Her Silent Prayer: An utterly unputdownable crime thriller with a heart-stopping twist Read online

  Her Silent Prayer

  An utterly unputdownable crime thriller with a heart-stopping twist

  M.M. Chouinard

  Books by M.M. Chouinard

  DETECTIVE JO FOURNIER NOVELS

  1. The Dancing Girls

  2. Taken to the Grave

  3. Her Daughter’s Cry

  4. The Other Mothers

  5. Her Silent Prayer

  * * *

  The Vacation

  Available in audio

  DETECTIVE JO FOURNIER NOVELS

  The Dancing Girls (Available in the UK and the US)

  Taken to the Grave (Available in the UK and the US)

  Her Daughter’s Cry (Available in the UK and the US)

  The Other Mothers (Available in the UK and the US)

  * * *

  The Vacation (Available in the UK and the US)

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Hear More from M.M. Chouinard

  Books by M.M. Chouinard

  A Letter from M.M. Chouinard

  The Dancing Girls

  Taken to the Grave

  Her Daughter’s Cry

  The Other Mothers

  The Vacation

  Acknowledgments

  For Neo: The truth is, you saved me.

  Prologue

  August 6th

  Diana Montauk’s hand brushed Bennie Moreno’s as they stared together at the stone foundations of the ruined Sutro Baths, tucked silently on the edge of the Pacific Ocean. The crash of the waves below lulled her, and she closed her eyes for a moment, filling her lungs with the invigorating brine of the sea air.

  Bennie, the man she’d been dating long-distance for the last two months, playfully pulled her closer, but his smile failed to hide his impatience. “It’s getting dark, and I’m getting cold. Wanna head back to the hotel?”

  She nodded, then gazed back out to the ruins slowly being swallowed by the darkness. Images of Naya, Bennie’s ex-wife, sprang up amid the shadows: of Naya’s left eye swollen shut, puffed red and purple. Of dried blood flaking around her broken nose and smeared down her chin below a split lip. Of the desperation and hopelessness crying out from the single brown eye still able to peer into the camera, begging for the nightmare to be over.

  Gazing up into his too-handsome face, she shifted him gently in front of the expansive ocean. “I’m so glad I found you. I can’t imagine another man I’d rather be here with.”

  As she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, she stoked the rage evoked by those memories of Naya’s face, allowing it to invade every cell in her body. When he deepened the kiss, she checked that his eyes were closed. Once she confirmed they were, she took a mental snapshot of the lust on his face.

  Then she pulled the syringe of black-tar heroin from her purse and plunged it deep into his carotid artery.

  The shift in his expression from confusion to realization sent her heart thumping, and she quickly took another mental snapshot. When his face began to slacken, she braced her feet firmly into the ground, then shoved him back over the ledge of the observation deck. She watched his body disappear into the darkness, listened for his muffled landing, then crossed the paved observation deck back to the path. Over her decade of kills here, the topology of the paths and observation decks had shifted—some paths and tunnels closed, new ones opened—but that kept her vigilant. She enjoyed changing things up, as long as the change wasn’t too big. She bent to pick up a small rock, then slipped it into her purse alongside the now-empty syringe.

  She pulled her scarf from her neck up over her dark hair—despite the rapidly falling darkness there might be a straggler or two, and the scarf helped hide her face. With a practiced calm gait, she strolled through the ghostly cypress trees toward the Legion of Honor. On the way, she disabled her burner phone and tossed it into one trash can, then tossed the SIM card into another. She powered up her real cell, climbed into her rental car, and headed out of San Francisco.

  Chapter One

  August 17th

  Melissa Rollins opened her eyes—or thought she did. The world around her remained black.

  But she wasn’t in bed—she was upright, head and torso propped up against a hard surface, the air around her so oppressively hot it felt like an invisible blanket. She shifted—pain shrieked through her head, but when she reflexively raised her hand toward it, she met resistance—her hands were tied together behind her back, numb, now buzzing with the stabs of a thousand tiny daggers. She tried to shift her legs—also tied together. She tried to straighten them, and hit another hard surface a few feet in front of her. She tried to swear, but a wad of fabric in her mouth swallowed the sound.

  Fear clenched her chest like a vice. What the hell was going on? Where was she?

  She studied the darkness, willing her eyes to adjust. She ran her fingers along the surface behind her, then below her. Smooth and true with a light texture—like her walls. Below that, a grainy, lined floor—hardwood floors. She shifted again, ready this time for the pounding in her head, and inched forward on her knees. Three walls, then wood with panels—a door. She rocked forward onto her feet and raised herself to where the knob should be. But there was no knob—only a backplate with no latch.

  That meant a closet. Her closet? She’d installed a one-ended knob like this in the upstairs hall closet. Was that where she was? She frantically felt the walls and floor again, and traced the vague shape of the space, including the dent in the baseboard that had always annoyed her. Yes, her closet, but—what did that mean?

  “Help!” she screamed despite the gag, flinching as the pain stabbed through her head. She screamed again, louder this time, trying to fight back her fear, then leaned back against the wall, hoping to hear something, anything. Sweat pooled at the small of her back.

  The vice on her chest tightened and she struggled to breathe, gasping to take in the sweltering air around the fabric. She forced herself to slow down, to breathe slowly and deeply. If she didn’t short-circuit the panic attack, it would overwhelm her.

  How? How did she get in here? She remembered arriving home, relieved to be done with an exhausting workday. On the way home she’d picked up Vietnamese food for dinner, and flirted with the idea of opening a bottle of wine to go with it. She’d been looking forward to a peaceful evening on her own because everything had been so difficult with Avery since the judge had approved split custody—her daughter had always been rebellious, but now, when she could escape to her father’s half the time, it was so much worse, and with school starting up again, all Melissa’s spare time would go to PTA responsibilities and monitoring homework. She remembered parking and unlocking the front door while dreaming of comfort food, a good book, and a sheet facial mask… but she remembered nothing after. The time in between was just—gone.

  Except—her memory flashed—a doorbell ringing? Someone she hadn’t expected.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, searching for anything else.

  A flash of pain, like a prick in her arm?

  Her eyes flew back open. Had someone drugged her? Then tied her up and
threw her in the closet? But why? Had it been some sort of home invasion? Maybe she’d interrupted a burglary in progress?

  That made sense—hers was the fanciest house on the block, a natural target for a robbery. And since she couldn’t hear anything, that meant they were gone now, she’d be okay, she just had to get out and everything would be fine. Tears of relief welled in her eyes.

  Except—how? Without a knob she couldn’t open the door from the inside, she knew that all too well. And even if she managed to wriggle the gag out of her mouth, nobody would hear her scream. She’d chosen this house for just that reason—the large lot with trees and shrubs around the perimeter to keep out prying eyes, and the solid, nearly soundproof walls and windows. She’d tested it herself—you couldn’t hear what was happening on the third floor from the first. And nobody was due until Sunday evening anyway, when Travis dropped off Avery.

  Avery’s soccer game! When she didn’t show up Sunday morning, Travis and Avery would notice. But—would they bother to come looking for her? And even if they did, Tuesday night to Sunday morning was more than four days. Four days without food and water, in heat so thick she could taste it.

  The hysterical panic bubbled up again, and she clenched her teeth and fists against it. She wouldn’t give in to it. She had to stay calm. She had to figure a way out. Focus on one thing at a time, mind over matter, put all her mind and energy into each step, and she’d come up with something.

  First thing: she needed to free her hands, or at least get them in front of her. She’d always been flexible, and she did yoga religiously. She could do it.

  She pulled her arms down as far as possible and wiggled her rear between them. Her arms were just a shade too short. She maneuvered onto her back, bent her legs toward her chest, and yanked her arms up. Her left shoulder wrenched and pulled, like a drumstick refusing to release from a chicken. She screamed as it popped out of joint—but her arms cleared her legs, now in front of her again. She writhed on the floor, moaning into her gag.

  When the pain receded enough for her to move, she tugged the gag from her mouth and pushed herself upright. She searched the closet, knowing she’d find nothing. She grabbed at the edges of the door, the hinges, trying to find anything she could get a grip on, nails digging into the wood. She pounded with her right hand, gritting her teeth against the jolts up her injured arm. It didn’t budge.

  She collapsed against it, tears mixing with the sweat pouring down her face. Her legs were stronger, maybe she could kick it down? But she’d have to free her feet first. She dropped to the floor and groped her ankles. Not rope—a zip tie. Could she chew through it?

  Where her ankles met up, she could pull the tie a tiny bit away, just far enough to get her canine onto it. She bit down, and chewed.

  The plastic was solid, with almost no give. But she kept going, as hard as she could, hoping the repetition would wear the material down. Her jaw tired and she switched sides. When she had to take a break completely, she worked the plastic with her hands, trying to fatigue it.

  Finally, after God only knew how long, the tie snapped off, and a burst of adrenaline shot through her. She could do this. She would do this. Unlike the plastic, the wood had give, and she could splinter it off the lock mechanism.

  She rubbed her ankles to restore the circulation, then carefully righted herself. She turned her back to the door, braced, and kicked as hard as she could in the limited space.

  It didn’t budge. No give, not even a vibration. Like kicking concrete.

  “Help! Help! Help!” she screamed, turning it into a mantra like a karate kiai, kicking wildly with increasing desperation.

  Until a sharp pain shot up her leg. When she tried to put her weight on it, pain sheared through her. No way could she kick any more, or even stand.

  With that, something in her soul ruptured. She dropped to her knees and curled up into a ball, sobbing, praying someone would come looking for her before it was too late.

  Chapter Two

  August 22nd

  “Good morning, darling.”

  Detective Josette Fournier opened her eyes slowly to find Matt Soltero, her boyfriend of several months, standing over her bed with a steaming mug and a loving smile. She propped herself up, returned the smile, and relieved him of the mug. “What a lovely way to wake up. Thank you.”

  He waited while she took a sip. “How is it?”

  “Mmm.” She closed her eyes to savor the warm, velvety mocha. Almost instantly they popped back open. “Cayenne?”

  His smile broadened. “And a hint of nutmeg. I’m calling it the Soltero Special.”

  “I love it.” She took another big sip to punctuate the point. “What brought on this bout of creativity?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “The need to butter you up. I just got called in to work. Dr. Patel herniated a disc in his back, so we now only have two neurologists to cover the hospital and I have to go in. I’m so sorry, I know how much you were looking forward to the Oakhurst Music Festival.”

  Jo’s warm glow dimmed slightly, but she kept the smile on her face. “That’s what you get when you date a busy, important neurologist. And since I can’t count the number of dinners my job has interrupted, it’s only fair.”

  “Very true. But I still feel obligated to make it up to you. Shall I make you my guanciale carbonara tonight for dinner?”

  “Only if we can work off the calories afterward.” She grinned.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, that’s done.”

  She scooted back down into the warm covers and watched him change into the set of work clothes he kept in her bureau. At forty-five, he still moved and looked like a professional athlete, tall and muscular, with no hint of the thickening belly that caught up with most men by that time. So far his black hair was untouched by gray, but his warm dark-chocolate eyes crinkled with crow’s feet that somehow made him look worldly and sexy.

  When he finished, he bent down to give her a kiss. “I don’t mind if you go without me.”

  She waved him off. “It wouldn’t be any fun without you. Now go, someone needs you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He kissed her again, then headed out.

  As the front door clicked faintly behind him in the distance, the tiniest something twinged inside her. She’d meant it when she said the festival wouldn’t be fun without him, and that was strange enough. But even if they hadn’t had concrete plans, she’d miss him. She was becoming used to spending the weekends with him, and she hoped that wasn’t a mistake.

  She rolled her eyes and threw back the covers. Sneaking periodic sips of the spicy mocha as she showered, she considered what to do with the day now lying wide open in front of her. She’d gone to the shooting range the day before; going two days in a row wasn’t honing your skills, it was obsessing. She briefly considered calling Sophie, her sister, and asking if her nieces, Emily and Isabelle, wanted to go to Magic Wings Butterfly Sanctuary, but remembered they were away visiting Sophie’s in-laws in Braintree. Ultimately, she decided to make herself an omelet, then curl up with the deliciously lurid serial-killer thriller she’d picked up the week before.