Hush: A Thriller Part 4

As the water ran she returned to the bedroom, pulled her small suitcase out of the bottom of the closet, and quickly packed enough clothes to last for a few more days. After that, she would reevaluate.

Here, it was possible to pretend that the worst hadn't happened. Her apartment didn't reek of Jeff: he'd visited, but he'd never lived in it. Never even spent the night.

If I'd gotten to Oakwood faster...

Impatient with herself, Riley pushed away the useless thought and focused on the task at hand. Conservative suits for the car dealers.h.i.+p, s.e.xy dresses for the club. Her work wardrobe reminded her of a mullet: business during the day, party at night.

Packing done, she stripped down to her skin and walked into the bathroom, which was tiny and windowless and strictly utilitarian. The bath was ready: she turned off the taps, twisted her hair up, secured the coil by the simple expedient of shoving the business end of a rattail comb through it, and stepped into the tub.

The water was blissfully hot. As she sank down into it, Riley felt her tense muscles begin to relax for the first time since she had walked into Oakwood that terrible night. She'd needed this, she realized: a little bit of time to herself.

As Mrs. Jeff Cowan, she'd become used to the ultimate in lavish living: gorgeous clothes; six-hundred-dollar-a-pair shoes; thousand-thread-count linens; the finest restaurants; the best clubs; private jets; high-end cars. Most of the materialism hadn't made much of an impression on her. But the one thing she'd come to love was luxurious toiletries.

Now as she lathered her skin with silky white bubbles, the sight and smell of the pink, flower-shaped, rose-scented bar that was one of her few remaining extravagances provided her with a familiar glimmer of pleasure. At least, until all the a.s.sociations that came with the divine-smelling suds slammed her. Before she'd married Jeff, soap had been soap. Nothing special. Got the job done. The cheapest bar was usually the one she went for.

Their marriage hadn't worked. They hadn't been soul mates, or even compatible life partners. But he had changed her life. He had introduced her to expensive soap.

Ah, Jeff.

She closed her eyes, remembering. The first thing she'd noticed about him had been his blond hair gleaming under the light as he'd sat down at the very end of the bar where she was mixing drinks. The second thing, about an hour later, was his smile, rueful and charming, when after running a tab for four old fas.h.i.+oneds he'd discovered that he'd forgotten his wallet. Per bar policy, she'd been on the hook for his tab. She hadn't been happy, and she'd been even less happy when he'd pulled out car keys and informed her that he was going to drive to his apartment, retrieve his wallet, and be right back. Judging him unfit to drive, she called him a cab, and paid for that, too. She hadn't ever expected to see him again. But he'd shown up the next night, reimbursed her, and asked her out to dinner. He'd been sweet and kind and sober and straight, and over the following six months they'd fallen in love.

She'd married him because he'd needed taking care of, and, in the aftermath of losing the little sister she'd raised practically from birth, she'd needed someone who needed taking care of. She saw that now. But then-she'd been in love with him.

At least, with Lorna, she'd been there at the end. Not so with Jeff. He'd died alone.

He must have been so scared.

Don't think about it.

Her throat tightened. Tears stung her eyes. She gripped the soap so hard her nails dug into it.

Crying won't change a thing. I am not going to cry.

Riley let her head rest back against the smooth porcelain and squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut as she fought the tears she refused to shed.

A p.r.i.c.kle along the back of her neck was accompanied by the eerie sense that she was not alone. Opening her eyes, blinking to force back welling tears, Riley caught the shadow of movement with her peripheral vision, turned her head so fast it hurt her neck, and saw a man step inside her bathroom and stop. Just like that, there he was, gray sneakers planted on the white tile just inside the door.

Every cell in her body froze.

Average height. Muscular build. Dark jeans. Navy polo s.h.i.+rt. A black ski mask pulled down over his face.

"h.e.l.lo, Riley," he said, and as her heart jumped into her throat and her eyes popped wide he leaped for her.

Terror exploded inside her. Jolted into instant action, she screamed, so loud it echoed off the tiles, and hurled the round little cake of soap at him. It hit the middle of his chest and bounced harmlessly off even as she splashed and scrabbled at the slick porcelain and grabbed the built-in soap dish for leverage, somehow managing to catapult to her feet.

"Shut the f.u.c.k up." He s.n.a.t.c.hed at her and got the billowing shower curtain instead as she flung it at him and s.h.i.+ed violently away.

Go, go, go.

Shrieking like a train whistle, knowing that she had almost no chance of escape, Riley sprang from the tub. Her only hope was to somehow dodge past him, make it through the door, and run-but the bathroom was small and the sink was blocking her on the left and he was right there. Her wet feet slid precariously as they smacked down on smooth tile. Her heart jackhammered. Her pulse raced. She had no weapon, no way to escape.

He's between me and the door- "I said shut up." He caught her as she tried to barrel past him, his hands-oh, G.o.d, he's wearing gloves, white surgical gloves; this is bad-big and rough on her waist as he picked her up and threw her bodily back against the tiled wall. She hit with so much force that the breath was knocked out of her along with the scream and she banged her head, hard. The force of it snapped her teeth together, rattled her brain.

"Oh." She fell heavily, landing in the slippery tub, cracking her hip and elbow and shoulder painfully on the way down, splas.h.i.+ng into the water, causing it to spill out of the bath in a great wave.

Stunned, she didn't even have time to suck in air for another scream before his hands closed on her shoulders and he forced her down beneath the surface of the water. Desperately she held her breath as she went under, her mouth somehow filling with the taste of the hot, soapy water even as she clamped her lips together.

No, no, no, no, no.

She fought like a wild thing, thras.h.i.+ng and kicking as water closed over her head, shooting up her nose, filling her ears, stinging her eyes. Instinctively she snapped them shut, then a moment later forced them to open a slit so that she could see, because being able to see what was happening seemed somehow paramount to survival. He was leaning over the tub, over her, his fingers digging into her shoulders, a blurry dark shape distorted by the waves of churning water slos.h.i.+ng around her. With every ounce of her strength she tried to tear herself free of his grip, to at least get her head above water for a second so that she could breathe, but he held her down against the bottom of the tub like he meant to keep her there forever.

Like he meant to drown her.

The horror of it hit her with the suddenness of a thunderclap.

My G.o.d, he's going to kill me! A second later, on a fresh wave of horror, she thought: Like they killed Jeff.

Like he killed Jeff?

Anger and terror combined to send adrenaline rocketing through her. Surging upward with an urgency born of mortal fear, Riley struggled desperately but still couldn't break free of his grip or get her face above the surface. Dying for air, she went for his eyes, just missed as he jerked back, and wound up raking her nails across the front of his mask and down the sides of his neck.

"You f.u.c.king-" He lifted her up by her shoulders-oh, G.o.d, thank G.o.d, her face was out of the water at last; she sucked in air with a greedy, shuddering gasp-and slammed her head hard against the back of the tub.

Riley saw stars.

Just as quick as that, he pushed her back down under the water and held her there with one hand locked around her throat.

She barely managed to press her lips together. Her lungs were empty. The blow to her head had made her exhale.

No, no, please, I can't breathe.

Panic blinded her. No, it was her hair, loose now, swirling in a dark cloud in front of her face. Her body writhed, twisted, as her empty lungs screamed to be filled. The feel of his rubber-gloved hand squeezing her throat was nightmarish. She grabbed his forearm, clawed at it, tried to knock it aside. As if in retaliation, his hand tightened with excruciating force, and then he let go. She shot upward, only to be caught again before she could reach air and breathe. Clamping on to her shoulders, he forced her down even deeper. Trapped.

He kept her shoulders pinned to the bottom of the tub. Her head swam; her ears rang. The smooth sides of the tub provided no purchase for her desperately scrabbling hands.

I need air. Her burning lungs cried out for her to inhale. It was all she could do not to give in to the increasingly urgent need, but if she did...

I'm going to die.

As the reality of that slammed into her, her heart pounded like it would burst out of her chest. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Without warning he hauled her up so that her head was out of the water once more.

Oh, thank G.o.d.

Sucking in air for all she was worth, Riley coughed and choked and hacked up water and sucked more air into her starved lungs in a series of frantic wheezes.

"Pay attention, b.i.t.c.h."

He was talking to her. Water streamed from her hair, which hung down in front of her face and partially blocked her air intake and her vision. She tossed her head, slinging the soaked ma.s.s of it back, and to her surprise found herself looking at her attacker's face. In the same shocked instant in which she registered that his ski mask was gone she realized that he must have pulled it off when he'd switched to the one-handed grip on her throat. She'd grabbed his mask: had she dislodged it somehow so that he couldn't see properly?

It didn't matter: the damage was done. He was no longer making any attempt to hide his features. Her eyes widened on a bony, sallow, thirty-something face with a long chin, large nose, full mouth twisted into a snarl. Short brown hair. Raised scar near the nose. Ugly. Scary.

I can see him clearly. I can identify him. He doesn't care if I can identify him.

Panic made her pulse rate skyrocket. It sent cold s.h.i.+vers racing down her spine.

"You scream again, or give me any more trouble, and I'll make you sorry." His voice grated. It had a faintly foreign intonation. It also left her in no doubt whatsoever that he meant what he said. He pushed her against the back of the tub, gave her shoulders a warning squeeze. As they dug into her flesh, his fingers hurt her. She trembled beneath them. "Understand?"

Dizzy with fear, Riley wheezed and coughed and nodded. She sat waist-deep in the sudsy remains of her still-hot bathwater with her legs stretched out in front of her and her hands braced on the bottom of the tub, rigid with dread and the suppressed energy of the fight-or-flight reflex that she had to control because at the moment she could do neither. His hands pinned her shoulders to the smooth tile wall behind her. The faint scent of roses hung in the air, grotesque to her now. Her eyes stung; she blinked rapidly to clear them.

Crouched beside the tub, her attacker loomed over her, so close she could see that his eyes were brown. And hard. And mean.

The eyes of a killer.

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

She was naked, and her nakedness didn't interest him. He wasn't there for that.

He didn't care if she saw his face.

The truth was inescapable.

He's going to kill me. Oh my G.o.d, is this how it happened to Jeff?

Her blood congealed into an icy slush that clogged her veins. Her heart thumped hard and fast.

"Where's the phone?" His fingers dug deeper into her shoulders. Cringing, Riley made an involuntary sound of pain. Fear tasted sour in her mouth. She swallowed, and looked at him out of what felt like enormous eyes.

His grip didn't ease. "Where's the f.u.c.king phone?"

Jeff's phone. He had to be talking about Jeff's phone. He knew she had it! Oh, G.o.d, how did he know?

"Answer me."

"I-I-" she stuttered, caught in a terrible quandary. If giving up the phone was the price of her life, she was willing to part with it that very second. Nothing, no link to Jeff's murder or anything else, was worth dying over. But if the phone was what he was after and she told him where it was, what reason would he have to keep her alive? He could kill her, take the phone, and be gone. What she needed was a plan.

He didn't give her time to even attempt to work the problem out, or finish her answer. Instead he let out his breath in an impatient hiss and shoved her beneath the surface again.

Caught by surprise, Riley swallowed water and choked on it. Her lungs convulsed in protest. Needing to cough, needing to breathe, able to do neither, she thrashed violently.

No, no, no. Please...

Just when she thought her lungs would explode, he hauled her back up above the surface. Gasping, shuddering, blinking against the water that cascaded down her face, she inhaled, coughed like she was bringing up a lung, looked at him fearfully, and blurted, "I'll tell you. I'll tell you, okay?"

"So tell me." His tone was implacable. His eyes bored into hers, ruthless. Pitiless.

Her thoughts raced as she feverishly tried to come up with some way out.

Think. Think.

"It's-the phone's in my office. At the car dealers.h.i.+p. Where I work." It was a lie. Her hope was that she could persuade him to let her get out of the tub. At least then she had a chance at making a run for it. Her voice shook. The rest of her was shaking, too, she realized. "I could take you there, right now. It's after closing, but there's a security guard. He knows me. He'll let me in."

He smiled at her, a slow smile that revealed a gold-edged front tooth. It was a predator's smile. Her heart lurched.

Dear G.o.d, I need help- "We traced the phone's signal on the night your Jeff died. Funny thing-when his phone left the mansion, after the time that we know he was already dead, we picked up another signal that was traveling at the exact same moment on an identical path. Yours. Then Jeff's phone went dead. But yours-it continued on to this apartment with no deviation in the route." His tone was almost gentle. It, plus the look in his eyes, petrified her like nothing had ever done in her life. "I think it is here now. I think you are lying to me."

His eyes gleamed, his hands tightened, and she knew he was about to force her beneath the surface of the water again.

"No, wait!" She pressed back against the smooth porcelain behind her and babbled, "You're right. It's here. I'm sorry I lied. It's-there's a locked drawer in my desk. It's in there. I'll give you the combination." Her voice wavered, broke. "Just don't hurt me."

"You will get the phone for me." His fingers dug into her shoulders.

"Yes," she agreed.

He started hauling her up, out of the tub.

Was this man the last person Jeff had ever seen?

There it was again, the anger, spurting hot, only to be immediately swamped by the iciness of overwhelming fear. It was fear that dried her mouth, twisted her stomach, charged the air around her. Clumsy with it, she got one knee beneath her, pressed a hand to the bottom of the tub for balance-and touched something long and narrow and hard that was lying there on the slick porcelain beneath the water: the plastic tail of her comb. Sometime during her ordeal it had fallen from her hair.

Her breath caught. Her heart tripped. The end was pointed, sharp...

Even as he pulled her all the way to her feet, her fingers closed around the comb. Scooping it up, she kept it out of sight, pressed close against her thigh, clutching it so tightly that the teeth dug into her palm.

He warned, "If you lie to me-"

Her heart thumped like a piston, so loud she was afraid he might hear it. She could feel the outline of the comb burning like a brand against her skin.

Oh my G.o.d, do I dare?

Stepping out of the tub, she stumbled, catching her foot on the edge and pitching forward- ". . . a second time," he continued, steadying her as she lurched heavily against him. Her weight threw him just a little off balance. He had to let go of her shoulders and grabbed her upper arm instead. "I will hurt you. You will wish to die before-"

It's now or never.

Electrified by terror, she clenched her teeth and reared back and slammed the long pointy handle of her hard plastic comb into the side of his neck with all her might.

The feel of it sinking into his flesh made her think of a skewer plunging through meat.

He screamed, staggering forward. She screamed, too, loud and shrill as a siren, and ripped her arm from his hold and shoved him hard and ran like her life depended on it, which it did. From the corner of her eye she saw him go down on one knee even as he yanked the comb from his neck. Blood spurted out in a thin scarlet stream, spraying over the smooth white porcelain of the tub and adding a splotch of horrible color to the puddle on the floor.

"Suka! You f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h!" he howled as she tore into her bedroom.

Without pausing to look back, she raced past the end of her bed even as she heard him coming after her, praying the wound she'd caused would slow her attacker down enough so that she could get out.

Alive.

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