by Rita Herron
“I’m suing the little bastard! He’ll never work in this goddamn city again!”
Sarah’s hands released the death grip she held on her coffee cup to sign, “I’m sorry, Sol. I really am.”
He paced the length of her den, pausing to look at her mother’s photo. “I promised Charles I’d take care of you when you were christened. Part of that is keeping his name out of the paper. I hate the way the country crucified him back then. All that Cutter’s Crossing garbage.”
“So do I. And I certainly don’t want all that history dragged up again.”
“It looks as if this sleazeball intended to do just that. I’ve already got a call in to my lawyer.” He tunneled his hands through his thinning hair, pacing across the room. “Just think what this negative publicity might mean for the research center, Sarah. Arnold Hughes and I are just now getting CIRP off the ground. Catcall’s not even filled to capacity, and we still have a lot of space on Whistlestop to fill. I intend to make CIRP the research mecca of the world.”
Sarah signed, “I said I was sorry, Sol. Besides the article made me look crazy—it didn’t reflect badly on the center.”
Sol took her by the shoulders. “Promise me you won’t talk to any reporters or the police again. This mess has to die down, Sarah.”
Sarah tensed in his tight grip.
He frowned, then released her and gathered his jacket. “I have to meet Hughes. We’re having a press conference to deal with this situation before it snowballs out of control.”
Sarah bit her lip, thinking about Detective Black and his sister.
“Sarah? Promise me. You don’t want the center to get shut down, you?”
“No, of course not.” Sarah wrapped her arms around her middle. She owed her life to Sol. His whole life revolved around the center.
She’d never do anything to hurt him or CIRP.
FROM WHERE HE STOOD at the reception desk, Adam heard the two doctors in the back arguing. Miss Johnson’s nervous gaze flitted to the door. “Dr. Tucker said he’s not available right now.”
The voices came again. “This is a damn nightmare!”
“Don’t you think I know it? Sarah Cutter’s a nut-case!”
Adam arched a brow and said, “Is Dr. Bradford available?”
The receptionist shook her head and reached behind her to shut the door between her cubicle and the main hallway.
The voices cut through the wood. “What the hell was Sarah Cutter thinking? For God’s sake, we give her back her hearing and then she spreads some cock-amamy story like that to the papers to discredit our center?”
“I’ve called a press conference for some damage control.”
Adam flattened his hands on the desk. “Look, Miss Johnson, I’m not going away until I speak with one of the doctors who worked with my sister.”
“I’ve explained to you that’s just not possible.” She gestured toward a red button on the side of her desk. “Now if you don’t leave, Detective, I’ll have to call Security.”
“Listen here, miss, if you don’t let me talk to Dr. Bradford, I’ll haul your skinny little butt in for interfering with an official police investigation.” He intentionally leered at her perfectly manicured nails. “And I don’t think you’d like some of the women in lockup.”
Fear danced in her eyes but she closed her smart mouth, jumped up and ran to the back, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor. He tapped his boot while he waited, deciding to give the doctor three minutes before he jumped over the security line and tore into him.
Two minutes, twenty-five seconds later, Bradford appeared and ushered him into his office. While Bradford cleared stacks of research material from a chair for Adam to sit in, Adam studied the man. He was Caucasian, short, gray-haired and portly. He wore a lab coat and gray slacks and had narrow, gray eyes with dark circles marring his leathery skin. “Miss Johnson said you were insistent on seeing me.”
Adam took the chair while Bradford seated himself behind his desk. “Yes, I want to know where my sister is.”
“Your sister?”
“Dr. Denise Harley.”
Bradford swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Your sister’s on leave—”
“That’s bull.” He stood, moving quickly, and jerked Bradford by the collar. “Denise always lets me know where she’s going. She wouldn’t leave her place without having someone take care of things, and I saw the papers piled on her porch yesterday.”
“Maybe she needed time away from her bully brother.”
Adam tightened his fingers around the doctor’s collar, grinning when the man yelped. “I don’t think so.” His eyes shot to the tabloid paper lying on the desk, looking oddly out of sorts with the research papers and medical journals.
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Bradford chuckled without humor. “You’re questioning me because of some slimy tabloid reporter’s lies? You know those stories are fabrications, pure sensationalistic garbage.”
“Except this one may have a seed of truth.”
“You talked to that Cutter woman, didn’t you? You don’t actually believe her?”
Adam’s jaw snapped. “I’m checking out her story.”
“This is unreal! We help the poor woman restore her hearing and she invents some wild story to slander us!”
Adam watched a muscle jump in the man’s jaw. “She doesn’t seem the vindictive type.”
“She’s confused, Detective. She just had surgery. Did she tell you the possible problems with the implant?” He described the lack of clarity of sounds, the static breaks, the trouble her brain might have processing the information she heard. “In short, she could have misinterpreted something she’d heard and confused it with dreams. And frankly, I’m not sure she’s stable. Just look at her past.”
Adam gritted his teeth at the implication. “I want to see Denise’s office.”
Bradford shook his head. “I can’t let you in there. All research is confidential.”
“The hell with confidential! Don’t you get it? My sister’s missing!”
“That’s what you say. I believe she’s on vacation as she told me. Therefore, I have no reason to even consider authorizing your request.”
“Because you’re hiding something.”
“No.” Bradford pulled Adam’s hand away, then straightened his lab coat. “Because you’re chasing something that isn’t there, and I’m protecting valuable research.”
Adam realized they’d reached a standstill. He’d have to get a warrant and come back. But he wouldn’t give up until he found some answers. He carried enough guilt over Pamela’s death.
He had to do everything he could to find Denise. And to protect Sarah.
A FEW MINUTES LATER, Adam stared in shock at his sister’s apartment. The place had been ransacked.
Just yesterday it had been neat as a pin, but today magazines and clothes and papers littered the floor as if a tornado had swept through, overturning furniture and creating havoc.
What had the intruder been looking for?
He catalgued the details himself before dialing for a crime team, grimacing at the way the intruder had smeared ketchup and food all over the kitchen. Whoever had done it had wanted them to believe they were vandals.
But Denise’s desk had been torn apart, the computer discs were out of place—petty thieves and kids could care less about office files. Although the intruder pilfered her jewelry box, they hadn’t stolen the stereo and TV, so the motive hadn’t been robbery. Of course, someone could have driven by and scared off the culprit before he’d stolen everything he wanted. Or he might have used robbery as a cover-up for something else.
Denise’s estranged husband, Russell, a marine biologist at the center, had been bitter when she’d filed for divorce. Would he do such a thing for revenge? Did she have a boyfriend? No, Denise wouldn’t date before her divorce was final. Besides, she was a workaholic, and a social life was the last on her list of priorities.
Women w
ere such targets—anyone could have developed a fixation on her and kidnapped her for their own devious means. Sarah Cutter’s porcelain face flashed in his mind; she was so vulnerable.
But Denise was the one in trouble. And her co-workers weren’t talking. He had to force them into giving him some answers. A knot of anxiety tightened his chest as Sarah’s face flashed in his mind again. If she was the link to finding Denise, and whoever had Denise knew she’d been helping him, they might go after Sarah.
He’d wait until the crime team arrived and conducted a thorough investigation, then he’d check on Sarah.
A SCREECHING SOUND suddenly jarred Sarah from the first peaceful sleep she’d had in days. She rolled to her back and tried to discern the sound. Tigger sharpening his claws on a cabinet door? The toilet flushing in the apartment next to her? A car’s tires protesting on the road in front of her house? The woman, Denise Harley, waking from the drugs?
The screech echoed again. Faint but shrill. A click. Another sound…soft, padding, a squeak—the loose wood board in the apartment. Tigger must be running through the hall. She closed her eyes to focus again as a dull throbbing settled in her ear.
No, the sound was footsteps. The screech the window opening.
Or was her hearing delayed again?
No, the footsteps padded closer. Someone was in her apartment. The door creaked open.
Panicking, she rolled out of bed and reached for the phone. She had to call Detective Black.
But the shadow moved closer. She tried to run, but suddenly the intruder lunged at her, yanking her backward so hard her head hit the corner of the nightstand.
Chapter Five
Sarah tried to scream, but the sound died in her throat. The man fell on top of her, his hands clamped around her neck, squeezing, choking the life out of her. She struggled, clawing at his hands, bucking her body upward to throw him off, but his weight pinned her. He smelled like cigarettes and leather and cheap cologne. But darkness clouvision and shadows clung to his ski mask, so she couldn’t see his face. Only his black evil eyes leered back at her.
She had to make some noise. She tried to scream again, but her voice died, so she banged her feet on the carpet.
His fingers dug into her throat. Tight. Tighter. She couldn’t breathe. She kicked and clawed at his back, but his hands cut off her air. Finally, her arms flopped down beside her and her body went limp.
ADAM’S HEART POUNDED as he careened around the corner to Sarah’s town house. The tires squealed as he swerved to avoid a Mazda flying around the corner. The stoplight turned red, but he raced through it, took the corner at fifty, then soared into a parking spot on the street and jumped out. A stray cat screeched and darted across the side alley. He jogged past the two cars nearest Sarah’s town house, then crossed the lawn and flew up the steps, his pulse hammering when he noticed the darkened interior. He slammed his hand on the doorbell, heard the ring, saw lights flicker on and off. His breath collected in his lungs as he waited. Nothing. He hit the doorbell again and again, thumping his foot. Still nothing.
Tigger meowed at his feet, sending his nerves on alert. The cat never went out. So why was he out now?
His anxiety growing, he leaned his ear against the door. Silence met him.
Was Sarah at home? If so, why wasn’t Tigger inside with her?
A crashing sound broke through the silence. Distant, as if it had come from upstairs. A lamp breaking maybe.
His instincts told him to hurry.
He jimmied the lock and slammed his body against the door. One, two, three times. The door swung open.
Adam’s pulse raced as he pulled his gun from his holster and paused in the doorway. The faint scent of cigarette smoke drifted toward him. Scuffling sounds followed. Someone was upstairs.
Tigger darted inside. Adam clenched the automatic in his hands, then crept up the steps, wincing when the old wooden boards creaked.
A wailing sound trilled from above.
He ran up the remaining stairs toward the sound. The first room, a bedroom-turned-study, was empty. A dim light glowed from the back room, maybe a bathroom. He moved on silent feet to the next bedroom, hesitated at the door again, counted to three, then shoved open the door.
“Police, freeze.”
Poised with his gun in the firing position, he searched the dark room with his eyes. Shadows claimed the corners and bed and an open curtain fluttered with the breeze. Whoever had been there had just escaped.
He raced to the window, but a blur of dark clothing streaked around the alley. Then a high-pitched wailing sound cut through the air, coming from the other side of the bed.
Sarah.
He crossed the room, and circled to the other side of the bed. A lamp had crashed to the floor, broken glass dotting the gray carpet. Sarah lay curled into a ball on the floor amidst a tangle of sheets and a flimsy white nightgown, her hands stroking her throat as she gasp
SARAH ROCKED herself back and forth, her throat aching as she dragged oxygen into her lungs. As if she’d floated into unconsciousness, then was drifting back, she realized the man had released her. Where had he gone?
Suddenly he grabbed her again, pulling her upward. His strong hands clamped around her arms, and she flung her fists at him, pelting his chest, crying out wildly.
“Shh, it’s me, Sarah, Adam Black.” He gripped her chin and angled her head so she had to look at his face. “Stop fighting me, I’m here to help.”
Through the haze of panic, his words finally registered. His dark hair, the nearly black eyes, that small cleft in his chin. She stared at him helplessly, but dropped her hands, giving up the fight. Her body sagged against him as his strong arms embraced her.
“You’re all right now,” he said in a gruff voice. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
A deep trembling started inside her, invading every nerve in her body. She wanted to nod, to tell him she was fine, but she opened her mouth and a careening sound erupted that sounded foreign and ghastly to her own ears.
He cupped her face in his hands. “Shh, take a deep breath. Now another.” His voice sounded oddly gentle and soothing compared to the menacing look on his face that tears sprang to her eyes and seeped down her cheeks. She hated to cry. He brushed the tears away with the pad of his thumb, then gently traced the bruises on her neck.
His voice was low again, his thick eyebrows narrowed. “Did he hurt you anywhere else?”
Though the fog of panic had receded slightly, she still had trouble understanding him. His voice cracked, the sounds delayed slightly as she tried to decipher them.
His hands skated over her body, checking for injuries. “Sarah, tell me you’re all right.”
The fear in his voice finally registered, and she mouthed the words, “I’m okay.”
He traced the small knot where she’d hit her head on the night table. “You are hurt. We have to have the paramedics check you out. Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”
She shook her head no, pressing her hand to her mouth as another sob built inside.
“It’s okay,” Adam whispered roughly. “Go ahead and let it out.” His own chest heaving, he pulled her into his arms and held her, murmuring comforting words as he gently stroked her back. His fingers found their way to her hair, and he tenderly tucked it behind her ear, one hand combing down the tangled strands. Painful memories bombarded her, but she struggled to hold her cries inside. The fear she’d felt when the man had broken in surged through her again, the terror when she thought she was about to die. Flashes of the explosion when she was five followed. She hated being vulnerable, clinging to this man as if she were afraid to let go, but she couldn’t bear to pull away, not just yet. She felt too safe in his arms.
“I was scared to death when I heard the scuffling,” he murmured near her ear. “I just came from Denise’s. Her apartment was ransacked, and I was” he paused, stroking her cheek with his finger “—I was afraid whoever had done it would come after you.”
With trembling finger
s, she raised her hand along his jaw. She saw the fear in his eyes for his sister, the worry, but also concern for her. Heat radiated from his taut muscles, and his masculine scent filled her nostrils, igniting her senses.
His heart beat thunderously against the palm of her hand. For a second, emotions warred within his eyes as he searched her face. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth and heat flared in his eyes. With a low growl in his throat, he lowered his head, brushed his lips across hers and kissed her.
Sarah tasted like cinnamon tea and salty tears and sweetness. Adam couldn’t resist sweeping his tongue across her lips, then delving inside to taste her. She clung to him, her fine-boned hands gently holding on to the corded muscles of his arms, her soft whispery breath floating over his mouth. Heat spread through him, sending a surge of desire straight to his sex.
He willed himself to pull away.
Instead, one hand snaked through her hair while the other dragged her to him, pressing her delicate curves into the hard plains of his body. They fit perfectly, he realized, her supple breasts rising and falling rapidly as he deepened the kiss.
But Sarah had just been assaulted, he reasoned, his common sense finally overriding his baser instincts. And he was here as a cop, not as a boyfriend or lover.
What the hell was he doing?
Regret and disgust washed over him, and he slowly pulled away, well aware his body’s reaction had not been subtle. His breathing sounded raspy in the thick silence that hung between them, his desire to repeat the mistake so strong, he had to lower his hands to his side to keep from kissing her.
She looked dazed as she moved away from him, but not afraid, as he expected, and not terrified as she had been when he’d found her curled on the floor. At least he’d taken that horrible fear from her vibrant blue eyes for a few seconds.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, unable to express himself any better.
She shook her head as if to tell him he needn’t apologize.
Had she wanted the kiss, or had the situation simply called for comfort from whoever was available?
