Silent Weapon Page 14

  The one thing I had learned the past few days in snooping through the mail and pilfering through any papers I came across as I tidied the various rooms was that Luther Hammond supported numerous charities. The man donated a small fortune, especially to the ones that helped needy children.

  Why would a man who loved children so much be involved with the selling of drugs or the promotion of prostitution? It just didn’t make sense to me.

  Of course, please, have her join us.

  I jerked my attention back to the here and now just in time to catch Mr. Hammond’s remark. Apparently Mr. Conrad had conveyed my lack of knowledge regarding pizza night.

  Tiffany tossed her pizza back in the box and ran over to greet me. She grabbed my hand, the one I only just noticed that Mason Conrad still held on to. The little girl tugged me toward the sofa where her father still sat.

  She looked up at me and smiled. You can sit with me, Miss Merri.

  Fear banded around my chest as the little girl stared up at me and waited for a response.

  I blinked, considered what I should do. I didn’t have to look to know that all eyes were on me.

  Tiffany slapped her forehead with her right hand. Silly me! She snatched up the PDA and entered her comment for me to see.

  I read it and forced a smile. “I’d love to sit with you, Tiff.” I glanced at her father. “If you’re sure it’s all right.”

  Luther Hammond made a dismissive gesture. His daughter urged me over to the sofa and we sat down together. Then she served me a slice of pizza on a napkin. Before I could stop her she’d rushed out of the room.

  Her father watched me. A thousand butterflies had taken flight in my stomach. If I dared take a bite of pizza just now, I felt certain I would hurl it right back up.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hammond,” I said abruptly, unable to hold back the words. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  He studied me several moments longer, then held out his hand. Understanding quickly cleared my confusion. I shuffled my pizza to one hand and pulled the PDA from around my neck with the other. I held it out to him.

  My heart galloped as he typed the words he wanted to relay to me. From the corner of my eye I saw Mason Conrad pour himself a drink of something. With the liquor bottle in hand he walked around the sofa and freshened his employer’s drink as well. Hammond thanked him, then returned his attention to the PDA before passing it back to me.

  I moistened my lips and read the message. No need to apologize. You are a part of my family now.

  “Thank you.”

  Tiffany returned with a can of cola for me. She retrieved her pizza and scooted onto the sofa. The little girl watched until I’d taken a bite of my pizza before she resumed the devouring of her own.

  Before long I got caught up in the moment and found myself laughing at the antics on the television. Conrad had turned on the closed captioning for me. Occasionally I would look up to find him watching me. Each time I shivered in spite of my best intentions not to. I would need to talk to Barlow about this. No, I couldn’t do that. He would know for sure just how pitiful my personal life had been these past two years then. Or, at least, he would suspect.

  I told myself that Conrad watched me like this because he was suspicious of me. But I hadn’t forgotten the things he’d said to me that first night. I couldn’t forget now the way he’d touched me, then and a few moments ago. So carefully and delicately, as if he feared I might break. Very strange.

  I had to remind myself that these men were evil. I couldn’t prove they had killed that man I saw tied to a chair, but I would be stupid to believe otherwise.

  When the program ended, Hammond clicked off the television. Tiffany fussed about it, but her father insisted it was time for bed. I was surprised to see that it was past ten already. I hadn’t realized two hours had gone by.

  I stood in preparation to go and Hammond held up a hand for me to stay. The unspoken request sent a new kind of trepidation skating through me.

  Mason Conrad sent an unreadable look in my direction as he escorted Tiffany from the room. I wondered if he knew something I didn’t or if that look had been one of concern. I remembered well his warning that I shouldn’t allow anyone to take advantage of me. Is that what the next few minutes were going to be about?

  I sure hoped not.

  Or had Tiffany told her father that she thought I could read lips? Had that awkward moment tonight been all he’d needed to convince him that it was possible?

  Or maybe someone had seen me leave the garage.

  Mr. Hammond picked up the PDA, gestured for me to join him on the sofa and then entered a lengthy message. It was all I could do to keep my hand from shaking when I took the PDA from him and read what he’d entered.

  I’m very pleased with your presence, Miss Walters. My daughter is thrilled. She loves it when you read to her. Are you happy here so far?

  As hard as it was, I met his gaze and produced a smile. “I’m very happy here. Tiffany is a pleasure.” I stood. “Thank you for sharing your pizza with me.”

  When I would have turned to go he stood and placed a hand on my arm. The way my heart banged against my rib cage you would have thought he’d grabbed me by the throat. Instead, his touch was light, unassuming.

  He took the PDA once more, typed for a few moments, then handed it back to me. The message read: Please indulge my curiosity. Do you miss the sounds of everyday life?

  Those gray eyes searched mine during the brief hesitation as I wrestled with the best way to answer his question. He suddenly closed his eyes and shook his head. What a thing to ask, he said, not really meaning the words for me, but I read them on his lips.

  When his gaze met mine once more he looked genuinely sorry for having put the question to me.

  “Yes,” I said. I pulled in a deep breath and thought about my answer again. “I guess I miss the little things the most.” I stared out the massive windows where trees, their tops barely lit by the moon, swayed in the breeze. “The sound of the wind in the trees. The water dripping from a leaky faucet.” I shrugged. “That kind of stuff more than anything.”

  He reached out, squeezed my arm, then walked away. I watched as he left the room, uncertain if I’d said the wrong thing somehow. I remembered Barlow had said that Tiffany’s mother, Heather, had died of a drug overdose four years ago. Did Hammond still grieve the loss? Had something I said triggered a memory?

  I didn’t know. After hanging the PDA strap back over my shoulder, I decided to clean up the pizza-party mess. It was my job after all. Why put it off until morning?

  By the time I’d tidied the room and headed for the door with the dirty dishes, Mason Conrad had returned. I jumped when he walked into the room, but quickly managed a smile. He grabbed the now-empty pizza box and the rest of the items I couldn’t carry and followed me to the kitchen.

  While I loaded the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, he took care of the trash. He didn’t offer to start a conversation. I followed his lead. Oddly, I found his presence reassuring. I wasn’t certain I’d ever understand how that was possible, but it was.

  Before I mentally beat myself up again for enjoying the company of a bad guy, I reminded myself that making friends with these people was part of the mission. This is what I was supposed to do. And, after all, it had been Vargas who’d stayed behind to do…whatever they did to that other man. I shivered.

  With the last glass in the rack, I looked up at my helper and said, “I guess that’s it. Thanks.”

  He nodded and I hurried past him. There was no need to drag out the moment.

  I went straight to my room and locked the door. I leaned against it and took a moment to enjoy the idea that I’d surely passed another test. I was part of the family now. Accepted unconditionally.

  Nothing I’d seen tonight actually amounted to anything as far as the case went, but I felt loads better about where things would go from here.

  I was definitely on the right track.

  I would give Barlow t
he business card I’d found in the garage and tell him what I’d seen. If it was nothing, then so be it. But there was always a chance it was something.

  Chapter 11

  Friday morning I actually worked up the nerve to take a much-needed run around the property. Keeping up with my usual workout hadn’t been high on my priority list of things to get done since my arrival, but I couldn’t forsake my physical training. I’d gotten up extra early and asked Connie what he thought about the possibility. He didn’t see any problem, so I went for it.

  A couple of the guards scowled at me, but other than that I didn’t encounter any problems. A quick shower and change of clothes later and I started the day’s chores. Making beds. At home I always made my bed before going off to work, but here I made nearly half a dozen beds, including Mason Conrad’s and the one in which Luther Hammond slept.

  This morning I lingered in Hammond’s bedroom. This wouldn’t be the first time I’d looked around a bit, but my confidence seemed to increase more each day. Especially since he’d made me feel like such a part of the family on pizza night. And since I hadn’t gotten caught in the midst of any of my other exploits, I was feeling a little cocky.

  I wasn’t sure whether today’s newly discovered bravado was good or not, but five days without learning even a snippet of useful information served as a strong motivator. I had the business card, but without a dead body or any other clues I doubted it would mean much.

  I could not fail at this assignment.

  I smoothed my hand over the down-filled comforter and straightened the pillows, my determination growing with each passing second. I glanced at the door. Closed. I was the only one upstairs. Cecilia and Tiffany were out by the pool that filled the space between the garage and the guest house. Vargas, Conrad and Hammond were in the private study in a meeting. A little extra snooping could be chanced.

  Chewing my lower lip, I made up my mind. Failure was not an option.

  In the process of putting away freshly laundered socks and designer briefs, I’d managed to pilfer through the drawers of the bureau and dresser. As far as the bedroom went, there wasn’t anything to find. Except maybe in the closet. I hadn’t been in the closet. His suits and shirts were professionally laundered. There was absolutely no reason for me to go into the closet.

  I summoned some of that new courage and plunged ahead. I strode straight to the closet and opened the door. A gasp stole my breath.

  The closet was larger than my whole bedroom back home. “Incredible,” I murmured.

  I wandered inside, my eyes wide with awe. Wow. There must be three dozen suits hanging in here. Maybe a hundred shirts. An endless row of casual-wear trousers. Racks of elegant ties and handmade Italian leather shoes. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the pleasant scent of his aftershave, or maybe it was cologne. Expensive, subtly seductive. The underlying aroma of polished leather and starched shirts didn’t detract from the glamour or the appeal.

  My fingers trailed over the fine silk and imported wool of the designer fabrics. So this was what real money felt like. The kind of material that caressed the skin like a lover’s touch rather than merely covering it. This guy didn’t have a closet, he had his own personal mall.

  Something on the floor captured my attention. I frowned, tried to determine what it was. A ticket. I leaned down and picked it up. Children’s Hospital Fund Raiser, $25,000. I shook my head. Hammond had purchased a very expensive dinner to support the children’s hospital. How could this man, the one who went above and beyond the call to help children, be the monster Barlow had painted him out to be?

  I rubbed my thumb over the ticket as if I could somehow uncover the truth…swipe away the words ultimately letting me see the lie. But that didn’t happen. This side of Luther Hammond was real, genuine.

  A tap on my shoulder sent me whirling around with a start, the PDA bouncing against my hip, to find Mason Conrad staring down at me. The ticket slipped from my fingers and fluttered to the floor.

  “I’m sorry…I…” Okay, get a hold of yourself. I dragged in a ragged breath. “I…” Tell the truth, a little voice screamed in my head. “I just wanted to see.” I surveyed the contents of the closet in emphasis of my admission before turning back to the man watching me so very closely. “I’m sorry.”

  Reading him was impossible. He reached for the PDA and didn’t look at me again until he’d entered his message.

  Mr. Hammond is an intriguing man. Your curiosity is normal.

  I nodded as I balled my trembling fingers into fists.

  He touched my chin with the tips of his fingers and lifted it so that I had no choice but to meet his gaze once more. He smiled and relief made my knees weak…or maybe it was his touch. I told myself to ignore the acrobatics act going on in my stomach, but it was impossible.

  He was right. Luther Hammond did intrigue me…but it was this man that moved me in some way I couldn’t explain…couldn’t ignore.

  Just when I thought I’d survived the encounter, the pad of his thumb slid over my cheek. My breath hitched, sending my pulse into overdrive.

  His expression changed so suddenly I almost swayed with the abruptness of it. He withdrew his hand and indicated the door.

  Stunned, more by my reaction to him than his actions, I moved past him as quickly as I dared with my legs feeling like limp noodles. Before I reached the bedroom door he was at my side once more. I hesitated. He reached for the PDA.

  Almost forgot. Connie needs you in the kitchen. That’s why I came looking for you.

  I read the words and nodded my understanding. “Thank you.”

  His gaze lingered on me a moment or two longer and then he left. I moved more slowly, giving him ample time to descend the stairs before me. Rather than take the main staircase, I opted for the rear service stairs that would take me directly to the kitchen. I struggled the entire way to catch my breath and slow my heart rate. Part of me felt reasonably certain that Conrad harbored no additional suspicions about me, but another part of me worried that maybe I was wrong.

  But there was no ignoring that he felt something besides friendliness or suspicion toward me. I could no longer deny that the man was attracted to me for some reason. Maybe his sympathy for my impairment was getting the better of his judgment. Whatever the case, I had to be more careful.

  Connie had worked himself into a real tizzy by the time I entered the kitchen. He started talking to me a mile a minute and waving his arms frantically. I let my mind conjure from memory the sounds that matched his tirade. I did that a lot.

  Though I understood quite clearly what he said, at least the parts he uttered while looking my way, I allowed confusion to show.

  Apparently Marjorie, his assistant, had gone home sick and he had no one to serve lunch to Mr. Hammond and his guests in the study. I would be the first to confess that Connie, fantastic cook though he might be, was a large, awkward man. Serving his fabulous dishes on fine china and pouring coffee from a silver pot into delicate little cups could prove quite dangerous for the ones being served.

  Connie stopped mid-rant. Dear God, I forgot. You can’t hear a damned thing I’m saying. After taking a few seconds to calm himself, he reached for the PDA and entered the relevant parts of his rampage onto the screen for me to read. I nodded my agreement.

  The big cook scrutinized my appearance. You’ll do as you are.

  I frowned so he’d think I didn’t understand. He waved it off and ushered me toward a lovely, albeit laden, silver tray. Four delicate china plates, the necessary silverware and cups with saucers.

  Connie quickly entered his instructions on the PDA. Set the conference table. Then you’ll serve.

  I nodded and took the tray to do as he told me.

  In the study I found Hammond and three male guests seated around the fireplace. It was apparent the four had been in deep discussion before I entered the room. A cursory glance was all my appearance garnered. I set the table the way Marjorie set the one in the dining room. Good thing I’d watched her o
nce or twice, since I’d never been that good at keeping up with how it was supposed to be done. Which fork went where…which side for the water glass, et cetera.

  When I returned with my newly filled tray, the men had already taken their seats around the table. I hoped I wasn’t supposed to have said anything, because I didn’t. With water goblets in place, I filled each, then proceeded to do the same with the coffee. The sandwiches, prepared on croissants, came next, and then the scoops of potato salad nestled in crisp green lettuce leaves. Connie’s careful planning had made the job relatively simple. I was thankful.

  Hammond smiled at me as I left the room the last time. I managed an answering smile. Didn’t miss the comment made by one of his guests. She’s a looker. Have you had her yet? The harsh look Hammond shot in his direction pleased me a great deal. Just something else to shake my confidence in the accuracy of Barlow’s assessments of the man. Okay, enough with that. Looks were often deceiving. I knew that better than most.

  Thirty minutes later I started the cleanup work. I watched Hammond and his guests as much as possible. From what I had gleaned, the discussion revolved around a new development of some sort in Nashville. More high-end housing to meet the increasing needs of the more affluent flocking to Music City.

  I decided then and there that I had to start keeping up with the news and current events. It amazed me how little I knew about the changes taking place in my own city. Amazed and disheartened me. It was my civic duty to be informed. How could I vote with any competence? I used to be so much better at living my life. When had I become so self-absorbed? So full of self-pity and withdrawn from the real world?