Silent Weapon Read online

  “I fully understand what I’m walking into,” I said firmly. I held the towel tightly against me and ordered my knees not to weaken. He’d gotten at least part of his wish. A line of fear had traced a path between my shoulder blades. As courageous as I wanted to appear right now, part of it was bluster.

  Hammond and his men will be armed, he said as if I hadn’t spoken. Every single one of his associates has killed before. Conrad, Vargas, Hammond himself. Not one of them would think twice about killing you if anything at all feels wrong or out of sync.

  I swallowed back the lump of emotion his words had wrenched into my throat. “I told you I understand what I’m walking into. Why can’t you just accept that?” Now I was angry. I’d had it with people treating me as if I wasn’t capable of doing what needed to be done or making my own decisions. Yes, this operation carried a great deal of risk. I got that. But this was what I wanted. Any worthwhile venture carried some sort of risk.

  You’re an untrained civilian. He braced one hand on the wall just past my shoulder. The move put him even closer. I tried my best to ignore that subtle scent of earthy aftershave he wore. I like you, Miss Walters.

  I’d had more than ample opportunity to suggest he call me by my first name, but I’d stayed out of that territory. He’d done the same.

  I don’t want your death on my conscience.

  In the few days since we’d officially met at that construction site where Sawyer had intended to hide the skeleton in his past, not once had I doubted Barlow’s motivation or his fierce dedication to duty. I didn’t doubt it now. I took a moment and regarded the chiseled features of his face before fixing my gaze on his. “You really don’t think I can handle this, do you?”

  He moved his head slowly from side to side. You seem determined to get yourself killed and nothing I say appears to be getting through. He leaned slightly closer, forcing me to tilt my head back to see his lips. Sleep on it. If you change your mind, no one will hold it against you.

  The oxygen evaporated in my lungs, and before I could drag in another breath he’d walked away.

  There was no way to make him understand. I couldn’t change my mind. I couldn’t go back.

  Steven Barlow stared at his cellular phone for several moments before he made the call he knew would obstruct sleep without making.

  A groggy voice rasped across the other end of the line. It was past midnight but Steven didn’t care.

  “I hate to disturb you,” he lied. The bastard that served as his superior officer shouldn’t be able to sleep, either. He should be worrying about this operation more than anyone else, but, of course, he wasn’t.

  “Is there a problem?” Adcock demanded, an unbalanced mixture of uncertainty and impatience in his tone. He hated being made to wait. Hated even worse that there might be a problem with getting his pet project off the ground.

  That would be his first concern. Not whether or not Merrilee Walters was all right or if she needed anything. To him, the only thing that mattered was that he got a shot at bringing down Hammond once and for all.

  “Only the same problem I’ve reiterated to you over and over since Kent came up with this crazy scheme to use a deaf woman for this op.” He was skating on thin ice, but he didn’t care. The drawn-out silence that followed punctuated that reality.

  “You’ll be lucky to survive this op with your shield intact, Barlow,” he warned. “I would suggest you remember to whom you’re speaking. I will not tolerate any further insubordination. I’ve put up with too much from you already. Are we clear on who is in charge here?”

  Steven ground his teeth hard enough to crack the enamel before he found some semblance of control. “Quite clear. You’re willing to risk the life of an untrained civilian to have your moment of glory.” Even he recognized he’d crossed the line with that one, but he no longer cared. Merrilee Walters would walk into a suicide mission at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. He had to make at least one last-ditch effort to stop this.

  “You do anything to jeopardize this setup and you’ll hang for it, Barlow,” Adcock snarled. “I will utilize every means at my disposal to ensure that you spend the rest of your life regretting it if you screw this up.”

  “I take it that’s your final word on the subject,” Steven returned, pushing the envelope even further. “Nothing I say is going to change your mind?”

  “Are you recording this?” his chief demanded, suddenly suspicious or maybe worried about his own ass. “You’re trying to trap me in the event something does go wrong!”

  Steven smiled, couldn’t help himself. “No, sir, I’m not recording this conversation, but that would have been a good idea, considering my ass is the one on the line when you get down to the nitty-gritty.”

  The chief wouldn’t go down if this op failed, if a civilian was caught in the crossfire. It would be Detective Steven Barlow who paid the price. But he didn’t care about that. He owed this final effort to the woman sleeping in the other room, even if she didn’t fully understand it just yet.

  “This conversation is over,” Adcock snapped. “Watch your step, Barlow. Like you say, it’s your ass on the line.”

  A definitive click signaled the end of the conversation. Steven closed his phone and laughed softly, derisively. The conversation had actually been over before it started. Chief Adcock and Chief Kent had made their decision. The operation was a go. Merrilee Walters was willing to take the risk and so were the powers that be.

  Steven knew exactly how this would play out. If, major if, the op was a success, the chiefs would be heroes. The two would ride it for all it was worth. If anything went wrong, then they would step back, leaving Steven to face the unwanted press. But none of that bothered him. It was the idea that this woman—his gaze drifted to the wall that separated their bedrooms—was sacrificing everything. She would be on her own when it came right down to it. There was no way Steven could monitor her activities. Hammond was too sharp to allow any kind of electronic surveillance, even the latest and greatest technology, get past him. The best they’d been able to do was flyover surveillance.

  All Steven could do was watch her walk into a world she couldn’t possibly understand and hope for the best. She thought because he’d reviewed names and faces and profiles with her that she somehow understood what she was up against, but she didn’t.

  Luther Hammond had built himself a mansion on a hill overlooking all that he considered his, this city and all it entailed. His reach was ever broadening and expanding to include even uglier possibilities. He had no conscience, no care for life. On the surface he looked like any other well-to-do businessman, but he was like no other. He just didn’t allow anyone to see it until it was too late.

  Steven knew firsthand how ugly and cruel Hammond could be. No one wanted to see him fall more than Steven. In spite of that burning desire, he still possessed enough human compassion to step back and consider the consequences.

  Merilee Walters would be lucky to survive the week, and there was nothing he could do to stop her charge toward certain death.

  Chapter 8

  I clenched the steering wheel as I rounded the final curve before reaching the mountain’s peak. Though I had lived in Nashville my entire life I couldn’t recall ever having driven this particular road. Steep and curvy, it led farther and farther into seemingly nowhere. Folks in places like Colorado would call this a hill, but around here it was a mountain.

  As the upward ascent leveled on the mountaintop my breath left me in an unexpected rush.

  “So this is how the other side lives. Wow.”

  I’d seen my share of swanky mansions. After all, they didn’t call Nashville “Music City” for nothing. Lots of music moguls and other celebs called Nashville home. The west side showcased some of the finest homes in the whole state, if not the southeast U.S. But this was a whole other level of elegance.

  Ledges, the exclusive community Luther Hammond called home, was gated. I stopped for the guard and showed my driver’s license, which incl
uded a warning that I was deaf. He checked his clip pad and smiled, then waved me through the massive decorative iron gates.

  I relaxed my foot from the brake and allowed my Jetta to roll forward. It was a good thing no one pulled up behind me because I continued at a speed of about five miles per hour for a good portion of the drive through the impressive neighborhood. The houses were huge, at least eight or ten thousand square feet. Each appeared to sit slap in the middle of about five meticulously landscaped acres. Gorgeous trees and manicured shrubbery defined each space. Wide, welcoming driveways of cobblestone curved through the lush green lawns. Brick-and-stone homes were adorned with grand columns and towering windows.

  About the same time I’d convinced myself that nothing could compare with the property I’d just passed, I reached the final address in the Ledges development. I’d looked at aerial views of the residence, but nothing had prepared me for the immensity of it. Hammond had purchased two side-by-side estate lots, each consisting of five acres, right on the bluff where he could look down upon the city of Nashville.

  I eased into the long drive, paused for the guard who stepped from the small guardhouse. Hammond’s entire property was surrounded by a ten-foot decorative iron fence, reinforced by massive stone pillars every fifteen or twenty feet. Cameras were mounted strategically. Not to mention he had a guest house full of personal soldiers. A gated property within a gated community.

  The guard motioned for me to pass. He didn’t speak to me, and I assumed he’d been briefed on my condition since he hadn’t attempted to communicate even before he looked at my driver’s license.

  The Hammond mansion made the others I’d seen thus far look like low-rent row houses. I’d studied the layout, understood that it was huge, but looking at it now, I hadn’t really understood. This wasn’t a house, this was a castle, sans the turrets.

  I parked in front of the massive steps and emerged from what I now considered my rinky-dink car. The limousine-size Mercedes, as well as the Jaguar and the Hummer parked nearby would do that.

  The soaring double doors opened before I’d climbed the first of the polished granite steps. I recognized the man waiting in the doorway immediately. Mason Conrad. He didn’t speak, simply stood stoically waiting until I’d mounted the final step.

  He wore a charcoal suit with matching shirt and tie. The dark on dark pairing looked good on him, complimented his swarthy features.

  I drew in a deep breath, produced a smile and thrust out my hand. “Hello, I’m Merrilee Walters.”

  He looked surprised when I spoke. I couldn’t be sure whether he’d expected me to be mute as well or if he’d thought my voice would sound peculiar due to my hearing impairment. Since I hadn’t lost my ability to hear until two years ago, my speech was not affected—at least, not so far. His surprise gave way to confusion and I immediately offered my PDA.

  “I’m sure you know I don’t do sign language.” I nodded to the PDA. “I can read anything you’d like to tell me. It’s a bit of a chore for you, but it’s the best I can do.”

  Long fingers deftly lifted the small electronic device from my hand. His fingertips brushed my palm and I barely resisted a shiver. Fear, I told myself. I couldn’t start out allowing myself to be intimidated by the mere presence of any of these men. Conrad was tall, broad-shouldered and quite good-looking, and he was a killer. But I couldn’t be afraid. I had to pretend I knew nothing if I wanted to survive. Barlow had made that immensely clear last night and then again this morning.

  Conrad passed the PDA back to me with a smile that startled me all over again. I blinked, managed an answering smile, then focused my attention on the words he’d entered on the small screen.

  Your pictures don’t do you justice.

  My heart bumped against my sternum. I wasn’t sure whether he was joking or trying to be kind. I wore a rather drab gray dress with a white apron. My auburn hair was arranged in a generic bun and I hadn’t bothered with makeup. But the worst fashion infraction was the white nurse’s style shoes. Maybe he only wanted to put me at ease.

  I turned my attention to the man standing between me and the door and somehow, God only knew how, kept my smile in place. “Thank you.”

  He stepped aside and gestured for me to enter ahead of him. I directed my feet to move, one in front of the other, until I passed through the final barrier into enemy territory. My heart was pounding, my pulse tripping, but I was here. I’d done it.

  There were times when I felt grateful for the absolute silence…this was one of those times. The infinite quiet fit very much with the palatial entry hall. The ceiling soared nearly three stories to a towering glass dome that showered light downward, only to be splintered into a million shards of glitter by the multitiered brass-and-crystal chandelier. Shiny marble floors reflected the splendor from above. Even that magnificence was all but overshadowed by the massive, intricately carved detailing of the wood trim. An equally embellished mahogany table stood center stage, topped with a fragrant bouquet of fresh flowers. The deep, rich wine of the walls shimmered like blood pulsing with life. The idea made me shudder inwardly. And all of it, every single detail, merely set the stage for the grand staircase that flowed up onto the second-floor landing.

  A hand touched my elbow, giving me a start. I worked up a smile for Mr. Conrad. He motioned for me to follow him. I knew where we were likely headed, the study, but I resisted the urge to lead the way. I had never been here before. I wasn’t supposed to know which way to go.

  The luxurious decorating theme carried through into the study. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that the elegance encompassed the entire house. All bought and paid for with dirty money. I gritted my teeth and held in the emotion that tried to surface. I couldn’t let any resentment or hostility show. Not even for a second…not even the slightest glimmer. Barlow had warned me about that.

  Conrad waved a hand over one of the jacquard-upholstered wing chairs flanking the desk. I sat down without hesitation. He left the room, but not for a second did I believe I was alone. That’s another thing Barlow had repeated over and over, Hammond didn’t leave anything to chance. He would be watching me. His associates would be watching me. No place within his realm was safe. No one trustworthy.

  A frown needled my brow as I mulled over those final moments with Barlow this morning. He’d asked one last time if I wanted to change my mind. I’d said no. The look of finality…of resignation in his eyes had unsettled me more than any of his warnings. He truly believed I would fail.

  I looked around the elegant room with its tasteful decor and palpable decadence. Maybe I was in over my head. There was always the chance I would fail. But I had to try. I had to do this. Not because I had known the man for whom Chiefs Kent and Adcock wanted to have their vengeance, not even for all the dirty business Hammond allegedly conducted. I had to do this for the people who lived in this city and who deserved to go to sleep at night with the certainty that someone cared enough to risk their life to stop this kind of evil from growing. I had to do it for me.

  I closed all thought from my mind and focused on the room and its full-bodied character. The masculinity of the décor and the subtle scents: leather and citrus odors from the tufted sofa and the polish used regularly on the furniture permeated every square inch from the rich tapestry of the drapes to the imported wool rug sprawled on the glistening hardwood. A stone fireplace held court in one corner, four additional stylish upholstered chairs flanking it. In winter, with the gas flames flickering, the ambience would be as melancholy as a Norman Rockwell rendering.

  The whisper of footfalls on the floor was not necessary for me to know when Mr. Hammond had entered the room. I recognized his scent. Barlow had insisted I become familiar with the cologne Hammond wore in an effort to distinguish his presence without having to turn around if my back were to him as it was at the moment. My gratitude for Barlow’s intensive forty-eight-hour training session bumped up a notch.

  Luther Hammond walked to where I sat. I looked up
as he reached my peripheral vision, ensuring that a surprised expression claimed my face. I didn’t speak or move. I waited for him to do so.

  I’m Luther Hammond. He thrust out his hand.

  I looked at his hand, then at him, allowing my surprise to evolve into confusion, before reluctantly clasping his hand. His handshake was firm. When he released my hand I offered my PDA and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand what you said.”

  He studied me a moment, then nodded. When he’d completed his message he passed the PDA back to me. The words on the screen read: I’m Luther Hammond. I’d like to welcome you to my home.

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  Another lengthy scrutiny played out before he again reached for the PDA. Don’t be nervous, I chanted over and over in my head. I had to stay calm.

  This time his message read: Your credentials are impeccable. I expect nothing but the best from you. Mason will show you to your quarters.

  I nodded. “I’ll do my very best, sir.”

  At least ten seconds of assessment followed before he simply walked out. A man like Luther Hammond wouldn’t waste time with the hired help.

  I let go an enormous sigh of relief, but I kept my expression carefully schooled in the event I was being watched or taped or both. Mason Conrad appeared and indicated that I should go with him.

  Mr. Conrad had to stop a number of times and wait for me to catch up to him. The house was awesome. I couldn’t think of any place I’d ever seen on television, much less in real life, that even came close. But I’d have to get over that. I couldn’t walk around this distracted all the time. The look of bored amusement on Conrad’s face told me I wasn’t the first to react in this manner.

  “It’s lovely.”

  He nodded.

  When we passed the rear staircase in the immense kitchen I knew we were getting close. A few steps down a connecting corridor and he opened the door to the maid’s quarters. Bedroom, bathroom and small sitting area. The rooms weren’t nearly so grand as the rest of the house, but they were a serious cut above anything I’d ever rented or owned. Cozy and very, very nice. My bags had already been brought inside. The keys to my Jetta lay on the table near the door. Now, that was service.