Free Cold Silence (A High Stakes Thriller) by Danielle Girard Page A

avoid thinking about Ryan. It would do her no good to think about him. She had to work. And the night was the best time to do it.
    Gather the equipment, her files, clear the house of their presence in case someone came, and find out as much about Kirov as she could. Figure out what would be next. Why would he bother taking her son if he knew where she was? Why not follow them home and take care of them both at once? A child was high maintenance—even if all you intended to do was kill him.
    The thought ripped through her like an electric shock and brought her straight to her knees. "Oh, God." She tried to pull herself up but noiseless sobs racked her. Be strong, she told herself. Be strong for Ryan. She wiped her face with her hands, feeling the granules of dirt scratch her skin.
    In the years since Mark's death, she had always been strong for Ryan. But if something happened to him—if he was—She couldn't even think it. It couldn't be true.
    "You need help?"
    Cody spun around on her knees, gripping the shovel like a weapon in front of her. It was almost eleven at night, and the last thing she'd expected was another voice.
    Colonel Walter Turner hung his upper body over his side of the fence and stared down at her, rubbing his hands together against the cold air. Her neighbor was retired military, and everything about him made Cody uneasy. In one of the three or four times she'd been forced to share dialogue with him, she'd made the mistake of calling him an ex-marine.
    "Once a marine, always a marine," he'd quipped in response. "It's like being black—you can't take it out of me. Right down to the grave."
    Colonel Turner was everything Cody sought to avoid—aware, observant, suspicious, nosy, and highly intelligent. And the combination was one she wanted to stay as far from as possible.
    "Just doing yard work," she lied. She'd chosen this hiding spot before she'd met Colonel Turner, but in hindsight, she should have picked a spot as far from his side of the fence as possible.
    "Looks like some serious work to be doing by yourself in the middle of the night. You need help?"
    "No. Thanks."
    "Didn't see the boy come home tonight."
    Cody stood and started to move the dirt she'd dug up into small piles. Without looking at him, she said, "He's staying at a friend's."
    "Glad to hear it. I hope they were playing outside some today. He spends too much time on that computer, if you want my opinion. Kids these days, communicating through machines, blowing things up right and left. Real blood, those games show. Don't learn anything about people—don't learn to respect life and death. That's why we got all these kids walking into school with guns. It's like some damn game."
    Cody didn't answer. Instead she shuffled the dirt in small circles, waiting for the colonel to leave.
    "You in trouble, girl?"
    The paternal tone of his voice caught Cody by surprise and she looked up.
    His eyes caught hers, holding their stare with his own. His dark brow furrowed, the vertical lines between his eyes like exclamation points as he watched her.
    Tearing her gaze away, she shook her head. "Just trying to get some work done before"—she paused to put her mouth around her son's name—"before R.J. gets home tomorrow." Pressing the end of the shovel to her chest, she let it dig in until it was painful. The sensation was almost a relief.
    "I know trouble, and I can smell it on you sure as that dirt you're working in."
    Cody felt the anger wash over her, pushing aside the fear and the hurt. "I'm very busy, Colonel. Perhaps you could leave me alone."
    "Okay, Miss Cody, but I know something's up. I didn't spend thirty-seven years in the armed forces—"
    "Go away, Colonel," Cody said, letting the frustration slip off her tongue. "Please," she added.
    He turned his back and walked away, uttering something she couldn't make out.
    Cody turned back and moved faster, digging through the dirt in the dark until she heard the clink of her shovel against the