Silent Weapon (9 page)

I stood. Dumped the lunch I couldn’t finish in the trash and placed my plate in the sink. I was over that. Yes, it still hurt a little when I let it sneak up on me like this, but I didn’t dwell on it. If my turkey of an ex-fiancé walked in right now, I wouldn’t want him back. I had a new life. Plans, finally, for a fulfilling future. If I got through this operation successfully, I could have a career with Metro that offered an opportunity to make a difference.

Nothing else mattered to me right now.

I tamped down the guilt I felt about lying to my family. If things went wrong and I ended up…dead, my family would feel betrayed. My heart dragged downward like a stone in my chest. I didn’t want to hurt my family.

Forcing the notion away, I decided there was only one thing to do…I could not fail. Whatever else happened, I had to succeed. I would get the evidence Metro needed on Luther Hammond. I would not get myself killed in the process. And I would break through that icy exterior and make Detective Barlow respect me for what I was doing.

I’m going to approach you from behind. When you feel my arm around your neck do your best to free yourself.

I nodded, then turned my back to him.

Several years ago I had taken a routine self-defense class. The kind designed to help women guard against rapes and muggings. After half an hour on the mat with Steven Barlow, I realized just how pathetic the course I’d taken actually was.

His right arm came around my neck, pressed against my throat. Instinctively I stiffened. My fingers curled around his arm, but he was far too strong for me to hope to pull him loose. With his free hand he manacled my left arm and drew it back toward his midsection, indicating that I should elbow him hard there.

I nodded my understanding. He moved my arm again, showing me the same move. I nodded a second time. I got it. I’d learned a similar move in the original class.

He stepped away from me and I turned around to face him. Frustration lined his face. What had I done wrong? What did he want me to do?

I need you to show me what you can do,
he said, the features of his face tight with irritation…or maybe it was just the frustration.
Do it for real.

Now I was confused. “You want me to actually try to hurt you?” That didn’t make sense.

I want you to protect yourself from me,
he reiterated, the tension he’d radiated relaxing ever so slightly.

A test, I decided. Maybe he thought if I couldn’t prove my ability to fend off an attacker he would have an excuse to call this whole thing off. He would cite my inability to defend myself. I would go back to filing closed and cold cases and he would find another way to do what had to be done. For the first time since Chief Kent had called me into his office and proposed this operation, I realized just how badly Barlow wanted me out of the scenario.

Well, he was not going to get his wish.

“All right.” Without meeting his eyes first, I turned my back on him. I didn’t want him to know that I was on to him now. Bring on the test.

His arm went around my neck, closed in on my throat. I smiled as I mentally finalized my plan. I reached for his arm with both hands, tried to pull him away. He yanked me against his hard body and held me tighter. I struggled with his arm a few seconds before sagging as if I’d surrendered. When his arm relaxed ever so slightly I slammed my left elbow into his gut. I broke away as his upper body jerked forward with the spasms the blow to his midsection had caused. I didn’t stop there. I twisted to face him, hooked my leg behind his and shoved him hard. He went down like a fallen oak against the floor.

He was back on his feet in almost the same instant. He dusted himself off and presented me with a crooked grin. Well, there was a first. I definitely hadn’t seen that before.

Good job.

Pride swelled in my chest. What do you know? I’d impressed the iceman.

From there we went through a number of scenarios, some I’d encountered before in my self-defense class, many more I hadn’t. In the end, I felt fairly confident I’d impressed him.

Funny how that feat had become more and more important to me as the day had dragged on. I’d barely had any sleep and adrenaline was all that had kept me going.

I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until after we’d shared spaghetti that Barlow had prepared himself. He didn’t say much, mostly talked about how important it was that I remembered the names and faces. I agreed and didn’t prompt any additional chitchat. Detective Barlow wasn’t very good at it. And I was too tired to keep up the sparring. Eventually I’d excused myself and showered. My legs felt like leaden clubs. I just wanted to lie down and drop into blissful unconsciousness.

My eyes had just closed and my brain had started to shut down conscious processes when I felt the mattress shift. In that moment of denial before my brain and body got on the same sheet of music, I told myself I’d simply turned over and hadn’t realized it.

Then I felt another shift. My eyes flew open but the room was black as pitch. I opened my mouth to scream but a punishing hand came down over it before I could expel the sound. The full weight of a body settled on top of mine. My hands went to a hard chest and pushed.

The scream died in my throat. My heart threatened to burst…and then my olfactory sense kicked into high gear. I recognized his scent.

Detective Barlow.

Fury whipped through me. What the hell did he think he was doing? The fingers of his free hand closed around my throat. My eyes widened with new fear. What if I was wrong? What if it wasn’t Barlow? Could I trust my senses?

My blood stung with the renewed rush of terror searing through my veins.

I had to do something. Had to fight back. My knee jabbed toward his groin. He moved quickly, deflecting the blow. But I took advantage of that momentary distraction and slammed the heel of my hand into what I hoped would be his nose. He thrashed atop me. I flung my fists at his face. Kicked hard and twisted to roll him off me.

We hit the floor in a tangled heap of flailing arms and legs. I scrambled loose. Managed to get to my feet and race to the door. I jerked it open and flew out into the hall. “Barlow! Barlow!” I wasn’t taking any chances as to whether or not my attacker was someone besides him.

The overhead light came on. I blinked to adjust to the sudden brightness. I whirled around and came face-to-face with a rumpled-looking Barlow.

My first instinct had been right…it was him. The mental pat on the back I owed myself was temporarily overridden by irritation. “What the hell was that about?” I demanded.

He swiped at his bruised nose. He wasn’t bleeding, but obviously the sting from the blow was still there. I couldn’t help getting a little joy from that.

Very good, Walters,
he said as he combed his fingers through his hair, straightening it.
But you should have realized it was me. It’s very important that you use your other senses. Since you can’t hear the enemy coming, you have to attempt to feel him coming. Pay attention to your instincts.

I moved in close, nose to nose. “What makes you think I didn’t?”

That crooked grin that he rarely allowed to make a public appearance did so just then. My pulse reacted and I wanted to kick myself.

Good answer.

I rolled my eyes and headed back to my room. I couldn’t decide if he was yanking my chain because he could or if he felt it necessary to measure my reactions in the most unexpected situation. At least the most unexpected for me. I certainly hadn’t anticipated his climbing into bed with me.

I shivered in spite of myself at the remembered feel of his weight. His chest had felt incredibly lean and hard. The man was definitely all muscle.

He stepped in front of me just as I reached my door.

Let’s review.

I didn’t have to locate a clock and check the time to know it was nearly midnight. It had been well past ten o’clock when I dragged myself from the shower. Since I hadn’t managed any sleep last night, I could definitely use some tonight.

“Can’t we do this in the morning?”

I need to know that despite being tired you can still recall all that you need to.

A part of me wondered if he got some sort of cheap thrill out of being in control, but that didn’t mesh with what I knew about his professional reputation. This guy was focused, relentless. He didn’t let anything stand in his way.

“Let’s do it, then.”

He led the way to the sanctuary, and without hesitation I recited the name that went with each face spread out on the table. It wasn’t that difficult. I’d spent four years as a schoolteacher. Part of my job had been learning new names and faces in a timely manner.

Just as I was feeling pretty damned proud of myself he tossed new pictures, ones I hadn’t seen before, onto the table with the ease of a poker dealer laying down cards for a lone player. The faces and setting were different in each photograph. I frowned, wondering what each scene meant. Business meetings or social gatherings?

Quickly.
Barlow tapped the first photograph.
Name the faces you recognize.

Okay, okay. I popped off each name without hesitation. Then we moved on to the next one. It wasn’t until photo seven that I stumbled.

Look again,
he ordered.

I recognized Luther Hammond and his two personal bodyguards…the child and the au pair, Cecilia. Surely this one was a social function. I hoped Hammond didn’t involve his daughter in his dirty business. Clearing the distraction from my head, I scanned the two faces I couldn’t seem to recognize. I closed my eyes a second to search my short-term memory banks. Nothing.

“I don’t know this man,” I admitted. I tapped the second face. “That one, either.” I resisted the urge to flinch. I wasn’t sure which was worse, his disappointment or my own feeling of defeat. With more dread than I’d felt since this intensive-training session began, I lifted my gaze to his.

Good.

Surprise and irritation immediately replaced the dread and disappointment. His lips twitched, but to his credit he kept any hint of a smile off his face.

You don’t know these two. Hammond had both of them killed about three months ago. He suspected this one
—he pointed to the unfamiliar face standing closest to Hammond—
of flipping on him.

“What about this one?” I indicated the other stranger.

Barlow held my gaze for a moment before he answered. Something in his eyes forewarned me that what he was about to tell me would be less than palatable.
This one was his daughter’s godfather.

Something deep inside me shifted as the words filtered through my soul. “Why did he kill him?” Had Hammond suspected that the two men were involved in a scheme to bring him down? That seemed the most likely scenario since he’d killed them at the same time.

Hammond had him executed because he thought his daughter had grown too attached to him.

I stared at the little girl in the picture and then the man holding her hand. How could anyone do that to someone their child cared about? I shuddered. What was I saying? How could he kill anyone period? How could a mere human take such liberties with human life?

Barlow reached out and took my chin in his hand and turned my face toward his. My breath caught in surprise…or something…at his touch. My gaze settled on his lips in anticipation of his words.

Don’t be fooled by his elegant manners or his exquisite taste in clothes. Luther Hammond is a killer. If you make a mistake, he’ll kill you, too.

Chapter 7

“T
his is where I’ll be staying?”

I shifted my attention from the three-dimensional model of the Hammond mansion to Barlow’s face.

Yes. This
—he waited until I took note of the suite of rooms on the model and then fixed my gaze back on his lips—
is the corridor that connects your rooms to the kitchen and rear staircase.

His hand moved to the second story. My attention alternated between the model and his face as he identified each space in the enormous house.
Hammond’s room. Tiffany’s. The au pair’s next door. Mason Conrad is the only member of Hammond’s security who resides in the house. The others use the guest house. Conrad’s room is here.

Mason Conrad. This morning I’d studied the profile Barlow had provided on him. At thirty-three Conrad had risen from a homeless bum to Hammond’s right-hand man. Conrad hadn’t even graduated high school. But he did possess the all-important street smarts and the one vital characteristic a mob leader searched for within his ranks: absolute loyalty.

My mentor rested his hand on my shoulder to regain my attention. A little jolt of electricity accompanied his touch and startled me…just a smidge.

Most of Hammond’s business is likely conducted in this room,
he said, oblivious of my unexpected reaction since he simply gestured to the study off the entry hall and continued,
but you may find opportunities to learn pertinent information almost anywhere in the house.

“If the study is his primary place of mob business, is there no way to get surveillance bugs in place?” Maybe it was a dumb question, but they had the complete layout of the house, from the cleaning service, I presumed. Why couldn’t someone from that same service plant something? A high-tech listening device like the ones I’d seen in movies. I didn’t know the official name of the devices or even how they actually worked, but I knew they existed. It seemed awfully elementary to me.

We tried that once. The man who planted the bug was executed. We never found his body.

My chest constricted. Why did I keep forgetting that…the whole idea of mobsters and planned executions were just too foreign to me…too surreal. “Oh,” I choked out. He’d warned me last night that the slightest mistake could cost me my life, ensuring another sleepless night. Maybe on some level I still didn’t get this whole Hammond gangster world. How could anyone be that utterly ruthless?

Walk me through the house again.

Strong-arming my full attention back to the nifty model, I dredged up the necessary information. I’d done this half a dozen times already. But since knowing the house would help me escape in a hurry if need be, I did as I was told. Upstairs, downstairs and the grounds, including the guest house, massive garage, terrace and pool. I didn’t miss a beat. I had the layout nailed. This appeared to please him.

Excellent.

The strangest fizz of heat erupted beneath my belly button. I didn’t get it. It wasn’t like this was the first time I’d seen him smile at me much in the same way I’d smiled at my students when they succeeded in a task. I mean I fully understood how defenseless my inability to hear left me. However hard I attempted to focus my other senses, I recognized that frailty. I had to learn every seemingly insignificant bit of information he had to teach me. But this other reaction…this feeling of…I don’t know…attraction, maybe…was just too weird.

Let’s discuss the profiles on each significant player once more.

I picked up the first folder, read the name and then began to recite what I had learned about the player described within. Each time I stole a glimpse of Barlow from the corner of my eye, he seemed to be analyzing my profile. Or, even more unsettling, watching my lips move. I moistened them, tried not to be unnerved by him or his assessment. Watching his lips was necessary for me to know what he was saying, but he didn’t have that excuse.

Maybe lack of sleep was playing tricks on my ability to reason. The forced proximity didn’t help. It had been almost two years since I’d spent this much time alone with a man who wasn’t related to me by blood.

Then an epiphany sneaked up and grabbed me by the throat. That was the whole problem. I was feeling off-kilter because he’s a man and I’m a woman. His undivided attention in this one-on-one environment made me restless. That’s all it could be. Kind of like an ex-smoker getting a whiff of a freshly lit cigarette after months on the tobacco wagon.

I hadn’t dated or even gone out with a male friend since losing the ability to hear. Why now? I needed my hormones to wake up and start making a fuss right now about as badly as I needed another hole in the head.

Nah. That couldn’t be happening. I’d just about decided becoming a nun might be my next profession. Maybe I only needed sleep. A nap after lunch before we moved on to my self-defense classes would probably do the trick. Remembered heat rushed through me without warning. Okay. Maybe the nun business was out after all. I suddenly felt reasonably certain that any unnecessary touching would not help matters either way.

Wait. I paused mentally. Maybe this wasn’t about hormones or sleep deprivation at all. I’d just had my first professional success, in solving that murder case, since walking away from my teaching career. Didn’t a coup of any sort, professional or personal, induce a certain level of excitement? Of course it did. I was just so out of practice that I had somehow mistaken one kind of anticipation for another.

Whew. That was a relief. I definitely did not want Detective Barlow thinking the handicapped woman had a crush on him. I didn’t need any pity attention, especially not the sexual kind. The next relationship of that nature that I ventured into would not have a damned thing to do with pity or my disability.

Barlow’s hand collided with mine just then as we both reached for the same folder. As if prompted by a domino effect, our gazes bumped into each other next. For a fraction of a second they held, then he looked away. But not before I recognized the glint of desire…of heat…simmering there.

Impossible. I barely kept my mouth from gaping in disbelief. I had to be mistaken.

Mistake or no, there was no way to deny what had twisted through me during that fleeting space in time. I read the next name and forged ahead with what I knew Barlow wanted to hear. I evicted any other thought from my mind. This mission was far too important to risk getting involved in any shape, form or fashion with my teacher.

Before we move into our self-defense session,
Barlow said when we’d resumed our work after lunch,
I’d like to go over some special gadgets I picked up for you.

I nodded and moved toward the table where a new box sat waiting. The nap I’d hoped for hadn’t panned out. Barlow had even questioned me about names and faces and locations as we ate lunch. Time was short, he’d said, we need to take advantage of every moment.

At the table he reached inside the box and withdrew what looked like a PDA, a small handheld personal computer similar to the ones people used to electronically store their daily calendars, addresses, et cetera. This one came with its own neat little shoulder strap. Compact, sleek-looking. I was impressed, but I had no idea what he wanted me to do with it.

Since Hammond can’t know about your lip-reading ability, and sign language would make you a liability as far as he’s concerned, you’ll use this instead.

He turned on the device and a screen appeared.
Whenever anyone needs to convey information to you, they’ll do this.
He took a moment to tap a few keys, then passed the PDA to me and the message read:
Do you remember the final move I taught you yesterday?

I looked up at him and nodded.

The crooked smile that rearranged his too-serious expression into one of breath-stealing quality made me quiver inside. He reached into the box once more and produced a cellular phone. The flip-top style.

This one works a little like a walkie-talkie,
he explained.
You don’t have to hold it up to your mouth to speak. Use it like this.
He demonstrated by holding the unit about seven or eight inches from his mouth and saying hello.
You can read what the caller has to say on the screen. It’s fully equipped for the hearing-impaired.

I didn’t want to burst his bubble, but the one I owned worked very much like that. Unfortunately he’d wasted his or Metro’s money on that one.

I know what you’re thinking,
he said when my gaze moved back to his face. But this one has something yours doesn’t.
Because we want to be extremely careful to whom you pass along information, which you might not be able to keep to yourself until a face-to-face meeting is feasible, you need to be certain to whom you’re speaking when you make a call.

Now I was impressed. “How does it work?”

I must have looked a little bewildered or a lot awed. That lopsided smile broadened.
You place your call.
He entered a number and handed the phone to me. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone and answered it. When he said Barlow, his name appeared on my screen and a statement beneath it confirmed his identity. My phone would ID the name of the person connected to the number from which the call came. But this one was way cooler. It actually ID’d the
voice
of the caller.

“Wow.”

He closed his phone and put it away.
The voice identification only works for those who have been added to its database. Me, Chief Kent and Chief Adcock. Always attempt to contact me first. Kent or Adcock should be last resorts.

I saw the line of his jaw harden ever so slightly when he mentioned Chief Adcock’s name. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed it.

“What is it you don’t like about Chief Adcock?” The question was out of my mouth before I could swallow it back. I had no business asking such a thing. Judging by the way his face blanked, he felt the same way.

Chief Adcock is my boss. Whether I like him or not is inconsequential.

Judging by the cold, hard look in his eyes, he didn’t merely dislike his boss, he despised him.

“I had a principal like that once,” I offered. He’d been a real turkey. None of the teachers had liked him.

Barlow shook his head slowly from side to side.
Trust me, you didn’t have one like this.

Though I couldn’t hear his voice and analyze the way he said the words, I could pick up nuances from his face and eyes…if he allowed me to. He did not. Whatever the beef between Adcock and Barlow, he had no intention of sharing the gritty details.

From there we moved on to self-defense. By the time I had my taskmaster’s permission to hit the shower I was exhausted but somehow wired at the same time. Considering the way his every touch had me ready to scream in unexpected frustration, I might just have to resort to a cold one.

I double-checked the lock on the door—I’d learned from experience that Barlow liked showing up at the most unexpected times. In the name of making sure I was fully prepared, of course. Not that I actually doubted his motivation. If I had come to understand one thing, it was that Barlow was definitely all work and no play. I might get a glimpse of male approval in those piercing blue eyes once in a great while, but he quickly vanquished the weakness whenever it occurred. Maybe, I mused, the good detective simply needed to get laid about as badly as I did. But I would never admit that to him or anyone else in a million years.

I stripped off my sweaty T-shirt, rolled down my jeans and kicked them aside. My hands hesitated at the latch of my bra. I stared at my reflection in the mirror over the sink and wondered what Barlow saw when he looked at me.

The bra fell away and I stared at my unrestrained breasts. Not bad. A C cup and still perky enough. My gaze traveled downward. I didn’t exactly have what you’d call six-pack abs, but I was certainly slim enough. Ab crunches never had been my favorite exercise. My hips flared slightly and my legs were toned from my aerobic workouts.

I stripped off my panties and considered how long it had been since a man had seen me naked. Two years, three months and one week. I dismissed the thought before dragging it out to the days and hours.

I’d let my auburn hair grow longer, but I rarely bothered with anything but a ponytail or a braid. Just now, with it falling around my shoulders, I wondered if I should wear it down more often.

I scrutinized my face, still pretty much unlined despite that year of pure hell after facing the fact that my hearing would not return.

Now that I thought about it, not much else about me had changed…except the way I viewed myself. I was no longer a viable commodity on the dating market. But then, my ex-fiancé’s decision to walk away from our two-year relationship could have something to do with that.

Turning away from the mirror I shoved the shower curtain aside and climbed in. My brain immediately evicted my ex-fiancé and resumed its obsession with my mentor. Why in the world was I torturing myself this way? No one, not Barlow or anyone else, would want a deaf wife. It was one thing to marry someone who for whatever reasons became deaf in the course of the marriage, but choosing a hearing-impaired mate from the get-go couldn’t be expected of any man. Being deaf complicated life. I couldn’t imagine anyone purposely wanting to complicate their lives.

I closed my eyes and allowed the hot water to sluice over my body. If I really looked at the situation with an objective eye, I would be the first to admit that I wasn’t sure I would knowingly choose a mate with a physical impairment. Scrubbing the water from my face, I thought about that some more. I didn’t personally know anyone else who fell into that category, but I felt reasonably certain of my conclusion. It was easy to say a person’s frailties didn’t count or that you didn’t notice, but the truth was most people did, whether consciously or unconsciously. We’re mere humans, after all.