Fear Is Louder Than Words Page 2

Donna, short for Doniella. Her producer. Her best friend—the station ball of energy—burst through the door. Without Donna’s drive the station operated on low octane.

  Rochelle sniffed the air. Cinnamon and apple?

  “Coffee and apple fritters from The Curly Cruller.”

  Ahh, the discerning Cassidy nose.

  Donna lifted the box and glided to the edge of the desk. She deposited her stash and leaned in. Her eyes, like Tinkerbell’s, shimmered with mischief. “You spanked Bennett in that interview. No … you killed him. And the boss is thr-illed.” Emphasizing the point with her fingertip, her nail tapped a rhythm that sounded suspiciously like Jingle Bells. “Can’t believe all Bennett divulged in such a short interview. Live, no less.” She pulled back and laughed.

  “Detroit’s been a mess for years.” Rochelle’s gaze honed in on the pastries. Her mouth watered.

  “Well,”—Donna raised a brow—“he deserves what he gets. And so do you, girl. That interview rocked. Maybe this is the excuse the city’s needed to clean house.”

  “I’m not sure Detroit’s councilman is as pleased with the outcome as you are.” A twang of guilt leached through her veins. Was she taking too much pleasure in Bennett’s fall? She quickly put the thought aside—not her problem, his.

  Scarfing one of the fritters, Donna shrugged. “Bennett’s gonna enjoy a free overnight stay with the boys in blue. John said all the guys at the precinct have an opinion—none good. After bread and water, instead of champagne and caviar, he’ll remember the Motor—”

  Rochelle’s nose wrinkled, and her hand brought a stop to Donna’s words. “That’s what I’m afraid of. But he had to be stopped. When a city goes bankrupt—I mean—and that wife of his. Why aren’t the animal rights groups beating on her mink door?”

  “Keep on digging and maybe they will. Love it, girl. Love it.”

  Rochelle snatched a napkin. “Thanks for the goodies. I only had soup for lunch. I wasn’t about to battle the Black Friday crowds for anything more substantial.” She wiped the stickiness from her fingers before grasping the hot coffee.

  “I do my best.” Known for changing gears as quickly as America changed diets, Donna’s face lit up like a little kid on Santa’s lap. “Have you thought about what I asked you this morning? I promise you won’t be sorry.”

  “Whenever you get a harebrained scheme, I’m almost always sorry.” Rochelle rolled her eyes and grabbed for the rest of the fritter. Another well-meaning friend, another fruitless attempt to coerce her into a blind date. She did well on her own … for the most part. “He probably lives with his mom, has a bulging middle, and is bald. Not in a Daughtry sort of way.” She fanned her face and smiled.

  Her gaze darted to the clock, intimating the late hour. It seemed like she’d been here since dawn.

  “Don’t judge. For your information, he’s very good-looking, filthy rich, rarely calls his mother, but who cares?” Donna pressed her hands together. “Please say yes. John and I want you to go to A Christmas Carol at Meadow Brook Theatre with us. Free tic-ket,” she sang.

  Free ticket but with all kinds of strings attached—like always. The fritter turned leaden in her stomach. “Not remotely interested.”

  “Are you all right?” Donna sobered and her voice softened with a gentleness Rochelle had seen her exhibit with her son Cody.

  “Another favorite fan letter.”

  “Is that all?” Donna snorted and waved her off. “You don’t take them seriously at this stage, do you?”

  Ye-ess! “He said I deserve to die. Only an idiot ignores threats. And the worst part is, I was so mad I forgot to keep it for legal. I shredded it.” She pulled open the drawer. “Want me to grab the glue?”

  “Nope. Not going Dumpster diving even for you.” Donna frowned. “I haven’t seen you freak out before. There’s more to this than a letter.”

  Unsure how much to say, Rochelle took a moment to clear her throat. “A letter.” She shot a glance at the desk mat and strummed the edge. “And a check.”

  “Today’s payday. Everybody got a check. Just in time for the bargains.”

  “It’s late.” There would be no discussing Danny’s check and definitely no more talk of a blind date. Advancing her career and scraping out a comfortable living in the Detroit market?

  Goals one and two.

  Donna’s expression loaded on the guilt. “C’mon, ’Chell.”

  “I don’t even know this guy. If he’s as bad as your last attempt to fix me up … remember?” Rochelle did a mental head slap because she surely remembered.

  “They can’t all be winners.” Donna giggled. “And John made him sound so amazing.”

  Cops profile. How had John called that so wrong?

  “Why won’t you tell me anything about this guy other than he’s some chest-beating alpha male?”

  “I didn’t say alpha.” Donna bugged her eyes and thumped her chest. “And I never mentioned chest beating.”

  “Alpha lurked in there somewhere.” The constant angling over her single status seemed to come to the forefront of every conversation lately.

  Rochelle set down the mug of lukewarm coffee. Leaning over, she grabbed for her boots as if that might end the discussion. But again, the same as on her show, she couldn’t resist having the last word. “Why do you feel the need to push Mr. Hottie at me?”

  Donna’s eyes did that little twinkle thing again. “So he’s Mr. Hottie, now?”

  “Please.” Rochelle zipped the leather snugly around her calves and glared from the stiletto heels to look over her shoulder. “There has to be something wrong with him. No one’s as perfect as you make him out to be. No one.”

  “I’ve known him for years.”

  She sat back up. Thought for a second and sighed. “And there you go, Donna. I have a giant ‘L’ on my forehead. Set me up with the guy no one else wants.”

  “Girl, you should have more in your life than this talk show. Real relationships with real people. People other than your listeners. Half of them hate you for your opinions anyway.”

  “Oh, really?” Rochelle jutted her chin, the memory of the horrible note resurfacing.

  “C’mon. I didn’t mean—”

  “Listen.” With the walls closing in, Rochelle reached upward. Her fingers danced a nervous rumba through her hair. “I honestly wish everyone would leave my private life alone.”

  “You don’t have a private life. Or maybe you’re referring to the romance novel I saw you slide into the side pouch of your bag.” Donna’s eyes narrowed. “And about that check. Why are you acting all mysterious and weird?”

  Rochelle hesitated, then sneaked it from under the leather mat. She licked her lips, tasting the same cherry-flavored balm her late boyfriend had used a thousand times a day. “Half of Danny’s life insurance. A courier delivered it a few minutes ago.”

  With a whip of her hand, Donna snatched the check from Rochelle’s fingers. “You’re just now getting a check from Danny’s estate? Oh, snap! Look at all the zeroes. Fifty big ones.”

  “Some cousin had to be located first. And anyway, I don’t deserve any of this.” They had parted ways long before Danny passed away. All she wanted was to forget.

  “Receiving unexpected money is bad?”

  Rochelle shrugged a shoulder, unable to explain the myriad of feelings. “Lots of unpleasant memories go with all those zeroes.” Everyone she loved came and went. Left her. Died. How could she trust letting anyone in again? “I don’t want his money.”

  “I say, why not? Didn’t you tell me he ran up one of your credit cards? On another woman?”

  Donna handed back the check then switched her attention from Rochelle’s pathetic life to the mess they’d made. “Anytime you need to talk, I’m here. And if you need help spending the dinero, I still have a few thousand dollars in medical bills at the clinic.”

  “The clinic?”

  “You don’t get an amazing baby for nothing nowadays.”

  “Yeah, sure.�
� Rochelle’s glance skipped to the other side of the desk. Her gloves teetered on the corner. Just like her life—always on edge. Always waiting for her to fall flat on her face.

  “Headed home?” Donna palmed the donut box.

  Home. The only place Rochelle wanted to be. Not out with shoppers, not planning a blind date, not cashing a check. “As fast as I can. Tonight I have a date with a bubble bath and It’s a Wonderful Life. That way, no time for my ghosts to chase me.”

  “It’s sort of late. Need a ride?” Donna jingled the keys in her pocket. “I’m about to call it quits myself.”

  Rochelle shook her head. “Don’t be shocked. I actually started driving again. About a month ago. Ten years of cabs and buses. It’s time I got over the accident, don’t you think?”

  Donna’s eyes widened. “Long past time. Way to go, girl.”

  She paused at the door, flaunting the motherly air she’d acquired since giving birth. “Be careful, Rochelle. I know we laugh at them, but the favorite fans might not all be cranks.”

  “Do you ever stop worrying?” Since Donna’s pregnancy and Cody’s birth at the baby genius factory, PhD Clinic, or some ridiculous name like that, she’d been certifiable. A mother hen.

  But Rochelle did have to admit, when it came to Cody, he was almost uncanny. Were all babies that smart and well-developed at his age? Or was Cody just a freak of nature?

  CHAPTER 4

  KYLE JERKED UP FROM his post between Kreston’s Klothing and Nino’s.

  He sensed her presence.

  Rochelle dashed toward the intersection as the stoplight switched to green.

  The lights behind her created a halo. Yeah, right. Rochelle the angel. He slapped his leg. Not with that vile mouth.

  But he wouldn’t mind touching those soft, brown curls. Just once. Run his fingers through them before … Patience. Soon, and he’d have all the time he wanted to touch her.

  Kyle narrowed his gaze where the streetlight exposed her blue eyes. The same blue eyes that smirked from the sides of the buses—looking down on people.

  Her knee-high boots and a purple wool coat screamed fashionista as she headed straight for the black ice. Her heels clicked once on the frozen pavement and bam!

  Kyle put his fingers over his mouth and laughed. She struggled to her feet. He might play the hero, step out of the darkness, offer his assistance.

  Forget it. She’d take one look and yell for the cops. No cops. Not tonight.

  He edged back.

  After clearing the intersection, Rochelle brushed slush off a coat Kyle bet cost plenty. Then she looked up with a whiny face. “Where’s my knight in shining armor when I need him?”

  As if …

  A small shake of her head said she recognized Sir Knight wasn’t coming. She tucked one of the curls under her hat. A nervous habit he’d witnessed many times before.

  His gaze shadowed Rochelle’s steps when she struggled onto the sidewalk.

  So she wanted a knight to charge in on a white horse.

  He quivered, focused on her movements. Beautiful or not, she was going to die.

  Kyle licked his lips and inched along while cold, rough bricks on the wall behind him snagged his jacket. He turned his back, looking in the window. Her image flashed behind him. Like so many days before, she strolled past Krestons’ Klothing and Nino’s Italian Restaurant. But tonight, her head whirled at every sound.

  Maybe she sensed his presence.

  Understood he waited. For her.

  The bells at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church chimed. She spun around. With a hand to her chest, she laughed. But he detected an awakening fear.

  His belly warmed to it.

  All of the time he’d spent following her, learning her routines. Planning for this very moment like one tick in time.

  She couldn’t see him. Not yet.

  Patience!

  Keeping to the darkness, he slipped into the shadows and made his way closer to the parking structure.

  She had it all. Her whole life—the little princess in her ivory tower.

  Kyle shuddered, hands trembling, eye twitching, and he blinked hard. Stay on point.

  He jammed knuckles against his mouth.

  Puffs of steam escaped the restaurant door; delicious smells filled the air. He lingered, picturing the rich and famous of Detroit who hung out in Nino’s. The fur coat and lobster dinner crowd. People with money to burn, money to waste. People like her.

  Scrunched into fists, his hands tensed at his sides.

  His lip spasmed and a sob half gurgled from his throat.

  When he gulped back, an icy wind hit his lungs like a sucker punch. Fists on his hips and body bent low, he drew deep, steadying breaths.

  Stay calm. Don’t blow it now.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Not much longer.

  A loud crash, and he jolted. Straightened.

  “What the …?”

  CHAPTER 5

  ROCHELLE FROZE. HER MUSCLES contracted. She squinted back into the dark.

  A kid scooted out of Nino’s. She blew out a deep breath. Had to relax. The threats of the fan letter had weaseled under her skin. Or was it her anxiety over the Councilman Bennett story? His comment to the local TV station that “she’d better watch out smearing people’s good names.” Bennett, or Benay, as he called himself, had friends. People who knew how to get even. She’d heard plenty of rumors. It was best to be cautious.

  Whatever the reason, she quivered like a scaredy cat. She needed to calm down before climbing into her car.

  Rochelle shook her head. Too much imagination, not enough backbone. Maybe it was the fact she was driving again, and it still scared her senseless.

  Foolishness. All of it. She was as safe here as anywhere else. And no one was out to get her. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to pick up the pace. And yet, the street was so empty for a Black Friday.

  Stuffing her hands back into her pockets, she glanced over her shoulder. The kid from the restaurant dawdled over the mess he’d made with the sign. Carryout came to mind—sounded good. A great way to celebrate the inheritance like Donna said, but all Rochelle really wanted was to go home and kick off these boots that pinched her toes.

  Forget about the bad guys.

  The truth was—she couldn’t. It was her goal in life. To get ’em before they got her. And how’s that workin’ for ya, Rochelle? Not well at all. A guy killed her family and another guy convinced her to go against everything she believed in for love. But those things only added fuel to her desire to get the bad guys.

  Foolish and paranoid, perhaps.

  Rochelle Taking A Stand Against Hell. What a mantra. But the public loved it, ate it up, followed her to the ends of the earth to disclose the unrighteous dirt. She did believe in what she was doing, but there were days she took too much pleasure in being right. Pride!

  Another sound. She glanced back. Shadowy.

  She placed her hand over her heart. “Is someone there?”

  CHAPTER 6

  KYLE SUCKED BACK HIS breath.

  Color had drained from Rochelle’s face. She instantly hurried her steps. One solitary light at the corner broke the darkness. He stepped into an alcove.

  No. She’d have screamed if she’d known he was there.

  The boy finished setting up his sign and hustled back into the building.

  Focus! Don’t get sidetracked. You have a plan.

  He’d followed her for almost a month. When and where she went.

  But did any of that matter now? This night, this moment. It ended here.

  A cough from a spasm deep in his chest brought up a lump that threatened to choke him.

  Thick clouds roiled overhead. More flakes whirled. Hurry. Hurry. He wiped his nose on the edge of his sleeve, coughed again, and hawked up the thick glob. He spat and rubbed at his mouth, willing the confusion away.

  Kyle’s heartbeat stuttered to the center of his skull. He pressed each side of his head with heavy palms. A bitter chill throbb
ed in his ears. His eyes burned, dry as sand. But he couldn’t think about any of that now. A cold, hard determination filled his gut, and he pressed harder.

  Not much longer.

  Steady steps.

  One at a time.

  Her boots thudded an even cadence as she passed into the parking structure.

  He slipped between the last buildings and circled into the lot; the moment had to be exactly right.

  Shouts erupted over his shoulder from the restaurant. But nobody came out.

  He tugged in his lip with cold teeth, concentrating on beating her up the ramps.

  She belonged to him. He couldn’t stifle the sudden snort of a laugh.

  Rochelle spun around, eyes wide with alarm as she did a three-sixty. “Who’s there?”

  He stumbled behind a concrete pillar and squeezed his hands between his knees. She choked out a gasp as he slapped a hand over his mouth.

  She quickened her steps, passing the stairwell, running from one deck to the other.

  His steps were faster.

  A light scent of musk masked the strong urine odor from the corner. He sucked back a memory. His mother had kicked him how many times for peeing his bed? Told him what a loser he was. Yeah, well, losers don’t do this, do they, Mom?

  Kyle closed his eyes for a split second, absorbing the wonderful smell of cologne and woman—and fear.

  So close.

  One more foot. One more.

  Now!

  #

  Rochelle reached for the handle of her car, but someone snatched at her hat. She jerked free. A scream tore from her throat.

  A loud pop! The heel of her boot. She pitched against the car where her head hit. Burned with pain.

  “Don’t make another sound.” A man in a mask tangled his fingers in her hair. His other hand held tight across her mouth—smelled bad.

  Her gaze widened.

  “Look all you want. There’s no knight gonna show up to save you. Are you happy now, Princess?”

  Green eyes bore down on her.

  Leaning closer to her ear, he brushed the curls from her face with his lips.

  A shiver ran the length of her body. He could have her purse. Where was it?