Copyright © 2015 Karen Rose Hafer
The right of Karen Rose Hafer to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2015
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 0 7553 9004 5
Cover photograph © Larry Rostant
Ebook conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford-on-Avon, Warwickshire
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Also By Karen Rose
Praise
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Epilogue
About the Author
Karen Rose was born in Maryland and was introduced to suspense and horror at the tender age of eight when she accidentally read Poe’s The Pit and the Pendulum.
After marrying her childhood sweetheart, Karen worked as a chemical engineer (she holds two patents) and a teacher, before taking up a full-time writing career when the characters in her head refused to be silenced. Now Karen is more than happy to share space in her head with her characters and her writing has been rewarded with a series of bestsellers in the UK, the US and beyond.
Karen now lives in sunny Florida with her family.
By Karen Rose and available from Headline
Have You Seen Her?
Don’t Tell
I’m Watching You
Nothing to Fear
You Can’t Hide
Count to Ten
Die For Me
Scream For Me
Kill For Me
I Can See You
Silent Scream
You Belong to Me
No One Left to Tell
Did You Miss Me?
Watch Your Back
Closer Than You Think
Alone in the Dark
Novellas available in ebook only
Broken Silence
Dirty Secrets
Praise
Praise for Closer Than You Think:
‘A chilling, enthralling read that succeeds on every level’ Kirkus Reviews
‘Gripping, thrilling and ever so tense, this is writing at its best’ Erisea Magazine
Praise for Watch Your Back:
‘Tense, compelling and I couldn’t put it down until I finished it’ Daily Record (Glasgow)
‘Slash and cut crime at its sharpest’ Northern Echo
Praise for Did You Miss Me?:
‘She’s up there with James Patterson and Nora Roberts when it comes to sweaty-palm suspense and a twist with a sting in the tail’ Peterborough Telegraph
‘A brilliant book’ Essentials
Praise for No One Left to Tell:
‘Rose’s rich cast of characters and intricate plot layers give the story real punch. Hang on tight and remember to breathe!’ RT Book Reviews
‘Every page is action-packed’ www.theallureofbooks.com
Praise for You Belong to Me:
‘[Karen Rose’s] glossy blend of romance and crime is completely compelling . . . another enjoyable and page-turning novel from the queen of romantic suspense’ Crime and Publishing
‘Fast and furious’ Sun
Praise for Silent Scream:
‘A high-octane thrill ride that kept me on the edge of my seat and up far too late at night!’ Lisa Jackson
‘Rose packs action into every moment . . . Thriller fans will love the high-adrenaline story and robust cast of intriguing supporting characters’ Publishers Weekly
Praise for I Can See You:
‘A terrific whodunit’ Harriet Klausner
‘Rose keeps the action popping’ Publishers Weekly
Praise for Kill For Me:
‘Rose has never disappointed with her books and this newest, Kill For Me, is her scariest and best book to date’ www.iloveamysterynewsletter.com
‘Rose juggles a large cast, a huge body count and a complex plot with terrifying ease’ Publishers Weekly
Praise for Scream For Me:
‘From the first rousing chapter to the last, Scream For Me is intense, complex and unforgettable’ James Patterson
‘Word is spreading about quite how good [Rose] is’ The Bookseller
Praise for Die For Me:
‘A blend of hard-edged police procedural and romance – engaging’ Irish Independent
‘Chilling thriller with page-turning passion’ Asda Magazine
Praise for Count to Ten:
‘Takes off like a house afire. There’s action and chills galore in this nonstop thriller’ Tess Gerritsen
‘Gripping, chilling and utterly compelling, Karen Rose is a classy storyteller’ Lancashire Evening Post
Praise for You Can’t Hide:
‘Every page is as gripping as the next, fast paced with surprising twists and turns. Really hard to put down’ South Coast Register
‘Karen Rose is quickly becoming an author that readers of suspense should have on auto-buy’ www.joyfullyreviewed.com
Praise for Nothing to Fear:
‘A pulse pounding tale that has it all’ Cosmopolitan
‘Tense chilling suspense that readers will appreciate from start to finish’ www.thebestreviews.com
Praise for I’m Watching You:
‘Don’t miss this perfectly pitched chill-fest with a human edge from a rising star in the thriller market’ Scottish Daily Record
‘Another stellar thriller . . . Rose’s strength lies in her characters’ www.bookloons.com
Praise for Have You Seen Her?:
‘Rose is adept at creating believable characters and balancing murder, violence and nail biting suspense’ The Royston Crow
‘The perfect recipe for an edge-of-your-seat suspense’ www.bookloons.com
Praise for Don’t Tell:
‘Rose delivers the kind of high-wire suspense that keeps you riveted to the edge of your seat’ Lisa Gardner
‘As gripping as a cold hand on the back of one’s neck . . . this assured debut bodes well for Rose’s future books’ Publis
hers Weekly
To the Starfish – Cheryl, Chris, Kathy, Susan, and Sheila. Thank you for the hours and hours of friendship, support, and – of course – the word counts!
And to Martin. I love you.
Acknowledgments
Linda Hurtado for insight into the character of my journalist hero. (Batman lives).
Dr. Marc Conterato for always having an answer when I say, ‘I need an injury that does [fill in the blank]’.
Kay Conterato, Mandy Kersey, Sonie Lasker, Terri Bolyard, and my husband, Martin, for always being there when I get stuck.
The Starfish for keeping me disciplined and on track!
Mike Magowan for answering my questions about firearms.
Tory and Kirk Smith for providing the most comfortable working environment I could ask for! The words simply poured out.
Caitlin Ellis for keeping me stocked with jugs of tea and microwave meals. And cookies.
The Urban Institute for their in-depth and startling exposé on the victimization process of human trafficking in the United States. I will be forever changed having read this report.
As always, all mistakes are my own.
Prologue
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 2.45 A.M.
Where is he? He promised he’d be here.
Controlling her panic, Tala looked around, quick, furtive glances. All she saw were the neighborhood residents, going about their business. Of course, at this time of night, very little of their business was good.
Nobody noticed her. Nobody had followed her. She hoped.
She shrank back into the shadows, deciding to give him another minute. She had to get back before they discovered she’d slipped away. If they hadn’t already.
And if they had . . . her life was over. Maybe literally. And not only her life. She’d risked the lives of every member of her family too. If she were caught, all of their lives would be forfeit. Yet she’d risked it. Because of the baby.
Everything she did was for that little bundle, who smiled and cooed because she wasn’t yet old enough to know how bad the world really was. Tala would sell her soul to keep the baby safe, to keep her from being sucked into this hell – as Tala had been when she was only fourteen years old. That had been three years ago. Three years that had aged her a lifetime. Three years that had stolen the light from her mother’s eyes and turned her proud father into a shell of a man. Her parents were frozen, powerless, because they feared for their children. Tala understood that. But she also understood that things couldn’t continue as they were. So she’d bided her time, waiting for the perfect moment.
This was about as perfect a moment as she was going to get. Please come. Please.
If he didn’t come, it would all have been for nothing.
A footstep had her spinning around, her eyes frantically searching the darkness as her pounding heart began to race. A man approached, a large man. Tala’s fists tightened and she shifted her weight, preparing to flee in the event it was not the man she expected.
His step was slow. Careful. His hands lifted, palms out. ‘It’s me. I won’t hurt you.’
Her heart settled. He had the most beautiful voice. It had been what had drawn her to begin with. She’d heard him singing quietly, sitting by the pond in the park where she was allowed to walk the ridiculous dog whose diamond-studded collar would have fed her family for a year. His voice had been so sweet, it had made her want to weep.
And she had. She’d stood that day listening, the tears streaming down her cheeks. Later, she’d paid for that stolen concert. She’d paid dearly. Still, she’d stopped to listen again when she walked the dog and saw him at the pond. She’d stopped every night for a week. Because that, like this, had been worth the risk. She’d been caught a second time a few nights before. Punished even more viciously.
Still . . . she hadn’t been able to help herself. His song had drawn her, making her reckless. But even as her heart sang mournfully along with him, even when he’d turned to see her standing there, tightly clenching the ridiculous dog’s leash in her fist, even when he’d asked her why she cried . . .
She hadn’t said a word. Not until today.
She hoped she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life. Because she was putting her life and the lives of everyone she loved in his hands.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here.’
He came closer, his face still in the shadows. ‘I’m Marcus,’ he said simply. ‘Tell me why you cry.’
Marcus. She liked his name. Trusted his voice. But now that she was with him, her tongue seemed to be tied in knots. The secret she’d kept for so long . . . it was stuck deep within her. The words would not come. She backed away. ‘I’m sorry. I . . . can’t.’
‘Don’t go. Please.’ He took a step closer, keeping his hands in front of him where she could see them. ‘What’s your name?’
She swallowed hard. ‘Tala.’
His lips curved encouragingly. ‘It’s a pretty name. Why do you cry, Tala?’
‘Why do you?’ Because he had been. She’d seen his tears when he thought no one was watching.
His faint smile faded. ‘I lost my brother. He was murdered. He was only seventeen.’
She swallowed hard. ‘My age.’
He nodded. ‘Will you let me help you, Tala?’
‘I . . . I can’t pay you.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t need your money. I don’t want it.’
Oh, she thought, suddenly realizing what he did want. Dread overwhelmed her and she took another step back. Then she stopped, lifted her chin. Made her lips curve in what she knew to be a sensuous way. She reached for the waistband of his black jeans, steeling her voice to be as sexy as she could make it. ‘I understand,’ she purred. ‘I can make you feel good.’
He blinked, looking shocked. Then horrified. ‘No.’ He took a giant step back. ‘Stop. You don’t understand. That’s not what I want. I don’t want anything from you. I just want to help you.’
Tala’s hands dropped to her sides. ‘Why? Why would you help me? I’m no one.’
He shook his head again, slowly. Sadly. ‘Everyone is someone,’ he murmured, then exhaled. ‘Why do you cry, Tala?’
His voice dipped deep, touched her soul. Made her eyes fill with hot tears. ‘It’s dangerous,’ she whispered. ‘They’re dangerous. My family will die if I’m found here.’
His dark brows knit together. ‘Who are you afraid of?’
‘The man. His wife. They . . .’ She averted her eyes, ashamed. ‘They own us.’
Marcus shifted, jaw clenching, eyes narrowing. ‘How? Who?’
At the edge of her vision she saw the glint of moonlight on metal – but she was a split second too late. The flash of fire, the boom of thunder, the burning agony in her stomach, the scrape of asphalt on her face . . .
‘Tala!’ Marcus was shouting, but his voice was far away. So far away. ‘Don’t die, dammit. Don’t you dare die.’
She didn’t want to die. She hadn’t yet lived. Her family . . . She needed him to save her family. She opened her mouth to tell him so. ‘Help Mala . . .’ Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. There was not enough air to carry her voice. Say it. Tell him. She forced herself to inhale, forced the word out in an agonized huff. ‘Malaya.’
And then a second burst of thunder tore the air, followed by the shock of a great weight crushing her. Marcus. He’d been shot too. Suddenly she could no longer draw even the shallowest breath.
I’m going to die. Her family was going to die. And the man called Marcus . . . he’d only wanted to help her. But now he was going to die too.
One
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 2.49 A.M.
Detective Scarlett Bishop left her jacket in her car on purpose. Partly because it was too damned hot and sticky to even consider wearing a stitch more clothing than was absolutely necessary. But mostly so that the weapon holstered under her arm – the Glock she normally kept concea
led under a jacket – would be readily seen.
She wasn’t in the mood for any shit tonight.
Taking a look around, she frowned at the sight of the nearly deserted street. On any given night, this was where dealers and prostitutes peddled their wares. But nobody was peddling anything tonight, which made Scarlett uneasy. Something had sent them scurrying into their hidey-holes, and whatever that something had been, it wasn’t likely to have been good.
There was no evidence of the man who’d called her here – asking her to come alone. Normally she would have been suspicious enough to bring backup. But the man’s voice . . . She would admit this to no one but herself, but hearing his voice again after so many months had shaken her soundly. The number on her cell phone’s caller ID was unfamiliar, but she’d never forget his voice, no matter how long she lived. When she’d heard it again on the phone tonight, it had stirred her from a sound sleep to full alertness. Nine months had passed without a single spoken word between them. And why would there have been? Her presence would bring him and his family only pain, remind them of their loss.
But tonight he’d said, ‘Can you meet me? Alone? Please. As soon as humanly possible.’
‘Why?’ she’d asked.
‘It’s . . . important.’
‘All right,’ she’d said. ‘Where?’ But he’d already hung up. A second later, a text had popped up, specifying this street corner.