by Rita Herron
It didn’t matter. Hell, he had a case to think of. A job to do.
A sister to find.
And he had to protect Sarah because she might be the key to finding Denise. He couldn’t get personally involved with her, though; she was way too complicated.
Memories of Pamela—the witness he’d slept with, the one who’d gotten killed in the crossfire when their safe house location had been discovered— rode into his head, reminding him of a dozen different reasons why he shouldn’t touch Sarah Cutter.
“I…” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, smoothing her wrinkled gown with shaky hands. His gaze dropped to the thin cotton of the garment, the pale moonlight haloing her face and the curves of her body that lay beneath. The curves that had igned his hunger only a few moments before. The curves that had felt delicious in his hands.
Shame filled him. His big hands could crush her if he wasn’t careful. She was vulnerable and he’d taken advantage of her frightened state.
She grabbed a thick velour robe from the bed, slipped it on and quickly knotted it. He spotted her locket on the floor and picked it up, then handed it to her. She clutched it in her fingers, then pressed it to her chest.
“Did you recognize the man who attacked you?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Did anything about him seem familiar?”
Again, she answered with a shake of her head.
“I need to call this in.” He dragged his gaze away from her to reach for the phone. “I’ll have the lab fingerprint your place in case we catch the guy’s prints. And I’ll get a paramedic to check you out.”
She nodded, that frail look crossing her face again as she glanced at the broken lamp on the floor.
Still, Adam couldn’t shake the strange connection he’d had with Sarah when they’d kissed. Or the fact that she hadn’t pushed him away when she should have.
A HALF HOUR LATER, the paramedic concluded Sarah had a slight concussion, but she would be fine. He cautioned her to call her specialist if she noticed any significant changes in her hearing ability or residual pain from the blow to her head. Sarah described her assault via her Palm Pilot, while other detectives dusted her place for fingerprints. The evening finally seemed to be coming to an end. Reliving the experience as she’d described it to the police had been difficult. So had trying to forget that heated kiss with Adam Black.
Sarah had never felt so exposed, so in danger, yet so safe at the same time.
But Adam had reverted to being the detective again—he’d avoided any personal contact with her for the duration of the questions, and when he had spoken to her, he wore a mask of professionalism. Occasionally, she’d glimpsed the regret in his eyes, as if he wished he’d never touched her. As if he were sorry he might have given her the wrong idea.
She’d seen that one kind of regret before, from other men.
They’d be attracted to her at first, at least physically. A few had thought her handicap intriguing, even challenging, for a while. Then reality settled in, an embarrassing situation arose where they had trouble communicating, and their relationship ended. But none of the other men had been half as sexy and masculine as Adam.
The reason she’d probably reacted to him so intensely.
She had to forget about him, other than as her protector.
He walked his partner, Clayton Fox, to the door and they spoke in hushed voices before he finally turned to her. She cradled a cup of tea in her still-shaky hands, sipping it slowly as if the warm liquid could calm her.
He moved like a lion, his stride long and purposeful, his expression stony as he took the overstuffed armchair opposite her. Splaying his hands on his thighs, he leaned forward. “I’ll stay the night,” he said in a gruff voice.
Sarah nearly dropped the saucer. It clattered in her hands as she swung her gaze to the detective. Her lips parted involuntarily to mouth the word, “What?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I said I’ll stay tonight.”
She shook her head, her mind racing.
“In case this creep comes back.”
She grabbed the Palm Pilot and wrote, “No.”
He arched one dark brow. “Look, Sarah, you may think this was a random burglar, but I don’t. Think about it. The tabloid story about you overhearing a kidnapping, my sister’s ransacked place, your attacks, they all occurred in the same day.” He blew out a breath. “Too coincidental for me.”
Fear seeped back inside her, chilling her to the bone. “But you don’t need to stay—”
He pressed his fingers against her hand and her gaze swung back to his. “If you’re worried about me, don’t. I won’t touch you again.”
The harsh tone to his voice rode on already frayed nerves. He obviously saw her imperfections, her lack of experience, and deemed her not a whole woman because of them.
“We can assign another officer to protect you if you’d rather. I’ll arrange better security on your place tomorrow.” He raked a hand through his thick black hair. “But I still need to talk to you about my sister.”
“All right,” she wrote. “But you don’t need to stay here tonight. I’ll go to my godfather’s.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Where does he live?”
“He owns an estate on Catcall Island.”
Both his brows rose. “It’s secure?”
Sarah nodded. “He’s one of the founders of the research center, CIRP. Seaside Securities provides security for him as well as for the center.”
Adam stood. “All right. Pack a bag. I’ll drive you over.”
Sarah shook her head to argue, but he caught her arm.
“Look, you don’t have to be afraid of me, Sarah.” He cleared his throat. “I was out of line earlier, but I told you it won’t happen again. I will keep you safe.”
Sarah’s heart fluttered. He’d keep her safe from danger, but who would protect her from him?
THE FIFTEEN-MINUTE RIDE from Savannah to Catcall Island dragged by, fraught with tension. Adam suggested phoning Sarah’s godfather before they drove over, but she’d refused, saying she didn’t want to alarm him.
The man had a right to be alarmed.
If her godfather loved her half as much as she claimed he did, he’d hire a bodyguard for her himself.
Sarah wrestled with her hands in her lap, twisting them around the denim skirt she’d changed into when she’d packed an overnight bag. Even though Adam had turned on the radio, the soft jazz music couldn’t dissolve the tension.
She rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes. The contours of her pale skin glowed in the moonlight, the stark bruises on her neck a glaring reminder of the attack. Could she help him find Denise? But how? She didn’t know the kidnapper’s identity or where they’d taken Denise. Her vague information wouldn’t be worth killing over.
Unless…unless he was wrong and the attack wasn’t related to his sister’s disappearance. But why else would someone want her dead?
“Sarah, are you involved with anyone right now?”
An odd look crossed her face and he realized she might have misunderstood him.
“I’m just wondering if you had a jealous boyfriend, maybe one who got angry when you broke up and might want to retaliate.”
She shook her head no. Shadows haunted her eyes, making him wonder if he’d touched a nerve. She’d also put her necklace back on and worried the end with her fingers.
“Other than the connection with Denise, can you think of anyone or any other reason someone else would want to hurt you?”
Frown lines creased her forehead, but she shook her head no again.
The sound of a ship’s foghorn in the distance brought her head up. Her button nose wrinkled as she tried to discern the sound.
“It’s a foghorn,” he said, unable to keep a small smile from his mouth.
Her lips parted in response, and his gut clenched. In some ways she was like a child discovering the
world. Yet she still couldn’t speak, or verbalize her needs without the aid of that Palm Pilot or pen and paper.
She gestured toward a sign and he turned onto the street leading to her godfather’s estate. Within seconds, they’d passed two of the newer developments on the island and faced the security gate at her godfather’s.
Opulent was the only way to describe the ten-acre estate where Sol Santenelli resided. Another reminder of the difference between Sarah and himself, Adam thought. An Italian villa-style structure with wrought-iron fences sat on sprawling green grass, a front garden area, circular drive and balconies off the top floors completing the showcase property.
Sol Santenelli had obviously done well for himself. Sarah came from money and a lifestyle completely different from Adam’s.
Adam parked in the front drive, climbed out and opened her door for her, reaching down to grab her overnight bag. She tried to take it from him, but he snatched it.
“It’s late, Sarah, and I know you’re tired. Just go on inside.”
A butler met them at the door. Seconds later, Sol Santenelli, a thin wiry man with graying hair and pale freckled skin, burst into the foyer, his cane thumping on the gleaming marble floor as he hastily strode toward SarahWhat are you doing here this late, sweetheart?” The older man gestured toward Adam. “And who’s your friend?”
Sarah quickly signed an explanation. Judging from the horrified expression on her godfather’s face and the way he swept her into a bear hug, she’d apparently told him about the attack.
“I told you not to talk to anyone,” Santenelli said when he finally pulled away. “You’ve not only put yourself in danger, but now the CIRP will bear the brunt of this horrid publicity.” He turned to Adam, the fine aging lines around his mouth tightening into a frown. “You can run along now, Detective. I’ll take care of my goddaughter.”
Adam stared him down. “Sir, I’ll be back tomorrow to discuss the missing woman with Sarah.”
“She doesn’t know anything,” Santenelli said. “She was confused from that medication. Leave her alone.”
Adam had assumed Santenelli would be protective of Sarah, but he almost seemed hostile. Was Santenelli more concerned about Sarah’s safety or the bad publicity for the research center?
Chapter Six
Sarah had no idea why her godfather was being so rude to Adam, but she felt the tension between the two men, as if two pit bulls had bared their teeth, preparing to engage in battle. Then again, maybe she was imagining things. Inside, she felt like a tightly coiled spring about to break any second.
“Sol, you should be thanking Detective Black,” she signed. “He saved my life.”
Sol’s gray eyes darkened with emotions. He clasped her hand in his and bowed his head for a fraction of a second as if to collect himself.
“I appreciate what you did, Detective, and I hope you find the maniac who broke in. After all, my top priority is my goddaughter’s safety.”
“I can understand your concern, Mr. Santenelli, and you should check on her tonight.” Adam indicated the bruise on her forehead. “She took a nasty hit there.”
“Did you see a doctor, Sarah?”
“The paramedics said I’m fine,” Sarah signed.
Sol aimed a worried look her way, then spoke to Adam. “I’ve been worried since she woke up in the hospital. She’s had such a difficult time, Detective, I’d hoped the hearing implants would change her life for the better, not resurrect bad memories.”
“They weren’t memories,” Sarah signed, irritated the men were talking over her as if she weren’t present. “I heard a woman cry out for help. She may be Detective Black’s sister, and I have to help if I can.”
Sol’s shocked expression darted to Adam. “Is this true? Is the woman your sister?”
Adam gave a curt nod. “Denise worked at the research center. The last time she was seen was the day Sarah had her surgery. Did you know her, Mr. Santenelli? Her name is Denise
“I recognize the name, but I don’t know her personally.” Sol scratched a finger along his brow. “I’m sorry to hear you can’t find her. I hope she turns up, Detective Black. But I was in the hospital room with Sarah all night, and I didn’t hear anything, so she had to be dreaming or hallucinating.”
Sarah started to sign jerkily, but Sol curved an arm around her. “I’m just trying to take care of you, Sarah. You know I love you.”
Sarah wavered. How could she argue with that? Sol had practically raised her. Naturally, his first loyalty would be to her. “I’ll walk Detective Black to the door,” she signed, daring Sol to argue.
He clamped his thin lips together. “Fine. I’ll meet you in the study.”
Sarah waited until Sol left, then turned to Adam. The heat flared again, subtle but simmering beneath the surface.
“I’d like you to go with me tomorrow to question Denise’s husband.”
Sarah frowned and mouthed, “Why?”
“He and Denise parted bitterly. I thought you might recognize his voice as the kidnapper.”
So he believed her, Sarah thought, surprised. Especially after what Sol had said. She nodded her agreement, a sense of relief filling her. He raised his hand as if to touch her, then seemed to rein in whatever had prompted him to begin the gesture, turned and walked out the door. Sarah pressed her hand to her cheek, aching for his touch.
IT WAS PAST midnight, but Adam sat on the deserted shore waiting on Clay to show, listening to the water lap against the sand and watching wave after wave crash onto the rocks. Sarah’s face flashed into his mind. He wondered if Sarah missed the sound of the ocean. And other sounds he’d always taken for granted, like the sound of seagulls’ cries and the wind playing its melody off the water. What must her life have been like?
Cold and silent? Living in a world all her own, haunted by traumatic memories of her parents’ deaths? Knowing her father had actually killed her own mother?
Thankfully, she’d had her godfather. A rich and powerful man, influential in the scientific research world. A man who seemed to genuinely care for her. A man who’d taken her in when her father had been accused of treason, when he’d been labeled a murderer.
A man Adam had instantly disliked.
Maybe he disliked Santenelli because he had money, Adam reasoned. After all, he and Denise had been left with very little, except each other. He’d worried Denise wouldn’t be able to pursue her dream of becoming a doctor, and he’d struggled to help her. In the end, they’d both scraped and borrowed to pay her way through school.
His gaze scanned the small corner of the island, then darted to the opposite side where the bulk of the research center’s buildings were nestled, his emotions as tumultuous as the sea raging before a storm.
Where was his sister?
Was she alive? Being held on the island? Did her estranged husband have something to do with her disappearance? Or had there been a stalker? Had she probed into some confidential area at work that made others want to silence her?
Seashells crunched behind him, and his partner dropped down beside him. Stretching his long legs out, Clay’s boots pushed the sand into a pile at his toes.
“Did you find anything at Denise’s?” Adam asked.
“Some fingerprints, but we haven’t identified them yet. How about at Sarah’s?”
“None but hers and her godfather’s.”
Adam silently cursed. His least favorite part of police work—the waiting. “I’d like to look at her work files.” Hell, he’d wanted to stay and search them when he’d first found her place ransacked, but his captain refused to let him be a part of the case and ordered him to leave.
Like anyone could stop him from being in on the case.
Clay harrumphed. “Wouldn’t we all?”
Adam’s pulse hammered. “You mean they’re missing?”
“Didn’t find any at her apartment.”
He should have confiscated them the last time he was there, Adam realized. But at the time he hadn’t known
if Denise’s disappearance was work related. He doubted she kept confidential files at home anyway.
He had to get into her office.
The wind whistled behind his back, the salt air and scent of fish surrounding him. Tomorrow he’d find a way to get into the research center, right after he talked to Denise’s husband.
Would Sarah’s godfather help him gain access to her office, or would he stand in his way?
SARAH FACED SOL, her insides quaking at the drawn look on his face. “Sarah, are you all right?”
Tears clogged her throat, the evening almost too much. Her head had begun to pound on the way over, her muscles ached from struggling with her attacker, and her throat was so raw she could barely swallow. Still, she pasted on a brave face and signed, “Yes.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, sweetheart.”
She hugged him back, nuzzling his neck as she’d done when she was a child, grateful for his unabiding love all through the years. His breath heaved out unevenly.
“I—I love you, Sarah. Please let this thing go.”
She gently pulled away. “I’m tired, Sol. I’m going to take a hot bath and go to bed.”
He lifted a fingerful of hair and tucked it behind her ear, reminding her of the tender father he’d always been. He’d attended her plays at the school for the deaf, taken her to the zoo, and although he was allergic to cats, he’d understood when she’d brought home Tigger, all injured and timid. “All right. Call if you need me. I’ll have the maid send up some hot tea
“Thanks.” She squeezed his hands, then watched as he hurried away to find Hilda. Exhausted, she walked toward the door, but the photo arrangement on the wall drew her eye and she stopped momentarily to study the pictures. In memory of her parents, Sol had placed photographs of them in the center. He’d emphasized that no matter what her father had done with the research, he’d loved Sarah.
She wished she could believe that.
In one picture, her mother and father stood beneath the branches of an oak, holding her. In the next her parents were at their wedding. Sol, serving as the best man, stood beside her father. Her parents seemed so in love. Why hadn’t Sol ever married?