Don't Say a Word Read Free Page B

looking almost as uncomfortable as Antwaun felt. For the past year, he’d been even more solemn. Brooding at times. Almost distant.
    Daniella beamed with pride and ushered them into the homey kitchen. Already Jean-Paul and his new wife, Britta, his baby sister, Catherine, her daughter, Chrissy, and his other sister, Stephanie, had gathered. His father wore a chef’s hat and stirred the bubbling stew while Jean-Paul popped the cork on a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and poured them all a glass.
    Antwaun would have preferred a beer, but Jean-Paul wanted to make a toast.
    â€œLet’s all sit down.” Daniella Dubois waved her hands, shooing them to their places as she hoisted bowls full of the Cajun foods and carried them to the table. Catherine deposited baskets of steaming bread; Stephanie grabbed his and Damon’s arms, and dragged them to sit on either side of her; and Chrissy plopped down, her ponytail bobbing as she sipped freshly squeezed lemonade.
    â€œSo, what is all this urgency, Jean-Paul?” dark-haired Stephanie asked, eyes twinkling.
    Jean-Paul clutched his bride’s hand and grinned like a cat that had just swallowed a canary. “Britta and I have an announcement.” He turned to his wife. “Britta?”
    Britta laughed. “Go ahead, you tell them, sweetheart.”
    Antwaun shifted uncomfortably. Not that he wasn’t happy for Jean-Paul, but seeing his tough brother act so mushy was just plain weird.
    His father, Pierre, tapped his wineglass. “Don’t keep us in suspense, son. Spill it.”
    Jean-Paul grinned, then pressed his wife’s hand to his chest. “Britta and I are expecting a baby.”
    Shouts erupted around the table. His mother dabbed tears from her eyes and jumped up to hug Britta and Jean-Paul. Catherine, little Chrissy and Stephanie joined the milieu of chattering excited voices.
    Antwaun stood and pounded Jean-Paul on the back in congratulations. Damon’s hand tightened around the wineglass in a white-knuckled grip. Then the glass shattered and red wine splattered all over the tablecloth, mingling with drops of blood spewing from Damon’s palm.
    * * *
    D AMON BIT BACK A CURSE , and tried to mop up the spilled wine with his napkin.
    â€œDamon, oh, my good gracious!” Chaos erupted, and Damon noticed the blood. His mother rushed to retrieve a towel, and Stephanie grabbed his hand and wrapped her napkin around the jagged cut.
    â€œAre you all right, Damon?” she asked in a low voice.
    Stephanie had always been the perceptive one. Sometimes he thought she sensed things, maybe possessed a touch of ESP. Feeling panic tease at his nerves, he masked his thoughts. He couldn’t let anyone see inside his bleak, ugly mind.
    Besides, this was his brother’s moment. “I’m sorry, Jean-Paul. How clumsy of me. I didn’t mean to spoil your announcement.”
    His oldest brother’s eyes registered concern, but he shook off the apology and curved his arm around Britta’s shoulders. “No problem, bro. Are you all right?”
    Damon and Antwaun exchanged a glance, silently agreeing not to broach the latest challenge facing Antwaun. Hopefully the DNA would prove that the severed hand hadn’t belonged to Kendra Yates and clear Antwaun of any suspicion.
    But if the hand wasn’t hers, then whose was it? Had another serial killer surfaced—one who enjoyed hacking off women’s body parts and leaving them scattered all over the bayou?
    â€œDo you need stitches?” his father asked.
    Damon shook his head. “No, I’ll just clean it up. Please continue the celebration.”
    His mother trailed him to the kitchen, removed the first-aid kit and played nursemaid as if he were five years old again and had just had a bicycle accident.
    â€œWhat’s troubling you, son?” Daniella asked.
    He rinsed the droplets of blood down the drain, wishing he could rid his mind of the tormenting