the second car.
Carlyle.
A feeling of determination settled over me. I couldn’t let these two get away with murder.
Sawyer and Carlyle stood next to the cement truck for a bit. It looked as if they were arguing. The lights that had been added for site security provided enough illumination that I could see Carlyle’s frantic waves of exasperation or anger. Sawyer pointed a finger at his companion and shook it, his face contorted with fury. Nope, these two definitely weren’t happy campers.
My fingers tightened around my phone and I wondered if I should just go ahead and call 911.
There really wasn’t any choice. I couldn’t risk that Barlow wouldn’t get here in time. My fingers tightened on my phone.
Harsh fingers suddenly clasped around my mouth and I was hauled up against an unyielding body. My chest constricted with terror as the reality meshed fully in my mind. My phone slipped from my fingers. The cold steel barrel of a pistol bored into my temple. I could feel lips moving against my ear as whoever held me uttered words I could not hear.
I wondered briefly if I should bother fighting him—and it was definitely a him. I could feel the hard male contours of his body. I braced myself for making a move for his weak spot, but he suddenly released me.
I bolted but he manacled my arm with brute strength before I could get out of his reach. I whipped around to look into the face of my captor.
Barlow.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whispered, feeling that the sound was hoarse, with my heart straining against my throat as it was.
He frowned. I…stay quiet. Backup…on…way.
I struggled to catch his words, but in the dark and with him glancing around I missed parts. I managed to draw in a much-needed breath. Told myself to calm down. I considered what I’d gotten of his words and decided he wanted me to be quiet and that backup was on its way. I nodded, then pointed to the two men still arguing in the distance. “Sawyer dumped the body down there. I think he’s—”
I get the idea.
Barlow had moved closer, giving me a better view of his face. I felt glad for that, but at the same time uneasy with his nearness. I managed a nod of understanding. Obviously he’d been here long enough to figure out what was going on. But how was that possible? How could he have gotten here so quickly?
“How long have you been here?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I kept my voice as quiet as I should have. Obviously I didn’t since he held a finger to his mouth.
I put out an APB on your car. A cruiser spotted you thirty minutes ago and gave me your location. He followed you until I got into position.
Just something else I hadn’t planned for. Damn. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this work after all.
He moved closer still. I just have to know one thing. How the hell did a file clerk…
Reading his lips wasn’t difficult this close, but he turned his head to check on our two suspects and I missed that last part.
I tapped his shoulder and he turned back to me. “You have to look directly at me when you speak,” I told him.
Another of those weary frowns furrowed his brow. What?
“I’m deaf, Detective. I have to be able to see what you’re saying.”
For three fierce beats he simply stared at me.
You’re kidding me, right?
Chapter 4
Who would have thought that finding out I was deaf would be news bad enough to overshadow bringing a murderer to justice?
I slammed the file drawer shut and huffed an impatient breath. The look on Detective Steven Barlow’s face would stay with me for the rest of my life. Disbelief, shock even. He’d figured out in no time flat that I was a mere file clerk in Metro’s historical archives, but his source had evidently forgotten to mention that I was deaf. He’d kept his back turned to me a good portion of the time while I was being interrogated. Only allowed me to see what he wanted me to hear, in a manner of speaking. But I was no fool. I gathered from his tense body language that he did not like what I had done.
Go figure. I helped pluck a murderer off the street—one he had failed to nail—and he had the audacity to be furious with me! Men, I would never get them. Especially cops and firemen. And I’d grown up in a houseful of guys who turned out to be one or the other.
I opened the next drawer, inserted the file and slammed the drawer back into its niche. Just because I was a woman didn’t mean I wasn’t as capable as any man. And just because I was deaf didn’t mean I was helpless! I hated it when people looked at me that way.
Gentle fingers took hold of my chin and guided my face to the right, drawing me back to the here and now. My dear friend and co-worker, Helen Golden, smiled at me and said, Honey, I know you had a rough night last night but don’t take it out on the file cabinets. She smoothed a loving hand over the beige metal to emphasize her point. It’s our job to preserve the past. It’s what we do for the future. She arched a skeptical eyebrow. Even if some of us aren’t satisfied being a mere historical archivist.
“Not you, too,” I grouched. Was everyone around me against me?
My co-worker looked stung. I have plans, too.
I sighed. She was right. By this time next year she would be working at some fancy-shmancy law firm. “I’m sorry, Helen, but I had to do this.” She, of all people, should understand.
Helen folded her arms over her chest and tried to look annoyed, but she failed miserably. Do you know that the chief—the chief of detectives, mind you—called me into his office this morning to question me about what you’ve been up to? Why, I’ve worked at Metro for twenty years and not once have I ever been summoned to his office.
Okay, maybe she was a little irritated at that. How could everything have gone so wrong? I hadn’t meant for it to be this way. The murderer had been caught red-handed with the body—well, there was still the small technicality of identifying the remains. It had been two years, it wasn’t like they were visibly identifiable. But I knew. My letters and that call were what had prompted the bad guys into action.
Sawyer and Carlyle were both being detained as individuals of interest for questioning. The two men’s overpriced lawyers were pitching a hissy-fit, but this time the law was on the side of the police. They not only had human remains but had caught Sawyer and Carlyle preparing to bury said remains beneath eighty yards of cement. The cement-company driver had been brought in for questioning as well. As I had suspected, he’d merely followed orders, delivering a truck with the requested amount of cement at the time and to the place designated. Money talked. No good businessman quizzed a well-paying client.
Faring no better than the suspects, I had spent the better part of the day yesterday being interrogated by Barlow as well as Chief Nathan Kent, the chief of detectives Helen spoke of. Both detectives appeared to be furious that I had taken this mission upon myself.
I explained over and over how the case had been misfiled and I’d ended up reading it out of curiosity. The plan had come to me in a blast
