The Woman Who Couldn't Scream (Virtue Falls #4)

“I’m glad to hear you admit that. For as little as you’ve done to apprehend John Terrance, I thought you were unaware of the danger lurking on every corner. When are you going to catch John Terrance? The citizens of Virtue Falls didn’t vote you in and expect you to prove your incompetence in the first week.”

He was a nasty little sexist creep. Kateri wondered what Mona saw in him—and Kateri didn’t think much good of Mona.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded.

“Is this official business, Councilman? Because I’ve got citizens to interview, calls to make and—”

“This is official business. The Virtue Falls City Council is in charge of the finances of this city and this adverse publicity that you have garnered by letting John Terrance run around the county unchecked when the Fourth of July, the date of our country’s independence and the largest moneymaking week for Virtue Falls businesses … this is ruinous!”

She was staring, she realized, with her mouth cocked sideways. “You’re not complaining because the citizens of Virtue Falls are in danger, but because the city treasury is in peril?”

“When the town’s profits are disrupted, do you imagine the citizens will be happy?”

She had been up for hours. She’d viewed the scene of a gruesome murder, grieved for a woman she had never met, worried that others would suffer the same fate, dealt with paperwork, listened to police reports, dealt with more paperwork, organized photos, called the victim’s family, comforted Carolyn Abner’s children, persuaded them to authorize the autopsy … and now Kateri faced an indignant, moneygrubbing politician who looked like a bug-eyed snake who had swallowed an egg.

But she had to be fair … “You have heard a woman was discovered early this morning at Lupine Point, murdered by a slasher?”

“What? What? Murder?” Venegra put his hand over his heart as if to still the palpitations.

Kateri thought he’d be better off putting his hands on his aching testicles.

In a booming voice, he asked, “Did you catch the killer?”

“We have no suspects.”

“Is the victim someone local?”

“A tourist.” Kateri’s sarcasm got the better of her. “Is that better for business or worse?”

She was making fun of him, and Venegra was smart enough—barely—to know it. “At least you’ve done one thing right—you had the good sense to bring Garik Jacobsen into the case. Maybe our former sheriff will come back and catch the murderer before he kills again!”

In a voice that would have frozen a normal man, she said, “Garik would not so overstep his authority.”

“Well, maybe we’ll just vote him in after the citizens of our fair city impeach you!”

That’s it. I am done with you. Kateri stood up and offered her hand. “Let’s shake on that.”

Venegra grabbed her fingers and squeezed. Hard.

Kateri dragged seething fire, molten rock, ocean-cold, angry-red power up from the earth and let it flow through her and into him.

First Venegra started trembling.

The earth jolted hard and fast, a brief movement the seismologists would categorize as an aftershock to the big one that had reshaped Virtue Falls.

Venegra’s eyes grew wide.

Kateri pulled her hand away before she wholly gave in to her temper—and brought the walls down.

He flopped backward into the chair, his gaze fixed on her in horror.

With a fixed smile, she reminded him, “I did say, ‘Let’s shake.’”





CHAPTER NINETEEN

Kateri texted Merida. Okay?

Merida texted back, No worries. I’m fine.

Have errands. Will be there as soon as I can.

Headed out for a run. See you soon.

Merida left the B and B and ran a mile through Virtue Falls, then took the cutoff that descended toward the beach and there along the fringes of the sand, she hopped along the rocks and the old dock pilings. She did her yoga, made like a tree, stood on one leg, then the other. In a silly departure from discipline, she became a pelican and waved her arms. It was perhaps childhood reborn, but in those moments she gained balance and dexterity—and she tasted freedom. Freedom from memory. Freedom from worry. Freedom from anger and vengeance. Just … freedom.

Slowly she stilled. Exuberance changed to introspection.

She’d been here for less than a week, yet last night she had encountered too many people who knew her as Helen. Then early this morning someone had called her, warned her that “they” were hunting her, and today worry replaced joy and mindlessness. As she stood there, facing the ocean, she found herself listening, not to the waves ceaselessly rolling, but for the sound of footsteps behind her. Serenity had never seemed so far away, so at last she turned back, running hard up the path, testing her limits for speed and endurance. She turned onto the street where the B and B stood, saw a man jogging toward her, shirtless, in shorts, shirtless, beautifully sculpted, shirtless … Lifts weights, shorts are too long, almost to his knees, such a shame, those thigh muscles must be awesome …

Benedict, of course.

He lifted one hand in recognition and ran past her at a pace that made her feel like a sweaty underachiever.

She turned and ran backward—it was good exercise—and watched him.

“Wow.” For a ruthless, conniving asshole of an autocrat, he looked good, probably because he had time left over from impaling his competitors to exercise.

He rounded the corner and headed for town, and he didn’t turn to glance back.

“Damn it.” She slowed to a walk. She was looking at him, and he didn’t care to look at her. She turned to face forward, glimpsed movement out of the corners of her eyes.

A man hid in the hedges.

She leaped sideways, but too late.

He yanked her into the shadowy yard through a narrow gap in the towering boxwood.

She fought. Branches scraped her skin.

But he was powerful and skilled. He rendered her helpless, pulled her close and in a deep, familiar voice said, “Helen, I did warn that you couldn’t scream.”





CHAPTER TWENTY

The Gem Lounge hadn’t changed a bit. It looked—and smelled—exactly as it had when, as a child, Kateri had crept in nightly to bring her mother home. Years of spilled beer, squeezed limes, tomato juice and Tabasco, cracked vinyl, the dishwasher’s steam … and a whiff of tobacco.

Maybe Bertha wasn’t paying that much attention to the smoking ban.

The afternoon crowd was quiet, fishermen mostly, early risers, intent on playing cards, cracking peanuts, having a beer before going home to bed.

Kateri lifted a hand to the guys, went to the bar and pulled up a stool. Today Bertha wore black boots, black leggings, a black cardigan and a purple collared shirt. Kateri envied the woman her style.

“Hey, darlin’, good to see you here.” Bertha got out a mug, poured it full of almond milk and slid it into the microwave. “Did you decide I was right and this was a good place for that sheriff to visit?”

Kateri watched her, knowing what Bertha was doing, appreciating the tradition and right now, needing the comfort. “You’re always right, Bertha. Everybody knows that.”

Bertha smirked. “That’s true, and it’s amazing that people don’t always do what I tell them to do.”

“The world would be a better place.”

“Now take off your hat inside.”

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