Page 1 of Feel Me

CHAPTER 1

Melissa

I stare at the name plate perched on my father’s desk:District Attorney Miles Fenske. It proclaims his position, allowing those who read it a glimpse of what he’s accomplished. Yet it’s only a glimpse. It’s not a true representation of all he is or all he means to me. The name plate is cheap, unlike the generous soul who stares back at me with the same gentle stare he’s carried since the first moment I saw him.What are you thinking, Melissa?He signs to me, moving his hands in beautifully fluid motions.

We’re alone in his office. He doesn’t need to sign to keep our conversation private. He could whisper, and I would still be able to read his lips. But he knows I’m more comfortable communicating with my hands, probably because American Sign Language is one of the many things we learned together. As a child I considered it our very own secret language, something he and I could share away from the hearing world.

That you’re making a mistake, I sign back.

My comment earns me a smile, but I can see his concern, despite the crinkles around his eyes that deepen when he grins. “You’re going to have to trust me,” he says aloud.

I let out a breath. He knows I trust him. How could I not?

I was brought to the Lehigh Valley District Attorney’s office when I was about six years old, after my biological mother had attempted to sell me in exchange for drugs. My mother probably thought it was a brilliant plan. Being born with profound hearing loss, I couldn’t speak or communicate, and there was much I didn’t understand. I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what happened. Not that I didn’t know it was wrong.

My primal instincts ordered me to run, that I was in danger, so I did?thank God I did. I kicked and fought, dodging the hands trying to grab me, scurrying out a window and onto the fire escape.

To this day, I remember the way the cold metal grating felt against my bare feet, and how I struggled to form what I thought were words as I banged on my elderly neighbor’s window. Miss Lena, the lady with too many cats and twice as many grandchildren, yanked me into her apartment when she saw me. She called the police, but by the time they arrived, my mother was gone.

I never saw her again, not that I regret it.

My eyes sting as I look to my father. My mother’s actions were horrific, her callousness still haunts me. But my escape forced her from my life and led me to this wonderful man who’s only ever shown me kindness.

I was placed in foster care, confused and frightened about what was happening and certain I’d eventually return “home”. Instead, I was brought before the young Assistant D.A. Miles Fenske. He was supposed to handle my case, dispose of it, and move on. He was never supposed to welcome me into his heart. Yet he did.

“Melissa,” he says. His words aren’t clear?not as clear as they can be, my hearing aids can only do so much, but I hear enough to sense the emotion in the way he speaks my name. “Why are you so sad?”

I raise my chin. “Declan O’Brien will never be the man you are. He’s not the right D.A. for this position.” I shake my head. “He belongs in the Trial Unit, Arson, Fugitive, anywhere else but where you’ve placed him.”

“I know you don’t like him . . .”

I raise my brows.

“. . . and that your interactions with him haven’t always been positive . . .”

“That’s because he was an asshole,” I mumble.

He chuckles. “I assure you, he never meant to offend you and deeply regrets his actions. Declan is smart, resourceful, and kind.”

I don’t agree. Not completely. Is Declan intelligent? Brilliantly so, and absurdly astute in court. With short wavy blond hair and a dashing grin that lights his blue eyes, he’s also gorgeous and he knows it. My problem is, he probably knows I know it, too.

As far as being kind . . . I don’t know. I just don’t know about him. “He’ll never be the man you are,” I repeat.

“I’m not asking him to be. I simply want the best person for the job, someone who will help the victims who need him most.”

“That’s what you claim. But he doesn’t have experience handling delicate cases where offenders often inflict irreparable trauma.”

“No, but as the head of Victim Services, you do,” he offers with a knowing gleam.

My nails dig into the wooden armrests. “If you’re trying to hook us up, I’m going to be seriously mad at you.”

The edges of his mouth curve. “I’m only asking you to help Declan as he transitions into his new role. This new assignment won’t be easy on him.”

“Because he doesn’t want it. He wants to be the head of Homicide.” I stand with my hands out, pleading. “Daddy, please reassign him. The Sexual Assault and Child Abuse Unit is not where someone who seeks glory belongs.”

My voice trails as I catch a glimmer of his pain. “Daddy?”

At once, he grimaces, his face flushing red only to grow alarmingly pale. I race around his desk, clutching his shoulders to keep him upright.

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