by Mia Marlowe
A masculine hand closed over the pole above hers. He wasn’t touching her. By subway standards, she supposed he was being polite enough. But she felt his heat and sensed his body mere inches away.
This was insane. Didn’t the designers of these things realize normal people needed at least eighteen inches of space around themselves to feel comfortable?
The subway car barreled toward a station and then screamed to a halt. Sara was thrown forward by the train’s momentum and then back by its sudden stop. She lost her balance and fell into the man behind her. A teenager had just vacated a seat to make a hasty exit from the train and the man plopped into it, pulling Sara onto his lap to keep her from landing on the filthy floor.
“I’m so sorry,” Sara said, trying to untangle herself. Her cheeks burned. She couldn’t bear to look at him.
“That’s all right. Glad I could help.” The familiar masculine voice rumbled by her ear. “Sara Kelley, isn’t it?”
She stopped squirming and turned to look up into the face of Ryan Knight. He flashed a brilliant smile.
The train jerked forward, pulling out of the station. He tightened his grip around her waist to keep her from sliding off his lap and landing in a wad of something that looked like gray bubble gum.
Sara hoped it was gum.
“Thank you, Mr. Knight.”
“Ryan,” he corrected. “That wasn’t your stop, I hope.”
“No, I’m the next one.”
“Me, too.”
He still hadn’t released his hold on her, so she glanced down at his arm and then threw him a pointed look. He took the hint.
“Here, take the seat.”
Ryan eased her off his lap and held her elbow to steady her while she settled back into the spot he’d just left. He reached up to grasp the overhead rail as the subway car swayed around a turn.
“I haven’t seen you on this train before,” he said.
“I don’t usually take the T,” she explained. “Too crowded.”
He shot her a teasing grin. “Not to mention the riffraff you bump into, huh?”
Was he flirting with her?
Sara hadn’t gone out with anyone since her divorce. Even before then, it had been so long since she dated anyone besides Matthew. She couldn’t be sure if Ryan was merely being pleasant or if he was…interested.
But one thing was certain. The detached clinician was gone. Ryan Knight had shed his professional demeanor along with his jacket and tie.
“Me, I never drive in the city if I can help it,” he said. “That traffic’s a killer.”
Tell me about it. Only one vehicle length separated her from a professional hit man just yesterday.
“So do you drive at all?” she asked.
“Sure, when I want to get away,” he said. “I’ve got a 1965 T-bird convertible. It’s great for driving up to Maine.”
Yeah, and my other car is a Maserati. As if someone with classic wheels like a T-bird was going to waste his time on the subway.
The train pulled into her station and she and Ryan spilled out of the railcar with rest of the commuters.
‘Where do you live?’ he signed beside her. He’d known without being told that it would be easier for her to sign than try to speechread as they walked side by side.
And he signed well.
Sara could have hugged him.
Almost.
‘Only a few blocks from here. You?’
‘Right there.’ He indicated the luxury high rise on the far side of the skywalk from the train station. ‘There’s a coffee shop around the corner. They make a great latte. Let me get you one before I walk you home.’
‘So, you’re walking me home now?’ she signed, relaxing in his company enough to enjoy the easy banter.
‘No, I’m buying you a cup of coffee first.’
She laughed out loud. They stopped walking and she looked up at him.
“Are you always this insistent?”
“Only if the girl is this resistant.”
She caught her lower lip with her teeth for a moment. “I’m a Clear Speech client. Aren’t you bound by some sort of doctor/patient thing?”
“Yesterday I would have been, yes,” he admitted. “But I finished my quarter with Dr. Tanaki. In fact, you were the last of his clients I saw. I started at Mass General today, working with aphasia patients. So as far as I know, there aren’t any professional impediments to our sharing a cup of joe.”
His smile carved a deep dimple in his left cheek.
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ve already kept me from landing on my bottom on the train. You don’t owe me anything else.”
His smile faded. “This isn’t about owing anyone anything.”
“You’re a speech pathologist and I’m an available subject. But I don’t want to be part of some study you’re doing, Ryan.”
“What are you talking about? What study?”
“You know, it might make a good thesis at that—the single scene for the hearing-impaired,” she said with a wry grin. “Or better yet, a sit-com. Sex and the Single Deaf Girl. Sign any good pick-up lines lately?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could stuff them back in.
One of his brows arched. “I was just thinking coffee, but sex sounds good to me.”
His smile returned with a wicked tilt.
Heat spread over her cheeks. “Oh, I did not just say that. I’m so sorry. It’s—well, I’m used to living by my own thoughts. I’m not very good at conversation anymore and things tend to sort of…pop out.”
“If it’s things like that, I’ll bet you’re pretty popular,” he said.
“Not really.” She turned away from him and picked up her pace, trying to leave him behind.
He caught up with her easily. ‘Why are you so prickly?’ he signed, bewilderment knotting his brow. ‘All I did was offer you a cup of coffee.’
She stopped and faced him squarely, hands on her hips. “I’m nearly deaf, Ryan.”
“I know. But it doesn’t keep you from drinking coffee.” His blue-as-the-ocean eyes narrowed. “It must get really heavy to lug around.”
“What must?”
“That chip on your shoulder,” he said. “Everything isn’t about your hearing, you know. If I hadn’t bumped into you on the train, I planned on finding you some other way. I’d like to get to know you better, Sara. Why make everything so hard?”
She couldn’t decide whether to be offended or flattered. Ryan Knight refused to let her hide behind her impairment. He ripped down her defenses and battered her over the head with his off-handed charm.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re very single-minded?” she asked.
“Yep.” He switched to signing and started walking. ‘Come on, Sara. Just coffee for now, and I’ll take you for a ride in the T-bird on Saturday. We can decide about the sex later.’
His eyes glinted wickedly, but she decided he was teasing.
Probably.
“Wait a minute.” She stopped him with a hand to his arm. “You really have a convertible?”
“Scout’s honor,” he raised his hand in a three-fingered pledge.
“What makes me think you were never a Boy Scout?”
One corner of his mouth lifted in triumph. “If you want to see my badges, you have to come up to my condo sometime.”
Like that’s going to happen. Sara didn’t want this fluttery, anything-is-possible feeling in her chest, but she couldn’t seem to stop it.
“Sure is. It would give us a chance to revisit that whole sex issue.”
She choked out a laugh. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
“Always prepared.”
“Guess you were a Boy Scout, after all. All right, I give up.” She raised her hands in mock surrender. “Lead me to the caffeine, O mysterious coffee god.”
~
Neville Rede didn’t look up from his paper when the couple walked past him. In his periphera
l vision, he saw them waving their hands in the air, signing animatedly until they parted company at the steps of her building.
It was the right deaf girl.Considerate of the newspaper to include her picture.
The man with her was not the ex-husband, though. That much was sure.
Amazing what you can find out if you Google someone.
Sara Kelly had been married to a cop, Neville had learned. But the guy she was walking with now wasn’t packing. Most cops got so used to the weight of a piece on their hips they felt naked without one, even in their civvies.
Still, this guy moved with assurance. A tension in his muscles that belied the easy lope of his stride.
Martial arts, maybe?
Could be a deterrent. Neville would have to see.
So far, his employer hadn’t ordered him to hit the girl. The police hadn’t changed the accidental status on the Valenti case, but when the press got involved, who knew what could happen?
He looked up to the row of third floor windows. Second one from the end was the deaf girl’s bedroom. Another day or so of recon—a week at most—and he’d know how and where to do her. She was an unacceptable threat. Even without an order, he’d do her for free.
It was a matter of principle.
Chapter 4
Sara woke in darkness to someone tugging at her sleeve. It took her a few moments to realize the someone was Lulu, her hearing ear dog.
“What is it?” she asked as she checked the time. Her bedside alarm wasn’t scheduled to sound for another couple hours.
The fading light of a streetlamp shafted in Sara’s window. The little dog pranced in circles on the pillow, doing her ‘alert’ dance.
Sara checked her cell phone. No new texts. Lulu circled again.
“Give it a rest, Lu. It’s oh-dark:thirty.” The dog did little doughnuts across the bed. Sara checked the TTY. No message on her land line. Could someone really be at her door at this ungodly hour?
Sara dragged herself out of bed and shrugged on her robe. Then she inserted her hearing aids and shuffled to the door. Lulu strutted in her wake, joyous over rousing her mistress to action.
“If this is a false alarm, guess who gets to sleep in her crate for the rest of the night,” Sara said irritably.
Lulu circled again and gave a short yip.
“Hush! You’ll wake the neighbors.” If Sara could hear her, the grumpy fellow in apartment 312, who didn’t like dogs even when they were quiet, could as well.
Sara put her eye to the peephole. Standing in the dim hallway, his handsome features distorted by the tiny lens, was Ryan Knight.
She threw the deadbolt and opened the door a crack. “What are you doing here?”
“We have a date, remember?” He leaned against the doorjamb. “You, me, T-bird. First thing Saturday morning?”
“First thing on Saturday generally happens after ten,” Sara said as she let the door swing open. She waved him in, smothering a yawn with her other hand.
“If we wait till ten we miss sunrise,” Ryan said with disgusting cheerfulness.
“That’s why God created weekends.” Sara folded her arms across her chest. “To give sunrises a rest.”
“Someone needs caffeine. No sweat. I brought coffee.” He pulled a foil bag from a plastic one and shook it till the beans rattled. “Nicaraguan. Very rich. Make Sara a happy camper.”
“You’re a morning person, aren’t you?”
“Guilty as charged.” He held up both hands in mock surrender. “Best part of the day. Where’s your coffeepot?”
“The kitchen’s that way.” Sara knuckled her eyes. He disappeared into her tiny galley and switched on the light. She blinked in the glare like a disturbed mole. “I haven’t showered yet.”
“That’s ok,” Ryan said as he poured the beans into her grinder. Even while he worked, he was careful to keep his face turned to her when he spoke. “By the time you’re out of the shower, the coffee will be ready. I brought muffins. Do you like blueberry or chocolate chip?”
“Both,” she said sleepily. There had to be a catch somewhere. Devastatingly hot guys who made their own coffee and brought muffins just didn’t turn up on a girl’s doorstep every day of the week. “Why are you here this early? Really?”
“Because I couldn’t wait to see you.”
“Not buying it.” The metallic whirr of the grinder set her left hearing aid buzzing in sympathy.
“Because I thought maybe we’d settle that sex and the single deaf girl issue today.” He lifted one brow at her in question.
“Dream on.”
“Because I like to get a jump on traffic getting out of town,” he admitted with a self-deprecating shrug.
“Ok, that I believe,” Sara said. “I’ll be back in a few.”
She padded into her small bathroom and stripped. Even though she locked the door, it felt strange to be naked while a man who wasn’t Matthew was in her apartment. She cranked the water as hot as she could stand it and let the warmth stream down her body. After she shampooed and rinsed her hair, she ran the loofah over her limbs. Her legs were stubbly. Sara reached for her razor, but something made her hesitate.
Sex and the single deaf girl. He wouldn’t say it if he wasn’t thinking about it.
The heck of it was, she was thinking about it, too.
A lot.
Like every time she saw Ryan, which had been every day this week on the T. But just because she thought about tumbling into bed with him every other minute or so, it didn’t mean it was a good idea. She’d trusted Matt and he’d burned her. She didn’t want to do anything she’d regret later.
But how could she be sure she wouldn’t give in a moment of weakness?
The idea that came to her was so stupid she almost laughed out loud, but there it was. If she didn’t shave her legs, there was no way she’d let Ryan Knight into her bed. It was a tiny shield, a far cry from the moral compass she wished she possessed, but she’d never made love to her husband with stubble on her legs. She saw no reason to start with a ‘sort-of’ boyfriend.
Whatever works. Sara shrugged philosophically as she toweled off, admiring the little nubs still standing at attention on her calves. She’d just have to wear jeans instead of shorts today.
She wondered if this was something she’d need to confess.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I kept myself from carnal knowledge of a man by not shaving my legs instead of by prayer.”
A giggle slipped out. Somehow, she didn’t think Father Murphy would find it funny.
She corralled her breasts in a jogging bra and slipped into cotton granny panties.
No point in wearing Victoria’s Secret when you’ve got stubble on your legs, Sara reasoned.
She tugged on her Levis and a Red Sox tee. She thought about putting on make-up, but Ryan had already seen her without.
She eyed herself in the mirror. Her skin tone was even with just a few freckles. Her mother always said her deep-set, green eyes were her best feature. She wished her nose didn’t resemble a ski jump, but all in all, it wasn’t such a bad face.
This is the face I come with. If he doesn’t like my looks, he can look the other way.
The Nicaraguan beans sent a caffeinated summons to her senses. She wandered into the kitchen and caught Ryan sneaking bites of his muffin to Lulu.
“That’ll win you a friend for life,” she said.
He leaned down and scratched Lulu behind her ear, setting her back foot thumping in sympathy. “Dogs are great judges of character, you know.”
“When they aren’t on a sugar high.”
“Who is this grouchy person you put up with in the mornings?” he asked the dog. He poured Sara a steaming cup of coffee and handed it to her. “Let me know when the Sara I came for gets here.”
Feeling mildly chastised, she sipped the hot liquid. The aroma was soothing, but the coffee was a bit strong for her taste.
Grouchy, he says. The sky was barely pearl gray, not even a few
streaks of pink to warn of the coming dawn. Who wouldn’t be grouchy?
She pulled open her refrigerator door for a little creamer to add to the coffee and did a quick inventory. “I have some cold cuts and jack cheese. Rye bread and chips are in the pantry. Shall I pack a picnic lunch?”
“Ah, there she is, a ray of sunshine in the gloom.”
“Ok, now you’re being annoying.” Maybe it would have been safe to shave her legs this morning, after all.
“Sorry.” He held out a conciliatory muffin. “No need to pack a lunch. I know a great little seafood place right on the beach. Fantastic views. You like lobster?”
“Who doesn’t?”
Lobster for lunch by the sea. He’d redeemed himself for waking her too early on a Saturday. And with a little cream, the coffee really was extraordinary.
They polished off the muffins without another disagreement except over who should pitch for the Red Sox next season. Baseball was the unofficial religion of Boston, but Sara decided she could afford to give him a pass if they quibbled over a few of the sacraments.
“I’ve been reading about you in the paper,” he said.
“Don’t remind me. Reporters have been calling constantly wanting me to give them an ‘exclusive.’” She shook her head. “I just want to forget it ever happened.”
“So do you really think that guy Valenti was murdered?”
“As far as I know, the coroner still doesn’t think so, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. There’s no other explanation for what I saw.”
“What exactly did you see?”
Sara went through the whole spiel, her vague description of the man in the van, the snippets of conversation she speechread, and finally her rear-ender, just as she had with Matthew. “But I’m a lousy eye-witness. I didn’t get the plate number or the make and model of the van. I never even saw the guy’s whole face.”
“But the reporters still smell a story,” Ryan said.
“And a few will probably be camped on my doorstep again before long.”
“We better get going then. The dog coming too?”
“On weekends, Lulu goes where I go.” Sara pulled a couple of thermos cups from her cabinet and filled them with the last of the coffee.
