No One Heard Her Scream

second count, cowboy. I might have enjoyed it.' She dished back his rodeo talk, not giving an inch.

'You are one mean bitch, Sonja.' Brogan buckled his belt and glared at her, venom in his eyes. She remembered the look.

'That's why we get along, you and me. Bein' mean is foreplay, remember?'

Sonja talked tough, not letting him know how much she hurt. Her skin rubbed raw, she ached all over. But inside, her blood churned for more. Brogan always did drive her crazy. He never understood why, and maybe she didn't either. In the old days, she used to fantasize about him, day and night. She would have done anything for him . . . and she had. Matt reminded her so much of—

Images of Matt Brogan jumbled with the shadows of her stepdad, coming to her room in the middle of the night. An eight-year-old kid forced to keep secrets. And she never told. Not ever. Since then, older men drew her. She sought them out, especially the mean ones. The cycle repeated for a girl who didn't deserve better. She brought it on herself, like her stepdad used to say.

Lewd flashes of her old man's body were never far from the surface—his smell, his nasty fingers, the things he made her do, and the way he grunted when he finished. It all came back in a rush, along with her pathetic need for his approval. The images of every man she had screwed ran together and dominated her brain, her best dreams and her worst nightmares. Sonja could never separate the two.

Until she experienced a glimmer of hope years ago. She always thought if she fixed Brogan, made him love her, the cycle would break. But that dream died. Matt booted her out when she needed him most. Afterward, she let depression and self-hatred run roughshod over the rest of her life.

Now Sonja stood and walked toward the man who could have saved her. As she got closer, a chill of fear and desire ran along her skin, her nipples hardened.

'I don't want to make you mad, honey.' She trailed her fingers down his chest. He watched her move with interest and stood his ground. Slowly, she made her way around him. 'Sure you hurt me . . . didn't listen when I wanted you to stop, but I still would rather be with you than anyone else, Matt.'

His ego needed stroking. A chronic condition. But she knew how to work him. Sonja massaged his back through his shirt and moved her hands down to his slim waist. Her arms embraced him from behind. She brushed a hand across his crotch. He was aroused again. Brogan was predictable . . . and so easy to manipulate. If she wanted to engage the only brain he had, all she had to do was unzip it and Free Willy.

'We got a history. And I can't stop thinking about you, even now.' Sonja stepped around and hugged him, hearing his heart beat in his muscled chest. She used to love the sound. His hard body always turned her on. But Brogan pulled away, his hands on her shoulders, keeping her at a distance. All for show. The hunger in his eyes betrayed him. The big jerk wanted her for another round. And it wouldn't take much to put Brogan over the edge.

'Yeah, we got us a history, all right. I remember holding a knife to your throat and tellin' you to lose my number, but did you listen? No. Your version of our history is whacked, like you.'

Brogan never remembered their history like she did. He had his own slant. She did, too.

'Well, maybe I can help you remember the good parts.' She shoved him onto the mattress, clothes and all, and straddled his taut belly. He raised himself onto his elbows and made a lame show of protest before she stopped him. 'Don't worry, baby. I won't hurt you. You just gotta listen to me. What I got to say is important.'

'But I don't trust you, Sonja. Can't get around that.'

'Oh, yeah? Well, not too long ago, you trusted my mouth with your prize possession. I think you should reconsider.'

He laughed, this time with humor in his eyes. 'Guess you got a point. So what is it that's so important?'

'You still runnin' girls, Matt?' Before he answered, she touched a finger to his lips and added, 'You don't have to tell me. I know you. Just hear what I got to say.' When she had his attention, she kissed his neck and gyrated in his lap, a slow, steady move. 'I heard something you ought to know if you're still connected. A cop came to see me the other day, asking about some chick I knew in high school. Isabel Marquez.'

'Oh, yeah?' He narrowed his eyes. 'Did you get the name of that cop?'

'Detective Rebecca Montgomery.' She nibbled on his ear and tugged at his open shirt, whispering, 'The cop told me she had a witness linking me and Isabel to a man in a Mercedes. Sound familiar? You still working for that rich guy?'

'What did you say, Sonja?' His voice stern.

'I denied everything. You know I wouldn't rat you out, baby.' Sonja sat back and smiled. 'I covered for you, Matt. My coming here tonight proves how much I still love you.' After unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly, she stopped. 'I would do anything for you.'

'Jury is out on that one. She ask about anything else?'

'Yeah, this detective had a sister Danielle who got herself kidnapped and killed by some nasty sons of bitches. I heard about it myself, on the news a while back. Does the name Danielle Montgomery ring a bell?'

With his brow furrowed, he stared through her for a long minute, his eyes glazed over. When he finally fixed on her again, he grinned.

'You know? I think I've missed you after all.' Nudging her up, Brogan shoved his pants down his thighs, a part of his anatomy standing at full attention. After looking down at himself, he grinned up at her and handed over a condom. 'Take all you want of this. I'm feeling real generous. And if you do me good, I got plenty more.'

He lay back on the mattress and let her take charge—the way it had been . . . the way it would be again. Sonja had to free herself from the past. And unknowingly, Matt would play his part. He owed her that much. She crooked her lips into a faint smile and gazed down at him.

Sonja had special plans for Matt Brogan. And step one had gone off without a hitch.

CHAPTER11

It took most of the morning for Becca to track down Rudy Marquez. She knew he'd be at work and wanted one-on-one time with him, without having to dodge interference from his brother, Father Victor. All she had was the name of a subcontractor he had worked for years ago. After countless phone calls, she found his current employer and the job site he would be at today. The timing worked. Nearly the lunch hour, the odds were good she might catch him on break.

As she drove, Becca's mind pondered what she remembered about Isabel's brother.

Many questions nagged her, leftovers from her session with him downtown at Central Station. His insinuations directed at Cavanaugh were top of her list. Becca would push him, to see if his finger pointing at Cavanaugh had any merit. Yet she couldn't ignore the murder weapon being consistent with a mason's hammer, a tool of Rudy's trade. And the fact he had an arguable motive to kill his own sister and had worked the renovation project at the Imperial Theatre didn't bode well either. No doubt, Becca had to keep an open mind about Rudy being a viable suspect, but would Cavanaugh make the cut on her 'persons of interest' list?

When Becca pulled up to the construction site, a small professional building off Loop 1604, she stayed in her car and scanned the workers for a familiar face. Most sat near the open tailgate of an old blue truck with a worn camper shell, eating their lunches and chatting it up. But Rudy wasn't among them. When she wondered if her trip had been wasted, she spotted a man off by himself, sitting under the shade of an oak tree. She recognized Rudy Marquez and headed his way.

Sitting apart from the others, he wore faded jeans, a white T-shirt under an oversized blue chambray shirt, all of it covered in dust and sweat. His dark hair was mussed and hung over his eyes. Rudy looked lost. A real loner.

She knew how it felt to live in a vacuum—a self-imposed prison. Despite how her heart went out to him, she had to set aside her personal feelings. Becca had made the mistake before, superimposing her own grief onto a young man who might be guilty of murder. She had a job to do. And Isabel deserved justice, even if it came at the expense of her brother.

'I'm not supposed to talk to you,' Rudy said, as she walked up.

Sitting on the ground, his back against the tree, he stared at the horizon, barely acknowledging her presence. Although he hadn't greeted her with open arms, at least he hadn't waved an attorney in her face. She took this as a good sign.

'Why not? I'm only trying to find out what happened to Isabel.' She knelt beside him, her eyes fixed on Rudy.