by Rita Herron
“Adam? So, now you and this detective are on a first-name basis?” Sol paced across the room. “What’s gotten into you, Sarah? I’ve supported you and loved you like you were my own daughter, and now you’re trying to ruin the center that I’ve worked years to create?”
“I’m not,” Sarah signed. “But I have to know the truth. I want to help Adam find his sister.”
“The truth is that your father was a traitor and a murderer.”
Sarah flinched.
“But I tried to cover up for him and spare you some of the painful details, so let it go.”
“What about Jerome Simms’s death? And Adam’s sister—”
“I don’t know anything about Black’s sister. I was in that room with you for God’s sake and I didn’t hear a thing!”
“But I did. And I can’t help but wonder if one of the scientists she worked with hurt her. Maybe they wanted to steal her research—”
“Do you hear yourself?” Sol bellowed. “Arnold and I handpicked the scientists and companies that have come to the center ourselves. We screen them so we won’t have a repeat of what your father did. We’re doing good things here, Sarah, research that will make the world a better place, yet you’re practically accusing us of the opposite.” He ran a hand down his face. “Are you so ungrateful for all I’ve done that you’d ruin it by all this ridiculous garbage about hearing a woman being abducted?” He hoisted the scrapbooks in his arms and tossed them into the fireplace. When he reached for a match, Sarah grabbed his hands and knocked the matches on the floor.
Anger flared in Sol’s eyes, and he drew his hand back and slapped her.
ADAM FORCED HIMSELF to go through the motions as he watched the crime team finish up, but a deep and numbing pain had overcome him. His limbs felt heavy, his chest tight, his stomach queasy.
He had to face the fact that Denise, his little baby sister, the one he’d taught to ride a bike, to kick a soccer ball, might be dead. And the perverted coward who’d probably killed her might have taken her whereabouts to his grave.
the crime scene guys bagged evidence, he and Clay had searched Gates’s desk and his computer for any information that might offer a lead. All of Gates’s work files were protected with a password, so he’d already called to see about getting a warrant issued to search them. Of course, he knew CIRP would fight him.
So far, the police found nothing except a few notes declaring how much Gates loved Denise, and some technical information on Alzheimer’s.
“Bag these notes,” Clay said, handing them to Trantino, one of the crime scene specialists.
“Any news on his family?” Adam asked.
“Father’s deceased.” Clay answered. “Mother’s been notified. She’s on her way.”
“Did you find anything on his background?”
Clay removed the small notepad from his pocket. “Gates grew up in Atlanta. Attended Emory University, majored in biology. Tried to get into med school but failed.”
“Any specific reason?”
“He had the grades, but one of his professors recommended counseling for him—she claimed he kept following her around. Called it creepy.”
“She file charges?”
“No, she said he seemed harmless, but he gave her the creeps.”
“What happened?”
“New semester began. She figured he moved on.”
And when he moved to Savannah, he’d latched on to Denise. Nausea rolled in Adam’s stomach. “Any information on hideaway spots the man might use, a beach house or cabin maybe?”
“No, but we’ll keep looking.”
“Detective Black?” Trantino waved him over. “We’re ready to take Gates’s body to the morgue.”
“Make sure the medical examiner does an autopsy. I want to know what he injected himself with.”
The ruddy-faced cop nodded, and gave the go-ahead to remove the body. Adam and Clay followed, led by a group of Seaside Securities officers. As soon as they reached the front double-glass doors, a commotion broke out on the steps outside. Somehow reporters had gotten wind of the murder and crowded the front door, cameras flashing. An elderly lady with red hair ran up the steps, waving her arms hysterically. “Where is my baby boy? Donny, where is he?”
Outside, another team of security guards pushed at the crowd of reporters while one grabbed the woman’s arms to hold her back. She sobbed as the paramedics carried the gurney through the throng of people.
Adam’s throat ached at the sight before him, his own grief so deep he sympathized with the man’s mother. Still, the dead man might have killed his sister.
“Donny! Oh, God, no, no, my baby, God no!”
The guard pulled her away while the paramedics slid Gates’s body into the back of the ambulance. Reporters crowded the door, fighting to speak to Bradford. One nearly accosted Adam, another dove for Gates’. She threw her hands over her face. “Who hurt my boy! Who killed him?”
Robey Burgess, the reporter who’d written the story about Sarah, shoved a microphone in Adam’s face. “Tell us what happened, Detective.”
Adam glared at Burgess. “We have no comment. Now, get out of the way or I’ll arrest you for obstructing justice.”
SARAH’S HAND flew up to cover her stinging jaw, a sob gurgling in her throat. She’d only seen Sol lose his temper a couple of times, but he had never raised a hand to her before.
“Sarah,” his voice broke, and he reached for her, regret and anguish in his eyes. “I’m sorry, honey, I— I don’t know what came over me.”
Sarah moved away from the wall where she’d landed and headed to the door. She had to leave, to get out of there.
Sol caught her arm. “Honey, please don’t go like this. We’ll sit down and talk, I’ve been under so much pressure lately, and—”
She jerked away, hurt and betrayal splintering through her. And for the first time, distrust. Sol had tried to protect her all her life, yet had he told her the truth about her father? Could he possibly still be alive?
“I have to go,” she signed, tears clogging her eyes.
“But, Sarah—”
“No,” she signed. “Maybe we can talk tomorrow or the next day, but right now I need to be alone.”
She turned and fled the room as quickly as she could. She had no car, she remembered, thinking of Adam. He would expect her to be here when he returned. The memory of Sol slapping her was too painful, though. She had to leave. She’d take one of Sol’s cars and bring it back later.
She found the keys to the Honda she’d driven when she lived with Sol on the brass hook in the kitchen where they always hung. She grabbed them and rushed to the car, fighting the emotions churning through her. She wanted to see Adam, to know if he’d found Denise. To have him hold her and tell her everything was all right.
No, she didn’t need Adam Black; she had to depend on herself. And she had to find out if there were more articles about her father being alive, if there was any chance…
Seconds later, she pulled out of the driveway and headed along the coast, hoping to clear her head. The evening spring shower turned into a heavy rain, the water pelting the windshield fogging the visibility. She turned on the wipers and defroster and slowed her speed, startled when the sound of thunder rent the air.
Old childhood memories assaulted her. She hated thunderstorms. The dark rolling clouds that hovered above. The loud booming sounds that tore through the sky. The jagged patches of lightning. The sound of her mother’s cries.
Rain slashed against the glass, the wind outside tossed a broken tree limb in the road, and she swerved to avoid it. An oncoming car blew its horn and Sarah jumped, then pulled the Honda back to the road, but bright lights glared at her from behind, almost blinding her. The Bay Bridge was coming up. She sed and tried to focus as she approached the bridge but suddenly a car slammed into her from behind. Sarah’s heart lurched. She hit the brakes, clenching the steering wheel to get control, but the car hydroplaned, spun around, then screeched to a stop,
nose-down, hanging over the edge of the embankment.
Chapter Twelve
Rain drizzled down, but Adam shook it off as he approached Donny Gates’s mother. Clay’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Let me talk to her, Black.”
Adam nodded, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he stepped behind Clay. Clay took an umbrella from one of the paramedics and shielded Mrs. Gates, who seemed oblivious to anything except her son’s lifeless body being carried into the ambulance.
“I’m sorry about your son’s death.” Clay placed a comforting hand on Mrs. Gates. “I hate to ask you this now, but from what we found inside Donny’s locker, it appears he was obsessed with the doctor he worked for, Denise Harley. We have reason to believe Donny might have taken her—”
“Taken her?” Mrs. Gates shrieked. “What are you implying?”
Clay cleared his throat. “Dr. Harley has been missing for days, ma’am, and the suicide note your son wrote implied that he might have harmed her.”
“No!” The woman swayed, and Clay steadied her.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but if he was holding her someplace, it’s important we find out where. She might still be alive.”
“My Donny wouldn’t hurt a fly!” Mrs. Gates’s eyes went wild with anger. “He’s the sweetest, most angelic boy there ever was. And he would never kill himself.”
“Did your son own a cabin or have a special place he liked to go to be alone? A boat, maybe?”
“Donny wouldn’t hurt that woman!”
“Look, Mrs. Gates,” Adam said softly, moving up beside Clay. “Denise Harley is my sister. I know you loved your son, but I love Denise, and I want to find her. If you know anything that can help us, please tell us now.”
The paramedic popped his head around the edge of the ambulance. “We’re ready to roll.”
Adam nodded, aware the thunderstorm was heating up, that every second that passed was precious.
“But I want to go with my Donny,” Mrs. Gates shouted.
“We’ll get someone to drive you,” Clay offered.
Sniffling, she accepted the handkerchief Clay offered and took his hand.
“Please, Mrs. Gates,” Adam said, not caring that emotions tinged his voice. “Was there a place?”
“No, I’m— Wait, he did have a boat at one time, but I thought he sold it.”
“Where did he keep it?”
She d at her tear-filled eyes again. “Down at the marina. I think he called it My Fair Lady.”
Adam palmed his car keys and jogged toward his car, his heart pounding.
THE CAR WAS going into the water. It teetered on the edge, rocking back and forth, the ocean crashing beneath her, the storm raging in its intensity.
Fear closed Sarah’s throat, sucking the air from her lungs, and pain knifed through her ankle. Someone had intentionally hit her—someone who wanted to kill her.
The front of the car was smashed in, her foot trapped, while rain slashed the rooftop, mingling with the sounds of thunder. Forcing air through her nose, she fought the panic. She had to think.
She slowly tried to pull her foot free, but the car rocked forward, and she clutched the steering wheel, trying desperately to lean back so the car would level off.
Dear God, she was going to die.
She glanced over the embankment and saw the waves crashing against jagged rocks. How far down was the water? How deep? Several hundred feet, she guessed. If the car crashed, would the impact kill her?
If not, maybe she could climb out the window.
Holding her breath, she pulled her leg again, but her foot was wedged between the brake and the accelerator. A sob of frustration caught in her throat.
Would she die so soon after having her hearing restored? When the world had just opened up to her? Before she experienced love or had a baby?
Before she found out what had happened to Adam’s sister? Before she experienced the thrill of lying in a man’s arms?
Of lying in Adam Black’s arms?
His handsome, anguished face rose in her mind.
She wanted to kiss him just one more time.
Clenching her fists for control, she formed a plan. The car screeched, tires spewing dirt and grass. The wheels slipped, and the sharp sound of the axle grinding splintered the air. She had to do something.
Silently she counted—one, two, three. She reached for the doorhandle, giving her leg a sharp yank at the same time. Her ankle pulled free, but the car pitched forward, and crashed into the rocks.
ADAM FOUGHT through the haze of the downpour, taking the roads way too fast for the weather conditions, his pulse hammering. The marina came into view and Adam cut off the images that flashed into his mind. He wouldn’t let himself believe Gates had put Denise’s body into the ocean.
Seconds later, Adam spun into the parking lot, water spraying off the car as he screeched to a halt. As soon as he found Denise, he’d call Sarah and see if she was okay.
No, he would take Denise to meet her. Tell his sister that Sarah had helped save her life.
He grabbed a flashlight from beneath the seat of the car, and took off running. A security guard jumped from his station. “Excuse me, sir—”
“SPD, here on official business.” Adam flashed his badge and ran past. He heard shouting behind him and recognized Clay’s voice as well. Shadows clung to the boats, lightning illuminating the sky and flashing off the ships. He squinted to read the names, searching each slip. The Honeymooner. Donovan’s Dames. The Lady Bird. My Fair Lady.
That was it. A thirty-foot cruiser.
He jumped aboard, searching the dim exterior for any signs of life. “Denise?”
Nothing.
His chest heaving, he pushed at the door, but it was locked. Damn. Not caring about protocol or if he had a search warrant, he took his booted foot and slammed it against the door. It didn’t budge. Furious, he kicked it again.
Suddenly Clay was behind him. “Move over, buddy. I got a duplicate key from maintenance.”
Damn, he was so panicked he hadn’t been thinking.
Then Clay opened the door, and Adam ducked to go inside. Darkness bathed the interior, the scent of cleaning chemicals strong. He inched toward the inside to flip on a light. But the power wasn’t connected, so he switched on his flashlight, fanning it across the room to scan the inside. “Denise?”
Nothing.
His pulse tripped into double time. He moved slowly into the cabin, scanning its width. A kitchen area, table, bath to the left. Empty. He crept toward the back while Clay took the side cabin.
The master stateroom held a queen-size bed, but the room was empty.
“There’s nobody here,” Clay said in a quiet voice as he moved up beside him. “And it doesn’t look like anyone has been here for a while.”
Adam choked back a reply. Clay was wrong. Someone had been there or else the scent of cleaning supplies wouldn’t have been so strong. Which could mean Gates had cleaned up after a crime.
What the hell had he done with Denise?
Chapter Thirteen
Adam and Clay spent the next half hour searching the boat for notes, papers, anything that might give them a clue.
“I don’t see any sign that he’d planned to bring her here,” Clay said. “Normally these guys stage an elaborate scene to have the place ready.”
Adam checked the closets, searching for women’s clothing. Clay was right. If Gates had planned to bring Denise here, he would probably have bought her clothes, a nightgown, toiletries, everything to aid in his sick seduction.
But telling himself the empty boat was a good sign didn’t alleviate the tightness in Adam’s chest. The sound of his cell phone broke into his thoughts. He answered it on the first ring. “Detective Black here.”
“Adam, this is Bernstein. We just got a call in that there was an accident over at the Bay Bridge. Car was registered to Sol Santenelli.” paused for a breath. “I know you’ve been investigating his goddaughter.”
&nb
sp; “Yeah? Was Santenelli hurt?”
“No. Santenelli wasn’t in the car. Sarah Cutter was driving.”
Adam’s heart stopped. “Is she all right?”
“Paramedics are with her now.”
“I’ll be right there.”
SARAH CLUTCHED the blanket around her, dizzy with the flashing lights of the ambulance and police cars swirling against the dark sky. Two police officers had arrived to help her, the paramedics on their heels. She shivered as she remembered the fear that had nearly paralyzed her those last few seconds before she’d jumped to safety, and the horrible sound of the car crashing into the rocks below.
She had barely escaped the same fate.
“You have a slight sprain to that ankle,” the paramedic said, “but it’s not broken. Take it easy for a few days, keep some ice on it so the swelling goes down. You should have it X-rayed, just in case.”
Sarah nodded, offering a small smile, as he wrapped her foot.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Sarah shook her head. The paramedic frowned, as if to ask why she wasn’t talking, but she gestured that she was deaf. He surprised her by signing, “Tell me if you’re hurt anywhere else.”
She signed her thanks. “I’m a little bruised from landing on the concrete when I jumped from the car.”
The constant throb was making her slightly nauseous, too, the chill from the rain seeping into her, sending shivers up and down her body. Although the rain had stopped, her wet hair lay plastered to her head, her clothes were torn, her knee scraped and bloody. But thank God she was alive.
“The police want to ask you some questions,” the paramedic signed.
Sarah nodded again, recognizing the female officer as the one she’d met when she’d first gone to the precinct to tell the police about Denise’s abduction. She seemed slightly more approachable now, even concerned, as she knelt beside Sarah. She must have seen the paramedic signing, because she introduced herself and asked him to stay.
“I’m Officer Bernstein. You’re all right, Ms. Cutter?”
