke slid one out. He opened it. Inside were printouts of Internet articles. PHILADELPHIA WOMAN MURDERED IN FAIRMONT PARK. Luke returned the file and selected another. YOUNG PITTSBURGH MOTHER RAPED AND STRANGLED. He flipped through the pages. A few more articles. Some notes made by Brooke on key facts of the case. He returned the file and thumbed through the rest. Dozens of files detailing the stories of women murdered in Pennsylvania. In the very front of the drawer was a fat folder full of statistics and reports from the Bureau of Justice. The files she’d started on Maddie and the woman raped in Hillside were right behind the stats file.

  No wonder Brooke knew so much about rapists and killers. She was doing more than teaching self-defense. There was an undercurrent of obsession in Brooke’s preoccupation with violence.

  He turned back to the computer, accessed the system files, and started cleaning up the hard drive. The laptop chugged. With all the extraneous files on Brooke’s computer, his task was going to take a while. But he wasn’t ready for sleep anyway.

  Luke thought back to Brooke’s friend’s death. He vaguely remembered Brooke moving back home afterward and getting married, but he’d been in college and hadn’t been around much. Clearly, that violent act had reshaped her world and changed her.

  Would Sherry’s death haunt him forever?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The alarm blared. With part of her brain locked in the dark recesses of sleep, she slapped the OFF button. Her eyes snapped open, the erotic images of her dream imprinted in her mind.

  Luke. Her. Naked. Doing sweaty things she hadn’t even thought about in years.

  She rolled onto her back. A twinge shot through her knee. The pain helped suppress her reawakened libido like shock therapy. Part of her was glad; the other part wanted those visions back.

  They were pretty hot.

  She moved her leg experimentally on the bed. Still stiff and painful, but she could bend and straighten it a few inches, a definite improvement in range of motion from yesterday.

  Her grogginess persisted as she pushed back the covers, almost embarrassed at how well she’d slept with Luke downstairs. She barely remembered climbing into bed.

  Do not get used to having him here.

  Swinging her legs over the side, she tested a bit more weight on her leg. Better. She locked up her shotgun, then went into the bathroom, showered, and dressed in another pair of loose slacks and a light sweater.

  “Time to get up.” She rapped on the kids’ doors on her way down the hall.

  The kitchen was empty but smelled of coffee. Brooke poured a cup, downing half while standing over the sink in an effort to clear her head of the fuzziness left by hard sleep. She left her mug on the counter and moved stiffly toward the den.

  Where was Luke? A small flurry of nerves swirled in her belly. Had she imagined the moment between them last night?

  “Luke?” Conscious of his privacy, she knocked on the doorjamb.

  “In here.” His voice came from the direction of her office.

  “Morning.” She poked her head inside. Luke sat at her desk. Her laptop chugged in front of him.

  He shifted his attention from the computer to her. “Good morning.”

  Something warmed in his eyes, just for a second before he cooled it off, but it had been there. Desire. For her.

  Oh. Her face heated. She hadn’t imagined it. How did she feel about that?

  Confused, she decided, and pushed it away. The whole interaction needed some time to settle in her mind.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Your hard drive was bogged down. I cleaned it up some last night. Your antivirus software is updating now.” He stood and stretched. His clothes were wrinkled from sleeping in them. His dark hair, rumpled out of its precision GQ cut, fell over his forehead. The shadow on his jaw made her wish he’d woken up in bed with her. Sheesh, what was wrong with her? “Coffee’s ready. Are you hungry?”

  Erotic images reeled through her mind. A lovely warmth bloomed over the rest of her skin.

  “Um. I’m good with coffee, thanks. Plus, I’m running a little late this morning.” She shifted back, lifting the hem of her sweater to cool her skin. Maybe she should change into something lighter.

  Luke followed her into the kitchen. “Well, I’m hungry. Do you have cereal?”

  “In the pantry.”

  He selected a box.

  “Bowls are over the range.” She sat at the table, glad to have a solid piece of furniture between them. “While I’m thinking of it…” She gave him the location and combination for the gun safe. “In case of emergency. It’s of no use if you can’t access it.”

  “Got it.” Cereal tinged into ceramic. He poured milk, then turned and leaned against the counter while he ate. Brooke grabbed her coffee with both hands and chugged it. Her wild response to Luke had to be a remnant from her sleepiness. Surely the caffeine would wash it all away. She could go back to normal.

  Luke turned and rinsed his bowl in the sink. Brooke watched the muscles of his broad shoulders and back shift under his shirt.

  Ack!

  “Could I use your shower? I’ll be two minutes.”

  “Of course.” Getting those erotic visions out of her head was not getting any easier. “Use the one in my bedroom. Towels are in the linen closet in the hall.”

  “Thanks.” He stopped in the den for his bag and disappeared down the main hall. Brooke heard his footsteps ascend the stairs.

  He was going to be naked in her shower. She couldn’t handle the mental image. Needing a distraction, she switched on the countertop TV and poured herself a bowl of cereal.

  She ate her way through the weather report and a traffic update. “Now for a special update on the vicious assault of a young woman in Coopersfield.” />
  The camera panned to another news desk. The same relentless blond reporter that had chased her through the community center parking lot Monday night. Dressed in a striking suit of cobalt blue, the blond sat in a modern newsroom. “The victim of Monday night’s brutal assault has been released from the hospital and is recovering at home.”

  The reporter rehashed the attack. Then Brooke’s picture appeared in the corner of the screen. Fear turned her stomach.

  The blond continued, “Tuesday night’s hero, Brooke Davenport, is no stranger to violence. At age twenty-two, her friend and roommate, Karen Edwards, was murdered by an estranged boyfriend in the basement of their apartment building.”

  Karen’s photo appeared next, then a picture of the apartment building where they’d lived. The pictures that flashed onto the screen looked nearly identical to the ones she used for her own presentations. And she suddenly had no desire to ever see them again.

  “Ms. Davenport teaches math at the Westbury High School, and she devotes much of her spare time to helping others as well. Once or twice a week for the past decade, Ms. Davenport has taught a women’s self-defense class in the surrounding communities…” The newswoman droned on.

  Brooke tuned out the rest of the story.

  “Well, that’s a problem, isn’t it?”

  Brooke’s head swiveled. Luke stood in the entrance to the kitchen, freshly shaven, his hair damp. She stared at him, but his eyes never left the screen. He didn’t move, except for the twitching of a muscle in his jaw.

  When the piece was over, the program switched to a soldier homecoming piece that didn’t lighten the dead weight in Brooke’s chest.

  Luke turned to her. “That reporter broadcast everything except your address and phone number.” He paced, raising a hand to his temple. “If that creep didn’t know who you were ten minutes ago, he does now.”

  The phone rang. The hour of the call sent alarm buzzing through Brooke. The phone was on the counter next to Luke. He looked at the caller ID: IAN DAVENPORT.

  “My ex.” Brooke reached for the phone. “Hello.”

  Ian’s voice came over the line. “I just saw the news report. Are you all right?”

  She sighed. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “I doubt you really are,” Ian said. “Have you seen the therapist?”

  “Not yet.” Irritation rubbed at Brooke’s frazzled temper. “It just happened, Ian. Give me some time.”

  They both knew she probably wouldn’t go. The last one wanted her to take a break from teaching self-defense, to stop beating herself up about Karen’s death, to let go of her guilt.

  Something Brooke wasn’t able to do.

  “Brooke…” Disappointment carried on the connection from Philadelphia to Westbury.

  “Ian, I have to go to work. Thanks for calling.”

  Anger and bitterness crept into his voice. “I don’t understand why you just can’t let the past be in the past.”

  “I know you don’t.” She shot back. “That was part of the problem.”

  She ticked off the seconds of silence. One, two, three.

  “Let’s not argue. That’s all water under the bridge at this point.” Ian’s voice was cool as usual. “I’ll see you next Friday when I pick up the kids.”

  “Right.” Brooke jammed the phone back in the charging cradle. In her opinion, a few good arguments would have been better than Ian’s chilly reserve.

  He’d married her assuming a few trips to an expensive psychiatrist would restore the carefree woman he’d dated in college. He’d been very disappointed to learn Karen’s death had changed Brooke forever. He’d been disappointed in everything about their marriage. He’d grown up in a country club, au pair, dress-for-dinner kind of family. But their kids weren’t the perfectly mannered violin prodigies he’d envisioned. They were loud and boisterous, often covered in mud and grass stains. Rather than embrace the chaos, Ian had kept his distance.

  He’d said it best the day he’d moved out: They just weren’t compatible.

  Luke had withdrawn into the den to give her privacy. He came back out. “Everything OK?”

  “Fine.” It was too early in the morning, and she was still reeling from the news report. There was no way she could have a discussion about Karen now. She needed to compose herself and get to work. “Ian was just checking in.”

  Luke raised a disbelieving brow. Feet thudded down the stairs. Chris skidded into the kitchen, feet sliding on the tile. He gave the stove a hopeful glance.

  “Did you want me to make you breakfast?” Brooke asked, surprised.

  “No!” Chris opened the pantry and pulled out a box of granola bars. “I mean, I’m not hungry yet. And it’s a little late. I’ll take these with me.”

  Haley swooped in, grabbing two bars and shoving them into her backpack. “Ready.”

  Brooke set her coffee aside.

  Luke was quiet with the kids in the room, but his expression told her their discussion wasn’t over. Like everyone else, he was going to ask her questions she couldn’t answer.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Time to catch up on the news. Specifically, his news. What did the media have to say about him this morning? Was he still a star? With a jittery stomach, he placed his mug and a plate of scrambled eggs on the coffee table and settled on the couch. He picked up the remote. The TV was already set to the local news station. It was all he’d watched since Monday night.

  Five minutes into the hour, the same female reporter sat in the newsroom and began her spiel. Maddie was home! Now that was good news. Appetite whet, he dug into his breakfast. The police had no leads. No kidding. Except for the scratches, he hadn’t left them any.

  The reporter started in on Brooke Davenport’s history. He hit the record button on the remote. No interview. Interesting. Was she uncooperative? Did she eschew the spotlight?

  He went granite hard in one beat of his heart, the response he used to have at the thought of any of his kills. Was that what was missing lately? A good fight? That spark of hope that had to be beaten out of a victim? The rush of adrenaline when she realized all her efforts were pointless. He was going to hurt her, and then she was going to die.

  The strongest woman was powerless against him.

  “This isn’t Brooke Davenport’s first encounter with violence.”

  He shut down his imagination as the reporter detailed Brooke’s involvement in an old murder. The cold eggs in his mouth became tasteless. His fork bounced off the carpet.

  It was Karma, fate, divine influence for those who believed in that sort of thing. Brooke Davenport’s maiden name was Peterson, and she’d once found the body of her murdered friend.

  His stalking options burst wide open. A beam of light and chorus of… The heavenly metaphor didn’t ring true. Did demons sing? Probably not.

  He’d followed dozens of women over the years, tracked their every move, predicted their every response. Watched. Waited. Then leapt with precision and timing to rival the best natural predator. But he’d never let one of his subjects know he was on the prowl. To have them anticipate their encounter with the same intensity as him. It was a rush to know that as he was planning their fate, they were fearing his intentions.

  He pictured Brooke’s lovely face. She would know.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she’d think of him.

  Her life was going to come full circle, from her friend’s death to her own, and he was going to make sure she knew her end was coming the exact same way.

  If he killed her, he might have to move. She was too well-known in the community. People would insist her case be solved. Even if he managed to brush the crime off on someone else, staying here for next year’s kill wasn’t an option. He’d lived here a long time, too long maybe. Change wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Avoiding patterns was important. And the winters here sucked. Cold, damp, and nasty weather from December through April.

  Maybe he’d head south. No Texas or Florida, though. Those states were way too
quick to flip the switch for his comfort. Death row was practically an express lane. New Mexico maybe. They’d abolished the death penalty a few years ago. Not that he was going to get caught, but it paid to be careful.

  He would kill Brooke Davenport, then he’d move to New Mexico.

  On the TV, the reporter had moved on from Brooke’s background to a bit of information about the young woman she’d saved. The victim’s name wasn’t given, but he knew it was Maddie. He bristled at the praise for her actions, her will to live, her fighting spirit.

  Maddie hadn’t cooperated the way he’d predicted. Why? What personal trait had he missed in his evaluation of her that allowed her so much spirit?

  He went down to the basement. Maddie’s file was in the first storage container. He spun the combination lock and lifted the lid. The manila envelope filled with pictures, schedules, and notes rested on top of an empty scrapbook. Acid-free to preserve his memories for as long as possible. Rocking back on his heels, he opened the file and paged through his notes. Nothing. He returned to the main floor and fired up his laptop. He reviewed his virtual catalog of potential victims. Maddie shone here as well. Every aspect of her behavior indicated she was perfect for him. Nothing predicted her refusal to give up, nothing rebellious in her background. Perhaps Maddie was an anomaly.

  No worries. Maddie would learn her lesson in time.

  He moved two fingers on the touchpad, absently scrolling through his early notes on all the candidates. A new thought flashed into his head with the Billy Mays enthusiasm of an As Seen on TV commercial.

  But wait! There’s more. This week only, kill two women for the price of one, the ultimate BOGO.

  After all, what did Brooke care about more than herself? What act would break her the way that stopping his annual hunt was torturing him? He would make her watch him rape and kill another before he extracted his pleasure from her. Her dread would make the act so much sweeter.

  He took his notes upstairs. He was going to start a new book on Brooke. Catching two women at the same time would take some planning, but he was up to the task.