Warning Signs (Love Inspired Suspense) (15 page)

Owen looked at his still-curled fist hanging in front of him. Miriam’s words flashed back at him
. “Christ gave His life so all our debts are paid. He bled so you don’t have to. It’s done. Ask for forgiveness, and you will be forgiven....”

Owen stepped back. First one step then another and another until he hit the wooden railing of the pier, unable to retreat any farther. “Is it really as simple as a circling fist?” Owen mumbled in the darkness, unsure if he could fully believe.

His fist felt like it belonged to someone else. But it didn’t. It belonged to him for him to do this simple act—
if
he was really sorry. Was he?

“Yes.” His voice cracked.

Owen squeezed his hand with all his strength and brought it to his chest, right over his heart. He ground his hand into his shirt for the first rotation. “I’m sorry, Lord, for shutting You out, after You bled and died for me. Please forgive my ignorance. Please forgive me.” Owen dropped his chin to his chest. “And I’m sorry, Rebecca. I’m sorry I let you down in my carelessness. I’m sorry I have not honored you in your death.” He made another sweep around. “I’m sorry I have not been there for Cole.” A wave of guilt washed over him as it always did when he thought of Cole.

Owen lifted his eyes to the stars shining above him as he leaned back over the railing. The sea spread out behind him in darkness. Waves crashed against the rocks below him. “Please, Lord. Help me to fix my relationship with my so—”

A familiar bang echoed through the night. The wood railing he leaned against shook as it absorbed the penetrating bullet.

A bullet meant for him?

Before Owen could drop to the ground and pull his gun, the railing behind him splintered and collapsed out, bringing him down along with it.

His hands reached out at open air as his body fell back in what felt like slow motion.

Only, he knew the rocks below would come fast.

The raging waves roared. Or maybe those were his own shouts as his body shifted out over the water with nothing to hold him back.

He was going down.

Owen twisted with all his might to get a solid hold on something...anything.

The broken railing came into view. He made a grab for it. One hand made contact and latched on, while his legs swung down below him. Little by little he tightened his grasp, the wood slicing into his skin. His body swung from the edge, his single hand holding his weight.

Sweat trickled down, burning his eyes. His blood pulsed through his head, blaring in his ears. He tried to concentrate past it to swing his other hand up. His one hand would not hold him for long. Already it had gone numb.

He swung up and the wood creaked and shifted under his weight. At any second it would snap in his hand and send him free-falling, plummeting to the rocks and sea below.

Death was coming. After six years of praying for it, believing it was what he deserved, it was finally here.

“No,” he whispered, his breathing erratic. “No, not yet. Cole needs me. Lord, help me! I get it now. Cole needs his father. He needs to know he’s loved. I can’t die yet! I have years to make up for.”

“Owen? Is that you?” a man’s voice bellowed from a distance.

“Yes!” Owen called out. “Jerome? It’s me! Help me!”

A shadow of a man appeared over him. He reached his right hand down and covered Owen’s. Owen locked on with both of his as he vaguely registered the absence of any rings on Jerome’s hand. Where was his ring? Unless this wasn’t Jerome.

Owen looked up, but with the lamplight behind him, the man’s features remained shadowed. The next second Owen slid up and onto the boardwalk. He landed facedown, his breath coming in heaves.

“Thank you.” Owen pushed the words out. The muscles in his arms quivered with fatigue as he struggled to sit up enough to look at the man who’d saved him.

Nothing but an empty boardwalk stretched out before him.

Owen swung around, looking up and down the pier. He was alone. But where did the man go? Who was he?

Owen sat up and faced the broken railing. Or, more accurately, the shot-out railing. Someone had tried to kill him.

Why? Why get rid of him?

The answer came to Owen, plain as day.

Because he was in the way of the true target.

Miriam.

Disregarding his muscles screaming in disobedience, Owen tore through downtown at breakneck speed to reach the clinic. He burst through the glass doors and past the night nurse to Miriam’s room.

And collapsed in relief.

She slept so peacefully even with her hand chained to the rail. She was safe.

He meant to keep her that way.

Owen searched his back pocket for the key to the cuffs and got down to the business of freeing her. Hopefully, he’d have the ROR from the judge in the morning and he wouldn’t have to cuff her ever again.

Owen dropped the cuffs on the table and took up his post in the hard vinyl chair for the long night of watch ahead of him. After what had happened tonight he would not be leaving her side for anything.

* * *

The light pulled Miriam forward. She could see its dancing flickers on the stone walls of the tunnel.

Another step, then another. The light now lit her bound hands up in front of her.

She’d made it. But where was it?

A small stone room filled dark corners. A table with a candle stood in the center. Nothing else was on it.

She skimmed the cavern from one side to the other and caught sight of a sleeping woman tied up in a chair. Her hair shot up on one side, and Miriam thought she needed a brush. But since Miriam didn’t have one, she thought maybe she could push it back down like she did her own when it was messy.

She stepped closer. Something dark made a jagged line down the side of the woman’s face.

Blood.

The woman was bleeding. Had she fallen down? Miriam took another step.

The woman’s eyes flashed wide and wild. She wrenched against her tied hands and her mouth yelled in silence.

At least silent to Miriam. Whatever the woman said, Miriam missed, and she tilted her head with a shrug.

The woman’s head turned and shot back with more yelling, like Mother did.

Miriam was in trouble again. And once again she had no idea why. She dropped her chin to her chest like always; then
something yanked her forward.

Large, fat-knuckled hands pulled up her wrists, lifting her high. Her feet dangled above the ground, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the hands to see how high. Her shoulders tugged from their sockets in searing pain, but still the hands stayed in her focus.

They flashed with gold in the light. Gold and something else.

He dropped her and she hit the rock floor hard, plunging to her knees. Still her eyes stayed locked on the hands. She watched them drift away from her. They curled into the letter
C
and reached out for the woman.

* * *

Miriam’s eyes flew open and felt as wide as the woman’s in her dream.
Dream. It was only a dream.
Wasn’t it? Why did it feel so real? More real than ever before. Light flicked on in her room, startling her further.

She wasn’t in her room. “Where am I?” she signed.

Owen stepped up to her bedside. His sleepy eyes told her he’d been by her side all night. “You’re still at the clinic. Are you all right? Bad dream?” He reached for her hand, which she’d absently placed at her neck.

He withdrew it and held it gently before placing it on her abdomen. “I don’t think it was a dream.” She squeezed her eyes, bringing the images back. The woman with bulging eyes. The man with curled, fat-knuckled hands, flashing with gold. “I think it’s a memory.”

She told Owen all about her recurring dream as well as the dark tunnel at her grandma’s house that led to a cavern. He listened in silence, perched on the side of her bed, occasionally rubbing her forearm to encourage her to continue.

“You’re right, Miriam. It’s not a dream,” he signed. “Both Len and Frank have these passageways, and I’m sure Hans had one, too. I figure that’s how the drugs made it into your basement. But what I don’t understand is why you were in there alone as a child.”

She frowned and rushed her hands to answer. “I was caught signing. My mother would put me in dark places for my punishments. At home it was a closet. But at my grandparents’ house, she took me into the basement and tied my hands and dropped me into the passageway.”

“Dropped you with bound hands?” His eyes darkened and narrowed.

“Yes.” She nodded sadly. “It’s actually not uncommon for deaf children to be abused. They can’t tell on someone and don’t understand that it’s not normal.”

“I suppose, but I still hate that your mother treated you that way.”

Miriam had had a lifetime to come to grips with her past. She could give Owen a few moments to do the same. “It’s all right now, Owen. I know my mother’s problems went deeper than the inconvenience my deafness caused her. When I told you we don’t talk anymore, it’s really she who won’t speak to me. She sent me away to a boarding school when I was ten and cut me out of her life forever. It hurts that I never received acceptance from her, but I found the acceptance I needed in God.”

The dark anger in his eyes dissipated, and he shook his head. “You amaze me.”

She waved his remark away. “I’m not perfect. I have my days where the anger is so close to the surface that I have to call on Him to lift me out of it. Otherwise it would consume me and I would miss the blessings He has for me. I don’t want to miss anything from Him. Not even for vengeance.”

“I think I’m beginning to understand.” Owen sat on the edge of the bed. “But right now we need to figure out who is taking out their vengeance by framing you for this crime. And I need to know how to get into that passageway.”

Miriam nodded and signed, “Yes, priorities first. If I remember right, to get in you have to go through an opening in the floor. You have to move a floorboard to find the handle. When do you think the drugs were put into my home?”

“I would say they were using your home long before you lived there. Perhaps while your grandmother was alive, even.”

“It’s possible. The door to the room was blocked. And, personally, I had no desire to ever go in there again.” She waved her hands emphatically.

“The smugglers didn’t know that, though. They couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t come exploring your new home and happen upon their storage of goods. They probably started leaking a few drugs to get you fired so you would move. There was even a ready buyer.”

“Who?”

“Frank Thibodaux. He’s made it known he’s first in line, and I don’t think anyone’s going to go up against him.”

“Oh, the Thibodaux.” She rolled her eyes while she signed. “They think they have to throw their weight around wherever they go for people to respect them.”

“Real troublemakers, are they?”

“With a capital
T
...” Her hands stilled in midair.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” she signed absently. “It was something I was trying to remember from my dream, but I couldn’t zero in on the image. But I think I remember now.” She sat straight up with a mixture of excitement and wariness.

“What do you remember?” Owen urged her forward.

“The hand in my dream—no, in my memory—was wearing a gold ring. It had a square black face. As the hand reached for me, something flashed in the light.” Miriam squinted as the vision converged. “I can see it now plain as day. It was the letter
T.
”

For so many years, she’d fought to drag that image from the recesses of her mind, and now that she had, she couldn’t help but grin at her success.

Owen, however, didn’t.

“What’s wrong? Why does this upset you?” She leaned toward Owen.

“Jerome Thibodaux has a ring that fits your description. And because of that, his house will be my first stop this bright and early morning. I want to know if he was in that tunnel all those years ago. And if he was, then what would stop him from using it now to store his drugs—or his
pots,
as he says?”

“And maybe he can tell you the woman’s name,” Miriam offered.

“Us. He will tell
us
the woman’s name.” Owen checked his cell and found what he’d been waiting for. The judge had got back to him about the ROR. The release on her own recognizance should be faxed and waiting for them at the receptionist’s desk. “Great, your release is here for you to sign. Hurry up and get dressed. You’re going with me. You need to identify that ring, and I need you...” His face blotched.

Owen sprang to his feet and away from her.

Miriam leaned forward at his sudden change. “What do you need?”

With a pivot, he headed to the door without finishing his thought. At the door, he signed quickly, “Just hurry up,” and closed the door behind him.

A heavy awkward silence filled the room. The silence pressed in on her skin from all sides. A silence she could actually feel. Even though she shivered, she got up and shrugged out of her robe to get dressed. Her gaze remained glued on the sealed door, and she wondered what had sent Owen running.

Did it have something to do with the case? Had some imminent danger just become clear to him? Was it about her safety? Maybe that was why he was taking her with him....

But then, why would he run from her? Why would he turn his back on her and shut her out? And why did it hurt so much?

Miriam accepted the answer to that question, along with the realization it brought. She buttoned the top two buttons of the teal scrubs the nurse had left out for her. She let her hand fall to her aching heart. Her fingers curved into the letter
O,
for Owen.

It seemed he had found a place in her heart...even though she did not have a place in his.

ELEVEN

O
wen paced across the empty clinic waiting room, a tacky lighthouse painting hanging on the wall blurred in his crazed mind. Had he really just told Miriam he needed her? Seriously?

What he needed was a swift kick off this island.

He needed to know if and why Jerome Thibodaux was in that tunnel. He needed to know the whereabouts of Nick Danforth, and he needed to know if the Thibodaux family was running this show.

But most important, he needed to fix his relationship with his son.

Those were the things he needed.

Not Miriam.

Owen came to the end of the room and cut a 180-degree turn, only to face the reason for his lapse in good sense.

She stood in her doorway, her hair draped over one shoulder like a waterfall waiting to be played in. Owen fisted his hands at his thighs to keep from reaching for her.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.” He spoke aloud. At her squinted eyes he realized she was trying to read his lips. He raised his hands and signed, “Everything’s changing. Nothing’s what it’s supposed to be. Including you. Especially you.”

Miriam’s light pink lips titled up at one side—a dainty smirk that invited his attention. He zeroed in on her mouth and thought how soft and sweet it looked. So tempting. It would be so easy to take her into his arms and forget about his responsibilities. He took a step and halted, giving himself a mental shake.
Focus, Matthews.

Miriam lifted her hands, and as slowly as the sun rising outside, she signed, “I think I understand. You’re letting go of your guilt, so now God can bless you.”

“Bless me?” Owen lightly scoffed, but at Miriam’s unrelenting nod, he let her idea sink in. “Bless me,” he said aloud, understanding. He signed, “I did ask God for forgiveness.”

Her face lit up in a bright smile of approval. She stepped forward with her arms outstretched in an invitation to celebrate with a hug.

Owen felt his own face split in a grin, pride swelling over making her happy. He tried to keep that pride at bay, knowing the last time he’d acted on pride, disaster struck.

He met her halfway and took her in his arms for an embrace of gratitude for all she’d done for him. With his son and for his faith. Only, when she stepped away and he didn’t want to let her go, he knew this embrace had nothing to do with gratitude.

Miriam brought his hand to her cheek, tilting her head into his palm. Joy filled her eyes with a sheen of happy tears. But when her liquid eyes fell to his lips the celebratory moment shifted to new and dangerous territory.

The temperature in the room shot up a few degrees, and Owen gave a slight shake to his head. He knew he should back away before this went too far. Before he had to repent for hurting another pure heart.

Her eyes remained locked on his lips, while her teeth bit down on her own. She lifted her gaze to capture his.

A question waited in her eyes.

She wanted to kiss him...just as much as he wanted to kiss her.

Red flags of warning waved in his head.

He had a job to do. He had a relationship to fix with his son. He needed to do the right thing this time.

And he would. Right after this one kiss.

Owen threaded his fingers through her long, silky hair, as he’d wanted to when she first walked into the room. Her golden-red strands slipped through his fingers like fine sand on the seashore. He cupped the back of her head to pull her toward him, resting his forehead on hers.

A puff of air wafted from her parted lips. It encouraged him to continue. His own breath picked up speed as the waving red flags blurred away and all that mattered in this moment was Miriam. Here, in his arms.

Owen brushed his lips against hers, promising to keep it tender and sweet.

A little more pressure, and he forgot what he’d promised.

Having her in his arms rocked him to his core. His simple kiss became an astounding crush of awe and amazement. He lifted her from the floor, needing to be even closer to this woman. This woman who changed everything. This woman who showed him how wrong he’d been on so many accounts. This woman who showed him how to hear with his heart.

Except, if he really listened to his heart, then he would hear it telling him to let her go.

God was giving him a second chance to make things right with his son. He had years of pain to fix, and he would not mess up again. He had a broom to pick up, as Len had stated.

But that did not include Miriam. He had a life to pick up with his son.

Owen tore himself away from her. Immediately he ached to hold her again, but he pushed the need aside to make her understand. To make himself understand.

Owen stepped back and signed, “You’ve helped me so much. And I will be forever grateful, but—”

Miriam stopped him by covering his hands. She shook her head and signed. “Not right now. We can talk later. After everything’s been cleared up and the right person is behind bars.”

Owen nodded. “Later,” he signed, but deep down he knew later he would be gone.

* * *

As Owen and Miriam stood in the entrance of the Thibodaux home up on the bluffs, he texted Wes in between his doorbell rings and his door knocker pulls.

The text to Wes read,
The Hunter basement has a secret passageway. Trapdoor in the floor. Check it out. Get back to me. I’m about to question the Thibodaux family.

The door cracked open after another round of knocking. “Can I help you?” Alec Thibodaux peeked out, his gaze bouncing from Miriam to Owen and back to Miriam. “Ms. Hunter?” he shouted slowly. “I’m sorry to hear about your arrest! If there’s anything my family can do for you, please say the word...or sign.” Alec cringed. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right, but I wasn’t expecting you. You’ve kind of caught me off guard.”

Owen would give the guy a break for his crassness because it was 6:30 a.m., but by the looks of his pressed yachting clothes and neatly combed hair, it would seem Alec had been up for a while. Expecting somebody even—someone with a lot of money he needed to impress with his expensive digs.

“I see janitor jobs pay a lot these days.” Owen dropped his gaze to the spit-shined shoes. “Are those handmade?”

“Excuse me?” The door widened. “They were a gift, and I would appreciate you using the correct term for my employment.” He shot a glance at Miriam, who stood plastered to Owen’s side.

The shoes could be a gift, Owen figured. Perhaps from his brother? Or was there someone Owen was missing? “May we come in? We need to speak with Jerome,” he asked.

“Is this about his son? Is that why you brought the deaf and dumb one?” Alec whispered the last part and jerked his head in Miriam’s direction.

Owen knew Miriam read Alec’s lips no matter how low he spoke. He hated that she had to bear such ignorance. He expected to find hurt-filled eyes when she looked at him. Instead, her eyes jumped with glee. She winked and flashed Alec her beautiful smile. The older man swallowed hard at the serene vision beaming at him. Owen would say the guy was lost, but with his own throat tightening, he couldn’t say much of anything at the moment.

She captured Owen’s gaze with a twisted grin and signed, “This janitor has pushed his last broom.”

“What did she say?” Alec demanded, his head bouncing like a Ping-Pong ball between them.

“She said, uh, you’re a great custodial engineer, and she’s happy to have you on her staff.” Owen grinned. So this was what it felt like to be on this side of Miriam’s humor. He had to admit it was fun. Wes needed to lighten up. Just because Miriam had a sense of humor didn’t make her a dishonest criminal.

“Oh, I didn’t know you could sign,” Alec alerted Owen to the fact he’d just given his secret away.

Owen attempted to skim right past his slipup. “Just a few signs here and there. So is Jerome here?”

“No, sorry. He never returned home last night. Had some matters to take care of, he said, but I’ll be sure to tell him you two stopped by.”

“Great. I appreciate that. It’s important that I talk to him.”

“Is Ben that troublesome? That boy needs to learn to do what he’s told.” Alec’s well-pruned composure flared at the edges. “I’ve told Jerome for years to rein his son in before he started walking on the wrong side of the law.”

“I didn’t say he was on the wrong side of the law,” Owen pointed out.

“That’s right.” Alec squared him up. “You’re just a teacher.”

Owen felt Miriam squeeze his arm. She read Alec’s vibe loud and clear. It appeared Alec might know who Owen was.
What
he was.

Miriam’s keen awareness surprised him. She seemed to have a good grasp at reading people’s emotions and objectives and not just their lips. Contrary to his earlier belief that deaf people couldn’t be principals of a hearing school, Owen began to think maybe Miriam could hold her own against the toughest of offenders sent to her office. In fact, she probably had them shaking in their sneakers, wondering how she had the ability to read into their souls.

“If Jerome’s not here, then I need to speak with Frank.”

“My father’s sleeping right now. He’s very ill, if you couldn’t tell when you met him last night.”

“I could tell fine, but I need to ask him a quick question about a ring.”

“What ring?”

“The ring Jerome wears. I was wondering where it came from.”

“The Thibodaux ring?”

“Yes. The one with the letter
T.
”

“Well, that’s no big secret. It came from my father and his father before him. It gets passed down from one heir to the next when they turn eighteen. Why?”

“So soon it’ll be Ben’s?” Owen asked.

Alec shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Great, that’s all I wanted to know. Thanks for your help. Be sure to tell Jerome we stopped by. And give my best to your dad.” Owen turned to leave. “Oh, one more thing. Do you have a son?”

Alec’s chest puffed. “I have two sons and a daughter. You met them last night. My boys sat beside me at the table.”

“Oh, right. Sorry I didn’t get to meet them formally. They looked like a couple of strong young men. Good for you.”

Alec shut the door before another word could be spoken.

Owen led Miriam down the walk to his borrowed deputy’s vehicle. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised his cover was blown; driving around in this thing was a dead giveaway. He just hadn’t had time to borrow another vehicle or locate the truck.

He also figured the time had come to start showing his badge.

Owen paused before he opened the passenger door for Miriam and signed, “So, what do you think?”

Her lips frowned at the edges. “This reminds me of Esau and Jacob’s story in the Bible. When the younger son received from his father the older son’s blessing. It would seem Alec’s father gave his blessing to the younger son, too.”

Owen nodded in contemplation. “That’s got to make Alec pretty mad.”

Miriam’s face turned solemn. “Or hurt. Esau never received the acceptance he needed from his father. And it was the younger son who used underhanded tricks to steal what rightfully belonged to the eldest.”

Owen chewed on that tidbit for a moment. “More reason to find Jerome, I’d say.” He checked his cell phone and found no answer from Wes yet.

“Where to next?” Miriam asked.

“Nick Danforth’s. Remember when I said you’d have your day with Nick?”

Miriam nodded.

“Get ready, sweetheart. Your day has arrived.”

* * *

Miriam brought her hand down on Nick’s white seaside-cabin door. After ten slaps on the hard wood, her palm stung.

Owen peered through the windowpane beside the door. “I don’t think anyone’s home,” he signed.

“But Nick’s car is here.” She gestured to the black VW Rabbit parked in the narrow, shell-crunched street behind them.

“It could have been here since before his assault,” Owen speculated with a bearer-of-bad-news expression. “Maybe he never made it home.”

Miriam flattened her palm to bang again in growing desperation. Regardless of what Nick had done to ruin her reputation with the islanders, she didn’t want anything to happen to him. Someone had already beaten him up to get to her. Whoever wanted her off this island was willing to go to extremes. Nick didn’t need to pay for her stubbornness at not heeding their warnings.

Owen covered her hand on the door. He brought his finger to his lips to shush her, then signed, “I think I hear something. A jingling sound. It sounds familiar...almost like the sound I heard at the school when I found you in the bathroom.” He turned an ear to the door, his eyes downcast, unseeing. “There’s a woman inside. She’s telling us to hold on.”

“A
woman?
” Miriam signed in disbelief. Owen might as well have said Santa Claus. Nick didn’t have a woman in his life. He would have told her if he was serious about someone. Owen had to be hearing wrong.

The door swung open to a mussed-up and teary-eyed Stephanie Miller.

Miriam blinked a few times at her secretary before signing, “What are you doing here? And where is Nick?” Thankfully, Owen filled in as interpreter without being asked. Although she was pretty sure he had the same questions she did.

“He...bed. I...here...won’t wake up.” Even with understanding only a portion of Stephanie’s distraught words, Miriam grasped the most important part.

Her friend was hurt.

They rushed past Stephanie and an overturned living/dining room. Out of the corner of her eye Miriam saw a broken chair leg on the carpet. Was all this from the first assault? Or had there been another?

They ran to Nick’s bedroom and saw him sprawled out on the bed. Owen jostled him, first on his chest, then his jaw. He ripped open Nick’s shirt. Miriam could tell Owen shouted at Nick to wake up. She opened her mouth to speak, deeming it necessary, but before she could form a word, Nick’s eyes sliced open. His lips mumbled something unreadable.

Owen faced her, “He’s okay. I think he might have taken something, judging by his grogginess.”

“Taken something. Like what?” Miriam asked.

Owen scanned the room. “Some kind of drug.”

“Nick would never take drugs.” Miriam wanted to back her friend wholeheartedly, but with Stephanie standing at the footboard, Miriam questioned if she really knew Nick at all.