Warning Signs (Love Inspired Suspense) (2 page)

Every self-defense move Miriam had learned in college jumped to attention in her head. She tried to recall if there was a maneuver for when someone had you pinned under a blanket. Never did she think those tactics would be used, but perhaps this was the moment God had prepared her for through all those classes.
Stay with me, Father,
she signed her prayer of petition in her head because her hands were still secured under the blanket.
Give me strength and the knowledge to break away.
She mindfully pulled out the scripture tucked in her heart for times of darkness.

Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Miriam used the words from Isaiah 41 to hurl all her strength at the man again. This time, he jolted back as though she’d burned him. Without waiting another second, she sat up, flung off the blanket and scooted back.

He fell onto his haunches, hands raised in surrender, but her flight reflex still had her retreating farther away until she’d reached the edge of the rock. Her heart raced, pounding adrenaline through her head and body. Even being deaf, she could hear it coursing through her.

He hadn’t moved from his place, but he spoke again. Miriam studied his lips as her breathing steadied. He said something about kelp. She shook her head in confusion and a bit of annoyance. People always thought deaf people could read lips. She supposed she could read them half the time, but that left a lot of room for error, which is why she usually traveled with her interpreter—except in the afternoon when she swam out to the lighthouse to be alone. Never did she think she would need Nick way out here.

The stranger’s tall, lean frame bent to pick up a box labeled with the symbol of a red cross. He held it up to her and clarity came swiftly.

He hadn’t said
kelp.
He’d said
help.
He thought she needed help.

But why? What gave him the idea in the first place?

Miriam searched the island and figured it to be about five hundred yards away. Not a huge distance for a former competitive open-water swimmer like herself. But this man wouldn’t know she swam out to the lighthouse for exercise each day. He probably thought only a stranded and injured person would be this far from land.

Miriam supposed she could try to speak aloud to explain, but a long time ago she’d vowed only to use her voice when absolutely necessary. And giving this stranger her personal information wasn’t necessary.

In fact, the only thing necessary was to get off this rock quickly. Miriam didn’t believe she faced any danger from him anymore, but she also wasn’t inclined to be friendly.

She cagily followed his movements to the other side of the rock, where his boat was anchored.

He gestured with his hand for her to climb in, pointing toward the island.

Before thinking, she naturally lifted her hands to sign. After the first few signs, stating she would swim back, she stopped and waved her hands to say forget it. He wouldn’t understand anyway. She stood on the edge, still keeping him in her sight while preparing to dive in. But before her feet left the rock, Miriam glanced back at him one last time and froze.

His hand pointed to his chest, then rose to the side of his temple. She watched his index finger slowly point up toward the sky. “I understand,” he signed.

She nearly stumbled over. He knew her language? Would he say more? She waited, hating herself because deep down she hoped he would. How quickly she willingly trusted this man just because he understood her.

For so long, though, she’d been a foreigner in this hearing world, desperately seeking companionship. Now she stood face-to-face with the one thing she sought. Forever on the lookout for someone like her, or someone who understood her. Or at least wanted to try.

Poor Nick earned his pay and then some. But there were only so many current events and prime-time television shows to talk about with one person.

Miriam knew her traitorous face was lit in anticipation of finding a friend, but even so she tried her hardest to be nonchalant about the situation. Tentatively, she raised her hands and swirled her fingers in circles. “You sign?” she asked in her language.

His eyes darkened to those murky depths again. He gave one negative shake to his head and averted his gaze past her shoulder.

He didn’t sign.

Miriam did her best to express a lack of caring with a blasé shrug even though disappointment washed over her like a cold wave. Then her mind reminded her of the man’s answer to her question. If he wasn’t able to sign, then how did he understand her enough to answer her?

Unless he did understand her and didn’t
want
to talk to her.

Fine...whatever.
She dismissed him and his possible insult with a wave of her hand and lifted off the rock in one clean arc. Miriam sliced through the cold water with precision, letting it cool off her piqued temper, amazed her anger could still boil over so easily. She thought God had helped her with that unwanted emotion a long time ago, but sometimes her anger reared its ugly head and reminded her she still had some things to contend with.

Another day,
she told herself...again. She wondered if there ever was a good time to reopen old wounds. She thought not, but especially not right now.

She was in the midst of a troubling drug investigation. She had a drug supplier to find. Making friends and digging into her past were at the bottom of her list.

In fact, her past was one thing better left buried. Nothing good could come out of unearthing those dreams—or rather, nightmares. Miriam trembled, and it had nothing to do with the frigid northern waters she swam in.

The unnatural bulging eyes from those old nightmares stared at her from behind her closed eyelids; a large hand and a flash of something gold blinded her. Images as real today as they were when she was ten years old. She pushed through her strokes as she pushed the childhood terrors down into the dark abyss.

Mother always said they were figments of a child’s imagination. Except children weren’t supposed to be imagining such horrifying things.

No, I can’t go there.
She swam faster, pushed harder. Her hands sliced through the water, propelling her forward. Miriam had a feeling if she continued to delve deeper into that nightmare, she would never emerge. Not even the dark-haired rescuer she left in her wake would be able to save her from the dangers of that dark and menacing grave.

TWO

“Y
ou really think the principal is your number-one suspect?” Owen waited with Sheriff Wesley Grant outside the high school’s glass entrance doors. The buzzer signaled their authorization for admittance, and Wes pulled the door open.

“Her assistant’s got a prior arrest for possession of marijuana,” Wes discreetly informed Owen over his shoulder as they entered the school. “They neglected to share that little tidbit with the school board and don’t know I uncovered it. I’m keeping it to myself until I have enough evidence for a search warrant of their homes.”

“You seem to be putting all your efforts on these two. What is it about them you don’t like?” Owen eyed a well-dressed man at the end of the corridor sweeping the shiny floors with an oversize dust mop.

“You’ll see why when you meet them,” Wes answered. “I feel like Ms. Hunter’s constantly laughing at me. I’m a big joke to her.” He sneered.

“Well, you are funny-looking.” Owen jutted a chin at Wes’s head. “And you need a haircut, man. Have I been gone from Maine so long that the ladies dig the unkempt look now? Perhaps your principal is one of them. Maybe she isn’t laughing at you at all. Maybe she’s sweet on you. How old is she? Fiftyish?”

The green-clad sheriff chuckled. “Not quite.” Wes pointed to a door off to their left. He cleared his throat a few times. “So, you haven’t mentioned Cole since you arrived yesterday. How is your son?”

Owen’s back tensed. “He’s still living with Rebecca’s parents over in Bangor. It’s best that way. So, how do you think the drugs are getting here? This island’s pretty secluded.”

Wes nodded, taking Owen’s cue. No more talk about Cole. “My guess is Ms. Hunter and her assistant have a connection with a Canadian drug cartel. They’re helping to get the marijuana across the border by coming through my island. Then distributing it to their dealers on the mainland.”

“But some marijuana was found on school property. Why release it and take the chance of shutting down their operation?”

“Well, that’s where you come in. I need your, um, eyes to listen in on a few conversations.”

“You need my
eyes
to listen? I don’t understand.”

The men reached the principal’s office and entered. “Hey, Steph,” Wes said to the cute, pixie-like secretary at her desk. “I’m here to see Ms. Hunter.”

“Yup, she’s expecting you.” Steph lifted a slender arm rimmed with gold clinking bracelets and pointed toward the door. “She told me to tell you to go on in.”

“Thanks, darling.” Wes flashed a smile Owen thought might send the dark-haired girl into a tizzy the way she bloomed into the same shade of red as the netted lobster hanging on the wall behind her. Too bad for the girl if she thought Wes’s flirtations meant anything.

Wes had cut women out of his life the day his fiancée ran off with another man. But unlike Wes, Owen had lost his girl by his own hand.

Twice in two days memories of Rebecca caused his stomach muscles to twist in guilt. He let the feeling remind him to never forget. She was so young and beautiful, glowing with that new-mother look that made him fall in love with her every time he watched her snuggle their son or every time she reached for him, honoring him with her complete and total trust. His jaded heart would swell over her pure one. She was genuine and didn’t deserve to die.

But she had, and Owen had vowed to never ruin another pure heart again. Not another woman’s and not his own son’s. A solitary life would be his punishment.

“Uh, Owen,” Wes held the door handle to the principal’s office and spoke over his shoulder in a hushed voice. “There’s something you need to know.”

“What’s that?”

Wes cleared his throat again, putting Owen on the defensive. Suddenly, the door opened from the inside, yanking Wes’s hand along with it. Whatever Wes planned to say was cut off by a wiry-looking man, about five-eight, with blond hair and gold-rimmed glasses. Owen summed him up in two seconds as a nonthreat.

“Welcome back,
Sheriff.
We’ve been waiting for you.” The man swept a scrawny arm wide to invite them in, but his tight-lipped words implied they weren’t really welcome.

Owen extended a hand to the shorter man. “I’m Agent Matthews from the Drug Enforcement Agency.”

The man eyed Owen’s hand hanging in midair for an exaggerated second before placing his smaller, skinnier one into it. “Nick Danforth. I’m Ms. Hunter’s interpreter. Where she goes, I go.”

Interpreter? Did she not speak English?
Owen thought Nick’s response odd, but he shrugged it off. “Nice to meet you.”

“Owen,” Wes called from the front of the desk. A woman stood beside him, her hair twisted up loosely at the back of her head. Her slate-gray eyes grew wide as he leveled his own gaze on her. Even without the golden-streaked red hair flowing down her back, he remembered her from yesterday out on the rock.

She was the school principal?
And the number-one suspect?
Could that really be true? A deaf principal in her early thirties didn’t strike him as the drug-smuggler type. Yet he supposed he’d seen all types in his line of work and knew he needed to treat everyone as a suspect.

“This is Ms. Hunter. She’s deaf,” Wes announced matter-of-factly.

Owen caught Nick signing to the principal.
An interpreter for a deaf principal.
Nick’s earlier response now computed. Nick shut the door behind them and sidled up beside Owen, ready to do his job.

Ms. Hunter raised her hands and signed, “It’s nice to meet you, Agent Matthews.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Agent Matthews,” Nick said from beside Owen, interpreting Ms. Hunter word for word. Only, neither of them knew Owen didn’t need an interpreter. He understood her signs fine.

Owen turned away from Nick for a pointed look at his so-called friend. He could tell by Wes’s prolonged stare and slight shake of his head that he wanted Owen to keep his sign language knowledge under wraps.
A little heads-up would have been nice.

“I’ll explain later,” Wes said. “For now I would like you to get acquainted with Ms. Hunter and her staff so we can start the investigation.”

Then it clicked why Wes had brought him there. Owen would be able to spy on what was said between these two when they thought no one else understood. If they really were the smugglers, then Owen stood a chance of solving the case pretty quickly.

Owen fisted his hands at his side. “You, too, Ms. Hunter,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nick translate his words to sign language. Owen continued, “It’s my hope we can work together to get to the bottom of this problem on your island and in your school. I appreciate your help.”

She visibly relaxed and her lips quirked up at the edges as she signed, “I want that more than anything.”

“Grea—” Owen started and stopped, almost forgetting to wait for the interpretation. He deserved a swift kick for nearly giving himself away already.

“I hope you mean that,” Nick translated.

I hope you mean that? What?
Owen tilted his head and tried to figure out what he’d done wrong. He thought for sure she’d said she wanted to work together more than anything. Maybe his skills were rusty for lack of use. God knows he rarely used them. Having Nick might be a good idea, Owen decided.

He shrugged off his misinterpretation. “I understand I will be a teacher undercover. My goal is to find a leak that will lead me to the source of the drug supplier and then to the person smuggling the drugs to the island.”

Nick signed as Owen spoke, staying at about three words behind him. But Owen noticed Nick signed more than what was said. Owen recognized the extra signs as, “Don’t forget. This guy is here to investigate us. Not to help us.”

Ms. Hunter’s lips twisted and a flash of humor sparked from her eyes. Then she signed to Owen, “I’ve made preparations for you to teach English in Mrs. Standish’s classroom. She’s out on maternity for another three weeks, so you’ll be her substitute teacher. I’m hoping we won’t need more time than that. Nick, stop translating. This is between us. I met Agent Matthews out on the rocks yesterday. He came to my aid when he thought I was hurt. I think he can be trusted.”

Even though Nick stopped translating her final words, Owen kept on reading. He honestly didn’t fault her for sharing their first encounter with her interpreter. He supposed he used secret codes in his line of work, too.

But never had he taught an English class in his line of work.

“Would there maybe be a gym class I could teach instead?” Owen asked. “Shakespeare never made much sense to me. Plus, teaching a class like that would take up too much of my investigation time.”

“You and lifeguards,” Nick signed to Ms. Hunter, ignoring everything Owen had said. “Just because a man comes to a swimmer’s aid does not make him trustworthy. Your breakup with Lifeguard Andy should have taught you that lesson. Although I’m glad to see you’re keeping the investigator busy and out of our hair. Your plan is brilliant. He’s not too happy about teaching English, but he said fine.”

Owen jerked.
That’s not what I said at all.
Owen now knew he was not misinterpreting Ms. Hunter’s signs, and he needed to inform her that her boy Nick was not translating correctly. But to do so would blow his cover and ruin any chances of “listening” in on these two and their conversations.

Wes believed Ms. Hunter guilty of covering up something. If sticking him in an English classroom had been her idea, Owen thought Wes might be onto something.

It was no wonder his friend had asked him to come all the way up from Texas instead of going with an agent from the Bangor field office or even Boston. These two were probably talking circles around him. Poor guy.

“It’s a good thing, then, Agent Matthews isn’t a lifeguard,” Ms. Hunter signed. “Or I would be in trouble for sure.” Her lips twitched again as she cast a glance at Owen. “Because he is not hard on the eyes.”

Owen clamped his teeth together. It took every ounce of strength for him to pretend he didn’t understand.

“Ms. Hunter says the English class is all she has available, and I’m to show you to your classroom,” Nick translated.

“Did she, now?” Owen bit the inside of his cheek.

“You can follow me,” Nick mumbled.

“I was kind of hoping Ms. Hunter would join us so we could go over the plan of action in more detail.” Owen directed Nick to ask.

Instead Nick signed to Ms. Hunter, “He’s not your type. And you better be careful what you say around him. I think he’s going to be harder to fool than the sheriff.”

Interesting.
So Ms. Hunter was in fact fooling the sheriff about something.

Owen searched her eyes. A mischievous twinkle relayed that she definitely found something humorous. Owen now understood what Wes meant when he’d said she laughed at him. He was starting to feel like the butt of a joke, too.

The lights flickered overhead.

“That’s my TTY phone,” Ms. Hunter signed to Nick for him to translate information about her teletypewriter phone. Owen knew all about a TTY from calling his son, but he kept quiet as she explained through her interpreter. “It could be a parent trying to reach me. No one on the island has a TTY machine to type their message into, so they have to use a TTY service operator—a real live person standing by to take the caller’s message and transcribe it for me onto a screen. I can’t keep them waiting, but you go on,” she signaled with a wave of her hand and then turned the machine to face her, pushing the button to answer.

Miriam hit the button to read the message as they were about to leave. When her pleasant eyes iced over, their steps halted.

Owen zoomed in on the screen, but she hit the end call button before he could read it.

Nick raced forward.

“What did it say?” Nick’s signs demanded an answer.

Ms. Hunter shook her blanched face. “Not now.”

“Tell me.” Nick’s refusal to take her lead had Owen paying closer attention to their words. His signing secret already proved to be beneficial.

Ms. Hunter’s jumpy glances passed between Wes and Owen before she signed to her interpreter, answering his question. “Get off the island if you know what’s good for you. Now go. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Another crank call? That’s the third one this week!” Nick’s hands slapped out, seemingly unconcerned with cutting the two hearing people out of the conversation...or so he thought.

“I said not right now.” Ms. Hunter tilted her head toward Owen as she signed to Nick. Owen read the silent message loud and clear, but apparently Nick didn’t. The guy’s inability to keep his emotions at bay suited Owen just fine.

“It’s got to be someone with a TTY so they can send you the message directly,” Nick signed. “Using the operator service would be too risky. I’d give my right hand to know who on this island has one.”

“Yes. Me, too.” Ms. Hunter signed, then cringed. She studied her hands before continuing. “Well, maybe not my right hand. That would be like cutting out my tongue.”

Owen understood Ms. Hunter wasn’t worried about the pain of losing her right hand, but rather losing the only voice she had. It reiterated that his son would have the same hardship all his life—because of him.

Owen squinted up at all the diplomas and certificates hanging on the wall. There were a lot of letters after Miriam Hunter’s name. He couldn’t fathom how she’d achieved such great success. He didn’t dare hope the same for Cole.

“I still think you should report these pranks,” Nick signed quickly.

“Chasing pranks is not important right now.” Miriam signed back. “Finding a drug supplier is.”

“But what if they’re related? What if this is more than an upset islander who thinks you shouldn’t have this job?”

Owen tuned in to see what she thought about Nick’s idea. Owen thought he was onto something. The only thing he caught was a spark of anger from Miriam Hunter’s eyes. She apparently didn’t like the idea of people thinking she wasn’t worthy of her position.
But come on,
Owen scoffed.
A deaf principal for a hearing school?
She couldn’t possibly do the job right.