Silent Scream
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Synopsis
When a teenage girl dies in a suspicious fire, Detective Olivia Sutherland is assigned to track down the arsonist. Then she discovers something more sinister: a vicious blackmailer who preys on young people and murders without hesitation. Making her work even harder is sexy firefighter David Hunter. He’s not only sharing the case but sparking memories of their long-ago night of passion, when feelings were left unspoken and hearts were broken.
David has his own ghosts and a million regrets. But while he and Olivia try to face the wall of pain between them, a diabolical puppet master is pulling strings to make a group of twenty-somethings do his bidding. Soon Olivia and David are scouring the city for a calculating criminal who seems tantalizingly close and is moving in for the kill.
Release date: May 14, 2010
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 608
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Silent Scream
Karen Rose
I CAN SEE YOU
“Spine-tingling… Rose keeps the action popping.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Top Pick! A top-notch and diabolically clever suspense tale and a tender love story to boot. Definitely one for your keeper
shelf!”
—RT Book Reviews
“A terrific whodunit… a great poignant work… Karen Rose is gaining a well-deserved reputation for great romantic suspense
thrillers; her latest winner, I Can See You, is a super Minneapolis police procedural that also showcases the double-edged sword of online communities.”
—Midwest Book Review
“A hair-raising climax. For romantic-suspense fans who don’t mind some edge, or thriller fans.”
—Booklist
“Compelling… if you like creepy, gripping mysteries, romantic leading men, and brainy leading ladies, you will enjoy I Can See You.”
—
Examiner.com
“Skin-shivering suspense and a poignant passion between two vulnerable people combine in this lethally good read.”
—BookPage
“I loved it! Read it! Races into overdrive… with many fascinating twists and turns, and I couldn’t put it down… A great read,
and a complex love story between two people who should be bitter but have decided to take the risk to trust, as the scars
that bind Eve and Noah also heal them.”
—
TheReviewBroads.com
“Complex, chilling, and intense romantic suspense… Rose’s greatest strength has always been her astute gift at getting into
the heart and soul of her characters. Eve and Noah rank among her best… Rose is equally meticulous about getting into the
head of her antagonists.”
—
BookLoons.com
“Will chill you to the bone… With deeply drawn characters and a twisted plot, I Can See You will snare you in its clutches, leaving you breathless and eager for more. The suspense sizzles. It builds and builds until
you think you might come apart at the seams before the climax crashes down around you. Karen Rose is probably the best romantic
suspense author in existence, and she proves it once again with the unpredictable and unsettling I Can See You.”
—
NightsAndWeekends.com
KILL FOR ME
“Rose juggles a large cast, a huge body count, and a complex plot with terrifying ease.”
—Publishers Weekly
“4½ Stars! TOP PICK! Gritty and thrilling… A page-turner from the get-go.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Stupendous… an exhilarating thriller… filled with action from the onset and never slows down.”
—Midwest Book Review
SCREAM FOR ME
“Intense, complex, and unforgettable.”
—James Patterson
“Cold chills, hot thrills, and characters that come alive… Rose is a master of romantic suspense.”
—Allison Brennan, author of Killing Fear
“Blistering, high-octane suspense that never lets up.”
—Karen Robards, New York Times bestselling author
“Strong and sexy… truly frightening.”
—BookPage
“Memorable… page-turning.”
—Minneapolis Star-Tribune
“Mesmerizing. Fabulous suspense. Masterful writing.”
—Betina Krahn, New York Times bestselling author of The Marriage Test
“4½ Stars! Terrifying… Rose is a force to be reckoned with!”
—RT Book Reviews
“A first-rate, top-tier thriller… loudly announces that there could well be a new thriller sheriff in town.”
—Lorenzo Carcaterra, New York Times bestselling author of Sleepers
COUNT TO TEN
“Takes off like a house afire… There’s action and chills galore in this nonstop thriller.”
—Tess Gerritsen, New York Times bestselling author
“Rose cranks up the heat in more ways than one… Emotional subplots, engaging characters, and a string of red herrings will
keep readers hooked.”
—Publishers Weekly
YOU CAN’T HIDE
“This novel is, in a word, riveting.”
—RT Book Reviews
“An immensely enjoyable read… that will have the reader glued to the pages from beginning to end.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“[Karen Rose] is the queen of murder and suspense… just terrific!”
—
RomanceReviewsMag.com
NOTHING TO FEAR
“A pulse-pounding tale that has it all: suspense, action, and a very hunky private investigator.”
—Cosmopolitan
“4½ Stars! Top pick!… Filled with heart-stopping suspense and graphic terror… In the pantheon of horrific killers, [this one]
surely ranks near the top.”
—RT Book Reviews
“A tense, chilling suspense.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Sets pulses pounding and pages turning.”
—BookPage
“Riveting… A caring women’s advocate heroine, a determined, gritty hero, and a diabolical villain drive the plot of Rose’s
riveting story.”
—Library Journal
I’M WATCHING YOU
“TOP PICK! Terrifying and gritty.”
—RT Book Reviews
“The suspense unfolds right up to the last page.”
—Southern Pines Pilot (NC)
“Action-packed… a thrilling police procedural romance.”
—Midwest Book Review
“It’s perfect… Love the characters, loved the side stories. It doesn’t get any better than this!”
—Romantic Review
HAVE YOU SEEN HER?
“Heart-racing thrills… showcases her growing talent… readers will… rush to the novel’s thrilling conclusion.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Terrifying and gripping.”
—RT Book Reviews
DON’T TELL
“As gripping as a cold hand on the back of one’s neck… and tempered by lovable characters and a moving romance.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A definite page-turner that never lets up until the last page.”
—
RomRevToday.com
Minneapolis, Minnesota, Monday, September 20, 12:00 a.m.
They’d shown up. He had to admit he was surprised. He didn’t think they’d had the cojones, especially the girl. Of all of them,
he hadn’t thought she’d follow through.
Four college kids, all dressed in black. Four college kids with way too much time. Two of them with way too much of their
daddy’s money. If all went according to plan, a great deal of their daddy’s money would soon belong to him.
It was rule number one of his world—if people didn’t want to be blackmailed, they shouldn’t do bad things. Rule number two—if
they did bad things, they should be smart enough not to get caught. The four college kids weren’t very smart.
From the cover of the trees the condo developer had taken such pains to preserve, he watched the four approach, while he filmed
every step they took. Their faces were plainly visible in the moonlight, and although he’d bet their daddy’s money they believed
they were being stealthy, they moved with enough noise to wake the dead.
“Wait.” One of the four stopped. His name was Joel, and of the three young men, he had been the most enthusiastic proponent
of their plan. “Let’s think this through.”
Interesting. Conflict always added a little excitement. Unseen, he kept filming.
“No waiting,” the girl said. Her name was Mary, and she was a bitch. “We agreed. All of us, Joel. This condo has got to go.
We have to send a message.”
“She’s right.” This from Eric, the so-called brains of the group. As if. “This is our one chance to make a difference to these
wetlands. If we do nothing, this whole lake will be nothing but condos.” He turned to the large brute standing behind him.
“The guard will be doing his outside sweep in two minutes. He’ll exit the building from the service door in the back. You
know what to do. Come on, people. Let’s roll.”
The brute was Albert, pronounced without the t. French Canadian, he was at the university on a hockey scholarship. Right wing. Hell of a checker. Albert set off around the
building, obediently. His research had revealed that Albert had been quite the juvenile delinquent, back in the day. He was
quite certain Albert would know exactly what to do.
The show was about to begin. Hurry, he told himself, taking his second camera from his pack. This was his stationary camera and was attached to a small tripod
which he stuck into the soft ground, positioning the lens just in time to capture Mary, Eric, and Joel entering a stairwell
door on the east side of the condo.
The door had been propped open with a rock, probably by a construction worker who’d wanted to save a little time and effort.
The best security system in the world could be neutralized by lazy workers. Apparently the College Four had done their homework
and knew exactly which door would be open. Kudos to them.
Leaving his stationary camera running, he moved the
way Albert had gone, arriving just as the guard exited, right on schedule. Five seconds later the guard lay unconscious on
the ground. A satisfied Albert slid a small club back into his pocket.
All caught on my tape. Albert’s family was dirt poor, so there was no money now, but there was a good chance that Albert would someday have an NHL
salary ending in lots of zeroes. I can wait. Eric and Joel both had daddies rich enough to fill his bank accounts for now. As for Mary’s daddy… some paybacks didn’t require
a dollar sign.
Some paybacks are personal.
Within another minute, Mary emerged from the side entrance and joined Albert. Both stared up at the windows, waiting.
He waited with them, from a safe distance away. He saw the first wisps of smoke rise in the upper floors. Mary threw her fist
in the air with a whispered, “Yes.”
Minutes later there was lots of smoke, on every floor. But the side door had not opened again. Mary took a step forward, the
triumph on her face turned to concern, but Albert stopped her, his beefy hand closing around her arm.
“They’re still inside,” she said, yanking at her arm. “Let me go.”
Albert shook his head. “Give them another minute.”
And then the door burst open, both Eric and Joel gasping for breath. Mary and Albert ran to the wheezing boys, pulling them
away from the building.
“Goddamn idiot,” Eric snarled, jerking in huge breaths. “You nearly got us killed.”
Joel fell to his knees, spasms of coughing shaking his body. He looked up, his eyes terrified, desperate. “She’ll die.”
Mary and Albert shared shocked looks. “Who will die?” Albert asked carefully.
Joel scrambled to his feet. “A girl. She’s trapped. We have to get her out.” He started to run. “Dammit,” he cried when Eric
and Albert dragged him back. “Let me go.”
Mary grabbed Joel’s face. “There’s somebody in there?” She flashed a panicked glare at Eric. “You said nobody would be in
there. You said it was safe.”
“Nobody’s supposed to be in there,” Eric gritted through clenched teeth. “Joel didn’t see anything. Let’s go before somebody
sees the smoke and calls 911.”
“She’s in there,” Joel insisted, hysterical now. “I saw her. Look!”
As a group they looked up and he followed suit, pointing his lens upward as a collective gasp rose from the group. In that
moment, he saw her, too. A girl, her fists banging on the window that had been designed to provide a view of the lake, not
an escape. She was young, a teenager maybe, her mouth opened on a terrified cry they could not hear. Her fists pounded weakly
now, her face pressed to the glass. Then her hands flattened against the window as she slid from their sight.
Joel gave a final, desperate yank. “She’s going to die. Don’t you care? Nobody was supposed to get hurt. Let me go. I’ve got
to get her out.”
Mary grabbed his hair. “Stop it. You go back in there and you’ll both be dead.”
Joel was sobbing now. “Then call 911. Please. Dammit, please.”
“Listen to me,” Mary said, her voice low and urgent. “If we call 911, we all go to prison. Prison, Joel. That’s not going
to happen. Stop this, right now.”
But Joel wasn’t listening. He thrashed, trying to escape
their grip like a man possessed. Behind his head, Eric gave Albert a grim nod. Albert pulled the club from his pocket and
a second later Joel collapsed, just as the guard had done.
“Let’s go,” Eric said tersely and he and Albert picked Joel up and carried him through the woods to where their car was parked.
Mary gave a final look back, up at the now-empty window. “Shit,” she hissed, then turned and ran, passing the struggling boys
to pull at the chain-link fence they’d cut on their way in. “Hurry. Shove him through.”
Well. He lowered his camera, watching as the taillights from their car disappeared. That had been a lot more exciting than he’d
thought it would be. A simple arson would have been good for years of blackmailing fun. But murder trumped arson and just
about anything else. He had several clients who would agree to that.
He quickly packed his two cameras and the tripod. Smoke was billowing into the sky and he heard the pop of glass as windows
began to burst. The authorities would soon be here. And I will be long gone. Hefting his backpack, he jogged around the building to the lake side where he’d left his boat tied to the dock.
“You there. Stop.” It was a thin, ragged cry, but he heard it. Spinning around, he found himself face-to-face with the security
guard, who staggered forward, dazed. Blood oozed from the open wound on his head. Albert hadn’t hit him hard enough. The man
held his radio in one bloody hand, a gun in the other. “Stop or I’ll shoot. I will.”
Not today, Pops. Calmly he drew his own gun and fired. The guard’s mouth fell open in shock. He dropped to his knees, then collapsed for
the second time that night.
“Shoulda stayed down, Pops,” he muttered. He ran to his boat and dropped his pack inside. With a quiet roar, the motor engaged.
Quickly he pulled off the ski mask he wore. If anyone saw him now he could claim he’d seen the smoke and was coming to help,
versus trying to flee. But nobody saw him. Nobody ever did.
Which made listening to their whispered secrets so much easier. He patted the cameras in his pack. Which made taking their
money so much easier still. I love my job.
Oh my God oh my God oh my God. From behind the tree where he’d hidden, Austin Dent watched the small boat speed away, his hands pressed to his mouth. The
guard was dead. That man had shot him. Dead.
They’ll say I did it. Run. I have to run. He took a few unsteady steps backward, lifting his eyes to the burning building once again.
Tracey. She’d been behind him as they’d run from the building. But when he got out, she wasn’t behind him anymore. And when he’d
turned back… All he could see was smoke. A sob of anguish rose up in his chest. Tracey.
In the distance he could see the lights flashing. They were coming. The cops were coming. They’ll take me away. Put me in a cage. No. Not again. I can’t do that again. He stumbled back a few more steps, then turned and started to run.
Minneapolis, Minnesota, Monday, September 20, 12:40 a.m.
Higher, Zell,” David Hunter said into his radio, his voice muffled by the mask covering his face. He turned his shoulder into
the wind that blew the acrid smoke into the night sky. Suspended four stories up, the bucket in which he stood held firm.
The belt anchored him to the apparatus, but his legs still clenched as he held his position.
“Going up.” Jeff Zoellner, his partner, operated the lift from the base of the ladder.
David adjusted the angle of the nozzle mounted on the bucket as he rose, aiming at the flames that had consumed the lower
two floors of the structure before they’d arrived. None of them had gone in. Too dangerous. Their only hope was to control
this fire so that it didn’t spread to the trees surrounding what had been a six-story luxury condo.
Thank God this place isn’t finished. In a few weeks there would have been people inside. There may be one. The guard was missing. If he’d been on one of the lower floors, he was dead. If he’d made it a little higher, there was
still a chance of saving him.
Arson. David’s jaw clenched as the platform rose. Had to be. He’d seen it before, up close and way too
personally. The wind shifted again and he flinched when the flames lurched his way. For a split second he lost his footing.
Focus, boy. Stay alive.
“David?” Jeff’s voice was urgent amid the crackling. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” The platform rose a few more feet, lifting him alongside a large picture window. Every condo on the upper floors had
them. He saw no flames, but smoke billowed from the smaller windows which had already burst from the heat.
But all the picture windows were intact. Made of impact-resistant glass, they didn’t burst. They also didn’t open. They were
for the view of the lake. Not for escape.
And then he saw them. His heart began to race faster.
“Stop.” He leaned over the edge of the bucket in which he stood, so he could get closer to the window. It couldn’t be. Nobody’s supposed to be inside. But it was.
“What is it?” The platform lurched as Jeff hit the brakes.
Handprints. The faint outline of small handprints that somehow… shimmered in the light from his spotlight. What the hell? “Handprints.” And streaks, made from fingers clawing at the window, trying to escape. “Somebody’s in there. We have to go
in.”
“Hunter?” Captain Tyson Casey’s voice cut through the static. “Do you see a body?”
Using the controls mounted in the bucket, David edged closer until the platform bumped the wall. Straining to see through
the smoke, his racing heart sank. “I see arms.” Thin, bare arms and a slim back. Long blond hair. Not the missing guard, a
man in his fifties. “It’s a woman. Appears unconscious. Window is impact-resistant.”
“Hold your position,” Casey told him. “Sheridan, cut the nozzle. Zell’s on his way up with the saw.”
David felt the pressure in the line lessen as firefighter Gabe Sheridan closed off the valve from the ground. He looked down
to see Jeff steadily climbing the ladder. Hurry, he wanted to hiss, but knew Jeff was doing it right. Doing it safe. For a moment he considered taking his own ax to the
window, but knew the power saw would do the job on the impact-resistant glass a lot faster than he could, so he conserved
his energy.
He glanced back through the window at the woman inside. She hadn’t moved.
She was probably dead. Don’t be dead. He peered through the glass, wondering if anyone else was in the room. Wondering if she could have set the fire.
Jeff climbed into the bucket, power saw in hand. David pointed to the far edge of the glass, away from the victim and her
handprints, blocking out the mental picture of how terrified she must have been as she pounded and clawed, trying to escape.
She might have set this fire. They needed to preserve her prints on the glass for the cops.
His air can was almost empty so he switched it while Jeff forced the saw through the nearly impenetrable glass until the hole
was big enough for David to push through.
Jeff grabbed his shoulder. “She could have done this,” he shouted. “Be careful.”
“I will,” he shouted back. He climbed through, landing as close to the wall as possible in case the floor was weak. He crouched
low and searched the room for anyone else.
But there was no one. Go. Get her out and go. She was light, her weight barely registering when he hefted her over his shoulder. He handed her to Jeff, then climbed
back through the window and radioed Gabe Sheridan to take them down.
The platform backed away from the building, away from the flames that were still licking at the second floor. The paramedic
was waiting on the ground to take the victim.
David pulled off his mask the moment his feet hit the dirt, Jeff doing the same. For a moment David closed his eyes, letting
the air cool his face. The night air that would have been otherwise brisk was still hot all around them, but compared to wearing
that damn mask it was like stepping into A/C. Medic Scotty Schooner looked up, grim.
David knew. “She’s dead?”
Scotty nodded. “Yeah.”
Jeff’s hand clasped his shoulder. “Sorry, buddy.”
“Me too.” David remembered the handprints on the window. “Check her hands.”
Scotty knelt next to the gurney holding the body of a girl David could now see was no more than a teenager wearing ratty jeans
and a thin T-shirt. What a waste.
Scotty was frowning at the girl’s hands. “They’re covered in some kind of gel.”
David’s captain and two uniformed cops joined them, the three of them bending over the gurney to see her hands.
“What is this shit on her hands?” one of the cops asked.
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it reflects light. I saw her handprints on the window,” David told him. “My light hit the
glass and the prints shone. Fire investigator’s going to want to sample it. If she set this fire, she got stuck up there and
panicked. There were lots of fist-sized prints, like she pounded, trying to get out.”
“If she didn’t do this fire, it’s murder,” the other cop said. “I’ll make the call.”
“Tell them it’s a double,” a female voice said behind
them. Carrie Jackson stood behind them. Her engine team had been spraying the west side of the structure, next to the lake.
“I was laying line and nearly tripped over the guard. He was shot in the chest.”
Scotty stood up. “I’ll go check him out.”
Carrie shrugged. “Go ahead. But he’s definitely dead. Has been for a while.”
“I believe you,” Scotty said. “But it’s regs. Show me where he is.” Together, Scotty and Carrie set off around the building
with the first cop.
The second cop straightened with a sigh. “I’ll get Homicide, the ME, and CSU out here. They’ll want to talk to all of you.
Especially Hunter, since he brought her out.”
Homicide. David’s throat closed as the word left the cop’s mouth and for a moment another thought scrambled to the top of his mind.
There were lots of detectives in Homicide. Odds were it wouldn’t be her. And if it was? I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. He cleared his throat harshly and nodded. “Of course. Whatever they need.”
“As soon as we’re done,” Captain Casey added. “We’ve got to get the second floor under control. Hunter, you and Zell go back
in. Search the upper floors. Find out if anyone else was where they shouldn’t have been, and make sure we got no fire in the
walls.”
“Will do,” Jeff said.
David pushed homicide detectives from his mind and took a last look at the girl on the gurney. What the hell was she doing
in there? Why wasn’t someone taking care of you? But he knew all too well that life wasn’t nearly that idyllic. “I’ll check where I found her, see if I can find some ID.
She’s just a kid. She’s got to belong to somebody.”
“Don’t touch anything,” the cop said and David fought the urge to roll his eyes. Cops treated them like damn kindergartners
sometimes. “Got it?”
“Don’t worry. I got it.”
Monday, September 20, 1:15 a.m.
Homicide detective Olivia Sutherland flashed her badge at the uniform guarding the condo’s construction entrance and drove
through the gate, past the news vans and cameramen, acutely aware of all the flashing bulbs at her back. By the questions
the press were shouting, they’d already correctly concluded it was arson.
Her churning gut tightened further. Just by being here she’d stirred up their recent collective memory. Amid their shouted
arson questions were targeted references to her last big case. It was inevitable, she knew. Didn’t mean she had to like it.
“How’ve you been, Detective?” A reporter she knew and at one time hadn’t despised ran along side her car until the uniform
stopped him cold. “Are you over the Body Pit yet?” the reporter shouted at her back. “Still seeing the department shrink?”
Olivia gritted her teeth. She’d been to the shrink three department-mandated times and this guy made it sound like she had
a standing appointment with a couch.
With a cold glare Olivia raised her window, not slowing down until she reached the bank of parked official vehicles and rolled
to a stop next to her partner’s Ford. A piece of her settled. Kane was here. He’ll know what to do.
The thought startled her. “And so do I,” she said aloud. Firmly. “Get a grip.” But she was afraid she couldn’t.
Because her breathing was changing, hitching up in her lungs and her heart was racing. Because the three department-mandated
visits to the shrink hadn’t helped. She still wasn’t over the body pit, the mass burial pit they’d discovered in the basement
of a serial killer seven months before.
In four years on the homicide squad she’d seen a lot of bodies, but nothing could compare to the serial killer they’d chased
last February. Dubbed the “Red Dress Killer” by the press for the way he’d dressed his final victims, he’d been quietly murdering
for thirty years and burying his victims in a lime pit in his basement. It wasn’t until he’d stepped up his pace that he’d
made mistakes and they’d caught him, discovering his grisly secret.
And it had fallen to Olivia and her partner, Kane, to process the dead. There had been blocks of days when she hadn’t slept,
hadn’t eaten, hadn’t done anything but process the dead, inform their families, and return to the pit for more. Lime was not
kind to human flesh. She didn’t need nightmares. The reality was plenty bad enough.
The press could call him what they wished. In her mind he was “Pit-Guy,” because it was the pit that ruled her dreams—dark,
bottomless, and filled with the dead.
She kneaded her steering wheel, taking deep breaths, trying to will the panic away. Because seven months and dozens of bodies
later, she froze every time she knew a new victim waited. A wee bit of a problem for a homicide detective, she thought bitterly.
“Get out of the car,” she muttered. “Do your job.” Clenching her jaw, she pushed her door open and forced her feet to move,
her lungs to take one more breath. Then forced her face to look like she didn’t harbor a thought
that didn’t have to do with this scene. This night. These two victims. A middle-aged guard and a teenaged girl.
Think about them. Think about justice for them. Do your damn job.
She drew another breath, grimacing at the stench of smoke. It had been a bad fire. Two companies had responded to the scene—two
pumpers, an aerial tower truck, and the two rescue squads they wouldn’t be needing after all.
Only the morgue rig would be transporting tonight.
As her feet moved, she found herself searching the fire trucks for station numbers, another habit she’d picked up in the last
seven months, one she found nearly as distasteful as her new fear of dead bodies. That she even knew which truck was his was
completely humiliating. Like she should care if he was here or not. But of course she did. How pathetic am I? Pretty damn.
She winced when she saw the L2I painted on the side of the tower truck with its aerial platform. He was here. Or his firehouse was, at least. Don’t let him be on duty tonight. Just find Kane. Do your job.
She easily found Kane in the crowd. Her partner was a big man, even compared to the firefighters and cops, standing head and
shoulders above everyone else. He was also the only one in the crowd wearing a black fedora. It was his fire fedora, she knew,
the one he always wore when he knew he’d be going to an arson. It smelled like stale smoke, and his wife Jennie made him keep
it in their garage.
All of his other fedoras were kept with care on Styrofoam heads in their guest room. Every man in the homicide division wore
fedoras on the job, a nice tradition someone had started long before her time. It was a
symbol, a connection to detectives past, and now it was part of local lore. Homicide was known around town as the “Hat Squad.”
New detectives, on solving their first homicide, were presented with their first fedora by the sq
“Spine-tingling… Rose keeps the action popping.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Top Pick! A top-notch and diabolically clever suspense tale and a tender love story to boot. Definitely one for your keeper
shelf!”
—RT Book Reviews
“A terrific whodunit… a great poignant work… Karen Rose is gaining a well-deserved reputation for great romantic suspense
thrillers; her latest winner, I Can See You, is a super Minneapolis police procedural that also showcases the double-edged sword of online communities.”
—Midwest Book Review
“A hair-raising climax. For romantic-suspense fans who don’t mind some edge, or thriller fans.”
—Booklist
“Compelling… if you like creepy, gripping mysteries, romantic leading men, and brainy leading ladies, you will enjoy I Can See You.”
—
Examiner.com
“Skin-shivering suspense and a poignant passion between two vulnerable people combine in this lethally good read.”
—BookPage
“I loved it! Read it! Races into overdrive… with many fascinating twists and turns, and I couldn’t put it down… A great read,
and a complex love story between two people who should be bitter but have decided to take the risk to trust, as the scars
that bind Eve and Noah also heal them.”
—
TheReviewBroads.com
“Complex, chilling, and intense romantic suspense… Rose’s greatest strength has always been her astute gift at getting into
the heart and soul of her characters. Eve and Noah rank among her best… Rose is equally meticulous about getting into the
head of her antagonists.”
—
BookLoons.com
“Will chill you to the bone… With deeply drawn characters and a twisted plot, I Can See You will snare you in its clutches, leaving you breathless and eager for more. The suspense sizzles. It builds and builds until
you think you might come apart at the seams before the climax crashes down around you. Karen Rose is probably the best romantic
suspense author in existence, and she proves it once again with the unpredictable and unsettling I Can See You.”
—
NightsAndWeekends.com
KILL FOR ME
“Rose juggles a large cast, a huge body count, and a complex plot with terrifying ease.”
—Publishers Weekly
“4½ Stars! TOP PICK! Gritty and thrilling… A page-turner from the get-go.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Stupendous… an exhilarating thriller… filled with action from the onset and never slows down.”
—Midwest Book Review
SCREAM FOR ME
“Intense, complex, and unforgettable.”
—James Patterson
“Cold chills, hot thrills, and characters that come alive… Rose is a master of romantic suspense.”
—Allison Brennan, author of Killing Fear
“Blistering, high-octane suspense that never lets up.”
—Karen Robards, New York Times bestselling author
“Strong and sexy… truly frightening.”
—BookPage
“Memorable… page-turning.”
—Minneapolis Star-Tribune
“Mesmerizing. Fabulous suspense. Masterful writing.”
—Betina Krahn, New York Times bestselling author of The Marriage Test
“4½ Stars! Terrifying… Rose is a force to be reckoned with!”
—RT Book Reviews
“A first-rate, top-tier thriller… loudly announces that there could well be a new thriller sheriff in town.”
—Lorenzo Carcaterra, New York Times bestselling author of Sleepers
COUNT TO TEN
“Takes off like a house afire… There’s action and chills galore in this nonstop thriller.”
—Tess Gerritsen, New York Times bestselling author
“Rose cranks up the heat in more ways than one… Emotional subplots, engaging characters, and a string of red herrings will
keep readers hooked.”
—Publishers Weekly
YOU CAN’T HIDE
“This novel is, in a word, riveting.”
—RT Book Reviews
“An immensely enjoyable read… that will have the reader glued to the pages from beginning to end.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“[Karen Rose] is the queen of murder and suspense… just terrific!”
—
RomanceReviewsMag.com
NOTHING TO FEAR
“A pulse-pounding tale that has it all: suspense, action, and a very hunky private investigator.”
—Cosmopolitan
“4½ Stars! Top pick!… Filled with heart-stopping suspense and graphic terror… In the pantheon of horrific killers, [this one]
surely ranks near the top.”
—RT Book Reviews
“A tense, chilling suspense.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Sets pulses pounding and pages turning.”
—BookPage
“Riveting… A caring women’s advocate heroine, a determined, gritty hero, and a diabolical villain drive the plot of Rose’s
riveting story.”
—Library Journal
I’M WATCHING YOU
“TOP PICK! Terrifying and gritty.”
—RT Book Reviews
“The suspense unfolds right up to the last page.”
—Southern Pines Pilot (NC)
“Action-packed… a thrilling police procedural romance.”
—Midwest Book Review
“It’s perfect… Love the characters, loved the side stories. It doesn’t get any better than this!”
—Romantic Review
HAVE YOU SEEN HER?
“Heart-racing thrills… showcases her growing talent… readers will… rush to the novel’s thrilling conclusion.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Terrifying and gripping.”
—RT Book Reviews
DON’T TELL
“As gripping as a cold hand on the back of one’s neck… and tempered by lovable characters and a moving romance.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A definite page-turner that never lets up until the last page.”
—
RomRevToday.com
Minneapolis, Minnesota, Monday, September 20, 12:00 a.m.
They’d shown up. He had to admit he was surprised. He didn’t think they’d had the cojones, especially the girl. Of all of them,
he hadn’t thought she’d follow through.
Four college kids, all dressed in black. Four college kids with way too much time. Two of them with way too much of their
daddy’s money. If all went according to plan, a great deal of their daddy’s money would soon belong to him.
It was rule number one of his world—if people didn’t want to be blackmailed, they shouldn’t do bad things. Rule number two—if
they did bad things, they should be smart enough not to get caught. The four college kids weren’t very smart.
From the cover of the trees the condo developer had taken such pains to preserve, he watched the four approach, while he filmed
every step they took. Their faces were plainly visible in the moonlight, and although he’d bet their daddy’s money they believed
they were being stealthy, they moved with enough noise to wake the dead.
“Wait.” One of the four stopped. His name was Joel, and of the three young men, he had been the most enthusiastic proponent
of their plan. “Let’s think this through.”
Interesting. Conflict always added a little excitement. Unseen, he kept filming.
“No waiting,” the girl said. Her name was Mary, and she was a bitch. “We agreed. All of us, Joel. This condo has got to go.
We have to send a message.”
“She’s right.” This from Eric, the so-called brains of the group. As if. “This is our one chance to make a difference to these
wetlands. If we do nothing, this whole lake will be nothing but condos.” He turned to the large brute standing behind him.
“The guard will be doing his outside sweep in two minutes. He’ll exit the building from the service door in the back. You
know what to do. Come on, people. Let’s roll.”
The brute was Albert, pronounced without the t. French Canadian, he was at the university on a hockey scholarship. Right wing. Hell of a checker. Albert set off around the
building, obediently. His research had revealed that Albert had been quite the juvenile delinquent, back in the day. He was
quite certain Albert would know exactly what to do.
The show was about to begin. Hurry, he told himself, taking his second camera from his pack. This was his stationary camera and was attached to a small tripod
which he stuck into the soft ground, positioning the lens just in time to capture Mary, Eric, and Joel entering a stairwell
door on the east side of the condo.
The door had been propped open with a rock, probably by a construction worker who’d wanted to save a little time and effort.
The best security system in the world could be neutralized by lazy workers. Apparently the College Four had done their homework
and knew exactly which door would be open. Kudos to them.
Leaving his stationary camera running, he moved the
way Albert had gone, arriving just as the guard exited, right on schedule. Five seconds later the guard lay unconscious on
the ground. A satisfied Albert slid a small club back into his pocket.
All caught on my tape. Albert’s family was dirt poor, so there was no money now, but there was a good chance that Albert would someday have an NHL
salary ending in lots of zeroes. I can wait. Eric and Joel both had daddies rich enough to fill his bank accounts for now. As for Mary’s daddy… some paybacks didn’t require
a dollar sign.
Some paybacks are personal.
Within another minute, Mary emerged from the side entrance and joined Albert. Both stared up at the windows, waiting.
He waited with them, from a safe distance away. He saw the first wisps of smoke rise in the upper floors. Mary threw her fist
in the air with a whispered, “Yes.”
Minutes later there was lots of smoke, on every floor. But the side door had not opened again. Mary took a step forward, the
triumph on her face turned to concern, but Albert stopped her, his beefy hand closing around her arm.
“They’re still inside,” she said, yanking at her arm. “Let me go.”
Albert shook his head. “Give them another minute.”
And then the door burst open, both Eric and Joel gasping for breath. Mary and Albert ran to the wheezing boys, pulling them
away from the building.
“Goddamn idiot,” Eric snarled, jerking in huge breaths. “You nearly got us killed.”
Joel fell to his knees, spasms of coughing shaking his body. He looked up, his eyes terrified, desperate. “She’ll die.”
Mary and Albert shared shocked looks. “Who will die?” Albert asked carefully.
Joel scrambled to his feet. “A girl. She’s trapped. We have to get her out.” He started to run. “Dammit,” he cried when Eric
and Albert dragged him back. “Let me go.”
Mary grabbed Joel’s face. “There’s somebody in there?” She flashed a panicked glare at Eric. “You said nobody would be in
there. You said it was safe.”
“Nobody’s supposed to be in there,” Eric gritted through clenched teeth. “Joel didn’t see anything. Let’s go before somebody
sees the smoke and calls 911.”
“She’s in there,” Joel insisted, hysterical now. “I saw her. Look!”
As a group they looked up and he followed suit, pointing his lens upward as a collective gasp rose from the group. In that
moment, he saw her, too. A girl, her fists banging on the window that had been designed to provide a view of the lake, not
an escape. She was young, a teenager maybe, her mouth opened on a terrified cry they could not hear. Her fists pounded weakly
now, her face pressed to the glass. Then her hands flattened against the window as she slid from their sight.
Joel gave a final, desperate yank. “She’s going to die. Don’t you care? Nobody was supposed to get hurt. Let me go. I’ve got
to get her out.”
Mary grabbed his hair. “Stop it. You go back in there and you’ll both be dead.”
Joel was sobbing now. “Then call 911. Please. Dammit, please.”
“Listen to me,” Mary said, her voice low and urgent. “If we call 911, we all go to prison. Prison, Joel. That’s not going
to happen. Stop this, right now.”
But Joel wasn’t listening. He thrashed, trying to escape
their grip like a man possessed. Behind his head, Eric gave Albert a grim nod. Albert pulled the club from his pocket and
a second later Joel collapsed, just as the guard had done.
“Let’s go,” Eric said tersely and he and Albert picked Joel up and carried him through the woods to where their car was parked.
Mary gave a final look back, up at the now-empty window. “Shit,” she hissed, then turned and ran, passing the struggling boys
to pull at the chain-link fence they’d cut on their way in. “Hurry. Shove him through.”
Well. He lowered his camera, watching as the taillights from their car disappeared. That had been a lot more exciting than he’d
thought it would be. A simple arson would have been good for years of blackmailing fun. But murder trumped arson and just
about anything else. He had several clients who would agree to that.
He quickly packed his two cameras and the tripod. Smoke was billowing into the sky and he heard the pop of glass as windows
began to burst. The authorities would soon be here. And I will be long gone. Hefting his backpack, he jogged around the building to the lake side where he’d left his boat tied to the dock.
“You there. Stop.” It was a thin, ragged cry, but he heard it. Spinning around, he found himself face-to-face with the security
guard, who staggered forward, dazed. Blood oozed from the open wound on his head. Albert hadn’t hit him hard enough. The man
held his radio in one bloody hand, a gun in the other. “Stop or I’ll shoot. I will.”
Not today, Pops. Calmly he drew his own gun and fired. The guard’s mouth fell open in shock. He dropped to his knees, then collapsed for
the second time that night.
“Shoulda stayed down, Pops,” he muttered. He ran to his boat and dropped his pack inside. With a quiet roar, the motor engaged.
Quickly he pulled off the ski mask he wore. If anyone saw him now he could claim he’d seen the smoke and was coming to help,
versus trying to flee. But nobody saw him. Nobody ever did.
Which made listening to their whispered secrets so much easier. He patted the cameras in his pack. Which made taking their
money so much easier still. I love my job.
Oh my God oh my God oh my God. From behind the tree where he’d hidden, Austin Dent watched the small boat speed away, his hands pressed to his mouth. The
guard was dead. That man had shot him. Dead.
They’ll say I did it. Run. I have to run. He took a few unsteady steps backward, lifting his eyes to the burning building once again.
Tracey. She’d been behind him as they’d run from the building. But when he got out, she wasn’t behind him anymore. And when he’d
turned back… All he could see was smoke. A sob of anguish rose up in his chest. Tracey.
In the distance he could see the lights flashing. They were coming. The cops were coming. They’ll take me away. Put me in a cage. No. Not again. I can’t do that again. He stumbled back a few more steps, then turned and started to run.
Minneapolis, Minnesota, Monday, September 20, 12:40 a.m.
Higher, Zell,” David Hunter said into his radio, his voice muffled by the mask covering his face. He turned his shoulder into
the wind that blew the acrid smoke into the night sky. Suspended four stories up, the bucket in which he stood held firm.
The belt anchored him to the apparatus, but his legs still clenched as he held his position.
“Going up.” Jeff Zoellner, his partner, operated the lift from the base of the ladder.
David adjusted the angle of the nozzle mounted on the bucket as he rose, aiming at the flames that had consumed the lower
two floors of the structure before they’d arrived. None of them had gone in. Too dangerous. Their only hope was to control
this fire so that it didn’t spread to the trees surrounding what had been a six-story luxury condo.
Thank God this place isn’t finished. In a few weeks there would have been people inside. There may be one. The guard was missing. If he’d been on one of the lower floors, he was dead. If he’d made it a little higher, there was
still a chance of saving him.
Arson. David’s jaw clenched as the platform rose. Had to be. He’d seen it before, up close and way too
personally. The wind shifted again and he flinched when the flames lurched his way. For a split second he lost his footing.
Focus, boy. Stay alive.
“David?” Jeff’s voice was urgent amid the crackling. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” The platform rose a few more feet, lifting him alongside a large picture window. Every condo on the upper floors had
them. He saw no flames, but smoke billowed from the smaller windows which had already burst from the heat.
But all the picture windows were intact. Made of impact-resistant glass, they didn’t burst. They also didn’t open. They were
for the view of the lake. Not for escape.
And then he saw them. His heart began to race faster.
“Stop.” He leaned over the edge of the bucket in which he stood, so he could get closer to the window. It couldn’t be. Nobody’s supposed to be inside. But it was.
“What is it?” The platform lurched as Jeff hit the brakes.
Handprints. The faint outline of small handprints that somehow… shimmered in the light from his spotlight. What the hell? “Handprints.” And streaks, made from fingers clawing at the window, trying to escape. “Somebody’s in there. We have to go
in.”
“Hunter?” Captain Tyson Casey’s voice cut through the static. “Do you see a body?”
Using the controls mounted in the bucket, David edged closer until the platform bumped the wall. Straining to see through
the smoke, his racing heart sank. “I see arms.” Thin, bare arms and a slim back. Long blond hair. Not the missing guard, a
man in his fifties. “It’s a woman. Appears unconscious. Window is impact-resistant.”
“Hold your position,” Casey told him. “Sheridan, cut the nozzle. Zell’s on his way up with the saw.”
David felt the pressure in the line lessen as firefighter Gabe Sheridan closed off the valve from the ground. He looked down
to see Jeff steadily climbing the ladder. Hurry, he wanted to hiss, but knew Jeff was doing it right. Doing it safe. For a moment he considered taking his own ax to the
window, but knew the power saw would do the job on the impact-resistant glass a lot faster than he could, so he conserved
his energy.
He glanced back through the window at the woman inside. She hadn’t moved.
She was probably dead. Don’t be dead. He peered through the glass, wondering if anyone else was in the room. Wondering if she could have set the fire.
Jeff climbed into the bucket, power saw in hand. David pointed to the far edge of the glass, away from the victim and her
handprints, blocking out the mental picture of how terrified she must have been as she pounded and clawed, trying to escape.
She might have set this fire. They needed to preserve her prints on the glass for the cops.
His air can was almost empty so he switched it while Jeff forced the saw through the nearly impenetrable glass until the hole
was big enough for David to push through.
Jeff grabbed his shoulder. “She could have done this,” he shouted. “Be careful.”
“I will,” he shouted back. He climbed through, landing as close to the wall as possible in case the floor was weak. He crouched
low and searched the room for anyone else.
But there was no one. Go. Get her out and go. She was light, her weight barely registering when he hefted her over his shoulder. He handed her to Jeff, then climbed
back through the window and radioed Gabe Sheridan to take them down.
The platform backed away from the building, away from the flames that were still licking at the second floor. The paramedic
was waiting on the ground to take the victim.
David pulled off his mask the moment his feet hit the dirt, Jeff doing the same. For a moment David closed his eyes, letting
the air cool his face. The night air that would have been otherwise brisk was still hot all around them, but compared to wearing
that damn mask it was like stepping into A/C. Medic Scotty Schooner looked up, grim.
David knew. “She’s dead?”
Scotty nodded. “Yeah.”
Jeff’s hand clasped his shoulder. “Sorry, buddy.”
“Me too.” David remembered the handprints on the window. “Check her hands.”
Scotty knelt next to the gurney holding the body of a girl David could now see was no more than a teenager wearing ratty jeans
and a thin T-shirt. What a waste.
Scotty was frowning at the girl’s hands. “They’re covered in some kind of gel.”
David’s captain and two uniformed cops joined them, the three of them bending over the gurney to see her hands.
“What is this shit on her hands?” one of the cops asked.
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it reflects light. I saw her handprints on the window,” David told him. “My light hit the
glass and the prints shone. Fire investigator’s going to want to sample it. If she set this fire, she got stuck up there and
panicked. There were lots of fist-sized prints, like she pounded, trying to get out.”
“If she didn’t do this fire, it’s murder,” the other cop said. “I’ll make the call.”
“Tell them it’s a double,” a female voice said behind
them. Carrie Jackson stood behind them. Her engine team had been spraying the west side of the structure, next to the lake.
“I was laying line and nearly tripped over the guard. He was shot in the chest.”
Scotty stood up. “I’ll go check him out.”
Carrie shrugged. “Go ahead. But he’s definitely dead. Has been for a while.”
“I believe you,” Scotty said. “But it’s regs. Show me where he is.” Together, Scotty and Carrie set off around the building
with the first cop.
The second cop straightened with a sigh. “I’ll get Homicide, the ME, and CSU out here. They’ll want to talk to all of you.
Especially Hunter, since he brought her out.”
Homicide. David’s throat closed as the word left the cop’s mouth and for a moment another thought scrambled to the top of his mind.
There were lots of detectives in Homicide. Odds were it wouldn’t be her. And if it was? I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. He cleared his throat harshly and nodded. “Of course. Whatever they need.”
“As soon as we’re done,” Captain Casey added. “We’ve got to get the second floor under control. Hunter, you and Zell go back
in. Search the upper floors. Find out if anyone else was where they shouldn’t have been, and make sure we got no fire in the
walls.”
“Will do,” Jeff said.
David pushed homicide detectives from his mind and took a last look at the girl on the gurney. What the hell was she doing
in there? Why wasn’t someone taking care of you? But he knew all too well that life wasn’t nearly that idyllic. “I’ll check where I found her, see if I can find some ID.
She’s just a kid. She’s got to belong to somebody.”
“Don’t touch anything,” the cop said and David fought the urge to roll his eyes. Cops treated them like damn kindergartners
sometimes. “Got it?”
“Don’t worry. I got it.”
Monday, September 20, 1:15 a.m.
Homicide detective Olivia Sutherland flashed her badge at the uniform guarding the condo’s construction entrance and drove
through the gate, past the news vans and cameramen, acutely aware of all the flashing bulbs at her back. By the questions
the press were shouting, they’d already correctly concluded it was arson.
Her churning gut tightened further. Just by being here she’d stirred up their recent collective memory. Amid their shouted
arson questions were targeted references to her last big case. It was inevitable, she knew. Didn’t mean she had to like it.
“How’ve you been, Detective?” A reporter she knew and at one time hadn’t despised ran along side her car until the uniform
stopped him cold. “Are you over the Body Pit yet?” the reporter shouted at her back. “Still seeing the department shrink?”
Olivia gritted her teeth. She’d been to the shrink three department-mandated times and this guy made it sound like she had
a standing appointment with a couch.
With a cold glare Olivia raised her window, not slowing down until she reached the bank of parked official vehicles and rolled
to a stop next to her partner’s Ford. A piece of her settled. Kane was here. He’ll know what to do.
The thought startled her. “And so do I,” she said aloud. Firmly. “Get a grip.” But she was afraid she couldn’t.
Because her breathing was changing, hitching up in her lungs and her heart was racing. Because the three department-mandated
visits to the shrink hadn’t helped. She still wasn’t over the body pit, the mass burial pit they’d discovered in the basement
of a serial killer seven months before.
In four years on the homicide squad she’d seen a lot of bodies, but nothing could compare to the serial killer they’d chased
last February. Dubbed the “Red Dress Killer” by the press for the way he’d dressed his final victims, he’d been quietly murdering
for thirty years and burying his victims in a lime pit in his basement. It wasn’t until he’d stepped up his pace that he’d
made mistakes and they’d caught him, discovering his grisly secret.
And it had fallen to Olivia and her partner, Kane, to process the dead. There had been blocks of days when she hadn’t slept,
hadn’t eaten, hadn’t done anything but process the dead, inform their families, and return to the pit for more. Lime was not
kind to human flesh. She didn’t need nightmares. The reality was plenty bad enough.
The press could call him what they wished. In her mind he was “Pit-Guy,” because it was the pit that ruled her dreams—dark,
bottomless, and filled with the dead.
She kneaded her steering wheel, taking deep breaths, trying to will the panic away. Because seven months and dozens of bodies
later, she froze every time she knew a new victim waited. A wee bit of a problem for a homicide detective, she thought bitterly.
“Get out of the car,” she muttered. “Do your job.” Clenching her jaw, she pushed her door open and forced her feet to move,
her lungs to take one more breath. Then forced her face to look like she didn’t harbor a thought
that didn’t have to do with this scene. This night. These two victims. A middle-aged guard and a teenaged girl.
Think about them. Think about justice for them. Do your damn job.
She drew another breath, grimacing at the stench of smoke. It had been a bad fire. Two companies had responded to the scene—two
pumpers, an aerial tower truck, and the two rescue squads they wouldn’t be needing after all.
Only the morgue rig would be transporting tonight.
As her feet moved, she found herself searching the fire trucks for station numbers, another habit she’d picked up in the last
seven months, one she found nearly as distasteful as her new fear of dead bodies. That she even knew which truck was his was
completely humiliating. Like she should care if he was here or not. But of course she did. How pathetic am I? Pretty damn.
She winced when she saw the L2I painted on the side of the tower truck with its aerial platform. He was here. Or his firehouse was, at least. Don’t let him be on duty tonight. Just find Kane. Do your job.
She easily found Kane in the crowd. Her partner was a big man, even compared to the firefighters and cops, standing head and
shoulders above everyone else. He was also the only one in the crowd wearing a black fedora. It was his fire fedora, she knew,
the one he always wore when he knew he’d be going to an arson. It smelled like stale smoke, and his wife Jennie made him keep
it in their garage.
All of his other fedoras were kept with care on Styrofoam heads in their guest room. Every man in the homicide division wore
fedoras on the job, a nice tradition someone had started long before her time. It was a
symbol, a connection to detectives past, and now it was part of local lore. Homicide was known around town as the “Hat Squad.”
New detectives, on solving their first homicide, were presented with their first fedora by the sq
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