Silent Surrender. Rita Herron
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