Silent Weapon Page 9

  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

  “This 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.

  As I smoothed the soap over my skin I amended that assessment a bit. If I met someone with an impairment, I certainly wouldn’t hold it against them. If deeper feelings developed, I couldn’t imagine not allowing them to evolve fully. But that’s just it. The likelihood of a man who knew my circumstances looking to me for a permanent relationship was about nil.

  Too depressing to dwell upon.

  Admittedly, I couldn’t keep hiding from life. My need to fulfill my professional expectations had forced me to take drastic measures in that department. Was this time with Barlow the trigger for pushing me to take steps in my personal life as well?

  Here I went, overanalyzing things again. I had to remember that nothing but the operation mattered just now. I couldn’t worry about anything else.

  Guilt assaulted me with that last thought. I’d called my mom last night and lied to her for the first time since I was fourteen years old. Telling her I’d reached my destination and settled in still hung in the back of mind, nudging me with guilt every now and then.

  I’d warned her that I might not be able to call again for a few days. She’d accepted the story without hesitation, only adding to my guilt fest.

  Too late to worry about that now. Tomorrow morning I reported to the Hammond residence. I felt extremely confident in my knowledge of the situation, but I worried about meeting the man face-to-face. With Sawyer I’d managed to accomplish my goal without a face-to-face encounter. Barlow’s warning that the slightest mistake could cost me my life didn’t help. But that was his job. He had to ensure I was fully prepared.

  I toweled my skin dry and wrapped my wet hair turban style. My terry-cloth robe felt warm and inviting against my skin. I cinched the belt tightly and took a deep breath before moving out into the dimly lit hall.

  Barlow waited outside my room. The little hitch in my breathing was the only outward indication of my surprise. But inside, my heart pounded. He’d said we were through for the day.

  I’d like to go over a few final items.

  I couldn’t read his face or eyes. I decided then and there he’d make a great poker partner. “Sure.” My turban had
already started to fall so I pulled it loose and shook out my hair as I waited for him to say whatever was on his mind. I assumed since he made no move to relocate to the gym that he planned to have his say right here.

  You know the faces, the names. He folded his arms over his chest. You understand his business dealings well enough to know what comments might carry weight. I’m even impressed with your ability to take care of yourself in the event of a physical attack.

  There was a “but” coming. I could sense it in his posture and the way he kept his face and eyes carefully devoid of expression.

  That’s all well and good, but since I can’t talk Chief Kent out of moving forward with this operation, I need to make sure you understand exactly how I feel.

  Like there was any question on that one.

  “I believe you’ve made your feelings quite clear.” No need to hear him say it all again.

  He straightened away from the wall and set his hands on his hips. Irritation had tightened his jaw, but otherwise he kept his face clean of emotion.

  This won’t be like the situation with Sawyer. You’ll be inside. His gaze narrowed and he searched my eyes. Do you understand the full implications of that? You’ll be in the middle of what’s happening. Not outside, hiding in your car or the bushes, watching and waiting to call in backup. Inside, directly in the line of fire, where your every move, your every word will be scrutinized for threat. And backup won’t be anywhere around. I won’t be able to get to you in a timely manner when and if you’re able to call. And you have to remember that a phone call should be your last resort, since all calls will be monitored.

  I clenched my jaw hard and told myself his words weren’t going to elicit the fear I felt certain he intended. I knew he wanted me to back out, even now after all our hard work. He thought the operation was too risky. Thought I wasn’t tough enough or smart enough to get the job done, much less stay alive.