Miles frowned. “Yes, sir. Although I think it would be better to have someone certified.”
People didn’t always understand that managing direct communication in sign language and interpreting at a professional level were two totally different skills. Just because someone could speak the language didn’t mean they could expertly translate it into English.
“I agree. But interpreters are very hard to come by.”
“Yes, sir. I will try to get all that scheduled ASAP.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” A pause. “Miles, I’m going to put you in charge of this case.”
“Sir?” His heart thumped in his chest.
“You’ve been doing good work since you came back. I want to find this perp. And I think you’ve proven you can handle the responsibility. Plus, you can communicate directly with our victim, so that makes you the natural candidate.”
“Thank you. I will do my best.”
He tapped the face of the watch, disconnecting the call, joy bursting through his body. His first case as the lead. The chief trusted him again—he could finally put his past mistakes behind him. This had been a long time coming.
Then he looked at Rebecca, and some of the joy faded. As proud as he was to be lead in the case, he hated the idea that his victory came with the price of her horrible attack.
She was so vulnerable. Just like his stepsister, Sylvie, had been. Suppose this wasn’t a one-time attack? Suppose the perp was a stalker, fixated on Rebecca? He would have his work cut out for him, finding the perp before he struck again. Oh, he’d been in on tough investigations before. Chief Paul Kennedy had been slowly giving him more and more responsibility as he had shown he could be relied on.
For some reason, though, this responsibility seemed heavier. Because it was quite likely that the beautiful young woman sitting a few feet away was still in danger.
The trip to Rebecca’s apartment was a quiet one. She’d given him the address, and off they went. Since he was familiar with the area, he didn’t need to take the time to plug the address into his GPS.
The trip was silent, but not uncomfortable. Rebecca had calmed down. Once they were ensconced in his vehicle and moving away from the scene, the tension in her shoulders and face seemed to have eased. She wasn’t happy, but neither was she panicked. Which was good.
As for Miles, he appreciated the silence. It gave him a chance to process the events of the evening and get a hold of his own emotions. He couldn’t help but worry about how she was handling the pressure, though. He turned to look at her—her expression was smooth, unruffled. Could she really be that calm? He would have expected more panic, or at least signs of discomfort. He’d seen the bruises on her neck—they had to be hurting.
Get a grip, Olsen. She’s not your sister. She’s strong. And now she’s your case. Keep it professional.
He was so involved in his own thoughts, he almost missed the entrance to her apartment complex. Good thing Windy Hill Apartments had a large sign out by the road. Grimacing, he shifted on his blinker and spun the wheel at the last second, swerving hard into the driveway. In his periphery, he saw Rebecca put her hand on the dashboard to brace herself.
Bet that impressed her. Not.
What an awful parking lot to come into at night. It had one light, right in front of the entrance. But the rest was dark, the corners in the lot merging into the shadows and trees. Anyone could hide out in those shadows, and she wouldn’t be aware of it until it was too late. Rebecca wouldn’t be able to hear any telltale sounds that might warn her of impending danger.
Great. Now he was getting paranoid on her behalf.
He parked the cruiser under the light and switched off the ignition. Turning to face Rebecca, he paused when he saw her pensive glance. Her eyebrows squished together and her lips tightened. She flickered her gaze around the dark edges of the lot. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one who found the place unsettling.
He tapped her on the shoulder once, to get her attention.
She glanced nervously at him. She was definitely disturbed by something.
“What’s wrong?” he signed, folding his three middle fingers down over his palm while extending his thumb and little finger, then tapping the folded part against his chin.
She pointed to a window on the second floor. The curtains were open, and the lights were out. “That’s my apartment. My roommate isn’t home yet.” Using the one-handed ASL alphabet, she finger-spelled her roommate’s name. Holly Fletcher. “I knew she wouldn’t be, but—”
“You are nervous about entering an empty apartment?” He raised his eyebrows and crooked the index finger of his right hand in a question mark.
“Yes.”
She didn’t look happy about admitting it. But at least she wasn’t denying it.
“No problem. I will walk up with you and make sure it’s all clear.”
Nodding, she turned from him to get out of the car. But not before he saw the relieved smile that swept over her face.
Wow, she sure was pretty. Yeah, so not going there. Even though she was.
Back to work, Miles. You have a job to do. And then you need to leave.
Shoving those dangerous thoughts from his mind, he focused on the task at hand. He waited as she tapped in the five-digit entry code. Although not foolproof, the added security measure did make him feel better about her safety here. They climbed the single flight of stairs and walked to her apartment. When Rebecca moved to unlock the door, Miles held out a hand to stop her. Startled, she moved her gaze to his, her brows rising in a question.
“Give me your keys,” he signed.
She dropped them in his open palm. He motioned for her to move back. As soon as she was away from the door, he leaned closer to listen for movement inside the apartment. Nothing. He unlocked the door as quietly as he could and signed for her to wait while he checked out the apartment. Her eyes widened as he removed his gun from the holster.
“Just a precaution,” he signed.
Keeping his weapon at the ready, he moved through the apartment, checking each room. The kitchen was spotless. No sign of any disturbance. The first bedroom was clear. It was clean, like the kitchen, but he knew at once it was the friend’s room rather than Rebecca’s. Pictures of the attractive brunette with a hodgepodge of people and in a variety of settings covered the large corkboard on the wall, with some in frames on the desk and dresser.
The next room was obviously Rebecca’s. The contrast was startling. The room was clean, but the decor was sparse. There were a couple of pictures. They all looked very recent, none dating back earlier than four or five years ago. And why would there be? The Amish didn’t take pictures. Against the far wall, there was a large oil painting. It clearly showed a white farmhouse with a black Amish buggy in the front. It was so realistic, it looked like someone could reach out and open the door of the buggy. He peered closer to see the artist’s signature, then whistled softly. Rebecca Miller. Wow. She had some mad talent.
On the desk under the window was an open laptop and several textbooks. A GED certificate was prominently displayed on the wall. That’s right, he thought. The Amish only go to school through eighth grade. Right next to that was a college diploma. She had a bachelor’s degree in art. It was awarded this past spring.
Giving in to his curiosity, Miles peered closer at the books. They covered topics ranging from the deaf community to the study of ASL and ethics and practices with interpreting for the deaf. Rebecca apparently aspired to get a CDI certificate. He’d only ever met one Certified