Sounds to Die By: Sensory Ops, Book 1 Read online

  “You need to clue me in. What’s going on, Cabrera?”

  She stepped back and a cool breeze swept her warmth away. He missed it. He didn’t want to miss it. He’d lay serious odds that she saw him as a charity case.

  She’d followed him since leaving his office, immediately recognizing his blindness. Her heart had kicked with the surprise he’d no doubt given her with Maximum and his harness. She’d kept a careful distance until he’d reached home. When he’d started out without Maximum, certain she waited outside, she’d cut the distance in half.

  He knew her type. Trusting people was only one of her issues. She saw him as handicapped. She considered him venturing out without his dog as foolish. She hadn’t quite grasped the reality that he wasn’t like other blind men.

  When he’d entered the crowds, a place he felt as comfortable as any seeing man, she’d closed in on him more. Her heartbeat grew louder and stronger the closer she’d gotten. She wanted answers. He wanted answers.

  “We can each have what we want.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You’re cautious. I like that.” He grinned. “To a point.”

  “How I am isn’t for you to like or not.” She shifted. The leather of her bag rubbed against the softness of her clothes. “Tell me what you know.”

  He stepped around her and headed toward the clubs.

  “Damn it, Cabrera.” She stayed at his side, as he’d known she would.

  “Ian.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “Call me Ian.” Testing her reaction, and his own, he reached down and linked his fingers with hers. A shot of electricity and instant warmth slid up his arm. Her hands were soft, free of calluses except the small one on the inside of her middle finger from writing. “And I’ll tell you what I think.”

  “I need facts.” She pulled her hand. He held firm. “Fine. Ian.”

  “Ah.” He flustered her. Her heart skipped. “You really are a charmer.”

  “And you get off on dragging things out.”

  “You don’t know me well enough to know what gets me off.”

  “Nor do I want to.”

  Sparring with her fed an intellectual hunger he hadn’t known he had. She had a quick wit and even now that she knew he couldn’t see, she didn’t dwell endlessly on his lack of vision. Even his family forgot to think of him as a whole man at times. “Don’t protest too soon, Kieralyn. Patience is a virtue.”

  “And that’s a shitty cliché.”

  “Shitty because you don’t like how true it is.” He stopped outside the door of Jazz on The Rocks. “Like now.”

  “How so? What did you hear that sent you here?”

  He could have said he’d come just for the music, but it was her case and she might see something he missed. He’d just have to think fast if El Dogo was inside.

  A couple approached. Ian pulled her intimately against him. With his lips against her ear, her scent once again slipping into him, he closed his eyes and sighed. “This club may be the one the recording was made in.”

  “And you know that…”

  “Based on the sounds of the place. Different calibers of clubs have different levels of sound. Different décor impacts acoustics differently. The one on the recording was high class and near the beach.”

  “And this is one?”

  “One of two in Miami.” He slid his lips along her neck, tasted seduction and craved a more thorough exploration of her. “You be my eyes. Tell me what and who you see. Where they are. What they’re doing.”

  “Let me guess…” Her throat bobbed in a swallow. Her skin heated. Her heart pounded faster. “You’re my ears.”

  “I could differentiate your heartbeat from the masses of people on this street. If there’s something worth hearing in the club, I’ll pick up on it.”

  Her hands rested at his waist. “And if there isn’t?”

  “We try the next one.”

  “What’s the catch, Cabrera?”

  “Uh-uh.” Suddenly determined to torment her every time she called him Cabrera, he nibbled her lobe. His blood rushed from his head, leaving him a little dizzy. “Call me Ian.”

  “What’s the catch, Ian?”

  “You have to pretend to be into me.” He slid his hands over hers and tugged on her arms so they wrapped around him. “Really into me.”

  “I’ve been undercover before.”

  “I’m your partner in this, Kieralyn, and you aren’t convincing me. Intimacy requires touching of the very personal kind.”

  “I’m touching you.”

  “This club is one for lovers. I’m not talking a first date kind of thing.” He rolled his hips forward. Her heart jumped. “Touch me of your own will, Kieralyn. As if you’re interested in me on an emotional level as well as a physical one. Allow yourself to let go.”

  “Are you saying this is a kink club?”

  “No, but now I know how your mind works.”

  She shoved against his chest and stepped back. “You think you’re funny?”

  “A man has to find fun where he can.” He cleared his throat. “Seriously, if you can pretend to be attracted to me we’ll blend in better. People will be more at ease and more inclined to talk to us.”

  Her spine popped as she straightened. She placed her hands at his waist. “How intimate?”

  Very. “Enough that we’re a believable couple, rather than two government employees looking for answers. And no flinching when I touch you.”

  “I have not flinched.” She stepped up until her body brushed against his. Her fingers dipped into the waist of his slacks and she jerked him close. “And I won’t, so long as you mind your hands.”

  “Kieralyn.” Already enticed by her, he instantly hardened at the touch of her hands on him. At the fantasy of her slender fingers snapping his slacks open and lowering his zipper before she reached in and cupped him.

  Maybe he should have just hidden until she was gone. He brushed his cheek against hers and prayed he could cope with the distraction of her. He needed to find out about El Dogo without cluing her in on why he wanted the information. “I believe your hands are the ones in question at the moment.”

  She pulled her fingers free of his pants, but kept her hands at his waist. Her heart hammered—matched the rapid pace of his.

  “Tell me something, Ian.” She arched her neck. A wanton sigh escaped her lips. “You don’t strike me as the type to do field work. What are you here to investigate?”

  “Possibly nothing.”

  “If you’re holding something back that pertains to my case—”

  “I’ll let you know when I know if I am.” He nipped her neck.

  “I don’t work that way.”

  His breath caught as her husky whisper feathered over his ear. “You have no choice in the matter.”

  Chapter Three

  Kieralyn flailed around in her head for a solution. There had to be an approach that didn’t include snuggling up to Cabrera. Ian. His body was hard, everywhere and in the most arousing ways. It wasn’t exactly a hardship to stay close to him, to have him touch her, breathe along her ear or brush his lips over her neck. To listen to the evocative slide of his voice. But she had a job to do. If she didn’t have proof of her theory come Monday morning, her unit would never let her live it down.

  She couldn’t afford Ian Cabrera right now. She couldn’t afford to turn away from him. She needed to know what he knew, and the best way to know he wasn’t keeping secrets was to stay by his side. To be his eyes as he’d put it. And if he could hear half as well as he claimed, he could pick up on information no one wanted them to have. Better yet, no one would suspect a blind man of being a threat.

  She would just have to shut off her emotions. Involvement wasn’t an option.

  “What do you say, Kieralyn?” He pulled away and gazed at her as if he could see her. See into her mind. “You willing to play?”

  “Don’t confuse this for anything personal, Ian.” She put some spac
e between them and surveyed him up and down. Damn, but he’s fine. “I’m using you for my job. Nothing more.”

  “Use me for whatever you’d like.” He slid one hand along the line of buttons on her blouse. He held the other out to her.

  He was smooth. So smooth that his insinuations weren’t the least bit insulting, though they awakened hidden desires that could make non-involvement an issue.

  She swallowed and took his offered hand. Following him to the club, she resolved to figure out the mystery of him before the night ended. Including the way he stayed in shape and how he managed to maneuver so easily without aids. If she was lucky, she’d discover the cause of the scars and his confusing attitude shifts.

  He hesitated a second at the door. She nudged him aside and pulled it open. The room was softly lit by decorative sconces at alternating heights on the walls and votives in colored glass bowls on the linen-covered tables. A single, padded bench ran the length of the farthest wall with small tables placed in front of it. The tables were crescent shaped and positioned so the chairs faced the stage positioned in the far corner. A giant, sepia-toned painting of a man’s closed eyes dominated the wall above the bench seating.

  “Welcome to Jazz on the Rocks. I’m Taylor.” The handsome man smiled. He was mid-twenties, blond and average height with a tiny scar at the corner of his lip. His suit and gray striped tie were sophisticated, but not overly formal. “Table for two?”

  “That would be great.” She stepped in front of Ian and casually placed his hands on her hips so she could guide him through the tables. To anyone watching, she would look like a woman wanting her lover’s touch.

  Not that he would ever be her lover.

  “Do you have a back table?” Ian leaned over her shoulder and spoke to the maître d'. “Maybe near the bar?”

  Taylor picked up two menus and smiled. “Right this way.”

  As she followed him to their table, Kieralyn wondered how Ian would get past not being able to read the menu. Again, her curiosity rose about his decision to leave his dog at home and venture out without aid.

  Did the dog make people uncomfortable? Did certain establishments give him a hard time about taking his dog inside? Maybe he thought he would draw less attention to himself alone. Though to her, it seemed more likely that a blind man stumbling through places unfamiliar to him would draw quite a bit of attention.

  “Here you are.” Taylor pulled a seat from the table and held it for Kieralyn.

  She started to comment that Ian should take the seat.

  “Kieralyn.” He brushed the hair from her neck, his fingertips dancing along her nape.

  An electric charge followed the path he drew. She stifled the urge to press back against him.

  “Sit.” His voice was pitched low so only she could hear.

  She sat and took the menu Taylor handed her. Ian sat beside her as if he knew exactly where the chair was and took the menu he was offered.

  “Thank you, Taylor.”

  Ian moved his chair closer to hers. As soon as Taylor was out of ear shot, she asked, “How’d you know he was offering the menu to you, but didn’t know in your lab that I’d offered you my hand?”

  “Because it’s the logical step in his process.” He rested his arm on her chair and played with her hair. “And the laminate rubs against his fingers. What color is your hair? The highlights?”

  “Brown with red. How’d you know I colored my hair? Highlights rather than full color?” She scanned the other tables, filled with couples all sitting close. “And how could you hear his fingers on the menu?”

  “Hmm.” He buried his face in her hair. “Most women would go blonde. Then again, a lot of women would straighten their hair if it was this wavy. As for the menu, Taylor needs lotion. He has dry hands like a lot of people in the restaurant business.”

  Tingles of apprehension, excitement, slid just beneath her flesh. Her skin was hyper-sensitized. She felt each hair on her arm and head down to the roots. “Wait. You know my hair is curly?”

  “Wavy and thick.” He cupped the back of her head. “Tempting. Like you.”

  “Ha.” She coughed a little. “You do remember we’re only pretending, right? That you’re supposed to be listening and I’m supposed to be watching?”

  “So tell me what you see.”

  “Other than a blind cad who will, thank God, never know what he looks like?” Who has the charm of Simon Baker and the rockin’ bod of WWE wrestler Randy Orton—the combination was sexy dangerous.

  He pulled back and scowled straight ahead. His brandy eyes shifted from friendly seduction to something akin to primal fury. She couldn’t have offended him. He had to know he was behaving like an oversexed charmer. And surely he’d come to terms with his blindness. However long he’d lived with the disability, he’d had time to adjust to it, judging by his ability to move around.

  “Yes,” he snapped. “Other than that.”

  He was so confident. How could he not realize how appealing he was? “You’re touchy.” Yeah, she’d misstepped. He was pissed. She leaned close and placed her arm around his neck. She brushed her lips along his lobe. “Makes me wonder why. What makes you tick, Ian?”

  “Some mysteries are not yours to solve.” His voice held its harshness, but he relaxed his shoulders and settled back into the stance of lovers. “What do you see?”

  “All business.” She’d preferred that since joining the Bureau. Had needed it to keep from thinking of how differently she’d thought her life would turn out. She accepted his mood shift, but didn’t move away from him. He’d said intimate. She would give him intimate. “Fine. As you said, there are couples everywhere. Touching, holding hands, kissing, leaning together as they listen to the music. Waiters and waitresses are bustling around the room.”

  “Any sign of ours?”

  “Actually, a woman just indicated she’d be right over.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you know that?”

  “Pay attention to why we’re here. What else do you see?”

  I hate secrets. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

  “You followed me. Now do your job.”

  “Fine.” She huffed lightly. Arguments would have to come later. Not that they were going to have a later. “There’s a married man hitting on a woman at the bar. Sleaze. Though even there, most of the people are obvious couples.”

  She brushed her fingers along the nape of his neck, his shorn hair tickling her fingertips. “Another man, dressed much like Taylor, only slicker, is at the end of the bar talking to the bartender. The jazz band is an ethnic mix of guys. One woman. All dressed to the nines. Everyone is absorbed in their date or their job, and are paying little to no attention to what goes on beyond the circle of their table. No one raises any alarms or seems like they’d be involved in something like a kidnapping and slavery ring.”

  “Is that all you see? Nothing else?”

  “What do you want? A description of every outfit worn?”

  “I want you, a trained FBI agent, to see the details you’re missing.”

  “I miss nothing.” She was still considered a rookie, but Cabrera couldn’t know that. Just as he couldn’t know what she’d missed. “I can tell you where the people in here have bought their clothes and estimate an income level for you. I can go out to the parking lot and tell you which person likely drives what car, and I noticed that even though you can’t see the room, you sat so that your back is as close to the wall as it can get with everyone else either in front of you or to your side.”

  “You’re touchy.” He taunted her with her earlier words. “I’m not arguing that you’re observant, but like most seeing people, your sight is a handicap for you whether you realize it or not. You see what’s on the surface, missing the undercurrents of the environment you’re in.”

  “Don’t get pissy again, but how would you know what I missed?” No way was she handicapped. She would let him speak, but she wouldn’t allow him to go on thinking she was lacking.

  An
attractive waitress stepped up to their table and sat two glasses of water down. “Sorry for the wait. My name’s Lisa. What can I get you to drink?”

  Kieralyn smiled, though she really wanted to get back to the debate with Ian. He was mentally stimulating, if a bit irritating. “I’ll have a glass of your best Riesling.”

  Lisa nodded and smiled at Ian. A glint of appreciation lit her eyes. “And you, sir?”

  Ian smiled up at Lisa. The scars at the edges of his eyes crinkled and added to his appeal. “A Coors would be great.”

  “I’ll get those drinks right over and take your food order.” Lisa strode away.

  Kieralyn turned back to Ian. “All right. Out with it.”

  “First, I’m sorry for being touchy. Your reaction got to me more than I’d thought it would.” He put his arm around her at the waist and leaned close. “Now, for what you’ve missed.”

  “We’ll start with the man talking to the bartender. He’s the owner and shows it off by wearing a well-cut, high quality suit and an expensive watch. He’s right handed and wearing a gun under his left arm. He’s not afraid to do his own dirty work. He’s trained himself to speak and move as if he was born to wealth, but there is an almost imperceptible layer of the streets beneath his veneer.”

  If he was the owner, was he involved in the case? Something from her recording had sent Ian here. If the recording had been made at the club, the owner would know. Wouldn’t he? If that was the case, he’d know about Lana. Or had something else tipped him off to her? “I’m going to get tired of asking, but how do you know that?”

  “Fabrics are no different than places. They each have sounds that are as distinct as their weights and textures. His suit whispers.” Ian rested his hand on her knee and ran it up her thigh where he fingered the edge of her skirt. “Like these stockings you wear beneath this skirt. Both are silk, but the skirt’s fabric is woven with a poly blend to give it more weight than the spun silk of your stockings.”