Chapter One
Central Police Station Gymnasium
Downtown San Antonio, five months later
Rebecca Montgomery battered the seventy-pound punching bag in blinding succession, ignoring the price her body would pay. Pain and physical exhaustion dulled the rage and guilt, but nothing would free her from it. Nothing.
Her life balanced on a single point in time—poised at a dead stop—resistant to moving forward and incapable of going back. The night her little sister went missing rocked her world, but in the agonizing time that followed, her life changed forever. Becca could never make it right. Not now.
Danielle's body was never found.
She grimaced at the thought and intensified her workout. Not knowing what had happened tore at her, day by day, driven by her own inability to uncover the truth. Horrific thoughts emerged, dark and disturbing. Being a homicide detective prepared her for the worst-case scenario, but in doing so, it robbed her of hope. And for that, Becca hated herself.
Stay focused. Keep moving. Use the pain.
The initial shock of Dani's disappearance morphed into a flood of emotions, from mind-numbing depression to blinding rage when she thought about the injustice. Nothing made the pain go away. She found herself desperate to regain control of her life. Wanting her body to feel something and her mind to release the demons.
Becca tightened her jaw until it hurt. Push through it. You gotta stay strong.
She welcomed her method of self-inflicted punishment, giving in to its rhythm. Even through elastic wrap and workout gloves, her fists ached with every jab. The bag swayed with each driving blow. The muscles in her legs burned from the early-morning workout.
Circling, Becca picked up the pace and shifted weight to focus her whole body behind each impact. Her lungs heaved like a machine. Bobbing and weaving, she switched the speed and the combination of her punches—left jab, straight right, left hook. With shoulder-length dark hair pulled back, she ignored the loose strands stuck to her cheeks. Sweat trailed off her body and drenched her cotton T-shirt and shorts. Becca had hit the zone.
Within Central Station on South Frio Street, she exercised most mornings in a large facility located in the basement of police headquarters. But her usual workout had taken on more significance. Like the sputtering vapor whistling from a kettle on the boil, Becca needed to vent. And this was a good place to blow off steam.
She'd grown accustomed to the musk of body odor mixed with the persistent smell off the dank walls of the SAPD gymnasium. The steady clacking of weights and the drone of showers had become nothing more than white noise. Male voices echoed behind her, but one finally stood out.
"Hey, Montgomery! You've been shadowin' my case again, and I don't like it."
Silence spread across the gym. All conversation died, and the clank of weights stopped. She didn't have to turn around to know all eyes were on her.
Becca lowered her arms, gasping from the exertion of her penance. Sweat stung her eyes. After yanking off her gloves, she took her time, running scenarios through her mind. Let it go, Beck. She reached for a nearby towel and wiped it across her face, draping it over her neck. Don't let the jerk get to you. Becca knew what a reasonable person might do, but by the time she turned around, the word "reasonable" vanished from her vocabulary.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Murphy." Her dark eyes took aim like a laser scope on a sniper rifle. "So why don't you mind your own business."
Becca turned her shoulder, but he pulled her around to face him.
"Oh, that's rich, coming from you. You're acting like a damned vigilante, and I'm supposed to mind my own business? Other lives are at risk here."
"I was wondering if you'd noticed that," she said. Moving closer, she picked lint off his T-shirt and lowered her voice, so not many would hear. "You see, I think you picture this case to be a fast track for your career. You probably figure if you play your cards right, this liaison gig to the FBI might impress the feds. But you know what? Time is swirling down the drain, and you got nothin' on my sister's killer or the other abductions. Good luck impressing anyone with that."
"Ooohhh," the men within earshot resounded in unison. Nervous laughter died.
Paul Murphy served as a catalyst to her mounting frustration. All she needed was an excuse to lash out, and he had given it to her. The man didn't know when to quit—a dedicated cop, real determined. Good qualities, except when directed at her. Almost six-foot, the bastard wasn't much taller than she, but he looked like a wall of muscle, broad shoulders and thick neck. A regular fireplug.
"You're a pretty big talker. Maybe you think special treatment is in order, with what happened to your sister and all. But I can't have you stickin' your nose in my business, so knock it off." Murphy stepped closer, close enough for her to see every acne scar. His shoulders and arms glistened with sweat.
Like a chess player, she assessed her next moves. His nose had already been broken once. A second time wouldn't hurt his looks any. She contemplated rearranging his face with a well-placed uppercut, but several of the men drew into a tight circle around him. Although Becca wasn't sure whose side they were on, it didn't matter. Since her sister's case started, she'd made enemies. She'd pushed and pushed until walls were erected, keeping her out of the loop in the investigation that leapt jurisdictional boundaries. So Becca knew—she'd be on her own.
But that didn't stop her from tossing gasoline onto a smoldering fire. She heard the words coming from her mouth, the voice of a stranger.
"I don't expect anything special. I only want you to do your damned job."
Excerpted from No One Heard Her Scream by Jordan Dane Copyright © 2008 by Jordan Dane. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.