Dark Whispers Read Free Page B

ready to go when I heard a noise down here.”
    “Describe the noise for me.”
    She considered the question for a moment. “There was a lot of banging as if whoever was down here was searching for something.”
    The evidence techs had dusted for prints, but hadn’t found any usable ones except Natalie’s, which meant the intruder wore gloves and that she had a very dedicated and thorough cleaning staff. Most surfaces in any home were littered with prints. “You came down the stairs,” Clint prompted.
    “First I came to the landing. I thought maybe Suzanna, my housekeeper, had arrived early.” She hugged her arms around herself as if the memories stole the warmth from her body. “I saw him standing at the bottom of the stairs, but I couldn’t see his entire face. He was wearing a mask. Like a ski mask where all you can see are the eyes and across the bridge of the nose. I ran back to my room and grabbed my cell phone and my father’s handgun from the nightstand. When I came down the stairs I didn’t see him anymore. The back door was open so I assumed he’d fled.” She took a deep breath. “I came into the kitchen to close the door and suddenly I heard him breathing...behind me. It was as if he’d been waiting for me to come.”
    “Did he touch you?”
    She shook her head. “I spun around and fired the weapon.”
    Clint closed and locked the back door. “You’re certain the intruder was male.”
    The sound of the door locking or maybe the question snapped her from the silence she’d drifted into. She flinched. “Absolutely. He was tall and strong and he had a scar.” She pointed to the spot between her eyebrows.
    “He never spoke?”
    She shook her head. “He staggered back and then fell to the floor. There was blood on his shirt.”
    “You ran outside to wait for the police?”
    She nodded. “I dropped the gun and ran. I was confused. That still happens when I get overexcited or upset and, quite frankly, I was terrified.”
    Clint would ask her more about the traumatic brain injury later. According to the police report there was no indication of foul play in the home and no gun was found. Since the detective at the scene had decided the whole event was Drummond’s imagination, no test for gunshot residue had been performed. “Did blood splatter on your clothes or your shoes?”
    She frowned. “No.” Her head moved from side to side. “I suppose there should have been.” She closed her eyes for a moment before continuing. “I know what I saw. There was a man here. He wore a black ski mask. I fired the weapon, the sound still echoes inside me whenever I think of that moment.”
    “You believe,” he offered, “while you were waiting for the police the intruder fled, taking the gun with him.”
    “Yes.”
    * * *
    C LINT H AYES DID not believe her.
    Natalie didn’t have to wonder. She saw the truth in his eyes. There was no evidence to support her story. Nothing. Her brain injury made her an unreliable witness at best. How could she expect anyone to believe her?
    Maybe she was losing her mind. Her own brother thought she was imagining things.
    “Let’s talk about why someone would want to create a situation like the one that played out in your home this morning.”
    Hope dared to bloom in her chest. “Are you saying you believe me?”
    “Yes.” He nodded. “I do.”
    Startled, Natalie fought to gather her wits. She had hoped to find someone who would believe her. Now that she had, she felt weak with relief and overwhelmed with gratitude. “Would you like coffee or tea?”
    “No thank you, but don’t let me stop you.”
    “I don’t drink coffee after the middle of the afternoon for fear I won’t sleep.” Her life was quite sad now. What would this handsome, obviously intelligent man think if he knew just how sad? What difference did money and position matter in the end? Very little, she had learned. The years of hard work to reach the pinnacle of her field meant nothing now. She