AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The conservative dress code of her job with the senator had been a blessing; not even he had known of her extensive flaws or her complicated medical conditions. To him and to everyone else she came in contact with, Tavia was reserved, professional, and exacting. Her work life was the only thing she felt truly in control of, and she'd made it her mission to be perfect in every way possible.
God knew, she had no personal life to worry about.
Only Aunt Sarah, who had given up her own personal life to devote herself to looking after her dead brother's child. The older woman never spoke of her past or the dreams she might have held as a young woman. She'd never married, never regretted the fact that she'd gone without a family or children of her own.
Tavia often wondered why her aunt had made the choice to appoint herself lifelong guardian and caretaker of her niece. Not that she hadn't posed that question, more than once. Aunt Sarah would merely smile placidly whenever asked about those things and dismiss all questions with a kindly pat on Tavia's hand. "Don't you fret about me, dear. You're what's important. And I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
Too bad Aunt Sarah didn't feel the same about dissecting every action and thought of Tavia's. She wanted to know everything, always. But she never got angry or impatient - not in all the time Tavia had known her. She never complained, which made Tavia feel a bit guilty to be enjoying a few hours away from Aunt Sarah's constant attention now.
In twenty-seven years, she'd spent less than an accumulated month away from home, counting business trips with the senator and the occasional emergency overnight observation and treatment at Dr. Lewis's private care clinic. Aunt Sarah was never unconcerned on any of those occasions, but when Tavia spoke with her on the phone earlier tonight, after the news and cable networks had been broadcasting the report of Senator Clarence's murder on practically every station for most of the day, the woman was as upset as Tavia had ever heard her.
It had taken fifteen minutes just to convince her that Tavia was safe, particularly when the federal agents and officers had forbade her from disclosing to anyone where she was staying. Tavia was sure that if Aunt Sarah was given the hotel name or address, she would have been knocking on the door as soon as she could get there. She had fretted that Tavia wasn't telling her everything, which she wasn't.
"I don't understand, dear. Are you in some kind of trouble? Why would the police need you to stay somewhere overnight?"
"They have a lot of questions for me yet, Aunt Sarah. The detective in charge of the investigation thought it would be more convenient if I stayed in the city so we can talk some more tonight, then start again early in the morning."
"But they don't know about your condition. You're not well, Tavia. You should be home, not stuck somewhere for their convenience."
"I'm perfectly fine," she'd insisted, but it had been clear that Aunt Sarah hadn't totally believed it.
Ten more minutes had been spent assuring her that Tavia did, indeed, have her medicines - all of them, including the small stash she kept on hand in case of an emergency such as this that might delay her from getting home as expected - in her pocketbook.
Tavia didn't have the energy to explain she might be gone for more than one night. Nor did she divulge the fact that she'd convinced Detective Avery to send an unmarked squad car to Aunt Sarah's neighborhood to make sure none of the danger Tavia might be in spilled over onto her only living relative.
"Don't worry about me, Aunt Sarah," she'd told the old woman as gently as she could. "I'm going to be all right. I really will."
The conversation had left her feeling more stifled than protected. She hated begrudging Aunt Sarah's concern, but there were times when Tavia couldn't picture a future without her aunt in her life. Under the same roof. She felt trapped, suffocating with it, at the same time shamed by even this small resentment for a woman who clearly wanted only what was best for her.
Tavia put her head under the warm spray and worked a dollop of shampoo into her long hair.
She scrubbed her scalp, feeling the nearly imperceptible outlines of the curved tangle of old scars that tracked up the back of her nape and into her hairline. She rinsed away the soap, then squirted some of the conditioner into her palms and smoothed it on.
In the other room of the suite, a game horn sounded on the television, marking the end of a shot clock. The men's voices carried as they argued the last play and made cutting remarks about the out-of-town team.
Tavia took her time rinsing off, dousing her hair and body, reluctant to let go of the warm, wet peace she was enjoying. But with her stomach starting to growl and the men waiting to order dinner for themselves until she was ready to eat too, she finally reached out to crank the lever on the tub and shower's water supply. It cut off with a squeak.
And then ... silence.
An unnatural, ominous silence.
Naked and dripping, she peeked out from behind the plastic curtain. Listened for a long moment.
Nothing but quiet - not even the sound of the television running now.
"Hello?" she called anxiously. "Officer Murphy?"
She stepped out onto the bath mat. No time to bother with a towel, she grabbed the terry hotel robe from its hook on the back of the door and wrapped it around herself. Wet strands of hair drooped into her face as she hastily tied the belt at her waist and crept forward to put her hand on the doorknob.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. She could feel it in every fiber of her being, nerve endings jolting with sudden, certain alarm.
She slipped out to the empty bedroom and padded silently toward the closed door that led to the suite's living quarters just down the hall.
As she neared, a muffled groan cut short in the other room, followed by a hard thump that vibrated the floor beneath her bare soles.
Tavia froze.
She didn't need to open the door to know that death waited on the other side, but she couldn't keep her hand from quietly turning the knob. She peered out through the smallest wedge of space she dared. Her eyes met the unseeing gaze of Officer Murphy, lying motionless at the other end of the hallway. A big man, yet his neck was twisted and broken like a doll's, his head turned at a morbid angle on the floor.
