Page 1 of Sound and Deception

Prologue

This one wasn’t as much fun. Not to say she wasn’t fun at all. Of course not. They wereallfun. She just didn’t face him with the level of feistiness he’d expected.

Mildly disappointed, he followed by several feet.

She continued to creep away from him, so he guessed that was better than nothing. Little mewling sounds escaped her, which was the best she could do, considering she’d started out as a screamer. One downward slice with his buck knife had fixed that. No tongue, no screaming. Pretty simple fix, as far as he was concerned.

The woman stopped, shoulders thrusting with sobs.

Patient, he waited.

She inched forward once again, leaving very little blood. This one had believed him after he hit her femoral artery with his punch knife. The ramifications would be swift if she removed it. She did, however, leave a snail trail of snot. What was once beautiful had turned ugly pretty damned quick, and he wondered if he should wipe down her face with a Wet One or something, before he ended it. The action seemed pointless, but staring down into that disgusting wet and swollen face might annoy him. He didn’t like to be annoyed.

The noise in the woods hadn’t ceased. Birds continued to call out to others, and answer in return, little creatures went about their foraging, and predators hunted. This was the natural state of things. As long as they weren’t lunch for something bigger, the animals went about their day’s business, unbothered by the human and its prey.

This woman had been an unexpected gift. He’d gone hiking in one of the more remote areas, and had found he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought. Serendipity.

He’d watched her come up the trail from one of the many rock overhangs. She used a pair of hiking poles to help keep her footing, which hadn’t been a terrible idea. Taking a header in the wrong place would have her rolling off a cliff before she could even snap her fingers.

She’d stopped to take a healthy swig from her high-end water bottle, and pour a tiny bit onto her fingertips to smooth over her face. He wouldn’t waste water like that, but he understood. This year, the mountains wore summer like a heavy cloak, despite the elevation. Even the bugs were sweating.

The woman hid her eyes behind sunglasses and had wrapped some kind of paisley bandana thing up over her forehead and the crown of her hair. Dark strands squiggled out from the sides and down to her shoulders. A delicate nose and full lips met his gaze, and he wondered what she looked like without the shades. It didn’t really matter, but he preferred them attractive.

He’d decided to ‘accidentally’ bump into her when the trail folded in on itself and led her through trees spearing into the sky. In that moment of feigned awkwardness, and embarrassed smiles, he’d struck her with his trusty leather sap. She’d gone down like a pile of bricks.

Now he observed while she gave up, and lay still. She was still alive, he knew, but the little kitten-like noises had stopped. It was an unfortunate situation. He generally liked to give them hope, just that little spark to convince them they might be okay after all, but up here there was none to give.

The man glanced at his watch. He needed to get back to the city. This was a lovely encounter, but he didn’t have the time to savor it as much as he would have liked.

Undergrowth snapped under his boots when he made his move. He flipped her over, and she landed like a dead fish, arms outstretched to her sides, eyes dull.

Disappointment once more needled him. He shook his head, straddled her, and ended it with his hands.

At least his itch would stay satiated for a little while.

Chapter One

Klahanie and Noah sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comesHineywith a baby carriage!

I blinked and shook my head in surprise. How long had it been since I’d even heard it, let alone thought about it? I probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Coming back to the island after all this time would throw lots of old doors open. It was inevitable.

And boy, oh boy, I could hardly wait.The dry tone of my internal voice summed it up. She tended to be sassy, and sometimes rolled into my outer voice, slicing and dicing all in her path.

I flipped down the sunshade and dared a peek at the mirror, unsurprised to see a tired looking twenty-eight-year-old with swollen baggage desperate to be stowed. A solid 48-hours of sleep ought to do it and then my sassy-self giggled. I told that part of myself to shove it.

The line of cars in front of me started to move, so I cranked Corinne over, always pleased when the little SUV started right away, purring happily despite almost 180,000 miles on the odometer. I followed the car before me as orange-vested workers guided motorists aboard the ferry, pointing me toward the left ramp and second level of parking. I cut the engine several moments later.

It wasn’t a long ferry ride, not quite even a half hour, so I debated if I wanted to stay put, or go upstairs for a snack and coffee. Twenty minutes after deciding to go up the passenger compartment galley, I still sat staring blankly, trying to wrap my overtired brain around the next few months.

Coming back wasn’t the issue. I mean, it wasn’t like I hadn’t come home here and there, but I’d be here for a few days, maybe a week, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about it again until guilt flicked at my heart and head. In fairness, it would always be nice for the first day or two, then I’d feel the old restlessness, the old itch that seemed too deep in my marrow to scratch.

Now, duty brought me back. Gram had fallen off her lawn tractor and broken her leg. Never a good thing, let alone for someone in their 70s.

With a sudden burst of energy, I pushed open the vehicle’s door, sucking in a gasp at the burst of freezing wind smacking me across the face. I pulled my beanie down around my ears and yanked up my hood as well. In late autumn, the island would be chilly, but the ferry trip over made it feel like Hawaii in June. I’d decided to wear my anorak, and now congratulated myself on a fine choice.

Despite the sudden streaming of eyes and nose, I forgot about coffee, and wove through parked cars to approach the railing. The barrier stood chest high on me and I was able to fold my arms on the edge and watch as one of the inhabited San Juan Islands appeared before me. The ferry cruised by another one, tiny and close to perfectly round. I remembered how kids told stories about the hermit who lived there and how he’d eat trespassers and couldn’t stifle a smile. There wasn’t an actual population there, so it was possible. Maybe.

Heavy mist hung over the fir trees, erasing the tips from view, while seagulls glided near, some racing the ferry, their calls plaintive and echoing. It wasn’t raining, but tiny droplets hung in the air, dampening exposed skin, and adding an extra layer to all outerwear.

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