No One Left To Tell

small room.

Quickly, she stepped toward her nightstand and inched open the top drawer, not taking her eye off the doorway. Letting out a sigh of relief, she found her Glock still in its holster. Releasing the safety, she gripped the weapon, its heft steeling her for a confrontation. Now the odds were even.

Time to hunt in earnest.

'Junior? You better be brushing your teeth. I'm coming up for an inspection.'

Yolanda Rodriguez raised her voice, calling upstairs. Even with her precocious child out of sight, she knew little Tony would still be playing his Game Boy. The ten-year-old had their nightly ritual down to a science, her warning part of the routine. By the time she got midstair, he'd shoot to the bathroom and conjure up a mouth full of froth for her benefit, practically rubbing the enamel off his teeth. It didn't matter that his little feet sounded like a herd of wild animals dashing down the upstairs hallway. A glint of satisfaction would shine in his dark eyes, like he'd fooled her once again. In those moments, he looked so much like his father.

That glint reminded her. Little Tony had been conceived on a night when she saw that exact look in her husband's eyes. Shaking her head, she continued her chore as a smile fought to break free.

Wiping down the kitchen counter, she made the room sparkle, a far cry from the condition it had been earlier. Make-your-own-chalupa night was a Thursday dinner ritual in the Rodriguez household. And as far as she knew, the first peanut butter and pineapple chalupa had been invented tonight, under her very roof.

'Celia? Time for bed, mi hija.'

Even though her daughter slouched in one of the living room chairs watching a muted television, she still had to raise her voice to get above the music blasting on the young girl's headset. She supposed that flipping through TV channels fast enough produced some semblance of an MTV video. Not having cable, it was Celia's only option. According to her daughter, she was the only one in school not allowed to watch MTV—a social disaster.

'But Mom, Dad is still not home. Can't we wait up for him?'

She couldn't see Celia's face, but she pictured her brow furrowed with eyes rolled toward the ceiling, accompanied by a heavy sigh. Her twelve-year-old daughter was an admitted drama queen who still had a crush on her father. Yolanda understood completely. Even after two years of courtship and fourteen years of marriage, she still carried a torch for her husband.

'Dad's still not home? So what else is new,' Yolanda muttered under her breath as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. Raising her voice once again, she answered, 'No, honey. You've got school tomorrow. Your father will understand.'

Walking over to her daughter, she gently raised the headphones from her ears, then cradled Celia's warm cheeks in her hands. Lowering her lips to the young girl's forehead, she kissed her, saying, 'Time for bed, cosa fina.'

Leaning back, Celia turned and smiled. Between them, the nickname of 'fine thing' in Spanish was just as good as saying—

'Love you, too, Mom.'

Turning off the TV by remote, Celia walked toward the stairs. With a devilish grin, she turned and pointed upstairs, silently gesturing for Yolanda's cooperation. It took her only a moment to understand what her daughter wanted.

'You better be done with your teeth, Junior,' she called her final warning upstairs.

With a silent chuckle, Celia raised the okay sign and stepped loudly up the flight of steps. A second later, a rumble down the hallway and running water in the sink told them both that Tony Junior was up to his old tricks. But tonight, she and her daughter had won the game. The twinkle would be in Celia's beautiful eyes.

Kids would be kids, she mused with a shake of her head. But then, what was her excuse?

Before she followed her daughter upstairs, she did her routine walk through the house. She'd lock the doors and turn off the lights with one last check of the thermostat. The laughter of her children kept a smile on her face. As usual, she left the front porch light on and a lamp near the front door so Tony would know he was loved—and missed.

But as she dimmed the light in the living room, a motion caught her attention. She'd seen something through the drapery sheers. Yolanda pulled aside the front window curtain and squinted into the night, blocking the dim lighting behind her with cupped hands to shield her eyes.

Again, to the left, near the street. A shadow darted for cover in the hedges of their property. Their property! She gasped. Backlit by a streetlamp, the movement had been abrupt.

On many occasions, the neighbor's cat yowled in the night, an eerie cry. Or the animal rooted around in the garbage, dropping a trash can lid to the ground from time to time. Her heart leapt every time. Over the years, she realized her mind sometimes played tricks whenever Tony wasn't home. Her first reaction was to chastise herself for being foolish, but tonight was different.

Quickly making the sign of the cross, she closed her eyes and prayed she'd been mistaken. But her only answer was the ugly truth. A red laser pierced the night and cut through the blackness like a knife. A hideous Cyclops with a bloody red eye glared directly at her, finding her peeking through the window.

Damn it all! This was no cat.

Racing to the phone near the kitchen counter, she grabbed the receiver to her ear. With trembling fingers, she punched the buttons, dialing 911. All she heard was her quickening breaths. She tried again. Nothing. No dial tone.

The phone was dead.

Her hand tightened on her gun as Raven stepped through her house. With every room she entered, her arms rigidly extended in a two-fisted grip, aiming the weapon into every corner in search of the intruder. Between rooms, she held her Glock with bent elbows as she made her way to the next room. She left the kitchen for last. A glimpse down the hallway revealed the source of the cold air. In the kitchen, the side door off her carport was flung open.

Still, it could be a trap.

The man might be clever enough to open the door, hoping she'd let her guard down. And the outside light was out, no doubt disabled on purpose. As she entered the room, her eyes peered anywhere someone might hide. So far, she was alone.

But more evidence of the intruder was plain to see. Her stovetop had been wrecked, spotted with sauce as if the pot had boiled over. Yet it was obvious what had happened. The man had made a contribution to her recipe.

A framed photo of her father in uniform poked out from the bubbling sauce. It'd been ripped from the wall and thrown into the saucepot, splattering a mess across her white stove. Maybe it had only been a diversion. Stay alert, Mackenzie!

Raven shifted her gaze to the opened doorway. She aimed her weapon into the void. For all she knew, the man stood just outside in the shadows. She wouldn't be able to see his silhouette.

'You'd better be long gone, you son of a bitch!' her voice was stern, so contrary to how she felt.

She slid out the door into the night. On the cement of the carport, her damp feet ached with the cold. In an instant, winter's chill seized her. She gasped, sucking icy air down her throat. Then a vapor steam billowed from her lungs. Keep moving!

In the distance, she heard a droning sound from a television. Her neighbor's house. The sights and sounds of her childhood suburb filled her senses. Even after someone had broken into her home, the rest of the world went on in blissful ignorance.

Damn it! Slowly, she let her guard down.

But just as she lowered her gun, a noise came from the front of her house. Her body tensed again. The sound had been faint. A scuff of a shoe? Racing around the corner, she brushed past an evergreen. Bounding up the step, she reeled her shoulders, trying to aim her gun. But her arms struck something immovable—the dark shape of a man.