Silent Weapon by Debra Webb Page B

touch. My gaze settled on his lips in anticipation of his words.
    Don’t be fooled by his elegant manners or his exquisite taste in clothes. Luther Hammond is a killer. If you make a mistake, he’ll kill you, too.

Chapter 7
    “T his is where I’ll be staying?”
    I shifted my attention from the three-dimensional model of the Hammond mansion to Barlow’s face.
    Yes. This —he waited until I took note of the suite of rooms on the model and then fixed my gaze back on his lips— is the corridor that connects your rooms to the kitchen and rear staircase.
    His hand moved to the second story. My attention alternated between the model and his face as he identified each space in the enormous house. Hammond’s room. Tiffany’s. The au pair’s next door. Mason Conrad is the only member of Hammond’s security who resides in the house. The others use the guest house. Conrad’s room is here.
    Mason Conrad. This morning I’d studied the profile Barlow had provided on him. At thirty-three Conrad had risen from a homeless bum to Hammond’s right-hand man. Conrad hadn’t even graduated high school. But he did possess the all-important street smarts and the one vital characteristic a mob leader searched for within his ranks: absolute loyalty.
    My mentor rested his hand on my shoulder to regain my attention. A little jolt of electricity accompanied his touch and startled me…just a smidge.
    Most of Hammond’s business is likely conducted in this room, he said, oblivious of my unexpected reaction since he simply gestured to the study off the entry hall and continued, but you may find opportunities to learn pertinent information almost anywhere in the house.
    “If the study is his primary place of mob business, is there no way to get surveillance bugs in place?” Maybe it was a dumb question, but they had the complete layout of the house, from the cleaning service, I presumed. Why couldn’t someone from that same service plant something? A high-tech listening device like the ones I’d seen in movies. I didn’t know the official name of the devices or even how they actually worked, but I knew they existed. It seemed awfully elementary to me.
    We tried that once. The man who planted the bug was executed. We never found his body.
    My chest constricted. Why did I keep forgetting that…the whole idea of mobsters and planned executions were just too foreign to me…too surreal. “Oh,” I choked out. He’d warned me last night that the slightest mistake could cost me my life, ensuring another sleepless night. Maybe on some level I still didn’t get this whole Hammond gangster world. How could anyone be that utterly ruthless?
    Walk me through the house again.
    Strong-arming my full attention back to the nifty model, I dredged up the necessary information. I’d done this half a dozen times already. But since knowing the house would help me escape in a hurry if need be, I did as I was told. Upstairs, downstairs and the grounds, including the guest house, massive garage, terrace and pool. I didn’t miss a beat. I had the layout nailed. This appeared to please him.
    Excellent.
    The strangest fizz of heat erupted beneath my belly button. I didn’t get it. It wasn’t like this was the first time I’d seen him smile at me much in the same way I’d smiled at my students when they succeeded in a task. I mean I fully understood how defenseless my inability to hear left me. However hard I attempted to focus my other senses, I recognized that frailty. I had to learn every seemingly insignificant bit of information he had to teach me. But this other reaction…this feeling of…I don’t know…attraction, maybe…was just too weird.
    Let’s discuss the profiles on each significant player once more.
    I picked up the first folder, read the name and then began to recite what I had learned about the player described within. Each time I stole a glimpse of Barlow from the corner of my eye, he seemed to be analyzing my profile. Or, even