“I’ll stay the night,” he said in a gruff voice.

Sarah’s lips parted to mouth the word “What?”

“I said I’ll stay the night.”

She shook her head, her mind racing. She grabbed her Palm Pilot and wrote, “No.”

“Look, Sarah, you may think this was a random burglar, but I don’t. Think about it. That story came out about you overhearing a kidnapping, and someone breaks in to your apartment and attacks you all in the same day. Too coincidental for me.”

Fear seeped back inside her, chilling her to the bone. “But you don’t need to stay—”

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Sarah.” He cleared his throat. “I know I was out of line earlier, and I told you it won’t happen again. But I will keep you safe.”

Sarah’s heart fluttered. He’d keep her safe from danger, but who would protect her from him?

Silent Surrender
Rita Herron

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rita Herron is a teacher, workshop leader and storyteller who loves reading, writing and sharing stories with people of all ages. She has published two nonfiction books for adults on working and playing with children, and has won the Golden Heart award for a young adult story. Rita believes that books taught her to dream, and she loves nothing better than sharing that magic with others. She lives with her dream husband and three children, two cats and a dog in Norcross, Georgia. Rita loves to hear from readers. You can contact her at www.ritaherron.com or P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Sarah Cutter—A deaf woman who has lived in silence for twenty years regains her hearing only to hear the terrifying sounds of a woman’s desperate cry as she is being kidnapped. When she tells the police her bizarre story, she suddenly finds herself running for her life and facing the biggest fear of all—losing her heart to her protector, Adam Black.

Adam Black—A jaded cop who must accept Sarah Cutter’s bizarre story and protect her life in order to find his missing sister, but can he protect himself from falling in love with the tempting but vulnerable woman?

Denise Black Harley—Adam’s missing sister is a doctor on the verge of a brilliant discovery that could help mankind—or get her killed.

Russell Harley—Denise’s estranged husband has hard feelings about the separation, but is he bitter enough to seek revenge?

Sol Santenelli—Sarah’s godfather—he saved her life once and loves her more than anything—or does he?

Charles Cutter—Sarah’s father—a research scientist who murdered his own wife and almost killed his daughter twenty years ago so he could sell his secret discovery to a foreign government—but is everything as it seems?

Robey Burgess—A nosy reporter who is onto the story of a lifetime—will he break the story in time to earn his fame or die trying?

Arnold Hughes—This former military man and the CEO and cofounder of the research park was a close friend of Sarah’s father—or was he?

To Denise O’Sullivan,

for asking for something different…hope you enjoy.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Epilogue

Prologue

July, 1981

A loud explosion rumbled through the house. Five-year-old Sarah Cutter clutched her tattered blanket to her chest and tried not to cry. She hated thunderstorms. Especially lightning.

Suddenly the walls erupted into flames and she screamed.

“There’s a bomb!” her mother yelled. “Run, Sarah, get out!”

Sarah bolted off the sofa, dashing toward the kitchen and her mother, but another loud explosion rocked the floor beneath her, and she stumbled and fell. Glass and wood shattered around her. Jagged shards stabbed her face and arms, and flames shot into the doorway in front of her.

“Mommy, help!”

Smoke stung her eyes, so thick it billowed around her, clogging her vision. Then her mother’s blurred figure staggered into the doorway, flames eating at her clothes. Sarah stretched out her arms. But instead of grabbing her, her mother shoved her backward. “Run, honey, get out! Now!”

Another boom tore through the house, and the roof collapsed on top of her mother, sending blood trailing down her forehead. Tears streamed down Sarah’s cheeks. She had to save her mother. She crawled forward, but heat scalded her knees, and glass slivers jabbed her palms. The fire was gobbling the wood floor, hissing like a monster!

More wood splintered and rained down, pelting Sarah’s body. She covered her head with her hands and searched for her father. She saw him through the window. He was outside. He would save them!

But another board smacked her temple and pain exploded in her head. Then silence came, as swift and jarring as the darkness that sucked her into its big dark hole.

A sudden deafening silence.

Chapter One

Twenty years later

Today Sarah’s sentence of silence would finally end.

She struggled to pull herself from the deep sleep of the anesthesia. If she could open her eyes and focus, she would be able to hear again. Hear the beautiful sounds of music. Voices. Laughter.

Her fingers and toes tingled and her arms felt heavy, but slowly she moved one hand. In even slower degrees, she opened her heavy eyelids and finally brought her surroundings into focus. The doctor’s warnings rose in her mind: Don’t expect miracles. You had a lot of scar tissue to remove, and will have some swelling that will take time to go down. You may experience some pain and discomfort, some warbled sounds. And it’ll take time for your brain to retrain itself to interpret sounds. Be patient.

She’d been patient for twenty years, waiting on the right doctor, on advances in technology to produce a sophisticated hearing implant that could restore her hearing. Finally good news had come.

Her godfather, Sol Santenelli sat hunched over, asleep in the chair in the corner, his scruffy gray beard and hair sticking out as if he’d run his hands through it a thousand times. Dear sweet Sol. What would she have done without him?

He’d taken care of her after her parents had died in the explosion, and then when she’d struggled with her deafness. And when she’d been unable to speak after the fire, he’d called in a specialist. Once her vocal cords had healed from the smoke damage, the doctors hadn’t found any physical reason for her lack of speech; they’d blamed it on trauma. And when she was old enough to understand, that her father had actually set off the explosion and killed her mother, Sol had held her while she’d cried.

She wanted him to wake and talk to her, wanted to hear his voice again.

A sound suddenly burst through her consciousness, and Sarah’s fingers tightened around the hospital bed. The special hearing implant was actually working— she would hear again.

She strained for another sound. A voice maybe. Someone walking? A door closing?

But suddenly a piercing pain shot through her temple. She pressed her hand over her ears, tears filling her eyes. The pain was excruciating, triggering nausea in her stomach. Seconds later, a muffled cry broke through the pain—the sound of another scream. Just like the sound her mother had made before she died.

Her heart squeezing, Sarah searched the room for the woman, but it was empty, except for Sol. Where had the scream come from? The hallway maybe? Another room? Dr. Tucker had suggested her hearing might be more acute than a normal person’s because of the high-tech implant, but she hadn’t believed him, hadn’t been able to imagine hearing sounds—

The voice broke through again, “Where are you taking me?”

“Just shut up, Dr. H—” Static cut in, making the words garbled, “—ardy a…nd do as w…e say.”

“No!” The woman cried out again as if she were struggling to escape.

“I said sh…ut up or y…ou die.” A harsh smacking sound, then a dull thud followed.

The man had hit the woman, Sarah realized, a chill rippling up her spine. She must have fallen to the floor. Was the woman dead? Being kidnapped?

Confusion clouded Sarah’s brain. She was in the hospital, so where was the woman? In the hall? The room next door? Was she a nurse? A patient? Another doctor?

She gripped the bed rail again and struggled to get up. She had to get help. Had to tell someone. But her limbs were too heavy to lift. She tried to speak, but her voice squeaked, so she pounded on the bed rail, shaking it to wake her godfather.

Seconds later, he stood by her side, smiling, tucking her hair behind her ears with his bony fingers, his gray eyes full of concern and love. She raised her hand enough to sign, describing the incident.

“Honey, you had to be dreaming. You’ve been under anesthesia. The drugs can do funny things to your mind.”

His voice sounded like heaven, thick and deep and slightly hoarse with emotions just as she’d imagined. He squeezed her hand, and she smiled at the unfamiliar stubble on his jaw, wishing she could verbalize how much the sound of his voice meant.

“You can hear me, can’t you love?”

Sarah nodded, her throat clogging at the moisture she saw glistening in his eyes. Maybe he was right. Maybe she’d imagined the woman’s scream. She’d probably been dreaming about the explosion that had killed her parents and had heard the haunting memory of her mother’s cry.

But the sound of the woman’s scream echoed in her mind as she drifted back to sleep. And she couldn’t help but wonder if there really had been a woman in danger somewhere in the building. If so, who was she and what had happened to her?

Three days later

“I THINK MY sister is missing.” Detective Adam Black, Savannah Police Department, paced a wide circle around his desk, glaring at the mounds of paperwork he had yet to do. But he couldn’t think about mundane tasks right now. He had to find Denise.

His partner, Clayton Fox, stared up at him with a frown. “Look, Black, don’t go jumping to conclusions.”

Shoving aside a half-empty cup of coffee, Adam grabbed the phone and punched in her number. He let the phone ring a dozen times, then slammed it down in frustration. “Where the hell is she? I’ve been calling her for three days and she hasn’t answered or returned my calls.”

“Did you try to reach her at work?”

“Of course. The secretary at the research center said she went on vacation, but Denise never goes anywhere without telling me. Something’s wrong.” He gripped the desk edge with white-knuckled fists. “She’s in trouble somewhere, Clay, I can feel it.”

Clayton’s black eyebrows rose. “Have you checked with her friends? Her husband?”

Adam nodded. “Denise and Russell are separated. He claims he hasn’t talked to her in weeks. And she’s not close with anybody else that I know of. Since the separation she’s been spending all her time at the research center.”

“Do you know what she’s working on?”

“No. Most of those damn projects are so top secret I wonder if the scientists even know what they’re involved in.”

“Maybe she’s absorbed in her research, staying late—”

“Sleeping at the office?”

Clayton shrugged but Adam shook his head. “She’d still check in.”

A moment of real concern darkened his partner’s eyes. “Have you checked the hospitals then…”

He let the sentence trail off and Adam understood the implication. The hospitals, the morgue… “Yeah. But I’m checking again.”

“I’ll get busy with that paperwork for the captain.”

Adam nodded his thanks, his chest tightening as he scanned the police reports for victims, deaths or hospital injuries that might point to her whereabouts. He breathed a sigh of relief when he hung up from the morgue. Thank God, he hadn’t found her name or anyone fitting her description.

Phones pealed around him, computers hummed away and loud voices sounded from the captain’s office. He’d drive over to Denise’s and see if she was home. Maybe she had the flu and wasn’t answering her phone.

But the door swung open and in walked a frail-looking woman, triggering a hum of silence across the room. All the male cops immediately sized her up, Adam included. She was a hell of a looker, about five-four, slender frame but generous chested, delicate heart-shaped face with pale porcelain skin that looked like it belonged on a doll and hair so black it resembled charcoal. Her eyes were almond shaped, the color a vivid, startling blue that reminded him of the sky after a heavy thunderstorm. And her lips were full and pink like ripe raspberries.

He fisted his hands by his side, shaken at his response.

She scanned the room, her gaze meeting his, and heat curled low in his belly. The pull was there, hot and sudden, a feeling that hadn’t happened to him in a long time. As if she felt the charge between them and was afraid of it, she jerked her gaze away, and headed toward one of the female officers. Probably thought Bernstein less intimidating because she was a woman. But she was wrong. Bernstein had a soft spot for no one.

Clayton loped toward the woman. Adam dug in his pocket for his keys, then mumbled a curse when Clayton motioned for him to join them in one of the interrogation rooms.

Several minutes later, after Clay had introduced the two of them, Adam stared in surprise as the woman scribbled a message on a Palm Pilot. Her name was Sarah, soft and sexy just like her. But her last name was Cutter, a bit sharp, although it mirrored the wariness in her eyes.

She claimed she’d been in the hospital three days before and had overheard a woman scream for help.

“What woman?” Clayton asked.

“And why the Palm Pilot?” Adam indicated the small computer.

She bit down on her lip, drawing his attention to the delicate curve of her chin and the vulnerable shadows that haunted her face. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her, but judging from the dark smudges beneath her eyes, she’d been through hell and back. He wondered if she was sick, then wanted to kick himself for being concerned. He knew better than to get involved.

He had his own damn problems.

“I don’t speak well,” she wrote. “I lost my hearing when I was five.”

“But you can hear now?” he asked. She’d frowned when he’d spoken, her eyes creasing together as if she’d had to concentrate to understand him. And she kept staring at his mouth while he talked as if she might be reading his lips. Or maybe she was just too afraid to look into his eyes again.

In any case, he found himself fixated on her mouth, on those kissable lips, and he didn’t like it.

“Yes, I recently had surgery and received hearing implants.”

Ahh. He arched a brow and waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, Clayton spoke up, “Okay, tell us exactly what you heard.”

She scribbled, “I don’t know who the woman was. I heard her cry out, then decided I must have imagined it. But I’ve heard her voice again, twice this week.”

“Did you tell someone in the hospital about the woman?” Clayton asked.

“Yes.” Her mouth formed the word silently. “My godfather. He suggested I’d been dreaming because of the medication. But the more I think about it, the more I know I was awake. The people must have been down the hall or in the next room or outside the window.”

Clayton rocked the wooden chair back on two legs. “You’re saying you heard a woman being kidnapped but nobody else in the building heard it except you? What are you, a psychic or something?”

Adam bit back a chuckle at the disbelief in his partner’s voice.

She shook her head, a spark of anger lighting her eyes while she fidgeted with a silver locket around her neck. Finally she turned to Adam and met his gaze again, as if she wanted to see if the connection was still there, if he’d believe her. It was, the sliver of awareness tingling along his nerve endings, but he steeled himself against any emotion.

She finally tore her gaze from his and wrote, “Yes, but my godfather Sol convinced me the anesthesia had affected me. After I went home, though, I heard the voices again. One night, it was late, the man and woman were arguing….” She shuddered as if the memories were too painful to revisit. Adam had the insane urge to fold her in his arms and comfort her like he used to do his sister when she was little and woke from a nightmare.

“Wait a minute.” Clayton held up a hand to stop her. “First you heard the voices at the hospital, then at home? How close do you live to the hospital?”

A shadow passed over her eyes. “About ten miles.”

Adam thumbed his hair from his face, impatience flaring at himself for being attracted to her. This woman was some kind of psycho, wasting their time. Clayton shot him a sideways grin as if he had read his mind and agreed.

“Were you sleeping when you heard them?” Clayton asked in a soft tone.

“Yes, but I woke up with this strange piercing sound in my ear. Then I heard the man and woman arguing. The man was forcing her to go somewhere with him.”

“And these were the same people you heard at the hospital?” Clayton asked.

She nodded.

“Did you recognize the voices?”

She glared at Clayton. “I told you I just got my hearing back, so, no, I hadn’t heard the voices before.”

Adam almost smiled at her small show of spunk. “Listen, ma’am, it’s a stretch to think you heard something strange go down at the hospital,” Clayton said, “but to hear those same voices again miles away from the hospital at your house, that’s impossible. Have you ever heard voices in your head before?”

The woman sounded schizophrenic, Adam decided.

She shook her head no again, and those vibrant blue eyes swung Adam’s way to see his reaction. Bizarre as it sounded, he found himself trying to make some sense of her story. Could her hearing implant somehow work like a radio transmitter?

She hesitated as if she had a moment of sanity and realized how crazy she sounded, then gave him a pleading look. “I received an experimental type of hearing implant at the research center. The doctor said my hearing might be warbled at times, more acute at others, and in the beginning it might sometimes be delayed.”

“Delayed hearing? A special hearing implant that allows you to hear through walls?” She was a candidate for the nuthouse. Adam pointed to himself, then Clayton. “Could you hear everyone else on the street talking? How about us—did you hear us talking from your house, too? Is that why you came here?” He stood, annoyed at himself for being suckered in and wanting to believe her when he should be looking for Denise.

“Are you saying you have some kind of bionic ear?” Clayton asked.

She stood this time and closed her eyes briefly as if to regain control. When she opened her eyes, her expression bordered on panic. She knew her story sounded crazy yet she’d come anyway. Why?

And she was looking at Adam, all sad-eyed and sincere and fiercely determined to make him believe her. She had so much depth there—it was almost as if she could see inside him, smell the cold distance he put between himself and everyone else in the world. The distance he had to keep in order to survive.

Shaken, he looked away and stared at the window, purposely raised his chin so he wouldn’t have to look into those soulful eyes. So he wouldn’t have to see the slight tremble in her hands, the quiver of that bottom lip. So his body wouldn’t stir at the soft vulnerability in her feminine form.

So he wouldn’t reach out and touch her.

This was the wrong damn woman to even think about jumping in bed with. She needed psychotherapy instead of a detective. He turned and opened his mouth to tell her that but his partner cut him off.

“How did you lose your hearing, Ms. Cutter?” Clayton propped one leg on the battered table between them and leaned forward, his tone sympathetic.

A moment of anguish glittered in her eyes. Adam watched her fold her delicate hands, noticed the way she’d chewed her nails down to stubs, saw the faint scars along her palms and saw another one at the edge of her hairline, and all his protective instincts kicked in. What exactly had happened to her? Had she been in an accident? The scars looked faded and old, but she immediately dragged a strand of that ebony hair over the spot as if to hide it. Had she been victimized recently or early in her life?

“That isn’t important,” she replied. “What’s important is that I heard a woman in trouble and you need to find her.”

Clayton lowered his voice to a placating tone, “Look, I can understand your concern, but you have to give us more to go on than this. If a woman was in danger at the hospital, don’t you think someone on staff would have heard, too?”

She shrugged as if she had no answers, only questions.

Stupid questions and a crazy story that no one would believe.

Denise’s face flashed through Adam’s mind, and he glanced at the clock, worry knotting his stomach. He had time for no one but Denise and his job. “Why don’t you wait outside and we’ll discuss this?”

She snatched her Palm Pilot and stalked from the office, her head held high.

Adam shook his head in pity as he watched her go, dismissing the sexual draw that made him itch to go after her.

Still, he couldn’t help himself—when she closed the door, he found himself wondering what her voice would sound like.

SARAH FOUGHT for a steadying breath as she leaned against the closed door. Several police officers and one seedy prisoner in a vulgar T-shirt handcuffed to a chair stared at her.

The detectives obviously hadn’t believed her.

In fact, she could hear them laughing through the door.

She supposed she couldn’t blame them—her story did sound bizarre. But it had happened. And those men, even her godfather, couldn’t convince her otherwise. Sol. She’d thought he of all people would have supported her. But he’d reiterated the doctor’s warnings about her brain having trouble interpreting sounds at first, the delayed translation between the sound and her interpretation, then his theory about the effects of anesthesia. He’d even suggested the surgery had resurrected repressed memories of the explosion that had caused her hearing loss and suggested she talk to a psychiatrist.

Another shudder passed through her as she heard Detective Black’s gruff voice. She’d never met a more masculine man, one who radiated such stark power. He’d watched her with an intensity that had burned straight to her core.

She’d never felt that kind of heat from a man before.

It was the very reason his laughter had hurt so much. She’d been ridiculed as a child. Without her hearing, she’d learned to read nonverbal facial and body gestures, little nuances that others never even noticed. The very reason she’d felt such a strong attraction toward him. The reason she’d avoided his gaze. The sultry heat charging the air between them had been too electric.

Why had he been irritated at her, though? Because he saw her as weak? Didn’t he realize she was trying to help save this poor woman?

“That broad must have come from the psych ward,” she heard the detective named Fox say through the door. “She was beautiful, but crazy.”

A curse word erupted from Detective Black’s mouth, burning her ears through the walls. She could almost see those wide cheekbones tighten, his naturally dark skin glisten with sweat as his anger mounted. “A sexy one, but you’re right, she needs medication. And what about that closed mouth? If she’d been able to hear until she was five, surely she had developed some speech.”

“Yeah, more than a little weird.”

She fought not to let the humiliation overwhelm her, but childhood memories of being taunted surfaced, clawing at her self-control again. Sol had been disappointed she hadn’t instantly regained her speech when her hearing returned. Another reason he wanted her in therapy.

She moved toward the front of the station house, ignoring the curious looks. A tall, lanky man wearing khakis and wire-rimmed glasses bent to drink from the water fountain. He looked faintly familiar, as if she’d seen him when she was in the hospital. No, it couldn’t have been. Yet, he watched her as she crossed the room and she did remember him. He was the reporter who’d confronted her outside the hospital wanting an interview about her hearing implant. He’d known about the explosion that had caused her hearing loss, and all about her father. So many ghosts to deal with…

Had he followed her here?

She squared her shoulders and ignored him, then strode toward the female officer’s desk. Sarah swallowed, angling herself so the reporter couldn’t see her.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

Sarah nodded, took a pen and paper from the officer’s desk, then scribbled a few lines. She hesitated, continued writing, then handed the note to the other woman.

The officer frowned at her message just as the two detectives emerged from the back. Sarah walked out the door, struggling not to reveal her emotions as their laughter boomed behind her down the hall.

Seconds later, she entered the darkened parking deck, shivering at the early-afternoon shadows hovering around the concrete structure. As usual, she hesitated, gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness and scanned the interior for strangers, wielding her keys between her fingers in case someone tried to grab her. She wasn’t paranoid, but any female alone in the city had to play it safe, especially a deaf one. Her other senses had to make up for her lack of being able to hear someone approach.

The acrid smell of garbage seeped into her nostrils and the clattering of something—an aluminum can maybe—sent goose bumps up her arms. Another rattling sound broke the strained silence. Keys? Footsteps? Traffic noises, a hushed voice, a scrape. The different sounds bombarded her, disorienting her as to their proximity. She searched the darkness, found her car and headed straight toward it, almost running. Down two aisles, over beside the far wall. Only two more rows to go.

Her breath caught in her throat when she spotted a dark van parked beside her Jetta. She’d heard a news report say vans were the primary vehicle used for abductions.

She heard a clickety-clack sound and froze, then resumed walking and realized the sound had come from her own heels. Deciding she’d let the past few days rattle her, she slowed her steps. But a shadow caught her eye. Something had moved. A cat maybe? Somebody lurking behind one of the boulders?

She glanced to her left, quickly cutting a path around the van, her gaze scanning the area around it in case someone was hiding there. Laughter echoed off the concrete walls behind her and she tensed. The sound reminded her of the detective’s harsh laughter. His mocking words ran through her mind, distracting her momentarily, and she stumbled over the drain and dropped her keys. Cursing, she knelt to grab them when a shuffling noise reverberated behind her. Then a pair of black shoes suddenly appeared, and a man’s hand reached out for her.

Chapter Two

A tall lanky man rushed out the door behind Sarah Cutter. The skinny guy had been eyeballing her from the corner, but Adam hadn’t thought much of it at the time. After all, oddballs drifted in and out of the precinct at all hours, reporting crimes, claiming to be victims, sometimes admitting to crimes they hadn’t committed just to get attention. Was the man following Sarah Cutter?

Bernstein handed Clay a note. Clay studied it while Adam retrieved his gun to go to Denise’s. Just as he made it to the door, his partner caught him.

“Hey, Black, what’s your sister’s married name?”

“Harley, why?”

Clayton held out his hand, a note tucked between his fingers. “Maybe you’d better take a look at this.”

Adam glanced at the hastily scribbled message: “Check to see if a doctor named Hardy or Harper, something like that, works at the Coastal Island Research Park on Catcall Island. Make sure she’s okay. Tell the other detectives the weird broad from the psych ward doesn’t need medication. She’s trying to save a woman’s life.”

Adam’s breath caught in his lungs. How had the woman heard their conversation through the closed door? He reread the note. Hardy, Harper—Harley? Was it possible? Could Sarah Cutter have been talking about his sister?

Sarah opened her mouth to scream but the only sound that emerged was a low gurgle. Her heart pounding, she twirled around and pushed at the man’s hand, ready to raise a knee to his groin.

The scrawny reporter stood in the shadows, surveying her with his beady eyes as if she were his prey. He swiped her keys from the ground and held them by his side. “Wait, Ms. Cutter, I’m Robey Burgess from the Savannah Times.”

She pursed her lips, fury welling inside. How dare he scare her like that? For once in her life, she wished she could make her voice work just so she could give him a piece of her mind. She opened her mouth again to do that when she heard her own thick, almost childlike squeak.

“I—I just want an interview,” he stammered. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Why don’t we go someplace and talk?”

His nasally voice sounded unpleasant, and the look of avid curiosity in his eyes reminded her of all the taunting she’d received as a child. This man knew about her past, about her father. He wanted to write about her in the paper as if she were some sideshow freak in a circus.

She shook her head and mouthed “Go Away,” yanked the keys from his hand, then spun around and crossed the distance to her car. She was sliding inside when he caught her, wedged a hand in between her and the door, and stopped her from shutting it.

“I’m going to find out everything I can about you and what’s going on at that research center,” he said, “so you might as well talk to me.”

She glared at him, her chest constricting. What did he mean? What was going on at the research center?

She held up a hand as if to ask him to wait a second, grabbed her Palm Pilot and wrote, “If you want to talk about the Coastal Island Research Park, talk to my godfather, Sol Santenelli. He’s the director. Leave me alone.”

“No. You know something’s going on. That’s the reason you went to the police.” A nasty sneer covered his face. “Since they didn’t believe you, maybe you should try me. I might take your story more seriously than the cops did. And I know all about Cutter’s Crossing.”

Sarah flinched. The term had been coined by the local scientific community after her father to symbolize the point where a doctor or scientist crossed the line between noble, ethical practices and unethical ones.

She didn’t like this man, didn’t trust him, and refused to have herself and Sol, the only family she had left, dragged through the papers. “I asked you to leave me alone,” she wrote. “If you don’t let go of that door right now, I’ll hit my panic alarm.”

His irritated gaze flickered over her, sending an uneasy feeling up her spine, but he released the door. “This isn’t over, Ms. Cutter,” he said in a low growl.

She slammed the door, tore out of the parking spot and wound through the parking deck on screeching tires, checking over her shoulder to see if he followed her.

ADAM RACED OUTSIDE to the parking lot. He had to talk to that Cutter woman again. But just as he reached the first row of cars, a red Jetta flew round the corner on two wheels. A swirl of black hair flashed in his eyes and he realized the driver was Sarah Cutter. She was tearing from the lot as if death rode on her heels.

Knowing he couldn’t catch her, he memorized her license plate, then headed to his car and radioed back inside to find out where she lived. While he waited for her address, he’d swing by the research center.

Although it was past five, his sister never adhered to a nine-to-five schedule. Maybe he’d find Denise there now, totally immersed in test tubes and cultures, obsessed with a new discovery or near breakthrough. Then he could breathe easily again. And forget about Sarah Cutter’s bizarre story. And those bewitching eyes…

He crossed the bridge to Catcall Island, inhaling the salty air and pungent odor of the marshland. Catcall Island was the main hub of CIRP, the Coastal Island Research Park. The island had been given its name because locals claimed the sea oats were so thick in the marsh that when a wind came through, it sounded like a cat’s low cry. On the map, Catcall resembled the shape of an old woman’s shoe. The Institute of Oceanography and main campus were located near the tip of the island with some mountainous parts farther north, the toe of the shoe, with residential areas in the middle, and the marshland at the base. A smaller group of facilities had been housed on the neighboring Whistlestop Island, with future development planned there.

He frowned at the name—Whistlestop had garnered its name from an old ghost tale about a sea captain who lost his bride to a pirate during the turn of the century. Legend claimed the sea captain rode the coastal waters for years, grieving for her, whistling her favorite love ballad as he searched. Locals said she was his one true love, that he vowed not to stop whistling until he found her. Some still insist that they’d heard him whistling late at night when they’d been on the water.

A bunch of romantic gibberish.

A few miles to the south of Whistlestop lay the third island, Nighthawk Island, a smaller piece of land shrouded with such thick mist and fog that it appeared dark and eerie, almost twilight twenty-four hours a day. An ancient legend told about an unusual breed of dark-red legged hawks that inhabited the island; the nighthawks preyed on weaker animals, and had also been known to attack people. Supposedly, secret government-funded projects were conducted there. The island was guarded by a strict private agency called Seaside Securities—an innocuous name that seemed deceptive in view of the classified research projects conducted under its realm.

Three years ago the Savannah Economic Development Group had joined forces with several environmental agencies, universities and the governor, and pushed to grow the economy by plotting a research park similar to the Research Triangle Park in the Raleigh-Durham area in North Carolina. Since then, several pharmaceutical and medical research companies as well as microbiologists and marine biologists had relocated on Catcall, along with some government and university funded research projects. Some were affiliated with university projects and Savannah Hospital. Adam didn’t know what type of research his sister was working on at the moment, but it had something to do with neurology.

Rain drizzled from the sky as he parked in front of Denise’s building and hurried inside. A thin young brunette with a severe eyebrow line and a brown knot of hair on top of her head turned from her computer. “May I help you?”

“I’m here to see Dr. Harley.”

A moment of apprehension flashed in her eyes. “She’s not here.”

“Look, Miss—” he paused and read her nameplate “—Johnson, Dr. Harley is my sister. I’ve been trying to reach her for days and she hasn’t returned my calls. It’s important I talk to her.”

“I believe she went on vacation.” She checked the calendar on her desk. “Yes, she’s been penciled out for two weeks.”

“That’s impossible,” Adam said. “She wouldn’t have left town without telling me.”

She tugged the beads around her neck. “I’m sorry, sir, but Dr. Bradford said she phoned to say she was going away for a few days.”

Adam’s hand tightened around the woman’s polished desk. “Then she must have left a number where she can be reached.”

She shuffled the files on her desk. “No, I don’t believe so.”

“Not even with Bradford?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Let me see him.”

“He’s not here, either.”

Adam gritted his teeth. “Where can I reach him?”

She glanced at her calendar again, looking impatient. “He’s also out for a couple of days. I’ll tell him to phone you if he calls in.”

Adam handed her a business card and watched her eyes widen with alarm at his identity. “That’s Detective Black,” he said in a hard voice. “Is there anyone else from her department I can talk to?”

She glanced pointedly at the green clock on the wall. “I’m afraid they’ve all left for the day.”

“Then let me into my sister’s office. I’d like to see if she left something that might indicate where she is. It’s urgent that I reach her.”

She shifted, looking agitated as she shut down her computer for the day. “I can’t do that, sir. All our scientists’ work is highly confidential. Only classified personnel are allowed in the research offices, and then, only with clearance from Dr. Bradford and Seaside Securities.”

Adam strode out the door, more frustrated than ever. Denise would never leave town without making sure he had a number to reach her. He started his car and headed toward her house. He’d check it out one more time before he relented and talked to Sarah Cutter.

SARAH CLIMBED from her car, fought with her umbrella which completely turned upside down with the gusty wind, and rushed up the sidewalk to her apartment, ducking her head to dodge the drizzling rain. Water seeped inside her shoes, soaking her feet, and she shivered, a chill engulfing her as she ran up the steps. If only she could get the frightened woman’s voice out of her head…

Early spring flowers jutted from window boxes of the downtown Savannah homes and the beautiful historic 1790 bed-and-breakfast across the street, hinting at spring and warm weather around the corner, but Sarah felt a fog of gloom descend upon her. Horns honked, a dog barked, a siren wailed in the distance. The garbled noises around her were loud and frightening, the constant barrage assaulting her from every direction. It was all just too much.

She’d wanted to hear music, laughter, beautiful sounds like the song of the robin or a child singing. But so far, she’d heard a woman’s terrified cry, obnoxious traffic noises, thunder and the detectives’ laughter, which had been harsh and ugly.

Trembling and fighting a massive headache, she unlocked her door, nearly jumping out of her skin when she heard something scraping behind her. Footsteps. Rain sloshing. Had that reporter followed her home? She whirled around, throwing her broken umbrella in front of her like a weapon, her heart pounding.

Sol. She recognized the scent of his aftershave, the smell of the soap he used. Good heavens, she was so focused on distinguishing the sounds around her she’d forgotten to rely on her other senses.

“You scared me to death,” she signed, realizing the sound she’d heard had been his footsteps on the pavement.

“Why are you out by yourself in this weather? My God, Sarah, you just had surgery.”

“It’s just a little spring shower, Sol. Relax.” She waved him inside, smiling slightly at the worry in his eyes. Sol had always been protective. She’d known he wouldn’t want her venturing out by herself, but she’d never let her impairment keep her from being independent and she didn’t intend to relinquish her freedom now.

Worry furrowed his brow. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine.” She rubbed at her head again and his eyebrows rose. “Just a headache,” she admitted.

He cupped the base of her neck, and rubbed the tight muscle. “Where did you go?” Sol asked. “I’ve been sitting outside your apartment for an hour waiting on you.”

Sarah fixed them some tea and settled on the sofa, bracing herself for her godfather’s reaction when she told him where she had been. She wasn’t surprised when disapproval and worry flitted across his features, but the anger in his voice unnerved her.

“You shouldn’t have gone to the police.” Sol paced to the opposite side of the room by the bookcases and studied the family photos on the wall, his shoulders hunched. When he turned to face her, his gray eyes reflected concern, his wrinkles drawn around his mouth. “You had bad dreams, strange dreams, when you were little and underwent all those surgeries, Sarah, remember? Some of the dreams were a direct result of the medication, some of them from the trauma you suffered when you were little. Why can’t you see that this is the same thing?”

Exhaustion pulled at Sarah, making her signing short and jerky. “I know what I heard. And I think it was real.”

“What did the police say?”

She hesitated, picked up her cat, Tigger, and hugged him to her chest. “They didn’t believe me.”

Sol nodded. “Promise me you’ll see Dr. Armstrong—”

“He’s a shrink,” Sarah protested. “I don’t need to see a shrink.” Pain shot through her temple and she swayed on the sofa, but Sol steadied her.

“I think I’d better lie down,” Sarah whispered.

Sol nodded and helped her to her room. “Yes, rest now, honey. We’ll talk about this later.”

After Sol left, Sarah changed into a comfortable blue nightshirt, stretched out, closed her eyes and tried to block out the sounds of the storm raging outside along with the worry in Sol’s voice and the sound of the woman’s terrified cries. Sol didn’t want to believe anything bad had happened at the research center. After all, he was the director and cofounder of CIRP and oversaw the various companies that relocated there. CIRP was still campaigning to draw new companies in. He was the perfect man for the job, but he also knew the sting of negative publicity. After all, Sol had been left to clean up her father’s mess.

Still, the woman had sounded so frightened— Sarah had to believe that her cries for help had been real.

ADAM JIMMIED THE LOCK on his sister’s back door and crept into her apartment. Not bothering to turn on the lights, he called her name softly, even though he instinctively knew she wasn’t home. Four days worth of newspapers lay piled on her front stoop, her mailbox had been crammed full of unopened mail and her indoor plants drooped from lack of care.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. His sister was a type A personality. She paid her bills on time, tended to her plants religiously and kept her house neat and orderly. Like clockwork, she read the paper with her morning coffee. He’d lectured her on precautionary measures for a woman living alone ages ago, and she adhered to them rigidly, just as she did the other details in her life. When she traveled, she always asked him to bring in her mail so a possible burglar wouldn’t know she’d left town.

Now, although things appeared neat on the surface, the house smelled unoccupied, hinting at her absence. He quickly searched the rooms but found nothing amiss, then checked the bathroom for wet towels but found a lone, dry towel hanging neatly on the chrome bar. Even odder, her makeup was sitting on the vanity. His anxiety growing, he checked the closet in her extra bedroom. Her suitcase was sitting inside, where she always kept it. If she had left town without telling him, why hadn’t she packed a suitcase or taken her cosmetics?

He booted up her computer and scrolled her file manager, searching for her calendar, but he needed her password. What would Denise choose as her password?

His palms grew moist as he punched in guesses— her birthday, his birthday, her graduation date. Frustrated, he pounded the machine. What was the biggest day in Denise’s life? The day she’d earned her doctorate. Bingo.

Minutes later, he scanned her schedule. She didn’t have plans to leave town until July, over three months from now. In fact she had meetings with her research assistant set up this week to discuss her current project, but as usual she had some acronym, a code name, for the project to keep it secret. He’d have to talk to her assistant.

More worried now, he searched the file drawers for notes and found several pads filled with statistics, chemistry and math equations, stuff he didn’t begin to understand but knew were important to her work. Denise had also kept a daily journal since she was twelve. He searched her office, but couldn’t locate it, so he hurried to the den, but came up empty again. Finally he discovered the thick navy-bound book wedged between her pillows. He hesitated before opening it—this journal was private. Denise never allowed anyone to read it, and had been furious when he’d asked her about it as a teenager. He’d violate her privacy if he read it now.

But what if it told him where she was?

The storm reached a crescendo outside and so had Adam’s nerves. Denise never went anywhere without taking her journal. Never. She had only been thirteen when their parents died. The journal had been like a security blanket to her, a place to pour out her troubled feelings.

The simple fact that the book was here confirmed his suspicions. Something bad had happened to his sister, and if she had left town, she hadn’t left of her own free will.

Chapter Three

Instead of a restful, soothing nap, the voices came to Sarah again. Dull, muffled, breaking in and out, destroying her peace.

“Wh…at are you g…oing to do to me?”

“Just shut u…p, the…”

“No!”

“Re…lax, Doc, it won’t…hurt. It’ll j…ust sting a little.”

Sarah bolted up, sweat-drenched sheets tangled around her legs, her pulse racing, her breath coming in gasps. She had to have been dreaming. How else was it possible for her to hear the same voices in the hospital and here again in her own house? Her house was empty. So where had the voices come from? The doctors had mentioned delayed hearing—was that what was happening? Were these voices a part of the conversation she’d heard in the hospital?

Lightning streaked through the blinds and she fisted the sheets in her hands, fighting her unshakable terror of the storm. Shadows from the starless night hovered about her bedroom, taunting her. Lightning flashed again.

No, not lighting—her apartment lights were blinking signifying someone was at her door. This time a ding sounded in the background.

The doorbell. She’d never heard it before and had assumed when she’d had the apartment customized to fit her needs, they’d disconnected it. Thankfully, the bell emitted a soft musical sound that reminded her of bells ringing, one familiar sound from childhood. She pushed her hair from her face, grabbed a robe and stumbled toward the den, then checked the peephole, expecting to see Sol again. But that big detective, Adam Black, stood on her doorstep, dripping rain from his black hair, his dark face even more intimidating in the shadows with lightning illuminating his hard, sexy features. His eyes were almost as dark as his hair, his cheekbones etched in granite, his shoulders so broad he must have to custom order his clothes. He pounded the door with his fist and she jumped, then finally pulled herself together enough to unlock the door.

“Can I come in?”

She flinched at the harsh set of his jaw as she read his lips. He smelled of rain and wet leather and some earthly scent that reminded her of the woods and sex. Her stomach quivered. Why did the man make her think like that?

He had a black leather jacket slung around his broad shoulders and a pair of well-worn jeans hugged his muscular thighs. Encased in work boots that had seen better days, his feet seemed enormous. He looked as if he should be riding a wild mustang across the prairie.

Or riding a woman in the darkness of her bedroom.

Shaken by her own thoughts, her legs threatened to buckle so she clutched the wall for support.

He seemed oblivious to her reaction. “Look, Miss Cutter, I’m getting soaked. Can I come in?”

A clap of thunder boomed and she jumped, the sound almost as shocking as the tension radiating between them.

He must have realized she was too stunned to move so he pushed his way inside, more gently than she’d imagined, then kicked his boots on the hall rug, brushing his jacket to alleviate the moisture soaking his hair. She stepped inside the kitchen, retrieved a towel and handed it to him. Their hands brushed slightly and heat suffused her, fire curling low in her stomach. His gaze dropped to her cotton robe where it had fallen open at her breasts, revealing the thin nightshirt she’d thrown on to sleep. She belted the robe, a blush rushing up her face. Why did this stranger affect her so? He didn’t like her. And she wasn’t sure she liked him.

He studied her silently as he ran the towel over his head, down his face and long neck. Finally, he handed the towel back to her, a half smile curving his mouth. “I won’t bite, you know.”

She felt like a fool and braced herself for his teasing laughter.

But he didn’t laugh. Instead he kept watching her with those mesmerizing eyes.

“You got any coffee?”

She stared at him, then signed, “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t read sign language,” he said.

Resigned, she silently cursed herself for even trying, and reached for her Palm Pilot. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to ask you some more questions.”

Fury snaked through her. “To make fun of me again?”

He studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes raking over her, lingering on her mouth. Finally he shook his head. “No. I’m sorry about that. I want to hear your story.”

“Why?”

He motioned toward the kitchen and she remembered he’d asked for coffee, so she made a pot, then poured them both a cup, not surprised when he took his black. Her hands trembled when she handed him his mug.

They sat at her small pine table, the room feeling unbearably small with his large body taking up all the space. He seemed to take in the details of her kitchen, the cheery yellow paint and ceramic cats, with a tiny smirk. She tried not to look at his mouth, to wonder what he would look like if those full lips ever really smiled. But even if she hadn’t latched on to his mouth to read his lips, she would have been mesmerized by them. He wrapped his big powerful hands around the yellow coffee mug and she decided he had to be the sexiest, most masculine man she’d ever laid eyes on.

Tigger loped in and rubbed up against him, and he surprised her by reaching down and scratching the tabby’s back. She couldn’t believe her cat had taken to this man. Tigger usually reserved affection for her and her alone. Where was his loyalty?

“Does he go out?”

Sarah shook her head, biting her lip when he frowned at the cat’s mangled tail. But if the cat’s deformity repulsed him, he didn’t show it.

“Okay, tell me once more about this woman you heard.” He sipped the coffee, his intense gaze trapping hers.

She hesitated at the spark of awareness in his eyes.

“You said you wanted to help this woman?”

“Why?” she wrote. “Do you believe me now?”

“Maybe. Let’s just say I went to the research center and did some checking.”

Sarah sat back in the chair, her breath catching. He’d actually followed up and done what she’d asked. Just when she’d convinced herself everything had been a dream, he’d found something to substantiate her story? “I…a…” She hesitated, trying to think how to word her next question. “Is there a Dr. Harden or Harper who works there?”

“Dr. Harley.”

Oh, God. “And she’s missing?”

Pain darkened his black eyes, the first real emotion she’d seen, other than that simmering sexuality. “I have reason to believe she is.”

Her pulse raced. “Who is she?”

He ran a hand through his hair, raised his head and looked straight into her eyes, a sense of desolation radiating from him. “My sister.”

Adam steeled himself against the sympathy in Sarah Cutter’s cornflower-blue eyes, and the allure of knowing she was half-naked beneath that flimsy robe as he explained briefly about Denise’s sudden vacation.

“Write down everything you remember,” he said gruffly. He sipped his coffee, once again zeroing in on the faint scars on her hands as she wrote.

Basically, her story remained the same as before, offering him little to go on. As had Denise’s journal. He had a few more pages to skim, but so far the portions described very personal feelings about her divorce and her co-workers, with a few notations about apprehension over her research.

“Are you sure you didn’t hear someone mention her name before your surgery, then you dreamed about her afterward?”

“I couldn’t hear before the surgery.”

“But you read lips, right?”

She nodded.

“You might have seen her name on a chart somewhere?”

Her writing became short and jerky. “I didn’t hear anyone mention her name before the surgery and I don’t remember seeing her name anywhere, either. Does she work with hearing implants?”

“No, neurology. Tell me about the implants. You said they were a special prototype?”

“Yes, they’re still in the experimental stages. I had several surgeries when I was young, but there was too much damage to my ear to repair. This implant has a special microchip inside. It’s similar, but even more sophisticated than the cochlear implants and another new one that’s under clinical study called the Vibrant Soundbridge.”

“What are those two?”

“With the Vibrant Soundbridge, an electronic receiver is implanted behind the ear. A wire leads down to an electromagnet that’s attached to one of the middle ear bones. The brain interprets the vibrations as sound. The cochlear ones are electronic systems that send sound-generated impulses directly to the cochlea. Mine is surgically implanted and not visible like most hearing aids.” She paused and glanced at him, and he urged her to continue. “My father worked on the project years ago, but they didn’t have the technology to make it successful. When the Coastal Island Research Park opened the center on Catcall, the project was revamped. I’m the first person to receive this implant. It’s still in the clinical trial stages.”

He let that information sink in. Could there be some element of the hearing implant that allowed her to pick up sounds far away? “If your hearing is more acute, why aren’t you being bombarded by constant noises and voices?”

“I am, but it’s sporadic. The doctor said there may be some residual sounds, even a delayed reaction. Like a stroke patient, my nerves and brain have to learn to work together again.”

He frowned. “What else did you hear? Did my sister call this man’s name?”

She shook her head.

“Did you hear any sounds in the background? Anybody else in the room?”

She pressed her fingers to her temple in thought— either that or she had a headache—then answered no.

“Did he say where he was taking her?”

“No.”

He cursed in frustration and saw her flinch, then forced himself to ask the question he’d been avoiding. “Did he say what he planned to do to her?”

Emotions etched themselves on her face. She’d been affected by the woman’s cries, he realized, then found himself wondering why he believed her now when earlier he’d thought she was a kook. He wished to hell she’d talk, too, instead of scribbling on that damned computer.

Just once he wanted to hear her voice, to see if it sounded low and sexy or if she’d speak in a soft purr or…

He shook the thoughts away, focusing on her writing.

“He didn’t say exactly, only that she should shut up or he would kill her. But…” she hesitated, watched his reaction, as if she were trying to decide whether or not to reveal the details of the woman’s attack.

“Look, don’t hold anything back. If this man has my sister, time might be running out.”

Her gaze remained glued to his mouth as if she were reading his lips, then she wrote, “When I heard them in the hospital, I thought he knocked her unconscious because I heard a thud as if she’d fallen to the floor.”

“Meaning the man might have already killed her.”

“I don’t think so, I heard her moan. Then they argued later.”

“You went back to the hospital?”

“No, I heard them—” she hesitated again “—here at home.”

Was she telling the truth? How was it possible?

She’d read the questions in his eyes. “I was trying to sleep, but I had a bad headache. The rain, the sirens, it’s too much.” She frowned. “Probably the delayed hearing the doctor mentioned. The voices I heard here must have been part of the conversation I overheard at the hospital and I’m just now remembering it.”

He waited, his teeth gritted. “What else?”

“She was begging him not to hurt her. He warned her she’d feel a slight sting, she cried out, then everything went quiet again.”

“He drugged her.” The realization sickened Adam, but at least maybe Denise was still alive. But why would someone kidnap and drug her?

The possibilities raced through his mind. A jealous co-worker at the research center? Her husband who’d been bitter about the separation? Or worse, a stranger who’d been stalking her and planned to do God knew what?

AN HOUR LATER, Sarah collapsed with exhaustion, praying the detective would find his sister and that she wouldn’t hear the voices again. She couldn’t stand the pain in the woman’s cries.

Then again, if she didn’t hear the woman’s voice, she wouldn’t be able to help her. And she had never backed down from anything in her life. She couldn’t let her fears keep her a prisoner.

She stared at the card the detective had left on the table with his phone number. Without even knowing Adam Black, he pulled at feelings so dormant she thought they’d died completely after her disastrous relationship with her old boyfriend, Kevin.

Maybe she was afraid, she admitted silently, but she didn’t want to see Detective Black again. His eyes and body blazed with anger and attitude, the kind of cold, harsh facade that would hold any woman at arm’s length. He was in control and would want to control everyone around him, especially someone he considered weaker. Someone with a handicap.

But he obviously loved his sister.

She hoped he found her before it was too late.

Determined to banish him from her mind, she turned her thoughts to her normal life. To the school for the deaf where she’d been teaching. Pulling out her plan book, she checked the plans she’d penciled in for the substitute teacher. Her class would take a hike tomorrow to collect items for a nature collage. Then they’d watch a film about the seasons and the rebirth spring promised. Just as she thought she’d have a rebirth when she’d regained her hearing. She’d taken a six-week leave of absence following her surgery to recover and acclimate herself to living in a hearing world.

Now, for some odd reason, she found herself wanting to return to the safety of the silent world she’d always lived in. Back to her teaching job at the school, to her co-workers, who communicated the way she did—with sign language. Back to the safety of knowing she didn’t have to interact with dangerous, sexy men like Adam Black.

Men who made her want to be whole again.

Chapter Four

Adam spent a restless night trying to forget the magnetic pull between him and Sarah Cutter. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but something about the woman unleashed his baser instincts. She was troubled, confused and just about the most needy woman he’d ever met.

Yet, he was the one who felt needy in her presence. As if he might shrivel up if he didn’t touch her. He didn’t like the feeling. Adam Black was a loner. He took care of himself and his sister; he didn’t need anyone else.

Hell, when had he last woken up in a sweat from wanting a woman? A long damn time.

Because he’d learned the hard way. The last time he had gotten involved with a woman, a witness, named Pamela, the end had been disastrous. He’d been too distracted by her to focus on his job, and it had cost her her life.

Now his job, staying in control, was everything— it had to be.

Determined to squash the emotions churning through him, he took a cold shower and dressed. When he’d arrived home the night before, he’d tried to contact Denise’s research assistant, but supposedly the man’s grandmother had died and he’d flown to Los Angeles for the funeral. Adam had stayed up half the night researching hearing implants on the Internet, looking at the latest developments in technology. But he found nothing on a device that might allow a person to hear through walls or serve as a transmitter.

Clayton met him at the station. “Uh-oh, Black, you’re not going to like this.”

Adam stared in shock at the headliner on a local tabloid, his mind reeling as he read the article.

Hearing Things?

Cold War spy’s daughter who has been deaf for twenty years claims to have heard evidence of a kidnapping, possible murder!

Sarah Cutter ended twenty years of silence four days ago when she received surgically implanted hearing aids by doctors at the research center on Catcall Island, the new facility which has been linked with the government-owned buildings on Nighthawk Island.

Late Thursday afternoon, she rushed to the police claiming that while she was in the hospital she overheard a woman being abducted….

The article continued to describe what Sarah had told him, then launched into an account of how she’d lost her hearing.

Twenty years ago, five-year-old Sarah lost her hearing in the explosion that killed both her parents. Her father, Dr. Charles Cutter, a scientist and former Navy lieutenant, had been working on a secret project for the government developing a listening device to be used in the Cold War. Cutter’s technology died with his death. Evidence later verified that Cutter had made a deal to sell the device to the Russians. Reports confirmed that Cutter’s own wife discovered his intentions and had planned to turn him over to the government. When Cutter realized his wife’s plans, he set fire to their house, but was accidentally caught in the explosion and killed as well. Some speculate he might have killed himself to avoid facing a court-martial and prison sentence. A close friend and one of Cutter’s co-workers, Sol Santenelli, arrived just in time to rescue the five-year-old child from the burning home. Dr. Santenelli is now the director of the CIRP, Coastal Island Research Park.

Although Sarah underwent stringent psychological evaluations, as well as several surgeries which were unsuccessful in repairing her hearing loss, she never spoke afterward. Cutter was buried with a dishonorable discharge.

Adam scrubbed his hand across his face.

Why hadn’t Sarah told him about her past? Did she know exactly what her father had been working on? Of course, the CIA and FBI had sophisticated listening devices now, but twenty years ago the technology would have been cutting edge and worth a small fortune.

Clayton whistled. “Pretty interesting, huh?”

“Yeah. But why the hell did Sarah Cutter go to the tabloids with the story?”

“Maybe she wanted the attention. She might have made up the whole story just to get her name in the paper.”

Clayton might be right. The story didn’t exactly paint a picture of a healthy emotional female.

Then again, he’d seen the fear on her face when she’d described the kidnapping. Growing up with a handicap, she had to have faced ridicule before. Yet, she’d come to them with the bizarre story knowing they would laugh at her. Either she was lying or she had a great deal of courage.

He knew that kind of courage. And he had to admire it.

He had to talk to her again. Crazy or not, attraction or not, she might be the key to finding his sister.

But if there was any truth to Sarah’s story, printing her name in the papers had put her in danger.

SARAH HUGGED each of the children in her class, grateful to spend the afternoon with some sense of normalcy.

“Is it fun to be able to hear?” five-year-old Jason signed.

“What does music sound like?” curly-haired Claire asked.

Betty Ann clapped her hands. “And the choo-choo train? I always wanted to hear a train whistle!”

Sarah waved for them all to pay attention and signed, “My hearing isn’t perfect yet, so I don’t understand all the sounds around me. I feel like a kindergartner again, having to recognize certain sounds and name them.”

The kids giggled.

“Some sounds are lovely, but some are harsh and loud, like the horns honking and bulldozers. The fire engine and ambulance siren is loud and screechy and sends a chill up my back.”

The children’s eyes widened in awe as she elaborated, many of them unable to imagine what the word sound truly meant. They had been taught that vibrations produced sound, but learning about them and experiencing them were two different things, especially for the children born totally deaf or with a profound hearing loss.

“I can’t distinguish tones yet so I still haven’t been able to enjoy music, but the doctors say my hearing should improve daily.”

“Will you come back?” Jason asked.

“Yes, soon.” Sarah hugged each of them again, then turned to the director of the center, Adrianne Waters. “I miss everyone so much.”

“Are you adapting to life in the hearing world?” Adrianne asked.

Sarah forced a stiff smile and signed, “Yes. Take care of my babies here.”

Adrianne laughed, the first beautiful sound Sarah had heard. Adrianne had suffered her hearing loss when she was a teen, so her language skills were advanced. Maybe she could help Sarah with her speech.

When she was ready.

And maybe Adrianne would be the next volunteer for a hearing implant.

Right now, Sarah simply wanted to go home and lie down. The twinge of a headache wore at her, as did a slight ringing in her ears. Exhaustion crept up on her, too, from her sleepless night. For hours she’d lain awake, waiting for the voices, hoping they wouldn’t come, then hoping they would so she’d know Denise Harley was still alive.

So she’d have good news to tell Adam Black.

ADAM HAD BEEN pacing on Sarah’s front stoop for thirty minutes. He’d finally convinced himself to leave when he saw her walking down the sidewalk. She looked pale and tired, but she was alive and safe. He breathed a sigh of relief. Worry had dogged him all afternoon. At the same time, anger made him want to shake her.

Her steps faltered momentarily when she spotted him, then she raised her chin and strode toward him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to touch her. She looked so damn vulnerable and sexy that his groin tightened. The soft fabric of her dress clung to her subtle curves and that long dark hair was blowing in the breeze, giving him a glimpse of the sultry line of her neck. Once again that magnetic draw between them heated up. He wanted to hold her, just once. To hear her voice.

But he wouldn’t.

She faced him with raised brows as if to ask why he’d come.

“We have to talk.”

She nodded curtly, unlocked her door and started to step inside, but he pressed a gentle hand on her back to still her and stepped inside first. He glanced around, his breath easing out when he found everything in order.

She frowned at him, as if she had no idea why he’d go into her apartment first. But old habits were hard to break, and his cop instincts made him suspicious. And cautious.

She led him to the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee. But he didn’t want coffee. He wanted answers.

He slapped the paper on the table. “What’s this all about?”

She startled at the sound of his sharp voice and glanced at the table. But her face paled when she read the headline.

She didn’t know about the article?

Her gaze rose to his, shadows haunting her eyes as she toyed with the necklace again. He wondered what significance the locket had, whether she had pictures inside?

He crossed his arms, determined not to be distracted by her vulnerability or the sizzle of attraction between them.

“Did you talk to that scumbag?” Adam asked.

She shook her head no. Then with trembling fingers, she picked up the paper and began to read.

SARAH COULDN’T believe this was happening.

Baring It All— Hearing Things?

Dear heavens.

She scanned the article, her stomach growing queasy. The reporter had lied to her—he didn’t work for the Savannah Times. He worked for a sleazy tabloid. And he’d printed her life story in the paper for everyone to read. She twisted the chain around her neck, thinking of the picture of her mother inside. Once it had held a photo of her father, as well.

But she’d taken it out when she’d learned the truth about him.

How had the reporter gotten this story? And why dredge up things that had happened twenty years ago?

Her mind raced back to the police station. He must have seen the note she’d written to the detectives. Had they shown it to him?

No, Detective Black obviously hadn’t. She skimmed the last paragraph and her legs buckled. Robey Burgess made her sound like a lunatic. Sol would be furious. Shaken, she sank into the chair and met Adam’s gaze.

Obviously, he thought she’d sold her story just to see her name in the headlines.

“Did you give him the story?”

She shook her head again and mouthed the word no.

The detective moved toward her. He surprised her by reaching out with one big thumb and slowly wiping a tear from her cheek. “Did you talk to him at all?”

She inhaled sharply, fighting the strong need to hold on to him. “He followed me to the car after I left the police station, but I told him to leave me alone,” she wrote on a piece of paper.

“That was the reason you raced out of the parking lot?”

She nodded and started to scribble an explanation, but her hands were shaking so badly she dropped the pen and it rolled across the floor.

He sat down beside her, then shocked her by pulling her hands into his larger ones. His touch felt amazingly gentle. His dark eyes watched her, caressing her with a kind of tenderness she hadn’t expected, causing a slow ache to burn in her belly. How long had it been since a man had touched her? Had looked at her in any way except pity?

How long had it been since a man had wanted her?

But what would a strong, tough man like Adam Black see in a woman like her?

“I have to warn you, Sarah,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but if you did hear something about my sister, the fact that the story was printed could put you in danger.”

“LOOK, SOL, I didn’t talk to the reporter. In fact I refused to,” Sarah signed in frustration. As if the meeting with Adam hadn’t left her rattled enough, Sol had arrived on her doorstep the moment Adam had driven away. She couldn’t believe she’d actually mistaken the detective’s concern for her, his interest in the information she had, as interest in her personally. She was a fool. He’d told her to be careful, to call if she remembered anything else. Then he’d left her place like a man on a foxhunt, and for some odd reason, she’d felt very alone.

“Sarah?”

Sol’s voice pulled her back to the moment. “He followed me and talked to someone at the police department,” she signed, not wanting to tell him about the note, “or maybe he eavesdropped.”

“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, do 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 catalogued 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 were 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.

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