Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(67)

Sawyer said nothing. She could hear Mom breathing right before the tiny door clicked shut.

The crawl space was dark again.

Another noise pricked her ears. It sounded as if Mom was fiddling with the padlock on the other side of the opening. She could hear metal scrape against wood and then another click.

She tried not to panic. Stay calm. Breathe.

After the sound of Mom’s footfalls moving up the stairs disappeared completely, Sawyer crawled back to the door. It wouldn’t budge. She yanked harder, her heart racing. Mom had purposely locked her inside.

She’d said she had killed before. At the time, Sawyer had considered that maybe she was being overly dramatic, but now a different woman began to form in her mind. A dark, sinister woman who protected her husband even when she knew what he was doing behind closed doors. The woman was insane.

Keeping her head low, she inched her way around through clods of dirt until she found a spot big enough where she could turn in a half circle and attempt to make her way to the far side of the crawl space.

Something fell on her head and skittered about. Squirming and cursing, she swiped at the top of her head again and again until whatever it was darted away. She spit dirt from her mouth. The thought of spiders and rats had never scared her when she was small. But they terrified her now.

She made her way back to the slope of dirt.

Something was wrong.

The crawl space was too dark. She’d never been overly frightened there when she was younger because she’d always been able to see. Where was the light that used to come in through the vent?

Her chest tightened.

She fought the urge to scream.

Mom would hear her. She knew that because when she used to hide down here, she could hear people talking and walking around upstairs.

It wouldn’t do her any good to scream. Even if Dad hadn’t been seriously injured, Mom would find a way to stop him from saving her. She had no choice but to blindly continue onward, find the vent, and see what was stopping the light from shining through.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Less than a block away from home, Harper could see Aria’s car parked at the curb.

Her heart dropped to her stomach. She pulled to the side of the road to catch her breath. What was she doing? After all she’d been through, it had come to this? Who was she?

Her two lives were never supposed to overlap. It was too dangerous.

Unable to shut her mind down, she kept seeing images, like a movie reel in her head: the police cuffing her and leading her away as Nate, Lennon, and Ella watch with confusion in their eyes.

Her insides twisted and turned. Get a grip, she inwardly scolded.

Do what you’ve always done, Harper!

Put it away, she scolded. Bundle it all up—the thoughts, the images, the fear of being found out, and then shove it down deep inside and leave it alone.

She didn’t need to glance in the rearview mirror to know she looked like a crazed person—someone who had shot a man and then watched him bleed out.

She looked in the mirror anyway. Didn’t like what she saw. It was Malice’s face looking back at her. Fucking scary.

Go away, Malice.

She closed her eyes, rested her forehead on the steering wheel. A minute later, she lifted her head, smoothed her hands over her head, pulled a twig from her hair, and sat up taller.

Better. She could do this.

Her wig and mask were tucked into a zippered compartment in her purse.

Good.

She looked around for any clue that might tell someone she’d spent hours digging through rock-hard dirt to make a hole big enough to fit a humongous man.

There was nothing. The interior of her car was as clean as the day she drove it off the car lot. She replayed what had happened one more time, checking off boxes, making sure she hadn’t missed anything.

After The Crew had finished digging, Psycho had stripped Otto Radley bare, and they had rolled him into his grave and covered him with dirt. They’d washed the shovels, scrubbed the floors, and removed any sign that anyone had ever set foot inside the warehouse. Next, they had gathered outside in a semicircle, stripped down, and washed their hair and bodies, using soap and water Lily had brought for that purpose.

Everything would be okay. Her hands were no longer trembling.

Harper was back, and she was ready.

She merged back onto the road. It was 3:15 p.m. Tuesday. The last time she’d seen Aria was Sunday at the deli. She pulled into the driveway and turned off the ignition.

Harper didn’t make it far before Aria opened the door to her garage studio. Hands on hips. “Where the hell have you been?”

“With my critique group. We stayed at one of the ladies’ houses and worked day and night.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s the truth,” Harper said.

“Let me see your book. You know, all the pages you wrote, all that hard work.”

“It’s private.”

“Why do you look like you’ve been hiking through the woods?”

“I drank too much. Way too much, ended up jumping in Christine’s pool. I’m embarrassed enough. Leave it alone.”

Aria crossed her arms.

“What?”

“I don’t believe you. You would never drink while pregnant.”

Harper said nothing.

“Is whatever you’re hiding worth lying about?” Aria shook her head sadly. “All you had to do was call or text so I would know you were alive.”