Читать книгу Silent Surrender - Rita Herron - Страница 13

Adam spent a restless night trying to forget the magnetic pull between him and Sarah Cutter. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but something about the woman unleashed his baser instincts. She was troubled, confused and just about the most needy woman he’d ever met.

Yet, he was the one who felt needy in her presence. As if he might shrivel up if he didn’t touch her. He didn’t like the feeling. Adam Black was a loner. He took care of himself and his sister; he didn’t need anyone else.

Hell, when had he last woken up in a sweat from wanting a woman? A long damn time.

Because he’d learned the hard way. The last time he had gotten involved with a woman, a witness, named Pamela, the end had been disastrous. He’d been too distracted by her to focus on his job, and it had cost her her life.

Now his job, staying in control, was everything— it had to be.

Determined to squash the emotions churning through him, he took a cold shower and dressed. When he’d arrived home the night before, he’d tried to contact Denise’s research assistant, but supposedly the man’s grandmother had died and he’d flown to Los Angeles for the funeral. Adam had stayed up half the night researching hearing implants on the Internet, looking at the latest developments in technology. But he found nothing on a device that might allow a person to hear through walls or serve as a transmitter.

Clayton met him at the station. “Uh-oh, Black, you’re not going to like this.”

Adam stared in shock at the headliner on a local tabloid, his mind reeling as he read the article.

Hearing Things?

Cold War spy’s daughter who has been deaf for twenty years claims to have heard evidence of a kidnapping, possible murder!

Sarah Cutter ended twenty years of silence four days ago when she received surgically implanted hearing aids by doctors at the research center on Catcall Island, the new facility which has been linked with the government-owned buildings on Nighthawk Island.

Late Thursday afternoon, she rushed to the police claiming that while she was in the hospital she overheard a woman being abducted….

The article continued to describe what Sarah had told him, then launched into an account of how she’d lost her hearing.

Twenty years ago, five-year-old Sarah lost her hearing in the explosion that killed both her parents. Her father, Dr. Charles Cutter, a scientist and former Navy lieutenant, had been working on a secret project for the government developing a listening device to be used in the Cold War. Cutter’s technology died with his death. Evidence later verified that Cutter had made a deal to sell the device to the Russians. Reports confirmed that Cutter’s own wife discovered his intentions and had planned to turn him over to the government. When Cutter realized his wife’s plans, he set fire to their house, but was accidentally caught in the explosion and killed as well. Some speculate he might have killed himself to avoid facing a court-martial and prison sentence. A close friend and one of Cutter’s co-workers, Sol Santenelli, arrived just in time to rescue the five-year-old child from the burning home. Dr. Santenelli is now the director of the CIRP, Coastal Island Research Park.

Although Sarah underwent stringent psychological evaluations, as well as several surgeries which were unsuccessful in repairing her hearing loss, she never spoke afterward. Cutter was buried with a dishonorable discharge.

Adam scrubbed his hand across his face.

Why hadn’t Sarah told him about her past? Did she know exactly what her father had been working on? Of course, the CIA and FBI had sophisticated listening devices now, but twenty years ago the technology would have been cutting edge and worth a small fortune.

Clayton whistled. “Pretty interesting, huh?”

“Yeah. But why the hell did Sarah Cutter go to the tabloids with the story?”

“Maybe she wanted the attention. She might have made up the whole story just to get her name in the paper.”

Clayton might be right. The story didn’t exactly paint a picture of a healthy emotional female.

Then again, he’d seen the fear on her face when she’d described the kidnapping. Growing up with a handicap, she had to have faced ridicule before. Yet, she’d come to them with the bizarre story knowing they would laugh at her. Either she was lying or she had a great deal of courage.

He knew that kind of courage. And he had to admire it.

He had to talk to her again. Crazy or not, attraction or not, she might be the key to finding his sister.

But if there was any truth to Sarah’s story, printing her name in the papers had put her in danger.

SARAH HUGGED each of the children in her class, grateful to spend the afternoon with some sense of normalcy.

“Is it fun to be able to hear?” five-year-old Jason signed.

“What does music sound like?” curly-haired Claire asked.

Betty Ann clapped her hands. “And the choo-choo train? I always wanted to hear a train whistle!”

Sarah waved for them all to pay attention and signed, “My hearing isn’t perfect yet, so I don’t understand all the sounds around me. I feel like a kindergartner again, having to recognize certain sounds and name them.”

The kids giggled.

“Some sounds are lovely, but some are harsh and loud, like the horns honking and bulldozers. The fire engine and ambulance siren is loud and screechy and sends a chill up my back.”

The children’s eyes widened in awe as she elaborated, many of them unable to imagine what the word sound truly meant. They had been taught that vibrations produced sound, but learning about them and experiencing them were two different things, especially for the children born totally deaf or with a profound hearing loss.

“I can’t distinguish tones yet so I still haven’t been able to enjoy music, but the doctors say my hearing should improve daily.”

“Will you come back?” Jason asked.

“Yes, soon.” Sarah hugged each of them again, then turned to the director of the center, Adrianne Waters. “I miss everyone so much.”

“Are you adapting to life in the hearing world?” Adrianne asked.

Sarah forced a stiff smile and signed, “Yes. Take care of my babies here.”

Adrianne laughed, the first beautiful sound Sarah had heard. Adrianne had suffered her hearing loss when she was a teen, so her language skills were advanced. Maybe she could help Sarah with her speech.

When she was ready.

And maybe Adrianne would be the next volunteer for a hearing implant.

Right now, Sarah simply wanted to go home and lie down. The twinge of a headache wore at her, as did a slight ringing in her ears. Exhaustion crept up on her, too, from her sleepless night. For hours she’d lain awake, waiting for the voices, hoping they wouldn’t come, then hoping they would so she’d know Denise Harley was still alive.

So she’d have good news to tell Adam Black.

ADAM HAD BEEN pacing on Sarah’s front stoop for thirty minutes. He’d finally convinced himself to leave when he saw her walking down the sidewalk. She looked pale and tired, but she was alive and safe. He breathed a sigh of relief. Worry had dogged him all afternoon. At the same time, anger made him want to shake her.

Her steps faltered momentarily when she spotted him, then she raised her chin and strode toward him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to touch her. She looked so damn vulnerable and sexy that his groin tightened. The soft fabric of her dress clung to her subtle curves and that long dark hair was blowing in the breeze, giving him a glimpse of the sultry line of her neck. Once again that magnetic draw between them heated up. He wanted to hold her, just once. To hear her voice.

But he wouldn’t.

She faced him with raised brows as if to ask why he’d come.

“We have to talk.”

She nodded curtly, unlocked her door and started to step inside, but he pressed a gentle hand on her back to still her and stepped inside first. He glanced around, his breath easing out when he found everything in order.

She frowned at him, as if she had no idea why he’d go into her apartment first. But old habits were hard to break, and his cop instincts made him suspicious. And cautious.

She led him to the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee. But he didn’t want coffee. He wanted answers.

He slapped the paper on the table. “What’s this all about?”

She startled at the sound of his sharp voice and glanced at the table. But her face paled when she read the headline.

She didn’t know about the article?

Her gaze rose to his, shadows haunting her eyes as she toyed with the necklace again. He wondered what significance the locket had, whether she had pictures inside?

He crossed his arms, determined not to be distracted by her vulnerability or the sizzle of attraction between them.

“Did you talk to that scumbag?” Adam asked.

She shook her head no. Then with trembling fingers, she picked up the paper and began to read.

SARAH COULDN’T believe this was happening.

Baring It All— Hearing Things?

Dear heavens.

She scanned the article, her stomach growing queasy. The reporter had lied to her—he didn’t work for the Savannah Times. He worked for a sleazy tabloid. And he’d printed her life story in the paper for everyone to read. She twisted the chain around her neck, thinking of the picture of her mother inside. Once it had held a photo of her father, as well.

But she’d taken it out when she’d learned the truth about him.

How had the reporter gotten this story? And why dredge up things that had happened twenty years ago?

Her mind raced back to the police station. He must have seen the note she’d written to the detectives. Had they shown it to him?

No, Detective Black obviously hadn’t. She skimmed the last paragraph and her legs buckled. Robey Burgess made her sound like a lunatic. Sol would be furious. Shaken, she sank into the chair and met Adam’s gaze.

Obviously, he thought she’d sold her story just to see her name in the headlines.

“Did you give him the story?”

She shook her head again and mouthed the word no.

The detective moved toward her. He surprised her by reaching out with one big thumb and slowly wiping a tear from her cheek. “Did you talk to him at all?”

She inhaled sharply, fighting the strong need to hold on to him. “He followed me to the car after I left the police station, but I told him to leave me alone,” she wrote on a piece of paper.

“That was the reason you raced out of the parking lot?”

She nodded and started to scribble an explanation, but her hands were shaking so badly she dropped the pen and it rolled across the floor.

He sat down beside her, then shocked her by pulling her hands into his larger ones. His touch felt amazingly gentle. His dark eyes watched her, caressing her with a kind of tenderness she hadn’t expected, causing a slow ache to burn in her belly. How long had it been since a man had touched her? Had looked at her in any way except pity?

How long had it been since a man had wanted her?

But what would a strong, tough man like Adam Black see in a woman like her?

“I have to warn you, Sarah,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but if you did hear something about my sister, the fact that the story was printed could put you in danger.”

“LOOK, SOL, I didn’t talk to the reporter. In fact I refused to,” Sarah signed in frustration. As if the meeting with Adam hadn’t left her rattled enough, Sol had arrived on her doorstep the moment Adam had driven away. She couldn’t believe she’d actually mistaken the detective’s concern for her, his interest in the information she had, as interest in her personally. She was a fool. He’d told her to be careful, to call if she remembered anything else. Then he’d left her place like a man on a foxhunt, and for some odd reason, she’d felt very alone.

“Sarah?”

Sol’s voice pulled her back to the moment. “He followed me and talked to someone at the police department,” she signed, not wanting to tell him about the note, “or maybe he eavesdropped.”

“I’m suing the little bastard! He’ll never work in this goddamn city again!”

Sarah’s hands released the death grip she held on her coffee cup to sign, “I’m sorry, Sol. I really am.”

He paced the length of her den, pausing to look at her mother’s photo. “I promised Charles I’d take care of you when you were christened. Part of that is keeping his name out of the paper. I hate the way the country crucified him back then. All that Cutter’s Crossing garbage.”

“So do I. And I certainly don’t want all that history dragged up again.”

“It looks as if this sleazeball intended to do just that. I’ve already got a call in to my lawyer.” He tunneled his hands through his thinning hair, pacing across the room. “Just think what this negative publicity might mean for the research center, Sarah. Arnold Hughes and I are just now getting CIRP off the ground. Catcall’s not even filled to capacity, and we still have a lot of space on Whistlestop to fill. I intend to make CIRP the research mecca of the world.”

Sarah signed, “I said I was sorry, Sol. Besides the article made me look crazy—it didn’t reflect badly on the center.”

Sol took her by the shoulders. “Promise me you won’t talk to any reporters or the police again. This mess has to die down, Sarah.”

Sarah tensed in his tight grip.

He frowned, then released her and gathered his jacket. “I have to meet Hughes. We’re having a press conference to deal with this situation before it snowballs out of control.”

Sarah bit her lip, thinking about Detective Black and his sister.

“Sarah? Promise me. You don’t want the center to get shut down, do you?”

“No, of course not.” Sarah wrapped her arms around her middle. She owed her life to Sol. His whole life revolved around the center.

She’d never do anything to hurt him or CIRP.

FROM WHERE HE STOOD at the reception desk, Adam heard the two doctors in the back arguing. Miss Johnson’s nervous gaze flitted to the door. “Dr. Tucker said he’s not available right now.”

The voices came again. “This is a damn nightmare!”

“Don’t you think I know it? Sarah Cutter’s a nut-case!”

Adam arched a brow and said, “Is Dr. Bradford available?”

The receptionist shook her head and reached behind her to shut the door between her cubicle and the main hallway.

The voices cut through the wood. “What the hell was Sarah Cutter thinking? For God’s sake, we give her back her hearing and then she spreads some cock-amamy story like that to the papers to discredit our center?”

“I’ve called a press conference for some damage control.”

Adam flattened his hands on the desk. “Look, Miss Johnson, I’m not going away until I speak with one of the doctors who worked with my sister.”

“I’ve explained to you that’s just not possible.” She gestured toward a red button on the side of her desk. “Now if you don’t leave, Detective, I’ll have to call Security.”

“Listen here, miss, if you don’t let me talk to Dr. Bradford, I’ll haul your skinny little butt in for interfering with an official police investigation.” He intentionally leered at her perfectly manicured nails. “And I don’t think you’d like some of the women in lockup.”

Fear danced in her eyes but she closed her smart mouth, jumped up and ran to the back, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor. He tapped his boot while he waited, deciding to give the doctor three minutes before he jumped over the security line and tore into him.

Two minutes, twenty-five seconds later, Bradford appeared and ushered him into his office. While Bradford cleared stacks of research material from a chair for Adam to sit in, Adam studied the man. He was Caucasian, short, gray-haired and portly. He wore a lab coat and gray slacks and had narrow, gray eyes with dark circles marring his leathery skin. “Miss Johnson said you were insistent on seeing me.”

Adam took the chair while Bradford seated himself behind his desk. “Yes, I want to know where my sister is.”

“Your sister?”

“Dr. Denise Harley.”

Bradford swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Your sister’s on leave—”

“That’s bull.” He stood, moving quickly, and jerked Bradford by the collar. “Denise always lets me know where she’s going. She wouldn’t leave her place without having someone take care of things, and I saw the papers piled on her porch yesterday.”

“Maybe she needed time away from her bully brother.”

Adam tightened his fingers around the doctor’s collar, grinning when the man yelped. “I don’t think so.” His eyes shot to the tabloid paper lying on the desk, looking oddly out of sorts with the research papers and medical journals.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Bradford chuckled without humor. “You’re questioning me because of some slimy tabloid reporter’s lies? You know those stories are fabrications, pure sensationalistic garbage.”

“Except this one may have a seed of truth.”

“You talked to that Cutter woman, didn’t you? You don’t actually believe her?”

Adam’s jaw snapped. “I’m checking out her story.”

“This is unreal! We help the poor woman restore her hearing and she invents some wild story to slander us!”

Adam watched a muscle jump in the man’s jaw. “She doesn’t seem the vindictive type.”

“She’s confused, Detective. She just had surgery. Did she tell you the possible problems with the implant?” He described the lack of clarity of sounds, the static breaks, the trouble her brain might have processing the information she heard. “In short, she could have misinterpreted something she’d heard and confused it with dreams. And frankly, I’m not sure she’s stable. Just look at her past.”

Adam gritted his teeth at the implication. “I want to see Denise’s office.”

Bradford shook his head. “I can’t let you in there. All research is confidential.”

“The hell with confidential! Don’t you get it? My sister’s missing!”

“That’s what you say. I believe she’s on vacation as she told me. Therefore, I have no reason to even consider authorizing your request.”

“Because you’re hiding something.”

“No.” Bradford pulled Adam’s hand away, then straightened his lab coat. “Because you’re chasing something that isn’t there, and I’m protecting valuable research.”

Adam realized they’d reached a standstill. He’d have to get a warrant and come back. But he wouldn’t give up until he found some answers. He carried enough guilt over Pamela’s death.

He had to do everything he could to find Denise. And to protect Sarah.

A FEW MINUTES LATER, Adam stared in shock at his sister’s apartment. The place had been ransacked.

Just yesterday it had been neat as a pin, but today magazines and clothes and papers littered the floor as if a tornado had swept through, overturning furniture and creating havoc.

What had the intruder been looking for?

He catalogued the details himself before dialing for a crime team, grimacing at the way the intruder had smeared ketchup and food all over the kitchen. Whoever had done it had wanted them to believe they were vandals.

But Denise’s desk had been torn apart, the computer discs were out of place—petty thieves and kids could care less about office files. Although the intruder pilfered her jewelry box, they hadn’t stolen the stereo and TV, so the motive hadn’t been robbery. Of course, someone could have driven by and scared off the culprit before he’d stolen everything he wanted. Or he might have used robbery as a cover-up for something else.

Denise’s estranged husband, Russell, a marine biologist at the center, had been bitter when she’d filed for divorce. Would he do such a thing for revenge? Did she have a boyfriend? No, Denise wouldn’t date before her divorce was final. Besides, she was a workaholic, and a social life was the last on her list of priorities.

Women were such targets—anyone could have developed a fixation on her and kidnapped her for their own devious means. Sarah Cutter’s porcelain face flashed in his mind; she was so vulnerable.

But Denise was the one in trouble. And her co-workers weren’t talking. He had to force them into giving him some answers. A knot of anxiety tightened his chest as Sarah’s face flashed in his mind again. If she was the link to finding Denise, and whoever had Denise knew she’d been helping him, they might go after Sarah.