Police Business. Julie Miller
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excuse she used, at any rate, to take the sting out of his dismissal of her need to work. She lifted her chin again, to watch the floor numbers fly by. She was proud of her paraprofessional and tutoring work with special needs preteens and teenagers. Thrilled to discover she had a knack for listening.
She almost laughed at that one. But her father wouldn’t see the ironic humor. So she went back to practicing what he did understand—facts and numbers and a concise presentation.
Clenching her hands into fists to keep them still at her sides, she continued. “I would need to go back to school to earn my graduate degree, Dad. And take a test to be licensed for therapist’s certification. But they’re willing to pay for my classes. This is an opportunity for me to make a career for myself.”
Too many Rs. Claire puffed out a nervous breath and raked her chin-length swath of hair away from her temples. Just as quickly, she smoothed the straight, champagne-colored strands back into place, covering up the tiny speech processors most people mistook for hearing aids that were hooked behind her ears.
She was always self-conscious when she spoke out loud, knowing her dull R sounds and practiced consonants were a dead giveaway to her hearing loss. But her father didn’t like to sign. He claimed the visual expression only pointed out the shortcomings he already felt so responsible for. And while she could read lips, he needed to hear the actual words in order to communicate clearly with her. Speaking like a normal person would go a long way toward convincing him that she was ready to do more than volunteer part-time at the school.
Claire stretched her neck in the swan-like arch that fifteen years of dance lessons had given her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, straightening her petite body to its utmost height and easing the tension that had gathered in her muscles.
She could do this. She would do this.
Cain Winthrop might want his daughter to stay at home, host quiet dinner parties and stay out of the limelight until some handsome young man whisked her away to stay at his home to host quiet dinner parties and stay out of the limelight, but Claire had different plans in mind. She had the money, brains and desire to pursue any career she wanted—or ramrod the success of any charity. She could make a difference in the lives of people who needed someone to make a difference.
If her father would let her.
If he’d trust her to make smart decisions.
If he’d believe she could be safe in the world without his well-meaning protection shadowing her every step of the way.
But she had a lot of years of love and ingrained habits to overcome. Cain Winthrop was used to doing things his way. Running his business empire his way. Taking care of his daughter and stepchildren his way.
Claire intended to change that. Just a little. It was time to make a place for herself in the world.
Her way.
Feeling the gentle roll of her stomach that told her the elevator was slowing its ascent, Claire opened her eyes and watched the number 26 light up. She took a deep breath, clutched her purse beneath her arm and fixed a smile on her face. “Okay, Dad.” She crossed her fingers and added a prayer. “Please listen.”
The doors slid open onto the shadows of the twenty-sixth floor. The receptionist’s desk stood empty and the waiting area was dark. Claire stepped out and turned along the plush carpet toward her father’s suite of offices.
Even with the sharp bite of spring air outside to lure him to the family’s cabin and the promise of fishing on Truman Lake, she knew her father would keep late hours until the weekend. She’d purposely waited until after her school dinner to pay him this surprise visit, allowing the office plenty of time to clear out so that they were less likely to get interrupted.
With a fortified sense of purpose, Claire walked past her stepbrother Gabriel’s empty office and its dark interior. She strode past the senior vice-president’s office and saw that Peter Landers had gone as well. Her stepsister Gina’s office was dark. The corporate attorney’s office, dark.
A chilling sense of unease tried to work its way beneath her resolve. She’d never cared much for dark places. She was already at a disadvantage, knowing she couldn’t hear anything or anyone sneaking up on her. Not being able to see an approaching danger, either, could make her doubly paranoid if she allowed her fear to take hold.
As a young girl, trying to adjust to the cochlear implants inside her head, those bumps in the night that startled other children had been real terrors for her as distorted electronic sounds she hadn’t learned to identify shrieked into her ears. It didn’t help that the last actual sounds she’d heard had been her own screams of pain and loss as she battled the tropical fever virus that took 97% of her hearing and killed her mother.
Claire breathed easier as she rounded the corner and a soft glow of light greeted her with reassuring warmth. Beyond a private waiting area, she spotted the boardroom and her father’s offices, all lit up. His faithful executive assistant, Valerie Justice, must still be working late as well, judging by the brightness flooding through her open doorway. Valerie wouldn’t mind giving father and daughter some time alone. For twenty-odd years, she’d been nothing but discreet when it came to taking care of not just the family business, but the family itself.
Here, too, the carpeting gave way to the polished mahogany flooring her father had imported from Venezuela. The decor changed as well, as solid walls gave way to alternating black steel and clear glass panels, giving her glimpses of the interior of each room. A black leather seating group sat in the middle of a central waiting area, adorned by tropical plants, exotic animal prints and a custom-built aquarium nearly twelve feet long that divided the sofa, chairs and coffee table from the circle of private rooms.
Claire repeated the words inside her head, squelching the urge to sign them as well. Dad. I’ve been offered a wonderful chance to—
A bone-deep thud shook the floor beneath her feet and Claire halted in her tracks. She felt another vibration through the soles of her Manolo Blahniks and saw the water in the aquarium ripple against the side of the tank.
“What the…?”
Missouri hadn’t had a big earthquake since the late 1800s, and there wasn’t enough wind outside to make the steel-and-limestone building sway.
She glanced over her shoulder at the tunnel of darkness that filled the hallway behind her. Had a cleaning crew come in? Knocked over a bucket? Slammed a door? Was the security guard making his rounds early?
Had one of those unknown terrors just gone bump in the night?
Claire opened her mouth and turned to call out to her father. But she snapped it shut just as quickly and retreated into the shadows as a tall, black-haired stranger stepped into view beyond the open doorway to her father’s office. The man’s black suit and tie made him appear as little more than a silhouette against the cream-colored walls inside.
But there was no mistaking the gun he held in his black-gloved hands, or the methodic precision with which he unscrewed the long, tubular silencer from its steel tip and slipped both items into the holster beneath his jacket.
Oh, my God.
He’d shot someone!
Claire swung her gaze over to Valerie’s office and back to her father’s. The assistant hadn’t run out to check on the noises. But with a silencer, maybe Valerie hadn’t heard the shots.
Technically, Claire hadn’t heard anything, either. The vibrations she’d felt could have been the concussions of the gun. Or a body hitting the floor. Or the bashing in of someone’s head. Someone being shoved against the wall. A fight—
Stop it!
Tears pricked Claire’s eyes. The breath stopped in her chest. But she forced herself to think rationally, to be aware of the danger at hand. Clutching at the pearls around her neck, she fought to dispel the image of her father, dead in his chair.
Nonchalantly standing there in her father’s office, the man in black stared down at his handiwork with