The Eyes Of Derek Archer

“Two policies were in the safe-deposit box,” she said. “Your company’s wasn’t.”

“You only had one box?” he asked in the same cool tone.

Knowing she had to get closer or escape, Susan slid away from him, toward the end of the bench. He removed his arm from her back, leaving an empty space where he’d been.

“Why would we need more than one safe-deposit box?” In spite of herself, her voice trembled.

Turning slightly, he shrugged. “Sometimes people keep separate boxes for different types of items.”

Now she saw what he was getting at. “You mean illegal items or anything a person doesn’t want his spouse to know about?” She stared at Archer’s rugged profile. While she watched, a muscle clenched along his jaw.

“Something like that.” Frowning, he paused. “I’m not implying that your husband was hiding anything from you. I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”

Much as Susan didn’t like to admit it, she’d always felt Brian was keeping something from her. A safe-deposit box was infinitely better than the woman friend she’d secretly suspected.

“Yes, it’s a possibility,” she agreed softly, rising from the bench. Archer followed her to the car.

On the way back to the hotel, he suggested dinner, but Susan declined. She intended to tear the condo apart when she got home. If Brian had a box key hidden there, she intended to find it.

“We still have the insurance policy to go over,” Archer reminded her. “And you haven’t given me the green light on my offer to help.”

“I know,” Susan murmured. “Let me sleep on it.”

When he didn’t press her, she was grateful.

Mixed feelings surged through her when he took her hand before he got out of her car at the hotel. She still didn’t trust him, but his touch felt oddly reassuring.

“Tomorrow for lunch?” His gaze held hers.

She nodded, jerking her eyes away to slow her pounding heart. “I’ll see you then.”

As she drove home, the touch of his hand and sound of his smooth baritone voice replayed in her mind. She’d known him less than eight hours and already he acted almost as interested in her as Brian had before their marriage. Why? her suspicious mind kept asking.

It must be the insurance policy, she thought. There’s something about it Archer’s not telling me.

And why hadn’t Brian told her about it? If he had had a second, secret safe-deposit box, where would he hide the key?

As soon as she got home, she searched the downstairs, then the two upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms, but found nothing.

From inside the house, she entered the garage through the front hall on the other side of the living room. Brian’s workbench was opposite the big double car door. A feeling of sadness came over Susan as she remembered Brian working there. Even before he died she’d realized he wasn’t the right man for her, but that didn’t ease her guilt and sorrow at his death.

Glancing around the area, she saw the screws and nails he kept in marked cans on a shelf above his bench. One by one she dumped the cans over, carefully replacing the contents of each before turning over another.

She found the safe-deposit key in the next-to-last can.

WHEN ARCHER RETURNED to his room after a quiet meal downstairs, the blinker on his phone was flashing. Even before he talked to the hotel operator, he knew the message was from Susan. Nobody else had any idea he was here.

He dialed her number, a little surprised at himself for remembering it. He was even more shocked when she recognized his voice.

“Thanks for calling back so soon.” She spoke eagerly, full of enthusiasm. “You were right about the second safe-deposit box. I found the key about half an hour ago.”

Archer felt himself stiffen with surprise. He hadn’t expected her to find a key—had only suggested she look as an explanation for the missing insurance policy. Since she didn’t need a copy of the policy to collect the insurance, he hadn’t dreamed she’d be so concerned about finding it.

“Good for you!” He strove to eliminate his surprise and put matter-of-fact sincerity into his voice. “I was pretty sure your husband had another box. That’s got to be where he put my company’s policy. Do you have any idea where the box is?”

“Not a clue.” Her voice dropped in volume. “All that’s on the key is a number. I suppose I’ll have to call every bank in town to find out where the box is.”

“Don’t call,” Archer said, eager to spend an afternoon with her. “We’ll go to the banks tomorrow. When we find out which one has the box, we’ll get the contents released to you since you’re his widow.”

“Will a bank release the contents? Just like that?” She sounded doubtful.

“I don’t know,” Archer lied, “but it won’t hurt to try.” He knew damned well no bank would release the contents of a safe-deposit box to anybody but a cosigner—not even a widow—without a court order. But as soon as she agreed to let him help her, she was well on her way to accepting his offer to act as her private investigator. And, if Archer played his cards right, that meant more opportunities to pump her for information and play her off against the other witnesses.

On the other end of the line, Susan warned herself to go slow. Impressed as she was with Archer—especially now that he’d been proved right about the safe-deposit box—she didn’t want to do anything impulsive.

But she dismissed the thought as being paranoid again.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll talk to Major Savage and arrange for tomorrow afternoon off. We can go to the banks then.”

“Bring along some ID, your marriage license and a copy of the death certificate.” Though his voice was solemn, Susan heard a trace of elation. Her heart gave a momentary leap, and she hugged her satin robe more tightly around herself—as if a snug robe were a coat of armor to shut out her confused feelings.

After she’d hung up, Susan shook her head, annoyed with herself. Archer wasn’t interested in her. He simply wanted to locate the missing insurance policy to prove Brian had it so she wouldn’t think he was a fraud.

His proposal to act as her private investigator was harder to figure out, she thought, drumming her fingers on the table by the phone. He didn’t impress her as a man who offered his time without a good reason. Somehow, his explanation that he wanted to help her because he’d been betrayed himself didn’t ring true. Was there something else behind his offer? For that matter, was he really an insurance agent? With her special training, she should have checked straight off.

She picked up the phone again and dialed the telephone number written on the insurance forms he’d given her. Though it was after nine at night, maybe someone was in the office to handle claims. If not, voice mail might give her some information about the company, and she could call back tomorrow.

A woman answered. “Industrial Indemnity.”

Mildly surprised at getting a person instead of an answering machine, Susan asked for Mr. Derek Archer.

“Mr. Archer will be out of town until next week. If you’ll leave your number, I’ll have him call you tomorrow.”

“You mean next week? When he gets back?” Susan felt her resistance slipping. The more she probed, the more it appeared that Archer was exactly who he said he was.

“No, ma’am. I mean tomorrow.” The woman’s voice turned patronizing. “He phones in for his messages every day. If you’ll leave your number, I guarantee he’ll return your call.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Susan said. She’d found out what she wanted to know. Derek Archer really was an agent working for the Industrial Indemnity Insurance Company.

THE CHAIR IN FRONT of Major Savage’s desk squeaked when Susan leaned forward. Crossing her ankles primly beneath her, she resisted her urge to squirm in the chair like some ten-year-old called into the principal’s office. A drop of sweat ran down her back, cold against her skin.

The major’s hooded, hawklike eyes surveyed her from across his desk. “Of course you can take this afternoon off if you need it, Susan.”

Her heart plummeted. Something must be wrong. Major Savage called people by their first names only when he felt sorry for them.

“Thank you, sir.” She started to get up.

“Before you go, there’s something we need to talk about.” He motioned her back to her chair.

Sinking down, she leaned toward him.

“I’m sorry to have to do this, Susan,” he began slowly, “but now that you’re under investigation by the police, I’m going to have to transfer you out of the intelligence office.”

Mortified, she lowered her head. “Because of my top secret clearance?”

He nodded. “I’m sure you understand why we can’t leave you there.”

“Of course.” Was that squeaky little voice hers? “I’ll help out with some of your unclassified work in the orderly room.”

His hooded eyes studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “Sergeant Philips doesn’t need any help in the orderly room.”

Heat rose in Susan’s cheeks. “Then, what?” she stammered.

He leaned back. The movement made him seem even shorter. Susan straightened to see him better.

“Colonel Tinnerman took a shine to you when he met you yesterday. He can use some help in the security police shop—he’s got some unclassified research he needs done.” His expression softened. “Quite frankly, Susan, you’ll probably be better off there than in the orderly room. If you stayed around the squadron, there’d be questions….”

“I understand,” she said, not understanding at all. There would be just as many questions if she left and wasn’t around to defend herself. Worst of all, she’d no longer have an excuse to snoop around the C-130s and talk to the air and ground crews right after the planes landed. Without that access, her covert mission was wiped out. She’d failed at Operation Macula, her first big assignment.

“Colonel Tinnerman’s on your side, Susan,” the major went on. “Maybe he can give you some helpful advice and counsel.”

“I appreciate that, sir.” All she wanted now was to escape the major’s forced sympathy and get to a phone. Her Pentagon controller had said not to call unless the matter was urgent. Getting fired from her job certainly qualified, since it meant her investigation was finished.

Opposite her, Major Savage cleared his throat. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please ask.”

She hesitated, then plunged. “There is one thing. If I could have a couple of days off before I report into Colonel…”

The major began shaking his head before she finished speaking. “I’m sorry, Susan, but Colonel Tinnerman wants you to start on his research project tomorrow morning.”

Before she could get up, the major came around his desk, his hand extended. “Thanks for your good work in the squadron, Lieutenant.”

Susan took his hand. It felt hot, dry, bony—like a claw. “When I get this mess straightened out, maybe I’ll be back.”

“Of course you will.” His smile seemed phony.

Lifting her arm in a quick salute, Susan didn’t smile back.

“WE’LL HAVE YOU reassigned immediately.” The well-modulated voice on the telephone was carefully neutral, revealing no emotion.

“You can’t do that.” Susan kept her irritation under control, her voice as neutral as the man’s she was talking to. “I just told you the police consider me a suspect in my husband’s murder. They don’t want me to leave the local area.”

In the silence that followed, the growl of an eighteen-wheeler shifting into low gear filled the air. She slid the door to the phone booth closed to block out the street noise.

“Did you do it?” the voice asked.

Heat flamed her face. How could her Pentagon controller ask a question like that? “No, of course not.” She didn’t let her humiliation show in her voice.

“Your husband might have been one of the men we’re looking for,” her controller reminded her. “Your job for us makes you appear even more guilty.” There was a subtle warning in his words. “It’s more important than ever that you keep quiet about the operation.”

“Don’t worry, I know my orders.” She’d been cautioned a dozen times that if something went wrong with her operation, she couldn’t count on the agency to come to her rescue. As far as the outside world knew, Pentagon Intelligence didn’t get involved in cases like this. After she volunteered for the program, Susan received special training so she’d know what to look for.

“We’ll leave you assigned at the base where you are for the time being,” he said. She noticed he was careful not to reveal her location over the open phone line. “Let me know if anybody’s charged in your husband’s death. Meanwhile, take yourself off the operation. Though you’ve found nothing to substantiate the rumors, there may be a connection between your search and your husband’s murder.”

“Yes, sir,” she returned automatically. But in her mind she was already planning to let Archer go ahead with his investigation. If he found out something she could report to her controller under Operation Macula, so much the better.

Chapter Four

She’d forgotten how penetrating his eyes were, how they seemed to know just what she was thinking. Or rather, she hadn’t forgotten, she’d simply failed to reconcile their deep-down animosity with the lazy allure of his gaze.

He was looking at her seductively now across the luncheon table, his eyes such a dark blue they seemed almost purple. Or was she imagining—or wishing for—such a look? Staring across at him, Susan knew she’d get no sympathy when she told him about her transfer. She tried to put a humorous touch to her words so he’d see what stern stuff she was made of.

“Now that I’m a suspect, Major Savage doesn’t think I should be trusted with classified material, so he’s transferring me out of the squadron.” But as she spoke, the humiliation of being fired hit her anew, and her attempt at humor failed. She swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in her throat.

Archer studied her intently from across the table. “Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself again,” he said, lifting one dark brow. “If I remember my army days correctly, people assigned on a temporary basis could pretty much come and go as they pleased. That’ll be a plus. In the next few days we’re going to need all the time together we can manage.”

She was caught off guard by the sudden vibrancy in his voice, and didn’t want him to stop talking, didn’t want to lose the warm feeling that coursed through her at hearing his rich baritone.

“You sound like you’re looking forward to our time together,” she said without thinking. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she could have bitten her tongue.

He held her gaze in a penetrating stare. “Aren’t you?”

She wanted to look down at the table, but she couldn’t. His eyes were too hypnotic. “I’m a widow whose husband has been dead only two months.” She was proud of the firmness in her voice. “What I’m looking forward to is seeing Don Albright back in jail where he belongs.”

A half smile crossed his lips. It wasn’t reflected in his cold blue eyes. In that instant Susan knew for sure her first impression was right. This man was dangerous.

“And what I’m looking forward to is helping the new widow clear her name.” The taunting tone was back in his voice.

What was she letting herself in for, she wondered, hiring an almost-stranger as a private investigator? She sucked in her breath, on the verge of telling him to forget their arrangement. But what alternative did she have with the police as good as accusing her of murder and someone out to frame her? Much as she hated the idea, she needed Archer’s help.

His familiar mask descended once again, and she felt his hand under her arm, helping her out of her chair. Unlike his taunting words, his hand seemed strong, firm, protective. When they crossed the lobby, she felt him beside her, his powerful, well-muscled body moving with easy, athletic grace.

A dangerous man is what I need, she convinced herself as she fastened her seat belt in his rental car. If anybody can find a convicted killer, it’s a man who’s just as deadly.

Susan felt him watching her, and turned her head toward him as he started the engine. Frowning, he searched her face in that enigmatic way of his, with his lids slightly lowered.

“Where to?”

Susan probed around in her bag until she found the list she’d made last night. “We might as well start with the banks downtown.” Eyeing him dubiously, she gave him brief directions to the first one. “When we find the right bank, do you really think they’ll let me look inside the box?”

He shrugged. “Since you’re not a cosigner, they’re not supposed to, but who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky. You can snow them with your ID and marriage license, and your husband’s death certificate. Act like they’re violating your rights if they don’t let you examine the box. Threaten to sue. That always gets people’s attention.”

At first she wasn’t sure he was serious, but one look at his sober expression convinced her. “I don’t want anybody to get into trouble or do anything illegal,” she protested, her doubts about Archer coming back full force.

Without saying a word, he swung into a bus zone near the curb and stopped, the engine idling. “Excuse me, Susan, but I thought you wanted to find whoever’s trying to frame you.” His eyes held hers relentlessly.

She backed away from him, a shiver shooting up her spine. “What’s that got to do with this safe-deposit box?”

“A hell of a lot.” He frowned at her like she didn’t know which end was up. “What’s inside that box may tell us who killed your husband.”

SUSAN HIT PAY DIRT at the fourth bank on her list. While Archer waited for her outside, she took the elevator down one floor to the vault area. Windowless, with fluorescent lights glaring down on plush carpeting, the place was overheated and smelled faintly of a flowery air freshener.

Unbuttoning her suit coat, Susan faced the clerk sitting at a desk outside the vault’s massive steel door. “I’m Mrs. Brian Wade, and I’d like to get into our safe-deposit box, please.”

The clerk, an attractive woman about Susan’s age, appeared to recognize the name. “Just a moment. I’ll get your card.” Smiling warmly, she swung her chair around and scooted to a cabinet behind her.

When she faced Susan an instant later, her smile had been replaced by a worried frown. “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Wade. Your husband is the only signer for the box. We can’t let you have access unless he makes you a cosigner.”

“My husband passed away two months ago,” Susan said, allowing her voice to tremble. She placed the death certificate on the desk, along with her laminated driver’s license. “Here’s the necessary information.” Tears filled her eyes and she didn’t hold them back. “I’m sure you understand why I need to get into our safe-deposit box.”

The woman nodded, her gaze sympathetic. “Why don’t you sit down here beside my desk while I call the manager? He has to approve this sort of thing.” She picked up her telephone receiver and punched in a number.

A few minutes later a man came out of the elevator and walked toward them. “Now, Mrs. Wade,” he began after the clerk had introduced him as the manager. “What can Inland Empire Bank do for you?”

Summoning all her pent-up emotion—as befitted a grieving widow—she told him what she wanted.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Wade,” he said when she’d finished. “I know what a difficult time this must be for you, but I can’t let you open the box without a court order.” He placed a pudgy hand on her arm. “I’m sure you understand.”

“I’m not certain I do,” Susan said tearfully. “Since my husband’s dead, he can’t possibly object to my seeing what’s inside the box.”

The manager sighed. “I know, I know. Some of these regulations don’t make much sense.” His expression brightened. “But you should have no trouble getting a court order.”

“How long will that take?”

He shrugged. “If your lawyer pushes the right buttons—a day or two.”

As quick as that? A thrill of anxious anticipation touched her spine. Some time in the next couple of days she’d learn Brian’s most guarded secrets. But now that the moment of revelation seemed near, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know them.

The chunky bank manager was watching her closely, one hand thrust inside the pocket of his ample trousers. His sigh of relief was audible when she turned toward the elevator.

Archer was waiting for her outside, leaning against the building’s red brick facade. Like her, he was dressed in a business suit. But unlike her, in his crimson tie and Gucci loafers, he looked more cosmopolitan. Susan couldn’t help noticing that every woman glanced their way.

“Brian’s box is in this bank,” she said, starting up the street toward Parkade, the tiered parking garage where they’d left his car.

He swung into step beside her, and she found herself highly conscious of the springy, athletic movement of his stride.

“That’s what I figured when you took so long,” he said. “Did they let you look inside?” He appeared as eager to find out what was in the box as she was.

“No. I need a court order. The bank manager said my lawyer should be able to get one quickly.” When they passed under a covered second-story sidewalk, part of a system permitting inside access to eleven blocks of downtown stores, his hip brushed hers. Susan could hardly believe the way her pulses leaped with excitement at his brief touch.

Take it easy, Lieutenant, she warned herself, fighting the warmth coursing through her. Wouldn’t he delight in knowing she heated up like a bonfire when he touched her?

“Where’s your lawyer’s office?” he asked, not seeming to notice her flushed face.

“On Broadway,” she replied without glancing toward him. “Across the river near the courthouse. You can drop me off there, and I’ll take a cab home.”

The irritated look he gave her made her sorry she’d suggested the taxi. “I’ll wait in the car,” he said. “When you’re finished, we can decide where to go from there.”

SUSAN STILL COULDN’T figure out what Archer wanted from her. But she was even more positive that he wanted something—more than helping her settle an insurance claim. The suspicion gave her an antsy, anxious feeling, like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

During the few minutes she sat in the plush waiting room while her lawyer finished a telephone call, she ran the possibilities over again in her mind. And, as always, she discarded every angle almost as soon as it occurred to her.

The most logical one—that he was a con artist out to swindle her—didn’t add up, now that she knew he was a legitimate insurance agent. And the notion that he might be helping her because he liked her seemed absurd. Men like Archer didn’t do favors for people because he liked them. Settling back in the comfortable chair provided by the attorney, she shrugged off the disquieting notion that she’d only seen a small part of him, that he kept most of himself carefully hidden.

When her lawyer escorted her into a small conference area, the first thing Susan did was peer out the picture window overlooking the parking lot. There sat Archer’s blue rental sedan. He stood beside it, leaning casually against the closed door. His unselfconscious grace made her think of a resting panther—dangerous even when relaxed.

While she watched, two women sauntered up to him from the nearby sidewalk. During the conversation that followed, he shook his head a few times, then pointed toward a bridge leading across the river. Susan sighed with relief when they walked away. How could one man evoke so many different feelings? she wondered. From tenderness, to suspicion, to plain old jealousy.

“Susan?” She became aware of her lawyer, speaking her name. “Our receptionist said you needed a court order.”

In a few words Susan told the attorney about the safe-deposit box and her encounter with the bank manager. But while she talked, all her busy mind could think about was Archer and why he’d offered to help her.

Why not ask him? If he had something to hide, he probably wouldn’t tell her. Still, wasn’t it worth a try? By the time the lawyer had assured Susan she’d have the court order in the next few days—maybe as early as tomorrow afternoon—she had made up her mind to ask him.