Sounds to Die By: Sensory Ops, Book 1

by Nikki Duncan

  Kieralyn swallowed the desire bubbling up and resisted the urge to shift in her seat. Her body pulsed and tightened in awareness. “And the watch and gun?”

  “The second hand on the watch sweeps rather than ticks. It’s almost soundless. The holster forces him to hold his arm a little differently, which in turn makes the lining of his jacket rub less evenly than, say, Taylor, who is unarmed.”

  “You can’t hear that over the music and conversation in here.”

  “On the crowded street, I could tell from the shift of your silk shirt that you’re wearing a lace bra.” He slid his hand up her leg and over her shirt. His thumb brushed just beneath her breast. His eyes locked on her face as if he could see her. “Tell me, am I right? Or wrong?”

  Moisture pooled in her panties. Her stomach clenched, and the muscles along her spine bunched. What was he doing to her? More important, how was he doing it? Men didn’t get to her. She’d had sex, sure. But no man had ever aroused her with a touch or the sound of seduction in his voice.

  Ian Cabrera was not like other men.

  “Am I right or wrong, Kieralyn?” His thumb eased up, closer to her breast. “Do you wear lace beneath your sensibly sexy FBI agent clothes?”

  “Keep your mind on the investigation, Ian.”

  “I can multi-task.” He nuzzled into her neck, his lips smiling against her skin. “You’re aroused.”

  “What?” She jerked, but he held her firm against him.

  “Pheromones.” He slid the tip of his tongue across the pulse point beneath her ear. “Lilacs. Your normal scent, sort of flowery, becomes intoxicating when it’s mixed with the musky aroma of your desire.”

  Son of a—

  “Here are your drinks.”

  Lisa’s appearance at the table snapped her back. Kieralyn found herself looking into the envious eyes of their waitress. Ian straightened in his chair as if he’d been doing nothing at all. As if he hadn’t been close to bringing her to orgasm with little more than his words and a couple of caresses.

  “Thank you, Lisa. I’m feeling a bit parched.” Humor and warmth lit his eyes as he smiled at Lisa.

  Unlike most blind people Kieralyn had encountered, Ian didn’t have a glazed-over look to his eyes. His gazes were as engaging as the next person’s. More so because he rarely blinked.

  Lisa blew out a soft breath, as if she was turned on simply by the idea of Ian. Hell, how could a woman not be? Especially if she’d heard any of what he’d been saying. “Have you had a chance to consider what you’d like to eat?”

  Ian grinned and slid his gaze toward Kieralyn. Oh, she was so not going there with him. She couldn’t. No way.

  Damn, but she could imagine how great it would be. Kieralyn lifted her wine glass. Maybe a drink would soothe her. Calm her River-dancing nerves a bit.

  “I’ll have the steak, medium well, and the house salad. I may need the protein later.”

  Kieralyn choked, struggling not to spew her wine across the table. Energetic Ian was an image she didn’t need, but too late it popped in her head. Only it was naked, energetic Ian, and he was worshiping her in bed. Or maybe she was worshiping him.

  “Breathe.” He rubbed a hand over her back in small circles. “I need you coherent for the night to come.”

  She cleared her throat and placed the glass carefully on the table. Lisa watched them with rapt appreciation. Kieralyn wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath the table and hide. She never should have agreed to this charade.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” Lisa sounded concerned, but Kieralyn wasn’t fooled. The woman was turned on.

  “I’ll be fine.” As soon as the ground swallows me whole. Kieralyn scanned the menu, more to take the moment to compose herself than to choose her dinner. “I’ll have the baked cod and steamed vegetables.”

  “An excellent choice.” Lisa took their menus and sauntered off. Her step a little lighter than it had been before.

  Had Lisa been the target of Ian’s seduction, she wouldn’t be walking at all. Even sitting, Kieralyn’s knees shook. “What else did I miss in my assessment of the club?”

  Ian chuckled, but didn’t dispute her change of topic. “Okay, the man at the bar hitting on the woman.”

  “The sleaze. What about him?” She glanced to where she’d seen the two in question. “He’s making nice headway from all appearances. She’s blushing.”

  Ian grinned. “As she should be. The man is smooth, but he’s also deeply in love.”

  “Then he shouldn’t be hitting on a woman in a bar.”

  “But she’s the one he’s in love with. She’s his wife. The mother of his newborn child. Why shouldn’t he hit on her?”

  “What? You can’t possibly know all of that.” Married women who’d given birth didn’t flirt and blush like girls just turned twenty-one out on the town for the first time.

  “We walked past them on the way in. She smells of breast milk. He smells of baby burps. There’s a familiarity in their voices, the way they speak to one another as if they know every secret of importance.” Ian began fingering Kieralyn’s hair again. “And he’s telling her all the ways he’s going to love her, worship her body, when he gets her home.”

  “You’re making every bit of that up.”

  He lifted her hand with his free one and pressed his lips to her palm. “Bet me.”

  Lightning streaked down her arm and spread through her body. Her panties grew damper and abraded her swollen clit. She closed her eyes and restrained herself from squirming in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure. “What?”

  “If I’m right, you owe me one indulgence. If you’re right, then I owe you.”

  “What kind of indulgence?”

  “To be determined by the winner.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “That’s a loaded bet.”

  “Indulgences can be physical.” He dropped his hand from her hair enough to rub her neck. “Sexual, or not.”

  “I know what kind you’re aiming for.” Using the hand he still held, she placed his hand in his lap. “I’m not playing.”

  “Some would call that proof that I can read a situation without sight better than you can with.”

  “And some people are idiots. There’s nothing wrong with my eyes or deduction abilities.”

  “Then take the bet.”

  “Fine.” She pushed away from him and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go prove you wrong.”

  “Wait.” He stopped her with a gentle hold on her wrist. “How am I supposed to know you’re telling the truth when you come back?”

  Her jaw dropped. He honestly thought she was going to lie to win a bet. That she was unworthy of trust. “You take me for a liar? You think that I have something to hide?”

  “I think you’re afraid of what I’ll ask for if I win.”

  She bent down close to his ear. “I’m not the one keeping secrets.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Then you’ll just have to listen.” She yanked her hand free, spun on the ball of her foot and nearly cried out when her panties shifted over her swollen sex. Stiffening her resolve, and her knees, she headed toward the bar.

  “Sexy jerk,” she muttered to herself. He’d been the one to hold back about what he’d gotten from the recording. He’d intended to investigate the clubs on his own, claiming he’d have let her know if he found something useful. This was her case, her career and her friend’s life on the line. Who the hell did he think he was to interfere? And how had he talked her into a second stupid bet?

  So what? She hadn’t told him everything. She’d never intended to tell him everything. She didn’t know him or owe him explanations. It wasn’t his business. But whatever he’d gotten from the recording was hers. She’d win this bet, and she’d indulge in listening to him tell the truth.

  The man Ian had identified as the owner sat a few stools down from the couple. She would also see if Ian was right about the man, because if the club was being used
to hide women, the owner not only knew, but was likely involved. Logically, that would mean he knew who Lana was and that she’d been working on a story.

  Pasting a friendly smile on her face, keeping her own agenda in mind, Kieralyn eased onto the stool by the couple. The woman smiled back.

  “Hi. My name’s Lana. This may sound strange, but I’m working on a story about the value of women and how they’re often still treated as subservients, slaves almost, by some men.” She slid her gaze to the owner and smiled. “I wonder if you could answer some questions for me.”

  Ian grabbed his beer and leaned back in his seat. He shifted into a position that relieved some of the pressure that even his loose slacks put on his hard-on. The conversations from nearby tables mingled with the ballad the band had switched to. He could focus and pick up the conversations from tables farther away and from the bar, but he tried more often than not to shift what he could hear to the background.

  His heightened hearing made him indispensible at work. Outside, it too closely resembled an invasion of privacy. If people thought their conversations could be heard by some random guy anywhere in the room, they would never relax.

  Instead, he drank his beer and pulled the music to the forefront of his mind. The pianist caressed the ivories while a saxophone player added some edge. A woman sang with a weeping softness about her lover coming home and turning her on. In his head, Kieralyn swayed her gently curved hips as she moved in time with the musical seduction. The way they’d moved beneath his hands as she’d led him to their table.

  If she proved him wrong, he would gladly grant her whatever indulgence she wanted. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be interested in sex play.

  His touch, taunts and innuendos turned her on. And tormented him. But his blindness—or rather his scars—were the first thing she saw when she looked at him. Though he’d grown used to people being that way, it bothered him that Kieralyn was no different.

  He wouldn’t change his sight if he could. He’d been without it long enough to not miss it. Somehow dwelling on how life might be if he got it back seemed to diminish how he’d lost it and all that he’d overcome and accomplished since. Sounds provided his livelihood, but they also enriched his life. They allowed him to notice little things that others missed. He would only be with someone who could see that. Kieralyn, though damned tempting and fine for a temporary affair, didn’t seem to.

  She’d been a conundrum since he’d approached her outside. One minute, seemingly open and accepting of his vision and hearing. In the next, she saw only his handicap and thought it necessary to lead him around.

  All the more reason to focus on why he’d come here. The owner walked behind him and turned a corner toward the kitchen and restrooms.

  Ian got up and headed the same direction. Sound waves moved like the wispy clouds he remembered seeing in the bright sky as a child. They floated and flowed around the tables, chairs, walls and people, making it easy for him to walk to the hallway near the back. The volume of the music became muted like it had been on the recording.

  He ran his hand along the wall to his right until he reached the first door where women’s laughter came through the panel. At the second, he hesitated long enough to feel for the sign. A bumpy outline of a man confirmed that it was the men’s room, but he hadn’t reached the end. He moved farther down the hall. With each step the music grew slightly quieter.

  Ten steps beyond the men’s room he encountered another door. Feeling the inset lettering of the sign on it, he discovered that it was the manager’s office—likely where the owner had gone to. The sound waves eased past him and hit a sort of dead spot just ahead before they bounced off a metal door, likely an exit, and came back up the hall.

  Shouts came from the kitchen opposite him. One of the double doors swung open and the heat of flames from the grill rushed across the air and brushed Ian’s skin. He instinctively jerked back before logic told him he was safe and allowed him to return his focus to what he’d come to do.

  See if El Dogo was around and if Kieralyn was on target about the women.

  What was the dead spot? After walking another five steps, sliding his fingers along the smooth wall, he encountered a small dip. Continuing on, he returned to the smooth wall for a few feet before hitting another dip.

  He tilted his head to make sure no one was coming and spent a few seconds investigating the dips, running his fingers up and down. It was as if there was a hidden door.

  He cleared his mind, funneled all of his senses into his hearing, but no sound came from the other side. He edged down the wall and past the door, tapping lightly to check for hollow points. Working his way back toward the restrooms, he registered the sounds of his tapping.

  Sounds he knew well from within his own lab. The sounds of soundproofing. But why would a jazz club need a secret, soundproofed room?

  Exiting the hallway, heading back to his table, he hesitated outside the manager’s office. The owner was talking with another man. “How do you know she didn’t send something off before we got to her?” The owner was the local man from Kieralyn’s recording.

  “I personally checked everything she had on her,” the other man said. “If that reporter had sent something off, someone would have shown up asking questions by now.”

  “You missed something.” The owner’s heart thumped in a steady six-beat with a jump on the last beat. “There is a woman at the bar pretending to be a reporter with the same name. It can’t be a coincidence that she claims her story is about women and slavery.”

  Ian’s heart lurched. Kieralyn’s passion and determination to be taken seriously was going to get her killed. How in the hell did she think that would help Lana?

  “She said people would be coming for her. For them.” The South American from the recording. His heart rabbited nervously.

  The owner slammed a door closed. “Neither woman would be here if you had covered your tracks better.”

  “Let me separate the reporter and work on her.”

  “El Dogo will take care of her.”

  Ian fisted a hand. Years of searching, of plaguing questions, and two men that knew of El Dogo stood a door away from him. Men who would be able to lead Ian to answers that would free his mother from her years of agony.

  He reached for the handle. He stopped himself. Barging in and beating answers out of the men was an appealing thought, but more was at stake. He needed to take his time and analyze the data before him. He needed to test the waters in the club and see if Kieralyn had more information.

  El Dogo had disappeared long ago. Or had he been in Miami all along? And what did he have to do with a jazz club owner and a nervous South American worried about a woman reporter who was working a kidnapping and slavery story? Something had enticed El Dogo to turn away from everything he’d said he stood for. But what?

  “When? How long are we going to wait?”

  “Until he orders you otherwise.” The owner’s voice hardened with impatience. “You aren’t paid enough to question directives.”

  The South American grumbled low in his throat. His teeth ground together in his attempt to hold his silence. A good soldier, following orders.

  “You have another assignment.”

  “What?”

  “Follow the woman pretending to be the reporter and the man she came in with. I want to know everything about her.” His intonation clearly brooked no argument and indicated that Kieralyn’s safety could be taken away at a moment’s notice.

  Ian creased his brows. Kieralyn had put on an act and tipped her hand enough to get interest pointed toward her.

  “The man?”

  “He resembles El Dogo, who has claimed to have no family.”

  Kieralyn had set a trap, but now if he didn’t handle things just right she would be caught in the middle with no way out. Being followed would alert these men that he was blind, therefore essentially eliminating him as a threat to anyone. Kieralyn wouldn’t be so lucky. Too easily she could become the
next kidnap victim. Or worse if they learned who she was. Taking the reporter was one thing. She would have kept her information silent until she had proof and could bust the story wide open.

  An FBI agent changed the rules. She would have discussed the case with her team. They would come after anyone who took her, hurt her. But she could be a greater risk if they kept her alive. Alive she would no doubt use her training to either attempt contacting her team or escaping.

  Whatever else she’d done to draw attention to them, Ian couldn’t let Kieralyn come to harm.

  He headed back to the table and arrived just as Lisa approached and set their plates down.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  “I think we’ll be fine. Thank you, Lisa.”

  “You’re welcome.” She tapped her acrylic manicured fingernail on the table. “You look familiar to me.”

  “Really?” He picked up his napkin and unrolled his silverware.

  “Yes. Have you been here before?”

  “A time or two shortly after it opened.”

  “Hmm.” She clicked her tongue. “Maybe that’s it.”

  Ian smiled and waited for Lisa to leave. His audiographic memory allowed him to recall sounds as clearly as someone with a photographic memory recalled images. But he didn’t remember his father’s face. He knew the shape of his own features. He just didn’t know how close the resemblance was. He had no concept of what he looked like.

  Kieralyn’s staccato heartbeat approached. She sat in her chair and unwrapped her silverware. “It pains me to admit it, but you are right.”

  “Do tell.” He smiled and cut into his steak. She was going to owe him.

  “They’ve been married seven years. The last five they’ve been trying to get pregnant and almost lost themselves in the process.”

  “So now they have their miracle and are trying to rediscover themselves?”

  “Yes.” She speared some food with her fork, the metal tines scraped lightly across her teeth. A sigh slipped past her lips and brushed across his cheek. “I’ll admit that you have some amazing abilities. I’d love to know how you came by them.”