The Eyes Of Derek Archer

He eyed his burgeoning file on Susan Wade. She was a blonde. Could she have been the woman he saw? She certainly had a motive. According to the information he’d collected, Wade’s death had made her rich. From her service decorations, Archer knew Susan was an expert marksman on the rifle range, and she could have fired the gun that killed her husband.

By the time a month had passed, Archer knew he’d have to risk another trip to Spokane to meet her and fill in the blanks about her character and objectives. In the automobile garage where he worked, he plotted his every move as he changed oil and replaced worn-out fan belts.

By night, hunched over a flimsy table in his cramped basement room, he examined the newspapers he bought every day and added more information to his growing files. On days off, he compiled the forms he’d need, had them printed and finalized the background information for his cover as an insurance agent.

Two weeks later he was ready.

Spokane

SUSAN YANKED UP the kitchen blind and peered across her deck through the predawn grayness. After the luscious green foliage of Hawaii’s Big Island where she’d spent the past month, the bare trees and yellowed grass behind her condo looked as bleak as a graveyard. Disturbed by the sight, she released the cord and let the blind drop with a noisy rattle.

On Major Savage’s orders, she’d taken leave in Hawaii shortly after Brian’s funeral. Now she’d been home almost a week, and her spacious condo still seemed filled with his presence. Glancing from the kitchen into the contemporary living room, she could almost see him sitting on his leather recliner.

Why hadn’t she told him the truth about her assignment to Fairchild? Maybe if she’d trusted him more, their marriage would have been better. She’d wanted to tell him she was here on a covert mission so secret no one knew about it except key officers at the Pentagon Intelligence Agency. But her sense of duty always held her back.

Now Susan was left with the piercing guilt that she was somehow responsible for Brian’s death. Brushing her hair off her forehead, she told herself Don Albright was the killer. But she couldn’t help wondering if Brian’s death was somehow tied in to her covert mission—if he might still be alive if he hadn’t married her.

Brian had also left her a lot of money. The authorities had been delicate in their questioning, but there was no doubt they thought she had a motive for killing him.

Worse, she had no alibi for that awful afternoon. Absently, she placed the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher as she remembered what had happened. A telephone call—allegedly from the wife of one of her airmen—had led her on a wild-goose chase. The guard at Fairchild’s main gate remembered both her and Brian leaving the base within minutes of each other.

She’d told the police about the telephone call and her fruitless search for the airman’s wife, hoping they’d realize she’d been set up. They’d asked a few questions and talked to the couple, who denied making the call. Afterward, the police had acted even more suspicious.

Sighing, Susan put on her uniform overcoat. The phone rang as she started out the door. Returning to the kitchen, she picked up the receiver.

“Good morning,” she said, hoping it was somebody from the squadron with an urgent assignment for her, something important that would occupy her thoughts.

“Is Captain Wade there?” a man’s voice asked.

Susan’s heart sank at the friendly tone in his voice. He sounded vaguely familiar. Probably one of Brian’s friends, who didn’t know about the murder. She dreaded telling him. “No. Are you a friend of his?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “I’m an agent with Industrial Indemnity Insurance Company. Is this Mrs. Wade?”

“Yes.” Suddenly warm, she shrugged off her overcoat and laid it over the back of a chair.

“This is Derek Archer,” he said. “I’m sorry to call you so early, Mrs. Wade, but I’d hoped to catch your husband before he left for work. Could you give me his number at the office?”

“No,” she said abruptly. “He doesn’t need any more insurance.”

“I’m not trying to sell him a policy, Mrs. Wade. I’m trying to service the one he’s got.” He sounded tired, like a middle-aged man who was fed up with talking to difficult clients. Susan had a good ear for voices. Where had she heard his before?

Trying to be patient, she took a deep breath. “I didn’t know we had a policy with your company.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, you won’t have it long if you don’t get caught up on your premiums. Your husband’s missed the last two.”

Susan’s throat tightened. The last thing she wanted right now was more talk about insurance.

“Mrs. Wade?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“I’ll be in Spokane for the next few days at the Riverfront Hotel. That’s where I’m calling from. Tell your husband to call me so we can get this settled—Derek Archer from Industrial Indemnity.” He repeated his name and then gave her the hotel’s telephone number.

Susan didn’t bother to write it down. “My husband’s been dead two months, Mr. Archer. That’s why your premiums weren’t paid.”

There was a long pause. When he spoke, his tone was grave. “My condolences, Mrs. Wade. That puts a different light on things. Maybe we should get together to discuss your husband’s policy while I’m in town. How about lunch in the hotel dining room at noon today?”

Hesitating, she nearly said no. She was trained to be suspicious, and something didn’t seem quite right about this agent with a policy she had no record of. Why was he servicing the policy personally? Didn’t the company notify tardy payers by mail?

Then her natural curiosity took over. What was this man up to? Besides, if an insurance company owed her money, she’d be a fool not to collect it. “Fine,” she told him.

She started to hang up when he spoke again. “How will I recognize you?”

“I’m blond and I’ll be wearing an air force lieutenant’s uniform. How about you?”

“I’ll have a red handkerchief in my coat pocket.”

After she’d hung up, Susan kicked herself for saying yes. After the funeral, she’d examined every document in Brian’s file cabinet and safe-deposit box and had contacted the two insurance companies that carried his policies. Industrial Indemnity wasn’t one of them.

Better not go, she warned herself.

Quickly she dialed the number of the Riverfront Hotel and asked for Derek Archer.

Nobody with that name was registered.

For an instant she stood there motionless, the receiver clutched in her hand.

What kind of game was Derek Archer—if that was his real name—trying to play? Whatever it was, Susan wanted no part of it. She replaced the receiver on its cradle, even more certain he was up to something—maybe a con game to swindle her out of her inheritance. Still, the agent might be for real. If Brian wanted her to have this policy, she felt obligated to check into it.

By ten o’clock, after she’d finished her third cup of coffee, her curiosity had gotten the best of her. Perhaps the young man she’d talked to at the hotel had made a mistake when he examined the register early this morning. Sighing, Susan dialed the hotel again and asked for Mr. Archer.

“I’ll have the operator connect you,” said the clerk. His voice sounded like that of the young man she’d talked to earlier.

“Just a minute,” Susan said. “When I tried to reach Mr. Archer at seven o’clock this morning, you told me he hadn’t checked in. Did you make a mistake?”

There was a short pause. Then a congenial chuckle. “I make a mistake now and then, but this wasn’t one of those times.”

“Can you tell me when he signed in?”

The clerk hesitated. “I can’t say exactly, but I think it was sometime around eight-thirty,” he replied finally. “I’ll ring his room.”

Susan hung up before Derek Archer answered. She spent the time until lunch wondering why he’d tried to give her the impression, early this morning, that he was calling from the hotel when he obviously wasn’t.

She’d test him, she decided. If he lied again, she’d know he was up to something.

Chapter Two

Hesitating, Susan glanced around the hotel lobby, searching for a middle-aged man with a red handkerchief in his pocket. The faint smell of woodsmoke from the stone fireplace, along with the subtle fragrance of fresh flowers, enveloped her. A vaseful of yellow roses stood on a rough-hewn table near the door, another sat on the registration counter.

She couldn’t help staring when she spotted the red handkerchief. The man wearing it looked years younger than she’d expected after talking to Archer on the phone. Though deep frown lines between his dark brows gave him the disturbing, faintly ominous air of someone on a life-or-death mission, he couldn’t be much older than Brian. But in spite of her odd first impression, Susan had to admit he was attractive, in a rugged sort of way.

For an instant she felt an unwelcome tug of interest. He’s been an officer in the service, she thought, eyeing the sharp creases in his pants, the shine on his black loafers. In his gray business suit, he carried himself with the self-confidence that came with military command.

Though he looked tough and lean, she could see his shoulders straining against the confining fabric of his suit, as if he’d gained muscle recently. A couple of unruly strands of curly black hair drooped over his forehead. His eyes, such a dark blue they were almost indigo, clung to hers with an intensity that made her catch her breath. They were the eyes of a dangerous man, so penetrating they seemed almost as though they’d glow in the dark.

Watch it, Lieutenant, she told herself, surprised at her sudden breathlessness. She was a new widow. She couldn’t let herself react to the first interesting man she’d met since Brian’s death. And he did look appealing, she had to admit, in the frightening way a free-roaming black panther looked alluring. What had happened to give him that tough, predatory look? she wondered.

Starting toward him, she forced herself to remember her plan to trap him into telling another lie. Derek Archer was probably a con artist out to swindle her out of her inheritance. No matter how attractive he was, the sooner she found out what he was up to, the better.

He came up to her with a half smile.

“Mrs. Wade?” He extended his hand.

Susan recognized the smooth baritone voice she’d heard on the telephone. “Yes, I’m Susan Wade.” She took his hand. It was surprisingly rough for an insurance agent. His square jaw was thrust forward, as if he expected a confrontation.

Almost without realizing it, she checked for a wedding band. He wore none. She was irritated with herself for feeling relieved.

“Thanks for coming, Mrs. Wade.” His voice, deep and sensual, seemed years younger than when she’d heard it on the phone.

He stared frankly into her eyes. When her gaze didn’t waver, he cleared his throat and glanced away.

“Excuse me for staring,” he said. “When I was in the army, I never ran into any lieutenants as attractive as you.”

Susan didn’t let herself get distracted by his compliment, despite an unexpected sense of warmth coursing through her. Salesmen were good at buttering people up. If he was working some kind of con on her, this was how he’d start.

“When were you in the army, Mr. Archer?” Her words were quick and sharp. She hoped to catch him off guard.

He took her arm, urging her toward the dining room. “After I graduated from college, I put in my six years to pay off my ROTC commitment.”

His reply was so glib, Susan suspected he’d prepared an answer to fit into whatever swindle he was planning. Not until they arrived at the table did she realize that he’d never answered her question.

ARCHER EYED SUSAN WADE, seated opposite him in the Riverfront Hotel’s Crown Room. After his months on the run, he was good at sizing people up without their knowledge.

Studying Susan, he decided a picture of her he’d clipped from the local paper didn’t do her justice. Instead of looking merely healthy and sturdy, the way she did in the newspaper, she glowed with a kind of inner vitality. Maybe it was the combination of tanned skin, golden hair and brown eyes that gave her such an earthy, vibrant quality. And, close up, she wasn’t what he’d call sturdy, not in the usual sense. Rather, his experienced eye detected a firm, well-rounded figure beneath the confines of her uniform.

Watching her, an unexpected surge of pure desire washed over him. He wanted to do more than have a meal with this woman, he realized to his chagrin. He wanted to unloosen the hair at the back of her neck so it streamed down her bare back. And he wanted to hold her tight against his naked chest while he was doing it.

Archer recognized his feelings for what they were: simple, unadulterated lust. As he studied his menu, he told himself to back off. For his plan to work, he had to keep his distance from this woman. But he couldn’t help stealing another glance, only to find her brown eyes staring back at him. She glanced down, but not before Archer caught what he thought was a gleam of interest. To his dismay, this time his body responded. Heat surged through him, tightening his muscles.

Damn. He’d have to watch his step. The last thing he wanted right now was an unwelcome attraction to Brian Wade’s widow, something that would only interfere with his need to get even with the men who’d betrayed him.

“Tell me about this policy you say my husband took out,” she said. “How much is it for?”

Her voice was low and musical, more appealing than it sounded on the phone. But her question made her appear mercenary, like he’d expect a husband-killer to sound. Yes, she might have done it, he decided, eyeing her tempting mouth with its full lower lip. Incredibly, his suspicion made her seem even more attractive, perhaps because it gave them something in common. They were quite a pair: the convicted killer and the grieving widow who might have murdered her husband. For a moment he let himself picture the two of them locked in a lusty embrace, his hands warm on her full breasts.

“It’s an accidental death or dismemberment policy for fifty thousand dollars,” he said, reluctantly letting the fantasy go. He hadn’t had a woman in months and knew the feelings were normal. But why at such an inappropriate time?

He handed her the packet of insurance papers he’d had printed, and she leafed through them.

“Industrial Indemnity doesn’t sound like the name of an insurance company that handles this type of policy,” she commented, without looking up from the page in front of her. Her lashes, several shades darker than her gold-blond hair, shadowed her high cheekbones.

He shrugged. “Our company’s been in business for more than sixty years. We started out with heavy industries where accidents were a big problem. Then, twenty years ago, we began accepting individuals. Your husband said he wanted a sound accident policy that would cover him in war or other violence connected with the military service. Industrial Indemnity is one of the few companies to offer that type of coverage.”

She skimmed through the policy. “Yes, I see the limits here in paragraph 4B.”

The waiter appeared. Susan ordered a cup of tea instead of a cocktail. Too bad. Archer had hoped to loosen her up with a few drinks.

“My husband was murdered, you know,” she said after their beverages had been served and they’d given the waiter their lunch orders. As she spoke, lines appeared on her smooth forehead, giving her a vulnerable look that made him doubt his suspicion. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure she’d killed her husband.

“Yes, I know,” he returned. “I checked to find out how he died right after I talked to you.”

She eyed him quizzically. “Then you must have gone to the newspaper office right after you called from the hotel this morning. The libary’s not open that early.”

Archer almost said yes, he’d gotten the details of Wade’s death from the Chronicle files. But something in the expectant way she was sitting, leaning toward him with her back straight and her beautiful brown eyes slightly narrowed, alerted him. Did she have a friend on the Chronicle staff ready to deny he’d been there?

He shook his head. “No, I had our research people in San Francisco look into your husband’s death.”

“And you called them from the hotel this morning?” Her musical voice held a rasp of excitement.

He adopted a tone of irascible patience. “Yes, of course. Where else would I call from?”

When Archer saw the look of triumph on her face, he knew he’d made a mistake. But what was it?

HE’D BETTER HAVE a darn good explanation, Susan thought, watching the play of emotions on his rugged, square-cut face. Why did he have to look so darn sexy? From the swath of dark curly hair falling on his forehead, to his thick brows and firm chin, he struck a vibrant chord within her. And his intense, purple-blue eyes—set wide apart above an aquiline nose—seemed omniscient, almost as if he could see into her mind.

Planning her attack, she took a bite of her fish. He couldn’t have called San Francisco from the hotel. He wasn’t even here yet at seven o’clock this morning.

“Mr. Archer,” she began quietly.

His tight expression relaxed into a smile, but the wary look in his eyes remained.

“You can forget about the formalities,” he said with a smile that set her pulses racing. “My friends call me Archer.”

She took a deep breath and shook her head. “We’re not friends, Mr. Archer. Not while you’re playing games with me.”

His smile vanished. He seemed speechless in his surprise. As their eyes met, a shock ran through her. Brows lowered and nostrils flared, he gave her a threatening glare that burned into her brain. For a frightening moment, she thought he might slap her.

“What are you talking about, Mrs. Wade?” His usually smooth voice grated harshly.

“About your lies this morning on the phone.” She stared at him. Even as she watched, his expression veered from anger to confusion. He seemed honestly bewildered by her accusation.

“What lies?” Menace remained in his eyes, but a ghost of a smile touched his lips.

“You said you called me from the hotel this morning,” she said, her face burning. “When I checked, the desk clerk told me you weren’t here. You obviously called from somewhere else. I want to know where—and why you lied about it.”

She waited while he took a bite of steak. When he met her eyes, the menace was gone, but there was a deadly coldness hidden behind his direct gaze. What had he expected her to accuse him of?

“When someone in your family dies violently, it’s a terrible shock.” His sympathetic tone was not matched in his iridescent blue eyes. “No wonder you see suspicious characters lurking behind every bush.”

Again, he hadn’t answered her question. Her doubts about him refused to go away. What clever line was he giving her now?

“What are you getting at?”

He leaned toward her, a determined look on his face. “As soon as we finish eating, we’ll go to the lobby. The clerk will tell you I signed in at eight-thirty this morning, about an hour after I talked to you on the lobby phone.”

“Why did you call me before you registered?”

His brows drew forward in a frown. “Because at least fifteen people were in line to check out. If I’d waited, I might not have caught you at home, so I used the pay phone. After I talked to you, I called our research people and had some coffee. Then I registered.”

Susan could hardly believe there could be such a simple explanation. But, surprisingly, she found herself relieved that he had one. Drawn to him, she wanted to see him again. If he was a legitimate insurance agent, she knew she would.

“I’m sorry, Archer.” She eliminated the formalities to let him know she meant what she was saying. “You’re right. I’ve become paranoid since Brian was killed. He wasn’t robbed, so police know that wasn’t the motive. And the one man who might have seen the killer has vanished into thin air.”

Archer settled back in his chair. “If this possible witness disappeared, how did the police find out about him?”

Susan opened her black leather service bag, pulled out a newspaper clipping and handed it to him. “Here’s a picture of the eyewitness and a story about what happened.”

While Archer read the accompanying article, Susan studied his face. The frown lines were back between his eyes. He scowled as he read. But no matter how formidable he looked, he was still the most fascinating man she’d met in a long time.

What would have happened if she and Archer had met last year, before she married Brian? she wondered, and then gave herself a quick mental kick. Archer was the last thing she needed right now. Behind his sexy eyes was a menacing coldness that frightened her. To clear her mind, she forced herself to concentrate on a window across the room. Outside in the sun, bare branches starting to bud were silhouetted against an azure sky.

He folded the clipping and returned it to her. “Are you sure this man with his back to the camera is your husband?”

“Positive. Nobody but Brian had hair that curled that way around his ears.”

Archer leaned toward her, resting his arms on the edge of the table. “Tell me honestly, Susan. Who do you think killed your husband?”

“Don Albright, the man who murdered Brian’s squadron commander last year,” she replied quickly.

Susan felt her temper rising just saying Albright’s name. The certainty of his guilt relieved her own anguished feelings. Since he did it, she couldn’t possibly bear any responsibility for not telling Brian about her covert assignment. “While the verdict was being appealed, Albright jumped bail, faked his own suicide and escaped. The police are still hunting for him.”

Archer’s scowl lines deepened. “Did Albright have a motive for killing your husband?”

“The best in the world.” Susan felt her face flushing as her anger increased. “Revenge. Brian was the one who put the finger on Albright at the trial. If it hadn’t been for Brian’s testimony, Albright might never have been convicted.”

“I remember reading about that trial.” Archer’s voice was thoughtful. “I never understood how your husband could be so sure Albright murdered the commander. Any one of the six other men at the table might have done it.”

“Brian felt Albright move his arm,” Susan said, remembering what Brian had told her. Her fingers tightened around her napkin. “Don Albright had the gun, for God’s sake. He killed his squadron commander because of a bad effectiveness report that kept him from getting promoted.”

She stared at Archer, daring him to dispute her. Don Albright was guilty as sin, and she wanted the whole world to know it.

Archer met her gaze head-on. “Did they ever find the accomplice?”

“You mean the person who turned out the lights?”

He nodded. “Whoever it was must have known he’d be an accomplice to murder. If that person was a friend, why couldn’t the police find him or her?”

“Maybe it wasn’t a friend. Maybe Albright paid somebody to help him.” Alarm and anger rippled along her spine. “You seem awfully sympathetic to that murderer all of a sudden. For a minute there, I thought I was talking to Albright’s defense attorney.”

He shrugged dismissively. “Just playing devil’s advocate. That’s a good way to find out what somebody thinks.”

“Well, now you know exactly what I think.” Susan settled back in her chair.

“I understand several thousand dollars were offered to anyone with information about the commander’s murder.” There was a subtle undercurrent in his voice. “You’re suggesting Albright paid his accomplice. If he’d take Albright’s money, why not the reward?”

It was a question she couldn’t answer. Disturbed, Susan shifted uneasily on her chair. Why did Archer make her so darned nervous?

“Dozens of people turned up to claim the reward,” she said. “But none of their stories checked out. The missing accomplice was one of the weak links in the case.”