Praise for Debra Webb

“…a fast-moving, sensual blend of mystery and suspense, with multiple story lines, an unusual hero and heroine, and an ending that escapes the trap of being too pat. I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

—New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard on Striking Distance

“Debra Webb delivers page-turning, gripping suspense, and edgy, dark characters to keep readers hanging on.”

—Romantic Times on Her Hidden Truth

“…more daring than some authors would risk.”

—All About Romance on Striking Distance

“Debra Webb’s fast-paced thriller will make you shiver in passion and fear.”

—Romantic Times on Personal Protector

“…a hot hand with action, suspense, and last—but not least—a steamy relationship.”

—New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard on Safe By His Side

Dear Reader,

You’re about to read a Silhouette Bombshell novel and enter a world full of excitement, suspense and women who stand strong in the face of danger and do what it takes to triumph over the toughest adversaries. And don’t forget a touch of thrilling romance to sweeten the deal. Our bombshells always get their men, good and bad!

Debra Webb kicks off the month with Silent Weapon, the innovative story of Merri Walters, a deaf woman who goes undercover in a ruthless criminal’s mansion and reads his chilling plans right off his lips!

Hold on to your hats for Payback, by Harper Allen, the latest in the Athena Force continuity. Assassin Dawn O’Shaughnessy is out to take down the secret lab that created her and then betrayed her—but she’s got to complete one last mission for them, or her superhealing genes will self-destruct before she gets payback….

Step into the lush and dangerous world of The Orchid Hunter, by Sandra K. Moore. Think “botanist” and “excitement” don’t match? Think again, as this fearless heroine’s search for a rare orchid turns into a dangerous battle of wills in the steamy rain forest.

And don’t miss the twist and turns as a gutsy genius races to break a deadly code, trap a slippery terrorist and steal back the trust of her former CIA mentor, in Calculated Risk, by Stephanie Doyle!

Strong, sexy, suspenseful…that’s Silhouette Bombshell! Please send your comments to me, c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

Sincerely,

Natashya Wilson

Associate Senior Editor, Silhouette Bombshell

Silent Weapon
Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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DEBRA WEBB

was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it bad enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, working in a factory, a day-care center, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998, her dream of writing for Harlequin came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at P.O. Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345 or visit her Web site at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

This book is dedicated to a very special lady who has struggled hard to overcome her own physical impairments. Not once in her life has she allowed being physically challenged to prevent her from reaching for her goals. With all my love, respect and admiration, this one goes to Erica Nicole Webb Jeffrey, my oldest daughter. Never stop dreaming and keep reaching for those goals.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 1

Sometimes I think I hear the roar of the wind blowing, but I’ve figured out that it’s more likely the rush of blood in my ears when my heart pounds…like now.

I watched the two men hunkered over their beers. I could scarcely see the face of the new arrival at the table, but the other man’s—the man I’d followed to this Lower Broad Street honky-tonk—was quite clear even in the low lighting of the smoke-filled bar. He looked furious. But combined with that fury was something else…something like panic.

A smile curled the corners of my lips. It’s foolish, I know, but I couldn’t help feeling a little empowered by his trepidation. Imagine, me—Merri Walters—striking fear in the heart of a murderer.

My whole family would be absolutely horrified at the idea of my walking into a place like this alone. The slightly run-down bar, nestled in the midst of numerous other more prominent establishments like Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge, was located in Nashville’s famous honky-tonk central, slap in the center of downtown. It just wasn’t considered proper for a young woman to be out and about in such places without an escort or a friend, at least to my mother’s old-fashioned way of thinking. But then, I’ve always been different.

How else could the only girl in a houseful of boys survive? Whatever obstacles life threw in my path, I always worked extra hard to overcome them. Not that I fancied myself some sort of martyr or heroine, but even I had to admit that I had proved my relentless determination in the past two years. Whether my family was prepared to admit it or not, there were things I wanted to do in life, and taking extreme measures was the only way I knew how to make the point clear.

That’s why I had to do this. Come here. To a bar not listed in the prestigious brochures offered by the Chamber of Commerce or among the suggested places to visit in Music City, tailing a man whose identity I’d discovered in a cold-case file in the Metro Police Department’s historical archives.

That’s what I do for a living now. I file the records of closed cases as well as cold cases deemed unsolvable by the powers that be. Each all-inclusive record is filed first by the date of the crime, then in alphabetical order by either the victim’s last name or the moniker used to refer to the case, like Church Street Strangler or Eastside Robberies. Occasionally I retrieve a complete record for a detective who has discovered new evidence and decided to reopen the case. But this isn’t one of those kinds of cases.

This is my case. I stumbled across it by accident. My predecessor had misfiled the record. According to the lady who trained me, the previous archivist had grown bored with her work years before she’d retired at age seventy. At first I’d been somewhat bored as well, until I decided to familiarize myself with the workings of Metro detectives. Just something to pass the time since my co-worker spent her every free moment studying for the bar exam. Conversation is seriously limited by a coworker that fiercely focused on her future.

At fifty-one Helen Golden had decided she wanted a new career. Seven years later she was ready to take the plunge. I loved working with her, had deep respect and admiration for what she was doing. Hey, the woman was facing the bar exam as well as turning sixty in only two years. Maybe her example had prompted my own decision as I sought to learn more about the investigators for whom I filed and protected records.

There were the meticulous, detail-oriented detectives whose reports were methodical to the point that I wanted to scream get on with it already. And then there were the guys who investigated by the seat-of-their-pants method and who utilized one primary tool—gut instinct. That was my preferred method, I decided after reading more than a dozen case files.

Forcing my errant attention back to the matter at hand, I surveyed the two men I’d followed into this saloon. The first, my primary suspect, stood tall—well over six feet—and was broad-shouldered. He had thinning hair about the color of the brown fur of a guinea pig I once owned. The beady eyes were dark brown or black as well. His square face with its perpetual glower and heavy lines made him look about fifty, though I knew from the file that he was only forty-one. He had a criminal record a mile long, petty stuff mostly except for two charges of felony assault. The one murder charge hadn’t stuck. That’s why I was here. After reading the file, I’d known, as had the detective in charge of the case, one Steven Barlow, that this guy was guilty, but the good detective hadn’t been able to prove it.

Proving it was, admittedly, the tricky part. Charges couldn’t be filed nor could juries be swayed by gut instinct alone. Unfortunately, in situations like this one, the police can only go so far. Their hands are tied to an extent by the civil rights of the suspect. A cop can’t listen in on a suspect or search his property without a warrant approved by a judge. A cop can’t lie or otherwise mislead a suspect beyond a certain point for fear of having the case thrown out on a technicality like coercion. In my unofficial research I had decided that it was vastly unfair to expect a cop to collar a slippery bad guy when he couldn’t do anything underhanded.

That’s the beauty of my plan. You see, I’m not a cop. I’m just an overzealous file clerk taking her week of paid vacation after her first full year on the job. There are no rules governing how I conduct my investigation. I’m limited only by the fact that I cannot arrest or shoot the slimeball. But I can set him up to get caught, which is exactly what I intend to do.

I watched intently as the two men spoke quietly but fiercely about what needed to be done. The first man, the one I’d followed, whose name is Brett Sawyer, used his hands occasionally as he spoke, making frantic gestures to punctuate his words. It hadn’t taken a psychology degree to figure out what buttons to push to set this guy off—though I’d taken a few psych courses in preparation for my former career.

Until two years ago I was an elementary school teacher. But that person no longer existed. I tuned out that line of thinking and zeroed in more fully on the two men under surveillance.

I have to move the body tonight, Sawyer growled. His mouth twisted savagely as he flung the words at the other man.

…mistake.

I only caught the last word Sawyer’s companion uttered. Dammit. I needed the entire conversation, but moving to a different table was out of the question. Sawyer had looked straight at me when I came in and sat down, but he hadn’t looked again. Not even when the waitress came by and took my order. I had to keep it that way. His suspicion was the dead last thing I wanted to arouse.

I’m telling you she knows too damned much to be yanking my chain! Sawyer muttered fiercely. Details. She knows frigging details no one else could know! The vein in his forehead throbbed viciously, as if it might pop at any moment.

My heart skipped a beat. I knew with complete certainty that the she he mentioned was me. But he didn’t know my identity…only my voice. My heart kicked into a faster rhythm. My ploy had worked. Sawyer thought I knew everything. And I did, to a degree. I had the case file, which included evidentiary information not released to the media, as well as Metro’s top homicide detective’s gut instincts and hunches.

I bit back a smile. No getting cocky just yet. Stay calm. Pay attention. I couldn’t get carried away with my own ingenuity right now. The two men seated only a few feet away had committed at least one heinous murder. If I screwed up—got caught—I could very well be their next victim. The thought made me shudder.

So, I sipped my beer and glanced at the newspaper in my hands. I had it propped so that I could look beyond the top of the pages while appearing to stare directly at the headlines. I’d gotten pretty good at this kind of maneuver. Maybe I’d finally found my niche. Good thing, too. With thirty looming only a couple of months away, I had begun to worry that I might never figure out what to do with the rest of my life.

This could be my new calling.

The unidentified companion said something else I didn’t get. Double damn.

I’m not taking the risk, Sawyer said. I’m moving the body tonight with or without your help. He chugged the last of his beer before slamming the mug down on the table hard enough to make the other man’s glass wobble.

The companion’s hands came up in a calming gesture. All right. All right. He glanced covertly from side to side. …time…

Desperation slid through my veins. I couldn’t afford to miss the time and place specifics. But I couldn’t get a fix on the second guy. Not good.

Ten, Sawyer said. We’ll meet there and do this thing. We should have taken care of this a year ago, then maybe someone wouldn’t be blackmailing me.

Your problem—the second man said as he glanced in my direction. Goose bumps poured over my skin—is that you slept with a player.

Shock rumbled through me on the heels of that statement. He thought…oh, God. Sawyer thought the female calling him was some woman he’d had a relationship with. Dread curdled in my stomach. Oh, Jesus. I hadn’t anticipated that. What if he hurt the woman? It would be my fault. Surely fate wouldn’t play that kind of cruel joke on me. I was trying to do something good here.

The companion pushed up from his chair, jerking my attention back to him. Six-one or -two, I estimated. Black hair, peppered with gray. Blue or gray eyes. Dressed expensively. I hadn’t seen his face in any of the pictures in the case file or newspaper clippings, making him an unknown factor. He paused to say something I missed completely and then walked away. Sawyer stared after him a moment before motioning for the waitress to bring him another beer.

My pulse rocketed into overdrive. What if the guy who’d left intended to take care of Sawyer’s old girlfriend? A cold, harsh reality sent the air rushing out of my lungs. I’d made a terrible mistake playing amateur sleuth. I’d unintentionally put someone’s life in jeopardy.

A new epiphany washed over me, obliterating all the self-confidence I’d walked in here brandishing like a shiny sword. I would never be able to do this alone.

I needed help.

I didn’t have the location for tonight. I only knew that the two men planned to meet at ten o’clock and move the body, which meant constant surveillance. I couldn’t risk letting Sawyer out of my sight from now until then. Not to mention that if he planned to harm the woman he suspected of blackmailing him, I had to watch every move he made in order to keep her safe. But what if his friend took care of her? I shuddered at the idea. But I couldn’t afford to borrow trouble.

Sawyer hadn’t mentioned the woman’s name. The guy in the fancy designer suit didn’t look like the type to do anybody’s dirty work. Those two facts made me feel a little better. Okay. There was nothing I could do about the other guy, anyway. My only recourse was to keep Sawyer in my sights and call for backup when the time came.

Another wave of uncertainty hit me, making my gut clench. How the hell was I going to persuade Metro PD to go along with my cockamamy plan? Even I recognized how seriously nonsensical it sounded.

I didn’t personally know the detective who had initially worked this one. I knew Barlow was the best, but that’s all. He would likely think I was some sort of weirdo with a major case of cop envy. But, it appeared that was a risk I would have to take.

Sawyer stood, then tossed a few bills onto the table.

My heart lunged into my throat. When he turned his back and took two steps toward the door, I shouldered out of my attention-drawing red sweater and left it on the back of my chair. I had already placed money on the table. I abandoned the newspaper and quickly looped my hair into a ponytail before exiting the joint. If Sawyer noticed me now he wouldn’t remember a woman with her hair pulled back—sunglasses, I quickly shoved them into place—and a navy T-shirt.

I got into my car, parked several spaces away from his in a side lot. Thankfully, another vehicle, a gray four-door Saab, pulled up behind his Ford SUV while he waited for an opportunity to merge into Broad Street traffic. At six o’clock the last of the evening rush-hour traffic had peaked and started to lighten almost imperceptibly. I idled up behind the sedan in my little compact Jetta and waited.

My cell phone vibrated and I answered it, my attention divided between the display and Sawyer’s big black SUV.

Merri, where are you? Did you forget about dinner tonight?

I read the words and cringed. “Sorry, Mom,” I said, hoping the traffic noise wouldn’t be picked up by the phone’s speaker. “I completely forgot.” I grappled for an acceptable excuse as the SUV took a left. The Saab made an easy right, but I still had to get out without causing an accident or incurring undue drama, like the blowing of horns. In the meantime I couldn’t lose sight of the SUV.

Where are you? appeared on the small screen.

Uh-oh. Overprotective mom radar had reared its head.

“I’m meeting friends for dinner. I’m really sorry. I hope you don’t mind.”

Now or never. I nosed out onto the street in hopes the herd slowing for the changing traffic signal would give me a break. To my supreme relief it worked. No one made a fuss about letting me out.

Well, I suppose that’s all right, spilled onto the screen next. I didn’t have to hear my mother’s voice to know that she was disappointed that I would be missing yet another family dinner. The Walters were big on get-togethers.

A new kind of relief surged through me. I had hoped the friends thing would work. My entire family worried that I didn’t get out enough. How could my mother fault me for doing what she constantly nagged me to do? Also, I had managed to get within four cars of the black SUV I feared I had already lost. Thank God.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I offered. “Maybe we can have lunch.” I needed my full attention on driving.

My patient mother agreed to the date and let the conversation go at that. I closed my phone and tucked it back into my pocket, all the while hoping I would still be breathing come tomorrow.

I stuffed all the uncertainty and fear back into a little compartment in some outer recess of my mind and focused on the street and my target. I could do this. I had to do this. I couldn’t pretend my inconsequential job—my insignificant life—was enough anymore.

I needed to do this.

Sawyer drove all the way across town, then left Nashville proper behind. I found it more and more difficult to keep a prudent distance between our vehicles. As many movies as I had watched with cops doing just this sort of thing, I hadn’t realized how hard it might actually be. When he turned into the entrance of Spring Hill Cemetery I almost panicked.

What was I supposed to do now?

Think!

Don’t stop. Keep going.

Somehow managing to hold it together, I drove on past the cemetery and parked on the side of the road near a copse of trees. It wouldn’t get dark for at least another hour. I told myself again that I could do this. Then I made my way through the woods to the cemetery fence. Easy enough. I could see him quite well from here, especially with the aid of my handy-dandy binoculars. I steadied myself and zoomed in on my prey.

Sawyer stopped and stood over a grave on the far side of the cemetery. The headstones in this area looked newer than the others. I concluded that the graves here represented the most recent burials, though all were old enough to have a nice green coat of grass blanketing them. If I remembered correctly, this cemetery was something of a historical landmark. I found it hard to imagine any of Sawyer’s friends being buried here.

Did you do this to me? Sawyer demanded. The perpetual glower he wore had morphed into a savage scowl and was directed at the grave at his feet. Since the back of the tombstone faced my position I couldn’t see anything but the surname, Bradshaw. Sawyer’s tendency to constantly survey his surroundings allowed me to follow his words. Celeste, you stupid, coldhearted bitch, I’ll hunt down every friend you had. Every freakin’ relative until I find out who you told. I’ll kill all of ’em. Do you hear me? He smirked. Maybe not. It’s probably hard to hear over all that cracklin’ in hell.

Celeste? Who was Celeste Bradshaw? Think. My heart pounding hard enough to jar my insides, I squatted amid the bushes near the fence I used for camouflage and tried my level best not to react to the words. The woman was dead, for God’s sake. How could he do this? I gave myself a mental shake. What was I saying? He was a murderer. Nothing he did should surprise me, but somehow it did. At least I didn’t have to worry about him trying to hurt the woman. She was already dead. Surely I could bring him down before he got around to her friends and relatives. A massive weight suddenly settled on my shoulders. I made a mental note as to the location of the grave for future reference, assuming I had a future.

I’d almost made a horrible mistake. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might blame someone for what he assumed was a leak of information. Maybe this cop business wasn’t for me after all. I hadn’t thought out all the variables.

Too late to be backing out now.

He snatched a gun from under his jacket and fired three times into the ground—into her grave. I jerked with each shot, imagining the accompanying explosions and the path of the piercing bullets plowing into the protective vault that entombed the dead woman’s coffin.

Casting one last sour look downward, Sawyer did an about-face and started to walk away, then hesitated abruptly.

My heart all but stalled in my chest.

I held my breath…held perfectly still as he scrutinized the shrubbery that concealed me. Reason told me that I was too far away and hidden too well for him to see me. But I couldn’t be certain. For what felt like an eternity, he stared directly at my position as if some sixth sense had warned him that I was there.

Please, God. Oh, please don’t let him find me.

Just when I thought my chest would burst from holding my breath, he walked away. Ten full seconds passed before I could move. I quickly retraced my steps and climbed into the relative safety of my Jetta.

Thank God. Thank God.

I watched in the rearview mirror as his SUV tore out onto the highway, and it took every ounce of courage I possessed to execute a U-turn and follow him.

I stayed as far back as possible while still keeping him in sight. As we moved back into the city limits, tailing him grew easier with other vehicles to use as camouflage, allowing me to get closer. If anything about this could be called easy. I suddenly felt ill-equipped all over again for the task I’d set out to accomplish. Where was all that confidence I’d woken up with this morning?

Sawyer returned to his office, presumably to resume the business of overseeing his numerous legitimate working assets. I waited in my car a safe distance away but well within sight of the exit and his SUV.

Three years ago he had purchased more than a dozen convenience stores for the sole purpose of cashing in on the lottery cow. He also owned a number of apartment buildings, which probably contributed to his motive for killing a man. The guy had stood in the way of a major deal and Sawyer had eliminated the problem, though no one, not even the detective assigned to his case, had been able to prove it.

First and foremost, no body had ever been recovered. That was the essential element of the defense’s entire case. Without the body, every meager speck of evidence the D.A.’s office had was circumstantial. The charges had ended up being dismissed when the state couldn’t come up with the body or irrefutable proof. Sawyer had walked away a free man. For more than two years he hadn’t made a single mistake. Probably never would have.

With my two psych classes under my belt and my innate sense of people, I had taken a shot in the dark. I’d used the oldest trick in the book. I’d pasted letters together on a plain white page of paper to form the words that would shake Sawyer’s carefully constructed little world. The message was simple: I know where you hid the body.

I had nothing to lose. If I was wrong about Sawyer, then he would simply get a good laugh out of my meaningless threats and that would be that. But, if he had murdered his competition and disposed of the body as I believed, he would worry, maybe just a little, as to whether or not I was telling the truth.

When I didn’t get the desired reaction immediately, I sent more letters. Gave the details only someone who knew what he’d done would know. Or, in my case, someone who’d reviewed the case file and, for instance, knew that he’d taken exactly $657 from the missing person’s middle desk drawer. The crime-scene report also reported that enough blood had been found on the carpet of the victim’s office that he couldn’t possibly have survived the attack, but there wasn’t a damned thing that indicated a murder weapon or anything else. No body, just a bunch of coagulated blood.

But Detective Steven Barlow had a theory. No letter opener had been found in the victim’s desk. None of his employees or associates could actually say whether or not he’d possessed one. When the pocketknife Sawyer carried was found clean of any sort of residue connected to the crime, Barlow had suggested that he’d used a letter opener. Barlow was convinced that Sawyer hadn’t gone to the victim’s office to kill him. The murder had transpired during the ensuing argument. None of which he could prove.

I, on the other hand, had nothing to lose by using Barlow’s conjecture as a ploy to prod a reaction out of Sawyer. So I sent more cut-and-paste letters. I mentioned tiny little facts no one should know. I also asked questions like, What’d you spend the $657 on? Where did you hide the letter opener? It was a shot in the dark. A play on Barlow’s hunch. But it had worked.

Sawyer was seriously worried.

Tonight at ten o’clock he intended to make a drastic move to protect himself.

I’d sent the first letter in time for Sawyer to receive it the day my vacation started. By Wednesday, when he hadn’t reacted, I sent another from the post office that delivered in his neighborhood. That way I could be sure it would be delivered the next morning. On Thursday I broke down and made a call from a phone booth. The whispered message was simple: I know what you did.

By Friday, I had my reaction.

After all, my vacation was only for one week.

Now all I had to do was stay on his tail until I had the location. Well, there was that one other little detail. I needed backup. Someone who could take him down when he made his move. Even I wasn’t fool enough to believe I could do that part alone.

With two brothers who are cops and two more who are firemen, I could call one or all of them, but that would be a mistake. Protecting me would be their one and only concern. I needed someone who could look at this objectively with an eye toward capturing a killer.

I knew exactly who to call.

Chapter 2

My voice deserted me when he answered my call. I stared at the name flickering on the screen.

Steven Barlow.

Barlow, thirty-five years old. Metro cop for four years, homicide detective for the last nine. Degree in criminology. Barlow was considered one of the top investigators in Metro’s homicide division. He had served as lead investigator—the one who’d tried to nail Sawyer three years ago. I hadn’t personally had the pleasure of meeting Barlow, but I had seen him in the hallowed halls of the city’s police headquarters. He was tall, maybe six-one or -two, and wore his black hair regulation short. But the blue eyes proved his most disturbing asset. He hadn’t ever really looked at me, but our gazes bumped into each other’s once or twice in passing.

Though it was rumored he carried a heavier caseload than any other investigator in Metro, and his collar record certainly backed up his unparalleled reputation, he always looked calm, unhurried and more confident than any man I’d ever known. His entire demeanor screamed of relaxed confidence.

Hello.

The new word on the screen carried the same effect as a dash of cold water on my face.

“Brett Sawyer is a murderer,” I said carefully. “I can prove it. At ten o’clock tonight he’s going to move the body you’ve been looking for. Stay close to your phone and I’ll call you with the location.”

I started to disconnect but more words tumbled across the screen before I could depress the necessary button.

Who the hell is this?

That was the one drawback to using my cell phone. As soon as he checked his caller ID, he would know exactly who I was. But there was nothing I could do about that. I couldn’t risk going to a properly equipped phone booth. I had to keep Sawyer in my sights. Couldn’t move until he did.

“Just stay by the phone,” I repeated before severing the connection. I sure wasn’t going to ask him for his cell number, though it would have been handier. His home phone number was listed in the personnel directory. That would just have to work…as long as he didn’t leave home.

I couldn’t worry about that right now.

Two more hours. Besides, during that time I felt certain Detective Steven Barlow would track down my home address, the make and license plate number of my car, and my place of employment. If I was exceedingly lucky he wouldn’t get around to calling any member of my family before 10:00 p.m. rolled around. Not that any of them could possibly guess in a million years where I was just now, but I didn’t want my mom or dad, or even my brothers, worrying unnecessarily.

I could do this. Yes, I had my moments of doubt, like back in the cemetery, but for the most part I was cool with the way this appeared to be going down. Sawyer had made his contact and a rendezvous time had been set. All I had to do now was stay close, wait and not get caught. It was entirely possible that a man like Sawyer had people watching him for security purposes. In fact, it was more than simply possible. It was probable. I could be under surveillance myself at this very moment, but I doubted it since no one had approached my car. Maybe Sawyer wasn’t as smart as he considered himself to be. Just maybe he thought he had gotten away with murder so he had nothing to worry about.

I felt my phone vibrate, and my breath caught. My heart squeezed once in my throat before slipping back down into my chest. I cursed. Getting this jumpy wasn’t a smart idea. Get a grip, Merri. It’s way too early to be this antsy. My next thought evaporated as my gaze focused on the caller ID.

Barlow.

What the hell did he think he was doing? Any distraction could be dangerous. But I had to answer…didn’t I? I needed him. If he chalked up my call to some crank playing jokes…I couldn’t take the chance.

“Hello,” I said quietly.

Why did you call me with that ominous message, Miss Walters?

I stared at the screen as my heart bumped madly against my sternum. What the hell did I say to that? Worse, why hadn’t I thought of this very scenario? Not only would he have my name after checking his ID unit, he would have my cell number. I knew that…I just hadn’t considered he would call back. So many, many possibilities. Obviously too many for a mere file clerk to have anticipated.

I know who you are. I just can’t figure out what you hope to accomplish with this hoax.

Fear blasted through me. Hoax? Oh, my God. That was the last thing I needed. If I couldn’t make him believe me, he might not come when I need him. There had to be a way to convince him. But how? What could I say that would prove anything? Quoting my knowledge of his old case would prove nothing. I didn’t actually have any evidence to back up what I knew would happen tonight. I’d launched this unofficial investigation on a hunch. The only proof of anything I possessed was my word as to what I had seen play out in that bar tonight. I had waited all week for Sawyer to react to the trap I had set. Quite honestly, I’d begun to believe I might have made a mistake.

Then he’d made his move. My conclusions on the case had been right. I had to see this through…couldn’t let anything go wrong now.

I swallowed my trepidation and said the only thing I knew to say, “Detective Barlow, this is no hoax.” I moistened my lips and plunged onward. “I’ve read the case file a dozen times over. You know I’m right about Sawyer…you knew it three years ago, you just couldn’t prove it. I can help you do that now. Tonight.” I sucked in a deep breath. “Just stay by your phone and I’ll call you with a location as soon as possible. After that there won’t be much time. You must come as soon as I call.”

Silence radiated across the line. The ability to hear wasn’t necessary. The absence of words on the screen screamed loudly of his hesitation. He still wasn’t convinced.

How did you get the file on Sawyer?

Oh, no. I wasn’t going to do his legwork for him. “I’ll let you figure that one out on your own. Right now I have to go.” I had already allowed my attention to be splintered by the conversation for too long.

Where are you?

I ended the call. I felt reasonably sure that the detective didn’t have the ability to do an impromptu trace on my call from his home, but I couldn’t be certain he hadn’t put in an order for someone else to do so before he placed his call to me. Triangulating my position could very well be entirely within Metro’s ability. I had watched enough TV crime dramas to feel fairly confident with that assessment. Why take the chance?

It was almost dark now. The sun barely glimmered above the horizon. Long shadows crept across the quiet street and lights glowed from a number of the windows of the high-rises along this block on the fringes of the business district. Seven cars besides mine lined the deserted street. Not nearly as many as I would have liked. At this hour most of the workers employed in the offices had long ago left for home, but a few remained to finish up necessary projects or to earn brownie points toward a promotion.

The building that housed Sawyer’s offices stood only four stories but looked as new as any of the others. According to the directory posted outside the main entrance, the lobby and a conference room were on the first floor. The entire top floor housed Sawyer’s suite of offices, and the floors in between, his worker bees. I didn’t know how long he would work tonight, but I needed to be prepared to move when the time came for him to make his appointment. I couldn’t let anything sidetrack me.

As if he’d picked up on the presence of unfriendly forces in the area, Sawyer exited the main entrance and strolled over to his SUV, which he’d parked in the small lot that fronted his building. His was the only building on the block that had its own private parking lot. That lot stood empty save for Sawyer’s SUV. He opened the driver’s-side door and rummaged around inside but his movements lacked real purpose. He seemed to be buying time. He closed the door and moved around the vehicle as if inspecting the exterior in the fading light. My heart rate kicked into a faster rhythm. What the hell was he doing? His gaze abruptly cut to the vehicles lining the curb on the far side of the street…including mine.

I slid down in my seat until I could scarcely see through the very bottom of the car window where it met the upholstery of the door. My breath stalled in my lungs as I waited to see what he would do next.

I didn’t have to wait long. He started across the lot, headed straight for this side of the street. What if he walked up to my car? Demanded to know who I was and what I was doing?

Not for a second did I dare take my eyes off him. Above the dash I saw him pause at one of the cars parked farther up, four vehicles past my position. Every mistake I had made in my calculations of how this little operation would go down flashed before my eyes. I hadn’t considered that he might have extra security, though I hadn’t seen hide or hair of anyone as of yet. Or that Barlow would give me any grief when I told him I’d solved his case for him. I also hadn’t given any thought to what I would do if a moment like this transpired.

If Sawyer moved toward my vehicle…what would I do?

My fingers itched to reach toward the ignition and turn the key. With nothing parked behind me, I could throw the transmission into Reverse and barrel all the way down the block before executing a quick turn to get the hell out of here. But if I did that, he would know. The whole operation would be blown and then my efforts would be for nothing.

And Barlow would know what I had done. Not to mention that Sawyer would likely get my license plate number as I rushed away and he would not rest until he tracked me down. My new career, such as it is, would be over, but far worse, my life likely would be as well.

So, I forced myself to remain perfectly still. To keep my breathing slow and steady. To stay as calm as anyone could in this situation.

The top of his head disappeared from my line of vision and I felt my insides go cold. Was he moving toward my car now? Keeping low so I wouldn’t see him? I balled my fingers into fists and fought the need to run.

I resisted the near overwhelming urge to close my eyes and wait for death to descend. Good thing, too, because a gray sedan suddenly drove past my position. Sawyer was behind the wheel. He didn’t even look in my direction.

Profound relief washed over me. As difficult as it was, I waited three more seconds before I eased back up in the seat and started my car. By the time I backed up and turned around he had stopped at the end of the block to wait for the traffic signal to change. In my peripheral vision I noted that one of the parked cars was missing. Why did he keep a car parked on the street when he had a lot in front of his building?

The answer was simple, I realized. He, unlike me, had contingency plans.

Though it was dark now I didn’t turn on my headlights. I rolled slowly forward, giving the signal time to change so that he would be focused on moving through the intersection rather than on what came up behind him. As he pulled out onto the main street, I followed. He merged into traffic on the cross street, which facilitated my ability to tail him and allowed me to turn on my headlights. This new vehicle he drove was a late model, four doors. Much harder to keep in sight since it blended in with the other vehicles rather than rising above them as the SUV had done.

I felt damned proud that I’d managed to keep my head about me during that last minute or so. If I’d ducked down too far in my seat or closed my eyes, I would never have seen him leave. I would still be parked on that street in front of his office wondering where he’d disappeared to. I prayed my good luck and my nerve would hold out for another hour and forty-five minutes.

Steven Barlow had worked murder cases for too long to talk about. He shook his head as he allowed his mind to traverse the files and faces of his professional past. That was never a good idea. Too many ugly reminders of the evil that men and women alike could do.

With hard work he managed to bring the killer to justice most of the time. Hardly ever failed, to be quite honest. But three years ago, he had. Failed, that is.

Brett Sawyer had gotten away with murder and Steven knew in his gut the man was guilty as sin. But he hadn’t been able to prove it. Whether Sawyer was that smart or just damned lucky, he still couldn’t say. And it really didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the bastard had gotten away with it.

Steven plowed his fingers through his hair and stared at the phone on the table next to his couch. What the hell was Merrilee Walters doing? How did she think she could pull this off? Not that Steven considered himself infallible, but at least he had the gold shield that gave him license to track down killers. This woman was a file clerk, for Christ’s sake!

Worry gnawed at his gut. Did the woman have a death wish? He put in a call to dispatch and had all calls to his home forwarded to his cell phone in the event he had to leave the house any minute now. Then he requested a trace on Merrilee’s cellular. Just to be sure he got her, he put out a silent APB on her car. He didn’t want her name going out over the airwaves just in case anyone who owed Sawyer was listening and…

“Just in case she’s nuts,” he muttered.

After the initial call it had taken a moment, but he’d remembered the woman. She worked in the archives. Cute. Flaming red hair. Pretty green eyes. Shy.

She’d never spoken to him, nor had he to her.

But then, his social life pretty much sucked. He stared at the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table that he’d been devouring before her call. Hell, it was Saturday night, and since he wasn’t hot on the trail of some killer, he sat at home, alone, watching a made-for-television movie.

Refusing to be disgusted with his own choices, Steven hauled himself up from the couch and followed his instincts. Might as well get dressed for business.

That old sixth sense—cop sense—was telling him to get ready. Merrilee Walters had gotten herself into a whole shitload of trouble, and if he didn’t do something about it she would most likely end up dead.

No way in hell was he going to let Sawyer get away with murder again. Even if the victim had brought it on herself.

Steven shook his head again. What the hell was this little file clerk up to?

Chapter 3

That’s the problem with being deaf. You can’t hear a damned thing. My impairment is commonly called profound loss. You don’t hear anything at all. I hadn’t heard Sawyer open the car door or slam it shut. Hadn’t heard the engine start or anything else.

I’ve learned to live with the lack of that crucial sense. What else could I do? But it had been devastating at first. Even now a slice of pain went through me at the memory. A few months before my twenty-eighth birthday I’d suffered a typical sinus infection. Nothing major, the usual nuisance. But the infection wasn’t just any old bug, it was a rare strain that would evolve and spread and do serious damage before the doctors, including the best ENT to be found in the whole state, could recognize and stop it. In the end, I survived, but my hearing was gone. A mixed hearing loss, functional as well as neurological.

What on earth did a twenty-seven-year-old woman do when she suddenly found herself deaf? Who wanted an elementary school teacher who didn’t know how to be deaf? One who no longer knew how to teach without the ability to hear? Needless to say, the school board did the only thing they could, they gave me a disability pension. And my fiancé, the very one I was supposed to wed in a mere three months, walked away from our relationship with no real explanation. I could only deduce that, as a songwriter, he felt that the woman with whom he would share the rest of his life needed to be able to hear and appreciate his music.

So, here I was, two years later, venturing out on my very first unsafe limb. Diving into my very first adventure as a handicapped woman.

I hated the term, but I couldn’t deny its accuracy.

I moved into the right lane, two cars behind Sawyer. That was another thing, I could still drive. Deaf people are actually very good drivers. According to statistics, deaf people have fewer accidents than those who can hear. Maybe because we become more visually observant. Makes sense to me.

Speaking of visual observance, I had no idea where Sawyer was headed. It seemed to be a little early for getting into position for his ten o’clock rendezvous.

Oh, hell. Something else I hadn’t considered. If the location was out of town, that would increase the time necessary for Barlow to arrive once I made the call. Definitely not a good thing.

I bit down on my bottom lip and toyed with the idea of getting Barlow back on the horn and telling him the entire truth right that second. But what if I did and Sawyer had connections in the police department? I hoped that wasn’t the case, but I couldn’t take the risk. I had to let this play out and hope Barlow would come through for me.

Whether or not this operation worked was in large part up to me. Just me. For the first time in two years I felt like I might actually accomplish something meaningful. I couldn’t give up too soon…couldn’t screw up, either. I had to make this happen. Had to prove I could do more with my life again than sit around waiting for a disability check to arrive or simply filing papers.

I shook off the old, familiar panic that attempted to creep up my spine. I would not let fear hold me back. I’d almost done that two years ago. I refused to go backward.

My family had rallied around me. Would have taken care of me the rest of my life with no questions asked. But merely existing was not enough for me. I needed more. I needed to do something that mattered. Something beneficial to society as a whole. I’d had that as an elementary teacher. I loved my teaching work…loved the children. Not a single day passed in my former career that I didn’t feel as if my small part genuinely mattered in the grander scheme of things. Sitting at home as a deaf, disabled woman almost drove me crazy at first, before I’d convinced my family I had to contribute to society somehow.

One year later, after intensive counseling and training, I felt ready to face the world again. The counseling had helped me get past feeling sorry for myself. Unfortunately, even I wasn’t above that pathetic pitfall. The training had taught me how to function without one of my senses.

I could sign, but it wasn’t my favorite way to communicate. I was well into my twenty-eighth year by then. Speaking had been my primary means of communication for far too long to change. I could still speak, I just couldn’t hear. One of the instructors at the academy for the hearing impaired had offered a solution I could live with. Lip reading. So I started to study the art. It’s more than merely watching the lips…the whole face is involved, and like science, it is by no means exact.

I grew very good at it. Very, very good. Within months I could read lips and respond in a conversation with scarcely a delay. Most strangers I encountered these days didn’t even realize I was deaf. So far, being deaf hasn’t affected the way I speak. I did have to study new ways to modulate my speech. I learned the difference in how it feels to speak in a normal tone versus a raised voice or shouting. I paid particular attention to the tension in my throat muscles and to the reaction of others. Once you started to pay attention and respond more to your visual world, it was amazing how much you could read on a person’s face. Like most things in life, everything was in the details.

Likewise, I could tell the tone in which a person was speaking by the expressions on his or her face and other subtle mannerisms. Once in a great while I meet the proverbial poker face. Then I have no choice but to interpret his tone by his words. I don’t like the loss of control that comes with those rare situations. That was just another reason I hated talking on the phone. For one thing, I had no way of knowing who was speaking. I could assume, based on the number I dialed, who might answer, but I couldn’t know for sure. Caller ID helped, at least I knew the name that went along with the number from which a call is made to me. Having no power over that aspect of my life was disturbing when I let myself dwell upon it—which wasn’t often.

Sawyer took a left too quickly for me to react. I had no choice but to drive to the next turn and hope I could catch up with him on the first cross street.

I didn’t draw in another breath until I saw his car move beneath a streetlight halfway up the next block. I followed.

“Thank God,” I muttered.

With less traffic on this side street there was only one car between us, which made me a little nervous. He slowed for a turn. That turn, a right, left nothing between us. I managed to click off my headlights in the nick of time. No way was I taking the risk of being spotted. He would be watching for a tail. He couldn’t be so stupid as to go forward with this plan and not be aware of his surroundings. He would be on the lookout for trouble.

Ten more minutes passed before Sawyer made another turn, again to the right. I recognized the area. Residential. Low rent. My heart pounded with anticipation, my palms were sweating. I kept swiping one or the other on my jeans to keep a firm grip on the steering wheel.

Thirty minutes later, with a full hour to go until the appointed time, he had driven around and around, seemingly in circles, before moving back onto the street he’d originally turned onto. What was this guy doing? My phone had vibrated twice more since the last call from Barlow but I ignored it. Couldn’t take my eyes off my target.

Sawyer took another right and picked up some speed. The addition of some light traffic allowed me to turn my headlights back on. We left the city limits behind, but there were still plenty of houses and the occasional convenience store. Still, the farther from Nashville proper we ventured the more worried I got. I should call Barlow. No, not yet. I didn’t even know where we were going…I couldn’t do that.

Sawyer hooked a left. I turned off my headlights once more, praying I wouldn’t run over anyone or anything. I wasn’t familiar with this area. No streetlights. Wooded. One or two houses, then nothing. Once in a while a field would interrupt the expanse of forest. Without traffic for camouflage I had no choice but to remain dark.

He turned right onto a road that disappeared into the trees. Talk about utterly lost. Maybe in the daylight I would have recognized the area. I waited a second or two before following the same route. His taillights disappeared around a bend in the road. Narrow, tree-lined. Gave new meaning to the term rural.

My pulse skittered, but I’d come too far to back out now. I made the turn…this one the “no way back” kind, because this road was one lane at best. If Sawyer turned around or backed up I would be in serious trouble. I watched him make another left, his taillights bobbing, onto yet another road—a constricted path, actually, I decided when I reached it. I blinked in surprise when I saw the interior light of his car come on. He had stopped and was getting out fifty or sixty yards from the last turn he’d made. I saw this only by virtue of that interior light. He was too far away for me to see anything clearly.

I didn’t dare move a muscle, though he was plenty far away enough not to hear the engine of my Jetta, which according to my brothers ran as smoothly and quietly as the salesman had insisted it did.

Sawyer shoved his car door closed. The interior light went out. With the trees blocking the moon, it was black as pitch this deep in the woods. I had long ago turned off my headlights so there was no chance of him seeing me if he turned around…as long as he didn’t hear me. I prayed my brothers were right about the noiseless operation of my little four-cylinder.

Okay. I had two choices. I could sit right here until he got back into his car and risk him seeing me when he started the engine, turned on his lights and began to back up, or I could roll forward, away from the road onto which he’d turned, and risk him hearing the sound of my tires bearing down on whatever lay beneath them. As best I could tell, it was a dirt road, but I had no way of anticipating if there was any gravel involved or how much racket would accompany my forward movement.

The one thing I knew for certain was that I couldn’t just sit here. He was nearly two hundred feet away….

Screw it. I had to do something. I relaxed my right foot from the brake pedal ever so slightly and allowed the Jetta to roll forward away from the intersecting road where he’d turned off. I had to conceal my position before he’d accomplished whatever he’d come here to do. Might as well be now. Since I couldn’t turn on my lights and no longer had his to follow, I had to assume the road before me continued on. I couldn’t be sure any more than I could be about the one he’d taken. For all I knew that road could take him back to the main drag we’d left some minutes ago. Too many variables. Something else I should have thought of.

I parked about twenty yards away and shut off the engine, then took a deep, bolstering breath and got out. I eased the door closed and walked back to the road he’d taken. Moving cautiously to ensure I didn’t give away my presence and because I couldn’t see a damned thing, I slowly maneuvered closer to where he’d left his sedan. I looked around in hopes of spotting him. Nothing. Just blackness.

Damn. If he—

The bob of a flashlight abruptly caught my attention. He’d walked deep into the woods. I hesitated just long enough to consider that at this time of year there could be snakes or any number of other critters roaming around. Then I contemplated whether or not I actually needed to see what he was doing out there. I knew the location. I could always come back in the daylight.

Deeming that the best course of action, I backed into the tree line on the other side of his car, just far enough to be hidden when he returned. The warm, mossy smell of the forest settled over me but did nothing to soothe my jangling nerves.

At least thirty minutes passed before Sawyer emerged from the woods. My legs had grown cramped and the phone in my pocket had vibrated again. I saw the jog of the flashlight he carried seconds before he came up behind his vehicle. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness to the point that I could vaguely make out his form.

He popped open the trunk; the light inside blinked to life and cast a dim glow over him. My eyes widened as my brain assimilated what I saw. I clamped my hand over my mouth and swallowed the cry that rocketed into my throat.

It wasn’t until Sawyer had dumped the load he was carrying into the trunk and something had fallen to the ground that I truly understood what he’d gone into those woods to get.

The body—or what was left of it.

The object that had fallen, in the brief instant I’d seen it, looked roundish…kind of white in color. My throat closed on a scream.

The load had looked like a big old filthy sheet, bundled up in such a way as to keep whatever it contained from falling out of either end, but it hadn’t worked. I shuddered violently.

He reached down and picked up the part he’d dropped. Bile burned at the back of my mouth as I watched him toss the skull into the trunk of his sedan. He dusted at the dirt on his shirt, then slammed the trunk closed on his cargo.

He’d gotten into his car and backed halfway down to the intersecting road before my trembling legs responded to my brain’s command. I had to move. Had to get to my car. I couldn’t lose him now.

I traveled through the woods at a dead run, ignoring the slap of knee-deep undergrowth and the occasional jar of slamming into a small tree or large bush. I no longer cared about the snakes or other night creatures that might be there. I couldn’t fail. I had to do this. Get to my car…follow him. My future depended upon my accomplishing this mission every bit as much as justice was counting on me.

He backed out onto the road, right where my car would have been had I not moved it, and started forward. With him out of the way I stumbled into the clearing the narrow road made and ran harder still. I reached my car and scrambled behind the wheel at the same time that his taillights disappeared around the bend. He was headed back to the main road.

I twisted the ignition and shoved my foot onto the gas pedal. When I had executed a three-point turn I barreled after him. Headlights off, I slowed enough to approach the bend cautiously…just in case. Moved through the curve just as he pulled out onto the paved highway.

Muscle-quivering relief surged through me. All I had to do now was stay on his tail until he reached his destination, where his ten o’clock appointment would surely be waiting.

Sawyer drove back to Nashville.

It wasn’t until he made the turn onto a street I recognized that I understood where he was going.

The Green Hills area.

When he continued on this street I knew exactly where he was going. The construction site of a new shopping mall.

The image of the man he’d met earlier this evening suddenly morphed into recognition. That’s why he’d looked familiar to me. He was Reginald Carlyle, the man who owned or had developed almost every mall in this town, among others. What did he have to do with Sawyer and the murder?

Then it hit me.

Sawyer had bought up several old buildings. Nothing one would consider a big deal. Definitely not anything worth killing for, though he clearly had done just that. When I thought about where the properties he’d purchase were located, it all made sense. If Sawyer was doing business with this big developer, a mall or some other huge venture was planned for the properties he had acquired. Maybe would have been built already had they not been waiting for the stench of a murder charge to settle.

I parked my car behind a massive Dumpster loaded with discarded pieces of lumber and got out, then moved as close as I dared to where Sawyer had parked his car. Close enough to see that Carlyle had not arrived. Sawyer got out of the sedan and retrieved his damning cargo. He carried the remains to a spot about fifteen feet from his car and dumped it. I couldn’t make out the significance of his choosing that spot. At least not until he’d strode across the parking lot and climbed into a dump truck. Wait…not a dump truck…a cement truck.

Oh, no.

I fished out my phone. Should have done this already. I punched in Barlow’s number. My nerves twisted with trepidation as I waited through ring after ring. Damn him! I’d told him not to leave the phone. His home number was the only one I knew. When he’d spoken his name in greeting and it appeared on the screen I whispered my location and told him if he wanted that body to come as fast as he could. I closed the phone and shoved it back into my pocket.

Sawyer had backed the truck to the location where he’d dumped the body. The drum or whatever it was called on the back of the truck was turning, keeping the cement properly mixed. Jesus Christ. Even I knew what that meant. Someone had delivered that load of cement to him tonight. Had left the truck ready for his use. The only way the cement would have remained usable was if it were fairly fresh and the drum kept turning.

I surveyed what I could see of the construction site from my position just to make sure whoever had brought the truck wasn’t still hanging around. I prayed Barlow would get here soon. From his home he should be able to make the trip in twenty minutes if he drove really fast.

Please let him drive fast.

I didn’t know if he would bother calling in any uniforms since he wasn’t sure about me and what I was up to.

Just then, another sedan parked next to Sawyer’s, jerking my attention back there. I suddenly prayed as hard as I could that Barlow had called for backup. Maybe I should…my thought process halted abruptly as a figure exited the second car.

Carlyle.

A feeling of determination settled over me. I couldn’t let these two get away with murder.

Sawyer and Carlyle stood next to the cement truck for a bit. It looked as if they were arguing. The lights that had been added for site security provided enough illumination that I could see Carlyle’s frantic waves of exasperation or anger. Sawyer pointed a finger at his companion and shook it, his face contorted with fury. Nope, these two definitely weren’t happy campers.

My fingers tightened around my phone and I wondered if I should just go ahead and call 911.

There really wasn’t any choice. I couldn’t risk that Barlow wouldn’t get here in time. My fingers tightened on my phone.

Harsh fingers suddenly clasped around my mouth and I was hauled up against an unyielding body. My chest constricted with terror as the reality meshed fully in my mind. My phone slipped from my fingers. The cold steel barrel of a pistol bored into my temple. I could feel lips moving against my ear as whoever held me uttered words I could not hear.

I wondered briefly if I should bother fighting him—and it was definitely a him. I could feel the hard male contours of his body. I braced myself for making a move for his weak spot, but he suddenly released me.

I bolted but he manacled my arm with brute strength before I could get out of his reach. I whipped around to look into the face of my captor.

Barlow.

“What the hell are you doing?” I whispered, feeling that the sound was hoarse, with my heart straining against my throat as it was.

He frowned. I…stay quiet. Backup…on…way.

I struggled to catch his words, but in the dark and with him glancing around I missed parts. I managed to draw in a much-needed breath. Told myself to calm down. I considered what I’d gotten of his words and decided he wanted me to be quiet and that backup was on its way. I nodded, then pointed to the two men still arguing in the distance. “Sawyer dumped the body down there. I think he’s—”

I get the idea.

Barlow had moved closer, giving me a better view of his face. I felt glad for that, but at the same time uneasy with his nearness. I managed a nod of understanding. Obviously he’d been here long enough to figure out what was going on. But how was that possible? How could he have gotten here so quickly?

“How long have you been here?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I kept my voice as quiet as I should have. Obviously I didn’t since he held a finger to his mouth.

I put out an APB on your car. A cruiser spotted you thirty minutes ago and gave me your location. He followed you until I got into position.

Just something else I hadn’t planned for. Damn. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this work after all.

He moved closer still. I just have to know one thing. How the hell did a file clerk…

Reading his lips wasn’t difficult this close, but he turned his head to check on our two suspects and I missed that last part.

I tapped his shoulder and he turned back to me. “You have to look directly at me when you speak,” I told him.

Another of those weary frowns furrowed his brow. What?

“I’m deaf, Detective. I have to be able to see what you’re saying.”

For three fierce beats he simply stared at me.

You’re kidding me, right?

Chapter 4

Who would have thought that finding out I was deaf would be news bad enough to overshadow bringing a murderer to justice?

I slammed the file drawer shut and huffed an impatient breath. The look on Detective Steven Barlow’s face would stay with me for the rest of my life. Disbelief, shock even. He’d figured out in no time flat that I was a mere file clerk in Metro’s historical archives, but his source had evidently forgotten to mention that I was deaf. He’d kept his back turned to me a good portion of the time while I was being interrogated. Only allowed me to see what he wanted me to hear, in a manner of speaking. But I was no fool. I gathered from his tense body language that he did not like what I had done.

Go figure. I helped pluck a murderer off the street—one he had failed to nail—and he had the audacity to be furious with me! Men, I would never get them. Especially cops and firemen. And I’d grown up in a houseful of guys who turned out to be one or the other.

I opened the next drawer, inserted the file and slammed the drawer back into its niche. Just because I was a woman didn’t mean I wasn’t as capable as any man. And just because I was deaf didn’t mean I was helpless! I hated it when people looked at me that way.

Gentle fingers took hold of my chin and guided my face to the right, drawing me back to the here and now. My dear friend and co-worker, Helen Golden, smiled at me and said, Honey, I know you had a rough night last night but don’t take it out on the file cabinets. She smoothed a loving hand over the beige metal to emphasize her point. It’s our job to preserve the past. It’s what we do for the future. She arched a skeptical eyebrow. Even if some of us aren’t satisfied being a mere historical archivist.

“Not you, too,” I grouched. Was everyone around me against me?

My co-worker looked stung. I have plans, too.

I sighed. She was right. By this time next year she would be working at some fancy-shmancy law firm. “I’m sorry, Helen, but I had to do this.” She, of all people, should understand.

Helen folded her arms over her chest and tried to look annoyed, but she failed miserably. Do you know that the chief—the chief of detectives, mind you—called me into his office this morning to question me about what you’ve been up to? Why, I’ve worked at Metro for twenty years and not once have I ever been summoned to his office.

Okay, maybe she was a little irritated at that. How could everything have gone so wrong? I hadn’t meant for it to be this way. The murderer had been caught red-handed with the body—well, there was still the small technicality of identifying the remains. It had been two years, it wasn’t like they were visibly identifiable. But I knew. My letters and that call were what had prompted the bad guys into action.

Sawyer and Carlyle were both being detained as individuals of interest for questioning. The two men’s overpriced lawyers were pitching a hissy-fit, but this time the law was on the side of the police. They not only had human remains but had caught Sawyer and Carlyle preparing to bury said remains beneath eighty yards of cement. The cement-company driver had been brought in for questioning as well. As I had suspected, he’d merely followed orders, delivering a truck with the requested amount of cement at the time and to the place designated. Money talked. No good businessman quizzed a well-paying client.

Faring no better than the suspects, I had spent the better part of the day yesterday being interrogated by Barlow as well as Chief Nathan Kent, the chief of detectives Helen spoke of. Both detectives appeared to be furious that I had taken this mission upon myself.

I explained over and over how the case had been misfiled and I’d ended up reading it out of curiosity. The plan had come to me in a blast of inspiration that I couldn’t explain. I had been searching for some way to fulfill myself. To feel as if I was once more contributing to society. I hoped that if I proved successful in bringing Sawyer to justice I might be able to move into a position with Metro that would serve two purposes—self-fulfillment as well as community service. But that scenario appeared to have bombed big time. The whole ordeal had turned out way different than I had anticipated.

What’s worse, you read a cold-case file and tracked down the real killer. Helen shook her head from side to side, a resigned expression dragging her usually smiling features into a frown. And I can’t even tell anyone. Helen’s bosom heaved with what was no doubt a put-upon sigh, but then her eyes glittered mischievously. I hate secrets. What fun is knowing something so exciting and not being able to tell anyone? She turned back to her own filing.

That was another thing. Not that I had done this for the glory, but I had hoped to prove to the world that being deaf didn’t have to mean giving up a noteworthy life. There would be other deaf folks who could benefit from my story. But that wasn’t going to happen, either. Chief Kent had put a gag order on all those involved with Saturday night’s bust. Well, at least, the ones who knew how the events had transpired, including me.

I couldn’t tell a soul. Of course, my family knew and was fit to be tied. It would have helped tremendously if Chief Kent had kept them out of this. But his concern for my condition and overall safety had preempted that possibility. Sarah Walters, my best friend and sister-in-law, was Chief Kent’s secretary and probably the sole reason I’d been hired in the first place. If I had my guess, keeping my job after this would likely be more associated with Chief Kent wanting to keep his indispensable secretary happy than with the fact that I had helped solve an old homicide case.

Going home to my small bungalow on Greenview had been wishful thinking last night. My parents had shown up at Chief Kent’s office and insisted I stay the night at their home. The chief hadn’t helped matters by suggesting that it might be a good idea just in case some of Sawyer’s men got wind of my involvement.

Wasn’t that just the perfect ending to the perfectly hideous day? Going home with my parents like a naughty child. Not that I didn’t love my parents, but I was twenty-nine years old, for Christ’s sake. I was out on my own and a fiercely independent woman for nearly a decade before the loss of my hearing. I wasn’t supposed to be going backward. I need to be my own person…to contribute to the betterment of mankind…at least to some sort of independent future for myself. I might be deaf, but I’m not an invalid! Why couldn’t I get that through their heads? I had to do what I had to do.

It was the Irish genes I’d inherited from my mother’s side. We both sported the telltale red hair, though hers required a box of Clairol now and then. My mother had absolutely no room to talk about being bullheaded. No one, and I do mean no one, could be more stubborn than my sweetheart of a mother. Why couldn’t she see that I merely needed the same control over my own destiny?

I trudged back to my desk and grabbed up another armful of files. Oh, well. At least I still had my job. That was something. A smile tickled the corners of my lips. As frightening as parts of my vacation had been, I had to admit, I had loved the thrill of the chase. My blood heated and goose bumps pebbled my skin with the memories. Maybe I could be a cop. There were laws that protected the rights of the physically impaired so they couldn’t be discriminated against. I should look into that avenue. Who said I had to spend the rest of my life in the dungeon beneath Metro filing old cases for the various working divisions? I wanted more.

Depositing one file after the other into its appropriate drawer envelope, I lost track of time by mulling over the weekend’s events. Detective Barlow was kind of cute, even thoroughly furious as he’d been on Saturday night. I couldn’t help thinking of the way he’d hauled me up against his body to keep me still and quiet. Add strong and well muscled in addition to cute.

I pushed those foolish thoughts aside. He was probably married, anyway. Besides, after two years I had pretty much figured out that guys didn’t go for deaf chicks. I hadn’t had one offer for dinner or a movie, much less anything else, since losing my hearing. That first year, I had to admit, might have had something to do with my life-is-over attitude. But for the past year there hadn’t been a legitimate excuse for being ignored. My outward appearance hadn’t really changed that much. If anything I was thinner. I’d never been drop-dead gorgeous by any means, but I was attractive. At five-six I was average height. I kept in shape with Pilates as well as a two-mile run three times a week. I’d been told I had nice green eyes. I should at least get an occasional offer for dinner and a movie!

I shrugged off the depressing thoughts and finished the stack of files. Some contained new, quickly resolved cases that held hardly any reports or other evidentiary documents, while others held new information to be added to thicker files on older cases. The unsolved cases were designated a bit differently than the ones closed after having been solved. Occasionally a review would be done to determine if more could be done to help solve an old case. But that didn’t happen often. There just wasn’t enough time or manpower. Law enforcement was like teaching, there was never enough funding to go the full distance.

When I would have turned to walk back to my desk, a quick tap on my shoulder warned me that someone had moved up behind me. I’d been too caught up in thought to notice. At times I could feel the change in my environment when someone came close, but I had to be paying really close attention to be aware of the subtle difference. Clearly this was not one of those times.

Sarah, my sister-in-law, gifted me with a weary smile. How’s it going? she asked.

Sarah, of all people, knew how difficult things were for me right now. She and I had been best friends all through high school. We both played in the school band. To this day I hated the sound of a flute. I rolled my eyes at my own slip. The last time I’d heard it, I’d still hated it. Sarah said the same about a clarinet. The truth was neither of us had cared for playing a musical instrument. Being in the band had been a means to an end. It meant we went on all the district play-off trips with the football players without having to don one of those cutesy cheerleader outfits and stand on our heads. What more could a teenage girl want?

I shrugged in answer to her question. “Is my name mud upstairs?” I felt certain she had heard any rumblings going on in her boss’s office.

She dragged me over to the side, a little farther away from where Helen conscientiously worked. Sarah held my gaze a moment before she said, Chief Kent is having a closed-door session with Detective Barlow and Chief Adcock right now. She chewed her bottom lip for a moment. I believe they’re talking about you.

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound too good. I knew Chief Adcock was the chief of Homicide. Then again, I supposed it made sense, since the case I’d solved fell under his jurisdiction. I’d seen him at some point over the weekend.

“Am I in big trouble?” Translation: bigger than I already knew.

Sarah did the shrugging this time. All I know is Barlow doesn’t look pleased. Whatever the chief has decided, Barlow doesn’t like it.

A frown wiggled its way across my brow. Why would Barlow care what happened to me? I mean, it wasn’t like we really knew each other. He should be grateful I’d solved this case for him. But I knew he wasn’t. I’d skirted the law, which, technically, I had not been obliged to follow to the letter since I’m not a cop, and I’d risked my life without being smart enough to tell anyone what I’d uncovered. If I had been killed—I cringed inwardly at the thought—no one would ever have known what I’d accomplished. I could see that quite clearly now. Funny thing, I hadn’t thought about that once while absorbed in the heat of the hunt.

“Is he angry that I got Sawyer when he couldn’t? Do you suppose he doesn’t like that I made him look bad despite the upside that a murderer has been apprehended?”

Sarah thought about that for a bit, leaving me with the need to distract myself or burst with anticipation. I studied the delicate features of her face. Sometimes her beauty caught me off guard. Long, silky blond hair, serene gray eyes, a face that demanded any man breathing take a second look, and a willowy figure to boot. I’d known her forever. My brother was really lucky. Michael was two years older than me. A fireman in the Brentwood area where he and Sarah lived. The two were planning to start a family this year. Sarah would make a terrific mother. Not once had she ever let her beauty go to her head.

I don’t know Detective Barlow that well, she said. But he doesn’t strike me as the type to let his ego get in the way of the job. I’m really not sure what’s going on.

Her lips formed the words cautiously, her face uncommitted to a particular emotion. If she’d looked overly concerned I would have been worried. Since she didn’t, I felt relatively relieved. Relaxed but guarded, if that makes sense.

She draped her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. I should get back to the office. I’ll let you know if I hear anything. She smiled. See you tonight.

Oh, God. How could I have forgotten about that? My folks had insisted that another family dinner was in order tonight. Since Saturdays or Sundays were generally the days we had family get-togethers, I could only assume the worst. This meeting would be about me, same as the one going on upstairs. The one difference was the chief only held the power to make my professional life miserable. My family, well…they held serious power over my entire existence.

The Walters family home stands proudly in a quiet, genuinely middle-class neighborhood on the fringes of Nashville’s west side. The houses that line the streets of the neighborhood are the signature architecture of the seventies. Think Brady Bunch tri-level. Four or five bedrooms, three bathrooms and always, always a den for the family as well as a formal living room for entertaining.

Not that the Walters family entertains on a regular basis, but holidays and birthdays are big deals in a clan this size. Especially when you take into account the uncles, aunts and cousins. Good thing they all have the big Brady Bunch kitchen and dining room, too.

I moved around the table placing the silverware next to each china plate. Blue Willow, the same pattern my mother had used for my entire life. At family get-togethers, each member always had his or her chore. The men were currently slaving—think the loosest definition found in Webster’s of the word—over the barbecue grill while the women scurried to set the table and place the cold side items on the buffet.

All four of my brothers are married, but none has kids as of yet, much to the dismay of my folks. Since my hearing loss and the subsequent exit of my fiancé, the pressure has been off me to produce offspring.

I surveyed the table to make sure I hadn’t missed anything and couldn’t help thinking that the scene belonged on the set of Cheaper by the Dozen. All four of my brothers were lugheads when it came to the overprotective sibling genes. Not once in school did anyone dare to pick on me. Not the boys, for fear of being pounded. Not even the girls, for fear that their brothers would be pounded or, in the absence of a male sibling, for worry of being blackballed in the dating arena. In order to remain popular among the star athletes one had to stay on the good side of the whole team.

Boy, did I have a surprise waiting for me when I went off to college. For the first time in my entire life I’d had to stand up for myself without big-brother backup. I guess that’s when I realized what I’d been missing all that time. I didn’t want to be the sweet little overprotected girl who never got into trouble and who never, ever took a chance. Needless to say, I made up for lost time in a big way. The only thing conservative about my higher-learning experience had been my major, elementary education. I dated a different guy every week and basically had a blast. Not that I’d been promiscuous. The fact was I’d only slept with two guys my entire college career.

Life had calmed down when I’d settled into teaching and my work had given me the sense of accomplishment I needed. Why couldn’t anyone see that I needed that feeling again? It was so simple…such a small thing.

Someone tapped my shoulder and I found Lola, my next-to-oldest brother’s wife, waiting patiently for my gaze to settle on her lips.

Food’s ready but first we have a family meeting in the den. She looked about as pleased regarding the prospect as I did.

I nodded, then followed her down the hall to the den. Everyone else was already there. I took my seat. That’s another thing about big families. Everyone has an assigned seat. The concept cuts down on the quarreling over who sits where—it especially did back when we were kids.

Martin, my oldest sibling, started off the conversation. Usually the opening words were issued by my father. That he’d deferred to the senior member of Metro’s police force in the family set me on edge. This was no typical family meeting. This was about me and my little undercover escapade.

Merri, you know how much we all love you.

Uh-oh. Now I was really worried. In my experience, whenever a family meeting started off with those words it usually meant I was grounded for at least a week. But I was almost thirty…grounding was not likely on the agenda.

I nodded, well aware that everyone in the room expected me to respond in some way.

What you did this past week, however heroic, was very foolish.

Anger flushed my cheeks. “We’ve already been over this,” I said pointedly. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I glanced at Sarah in hopes of getting some support.

She moistened her lips, looked from me to Martin. The chief has already counseled her firmly about it, she offered. She managed a smile for my benefit. I don’t think we have to worry about our Merri getting into anything over her head like this again.

As much as I appreciated Sarah’s bolstering words, she was wrong. They were all wrong. I looked from one concerned face to the next. How did I make them see that I had to do something more? Being a file clerk, or historical archivist, as Helen would say, simply was not enough.

“Mom, Dad—” I met the gaze of each as I spoke “—as much as I understand and appreciate your concern, you have to understand my position. I have aspirations.” I searched my father’s eyes. The eyes of a man who had risen from untrained office assistant to the top CPA in his firm while raising a family. Funny, I mused, momentarily distracted by the idea. Not a single child he’d spawned had gone into his line of “safe” work. Why was it so unthinkable that I would want to do more? “There’s no point in discussing the subject further, because you already know how I feel.” We’d had this talk hundreds of times since the onset of my disability.

But the risk you took this time was out of character even for you, Merri. This from my mom.

That was true. I couldn’t really explain where that had come from. As fiercely independent as I’d been since my college days, I’d never been foolhardy. But when I’d read the case file on Sawyer I just couldn’t help myself. The files I’d read previously had set me on fire…had fueled a yearning inside me like I’d never before experienced. I loved trying to figure out who the bad guy was…trying to solve the puzzle. What was so bad about that?

I started to say as much, but my father stopped me with an uplifted hand. I held my tongue and let him speak. To this day, not a single Walters kid back-talked.

We’ve discussed what happened at length.

A sinking feeling, disappointment or something on that order, tugged at my stomach. We’d talked as a family once last night. When had they talked at length? Why hadn’t I been included in the discussion, especially considering I was the subject?

Merri, my father went on, the worry in his eyes only adding to the hurt starting to well inside me, we feel that perhaps additional counseling is in order. The catastrophic changes in your life these past two years are enough to make anyone behave erratically. We want you to be happy, but we also want you to be safe.

I felt utterly betrayed. I surveyed the people I knew with complete certainty loved me and couldn’t help feeling that they’d let me down. They just didn’t understand how much I needed their complete understanding right now.

Very little of what was said after that penetrated the haze of disappointment. Each of my brothers took his turn telling me how I had to be extra careful, couldn’t look out for myself the way I used to. Even Sarah remained quiet, rather than suggesting otherwise.

Nothing I did or said would matter, so I didn’t bother arguing. I let them talk, get it all out on the table. But none of it would change my mind.

For the first time in my life I truly felt alone. After a lifetime of having my family’s full support, it was one hell of a letdown. But I couldn’t judge them too harshly. Every single one of them had my best interests at heart. They all loved me…they just didn’t get it.

We ate dinner in relative silence. Occasionally someone would bring up the winner of some sporting event or a late-breaking news story they’d heard. The atmosphere in the room had gone from solemn determination to walking-on-eggshells tension.

I had caused this. My entire family was worried and uncomfortable and it was my fault. How could my plan have gone so awry? I thought I was doing the right thing.

Would it be this way from now on? Could they ever accept that I still had hopes and dreams despite my inability to hear? I couldn’t spend the rest of my life pretending I was happy and avoiding any semblance of the unsafe. I knew that about myself if I knew nothing else. The tricky part would be making them see that I could do more. Being deaf didn’t have to be the end of my life. It could be the beginning.

Maybe my impairment would actually empower me. Sitting here now I watched my family eat and chat, all looking healthy and happy. Unless I looked directly at their lips I had no idea what any of them said. I heard absolutely nothing. Silence. There were times when I thought I heard things, but the doctors had explained that having spent so many years in the world of the hearing, I might mistake knowing for hearing. I knew what a fork scraping against a plate sounded like. Therefore, when I watched someone eating, sometimes I thought I heard the sound when actually what I perceived as hearing was a memory.

I couldn’t help wondering if that was what gave me the ability to focus so intently on solving a case. I didn’t have to tune out noise or my surroundings, that was already done.

I could be very good at investigating cases. I wasn’t sure being a detective was right for me, but something on that order. Maybe a profiler of some sort.

My family, as much as I loved each and every one of them, would just have to get over it.

I drove home that night still preoccupied by my father’s words. They thought I needed more counseling. Well that wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t need to talk over my problems with a shrink. I needed to get on with my life. No need to pay two hundred bucks an hour to hear what I already knew.

Too tired to bother with the garage, I parked in the driveway and took my time trudging up the front steps. Sleep would be good about now. I felt exhausted since I hadn’t actually gotten very much sleep Saturday or Sunday night. I’d been far too keyed up. I glanced across the street and noted the car parked there. The chief had mentioned there would be someone watching my house for the next few days…just in case. That was likely standard procedure and not due to my inability to hear.

Thankful I’d left the porch light on, I shoved the key into the lock, but before I could twist it, a hand settled on my arm. A squeal escaped me as I whirled to face the possible threat.

Steven Barlow.

I pressed my hand to my throat and fought to catch my breath. “What’re you doing here?” Damn. He’d scared me to death. Boy, was I glad my folks hadn’t been here to witness that.

I didn’t get a chance to talk to you today.

I felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment as he looked me up and down, thoroughly assessing me before allowing his gaze to settle back on mine. Why was it he made me so nervous? So ill at ease in my own skin?

Finding my voice, I asked archly, “Was there something else we failed to go over?” We’d talked plenty already, and none of it had been pleasant. He stood firmly on the side of my family…I should be careful…taking risks was not smart.

He shook his head. I think we covered most everything. He looked away for a moment as if he didn’t want me to see whatever was in his eyes. Eventually that piercing blue gaze fixed back on mine. I didn’t come here to give you a hard time, Miss Walters.

Oddly, at that moment, when I should have been mad as hell, I couldn’t help wondering what his voice sounded like. It was silly, I know. But I couldn’t help it. Deep and husky or low and smooth as silk? Did he have any sort of accent? I didn’t know if he’d grown up in the south. I really didn’t know much of anything about him.

I forced my attention back on the conversation. “Then why did you come here, Detective Barlow?”

I wanted to tell you in person that we’ve moved ahead with formal charges against both Sawyer and Carlyle. He searched my eyes again, looking for a reaction maybe. I’m sure he saw my unrepentant glee. And, the truth is, we couldn’t have done this without you.

A little shock radiated through me. Well, what do you know? Someone was finally admitting that I did good.

I beat back a smug smile. “Thank you, Detective. I appreciate your saying so.”

He nodded. Keeping your name out of the papers has nothing to do with blowing our own horn or trying to take credit for what you did, he went on. We’re simply attempting to protect you from any fallout. There’s no way for us to know all of Sawyer’s or Carlyle’s connections.

I had no doubt about that. “I understand.”

He set his hands on his hips, pushing the lapels of his elegant navy suit aside. He was the only detective I knew who dressed so well. His white shirt looked freshly starched, though I felt certain he’d been wearing it all day. The navy-and-gray-striped tie completed the classy look.

You took far too many risks, Miss Walters, despite the good that you did. I hope you’ll keep that in mind in the future.

I wasn’t sure what he expected me to say to that so I didn’t say anything at all. I was sick to death of hearing about the risks I’d taken. Life was a risk. Walking out your front door in the morning was a risk. Driving down the street was a risk. Nothing about this life was certain. I felt I’d learned that better than most.

When I didn’t immediately respond he looked away for a moment, then said, Good night, Miss Walters, and walked away.

He got into his nondescript black sedan, which he’d parked behind mine, and drove away.

I stood on my porch for a long while after that, just thinking. He was right. So was my family. I had taken several huge risks in the past few days. But the risks had been necessary to get the job done. I was no naive kid. I had been willing to take them. Why was it they added up to nothing? Didn’t count?

What was it going to take to make people realize that I couldn’t just fade into the background? I would never be happy simply existing.

There had to be more.

I wouldn’t accept any other scenario.

Maybe I was in over my head, but that’s exactly where I wanted to be.

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