Read Online A Desperate Silence (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 3) by Sarah Lovett - Free Book Online Page A

at a medium pace along the sidewalk toward the house. In a dark suit and white shirt, clean-shaven, Renzo Santos wasn't worried about being noticed. At an early age, he had learned the art of invisibility. More than once it had kept him from being slapped around by the puta 's men. It had even saved him from death. Always it left him with the excruciating wound of vulnerability: he was a man who would never truly be seen by anyone.
          To disappear, Renzo touched a shadow deep inside his mind. Then he let that shadow filter through his body like music. Vaporizing bone. Erasing flesh. Until he was nothing but the purest essence of being. And could be remade. Into a utility repairman. Into a delivery man. Into a Bible convert. Into oxygen.
          When he approached the small home on De Fouri Street, he adjusted the smile on his face, adjusted the light in his eyes. He could look benign. Before reaching the front walkway, he cut purposefully along the property's southern boundary. A narrow gate led from front yard to back, and it swung open easily. The small grassy area was empty of occupants. A sandbox and swing set, looking forlorn and abandoned in the shade, occupied one corner of the yard. Here he was shielded from the street and the neighboring homes by fence and trees. He stepped over a low hedge into a flower bed. The earth was soft and spongy, and it gave way slightly beneath his feet. He stood close enough to the plaster walls to feel the warmth left by the sun. Level with his shoulders, a window offered a view of the living room. The television set was on, and two boys were seated cross-legged in front of the screen, eyes glued to wildly energetic cartoon images. He could see another child's leg swinging in and out of view. He shifted position; the child was sprawled on a flowered couch. A girl. His heartbeat picked up for a half second until he registered her unfamiliar features and the fact that she was only three or four years old.
          He moved quietly, skirting the side of the house. He passed a bedroom. The curtains on these windows were drawn, but through a one-inch margin the carpet and bedspread of the master bedroom were visible. Lamplight illuminated a wedding picture. Renzo had seen no sign of the woman's husband.
          The next window revealed the kitchen, where the woman was cooking an early dinner. Steam rolled off a large aluminum pot. She held dried pasta in one fist and shook it into the pot, recoiling slightly when she was spattered with hot water.
          She called out—there was no one else in the kitchen—probably to one of the children. Renzo eased himself quickly around the corner, past the back door, to the other side of the compact home. Three final windows lined the wall ahead, single-framed, simple hinges, break a pane and you're in. He sidled up to the first window. As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior light, he discovered he'd found her. A child's night-light illuminated a small room furnished with two bunk beds and a single twin bed. She was a soft shape asleep and hidden beneath a flannel blanket.
          Renzo didn't need to break the glass—the window was unlatched.
    N ELLIE T RUJILLO RAN a wooden spoon through roiling spaghetti. She thought she should probably have added two packages of noodles to feed four children and two adults. She checked the clock on the kitchen wall and sighed; her husband repaired appliances from seven A.M . to four-thirty P.M . He was late as usual. For the third time, she called out to her oldest son. "Rudy, jito , wake Serena to eat!"
          When there was still no response, Nellie murmured, "That boy." She wiped her hands on her apron and started toward the door just as her twelve-year-old appeared. His eyes were glazed from staring too long at the television.
          "Did you hear me, jito? " Nellie snapped. "Check on Serena."
          He shrugged, eyes on the stove, on food. "She's not my