For Her Eyes Only

But the more Jessica thought about it, the more confused she became. The nurses would have no reason to lie, and it didn’t make sense that someone could attack Olivia in one place and then move her body clear across town and dump it in another place without being seen. Granted, there was a blackout, but the lodge had been crawling with guests.

A fresh wave of pain moved from Jessica’s head to her neck and shoulders. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and closed her eyes. And the longer she lay there alone, the more convinced she became that the blow to her head must have caused her to suffer hallucinations. It was the only explanation that made sense.

She refused to let herself examine the fact that about the same time she was having the hallucination, Olivia Stuart was suffering a heart attack on the other side of town. The coincidence of it all was mind-boggling, but she hurt too much to sort it all out.

Settling back against the pillow, she took a slow, deep breath, trying to convince herself it was going to be all right. In the midst of her thoughts, the door to her room flew open, banging against a nearby chair. She opened her eyes and stifled a groan.

In all her tall, blond beauty, Brenda Hanson burst into the room carrying an armful of wilting flowers. “Jessie, darling! Are you all right?”

Jessica had no time to answer before her sister leaned across the bed and gave her a kiss, unintentionally squishing the IV fastened to the back of her hand and poking the stem of a gladiola up her nose.

“Ouch,” Jessica muttered.

“Ooh, sorry,” Brenda said, frowning as she straightened, then staring at the apparatus they’d stuck in her baby sister’s body. The frown deepened as her gaze moved from Jessica’s hand to her head.

“Ooh, yuck, they shaved off part of your hair, didn’t they.”

Jessica’s hand flew upward in a fit of panic. Slipping her fingers beneath the edge of the bandage, she felt bare skin, then groaned and let her hand fall to the bed with a thump.

“Dog fleas. As if I’m not invisible enough already.”

Brenda sighed. She loved her younger sister dearly, but was of the same opinion their parents had been before their untimely death some years earlier. With regards to looks, fashion sense and her worth on the open market with men, Jessica was clueless. Brenda was all for subtlety herself, but not at the expense of style and looks.

Brenda poked her finger near the edge of the bandage with a sympathetic tap. “I’m sure it will grow back in no time.”

Jessica’s chin quivered. “With my luck, that’s not necessarily a given.”

Brenda ignored her remark and moved on to a different topic, waving the drooping flowers under her sister’s nose. “They’re a little wilted, but you must remember it’s the thought that counts. The power is still off, and Marcel’s Bouquet was letting everything go at half price.”

In spite of her misery, Jessica had to grin. Leave it up to Brenda to find a bargain in a blackout. She brushed her fingertips across limp lavender petals.

“They’re very pretty, but I don’t have anything to put them in.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Brenda said. “Grand Springs is on water rationing until the blackout is over.”

Jessica snorted softly. “It’s been raining for days and we’re now short of drinking water?”

Brenda laughed and waved her hand above her head with a flirty flip. “You know the old saying, ‘Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.’”

Jessica closed her eyes as a fresh wave of pain rolled up her back to the top of her head.

Brenda’s lighthearted expression faded as she stared at the stark white bandage on her little sister’s head. She set the wilting flowers aside and brushed a hand lightly across Jessica’s forehead.

“What happened, sweetie? About an hour ago I got a call from someone telling me you’d had an accident. When I found out you’ve been here since last night, I started to pitch a fit. But I suppose with all that’s been going on, we’re lucky they called at all.”

Brenda’s sympathy was too much to handle. Tears trickled from the corner of Jessica’s eyes as Brenda patted at her arm.

“I fell in my office. Against the file cabinet, I think.”

Brenda glanced at Jessica’s head again and winced. “Poor dear.”

Jessica had the distinct impression that Brenda’s concern was more for her missing hair than the wound she’d suffered.

“Oh, did you hear the news about Olivia Stuart?” Brenda said, suddenly changing the subject.

The room started to turn, and Jessica was thrust into the past with a swiftness she wouldn’t have believed. She was only vaguely aware of her sister’s voice droning on somewhere in the background, as her attention had become focused on an entirely different scene.

Rationally, she knew she was in the hospital, but her mind seemed removed from her body. The room went dark, and, unable to fight the overwhelming sense of being out of control, once again she found herself witnessing Olivia Stuart’s attack. And then the image disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving Jessica weak and shaking and gasping for air.

Concerned for Jessica’s sudden pallor, Brenda grabbed her sister’s hand. “Are you all right? Should I call a doctor?”

Jessica closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing heart. “No, whatever it was is gone.”

“Still,” Brenda muttered, “I think I should let them know that you’re not quite up to par.”

Jessica tried not to glare and wondered what it would be like to be beautiful and dense, then decided it wouldn’t be a good trade-off. She liked being able to balance a checkbook, as well as a job and a life. She rolled her eyes at Brenda’s inane remark.

“Of course I’m not up to par. I have stitches where my hair used to be.”

Brenda’s laugh tinkled like crystal chimes in a gentle breeze. Jessica snorted softly in response and both sisters smiled at each other. There was some truth in the old saying that blood was thicker than water.

* * *

Stone Richardson walked into the precinct, his steps dragging, his expression lined with fatigue. He’d slept in his car in fits and snatches, and dried blood stained the toes of his boots, remnants of the time he’d spent in ER last night.

Erik Chang, an officer on the force and one of Stone’s friends, looked up as Stone walked in.

“Your ex-wife called, and the chief’s waiting to see you,” he said.

Stone’s eyebrows rose, and he thrust a hand through his hair, spiking the short, thick strands. He hadn’t heard from Naomi in years. Why now? he wondered.

“Well, they’re both going to have to wait,” he muttered, and reached across his desk for the coffee cup on the other side of a stack of files.

“There’s no coffee,” Chang said.

On his way to the break room, Stone stopped, then pivoted. The frown between his eyebrows deepened as Chang added, “Because there’s no power, remember?”

Stone’s expletive was brief and to the point. He glanced down at the half inch of yesterday’s coffee coating the bottom of his cup, considered his jangled nerves and tossed it back like a dose of bad medicine.

Chang shuddered and looked away so that no one would see him gag. For a cop, he had a remarkably weak stomach.

Stone dropped his jacket on the back of his chair as he headed for Frank Sanderson’s office. He knocked once, then went in without waiting for an invitation.

The chief looked up, took one look at the drawn expression on his detective’s face, as well as his blood-splattered clothing, and frowned.

“Were you hurt?”

Stone looked down, only now realizing how he must look. “No, it’s someone else’s blood.”

“Then, go home and get some sleep. Come back when you can think straight.”

Stone’s right eyebrow arched. “Why, mother, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Shut the hell up and do what I said,” Sanderson ordered. “This blackout isn’t over yet.”

Stone’s attitude shifted. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “But it was one hellacious night.”

Aware that his men had worked without routines or orders, filling in where they were needed most, Sanderson asked, “Where were you?”

“Vanderbilt Memorial.”

Sanderson thought of Olivia Stuart. She’d died there last night. God knows how many others had followed her exit. Glancing at the blood splatters on Stone’s shirt, he repeated himself. “Do what I said.”

Stone’s shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion. “Yes, sir.”

He shut the door quietly behind him and picked up his jacket on the way out of the precinct. His stomach growled—more from hunger than the cold, stale coffee he’d tossed down moments earlier. And he kept remembering the blood in Jessica Hanson’s hair and then, later, the lost, frightened expression on her face as they’d wheeled her away. He wanted—no—needed to know if she was all right. And as soon as he got a couple of hours’ sleep he would go back to the hospital and see for himself.

Chapter Two

Jessica watched with a wary eye as the nurse who was accompanying Dr. Noah Howell on his rounds removed the IV from her hand.

“Just take it easy when you get home,” Noah said as he signed off on Jessica’s chart.

Jessica glanced at the dim, flickering light in the hallway. Since she’d been admitted, she’d spent most of her time sleeping and was still confused about the time that had actually passed.

“Is the power still off?”

He nodded. The last few hours had been chaotic, and it would seem there was no end in sight.

“Yes, we’re still operating on generators, although I’m told that the crews are out in full force, but the mudslides keep knocking new poles down. I’m sure it won’t be long before power is restored. For now, all you need is a bed.”

Briefly fingering the small white patch of gauze above her right eyebrow, she winced. “That and a new head of hair.”

“We didn’t cut away all that much,” Noah said.

Jessica tried to smile. “That’s easy for you to say.”

He smiled and patted her on the knee. “It’s not so bad. And it will grow back. You’ll see.”

She sighed. “Sorry. I don’t usually whine. After all, what’s a little missing hair compared to everything else that’s been happening.”

The smile disappeared from Noah Howell’s face as he thought back. Olivia Stuart. No matter how hard they’d tried, it hadn’t been enough to save her, and somehow, that still surprised him. Just before she died, she’d whispered the word “coal.” Soon afterward, they’d lost her. Masking his weariness, he tried to focus his concerns on the patient before him.

“You have the instructions the nurse gave you. I’ll see you back in my office in a few days to remove the stitches, okay?”

A few days. What else, Jessica wondered, could happen between now and then? She nodded. “Okay.” Then she added, “These phones aren’t working, I don’t have my cell, and I need to call my sister so she can come get me and take me home.”

Dr. Howell handed her his phone. “Use this.”

The line was busy. “I’ll have to try again after I get dressed.”

Moments later, she was alone. She glanced at the clock. It was close to five p.m. She thought of going home to a house without power, without refrigeration—possibly without a means of communication since her phone was still on her desk at work. She looked down at the wad she’d made of the covers and tugged at the neck of the hospital gown she was wearing. While the aspect of those discomforts was disheartening, the idea of crawling into her own nightgown—and into her own bed—was enough to make it all worthwhile.

She sat up and looked out the window. On the surface, everything about Grand Springs seemed the same. The lush green of the majestic mountains marking the skyline of the city were capped by low, overhanging clouds, but for now, the rain had stopped. The sky was dark and overcast. Night would come early.

Dusk was near. Normally, streetlights would be coming on and people would be closing down businesses and hurrying home for the evening meal. But not tonight. The streets were eerily empty, and the lack of vehicles on the roadways seemed an ominous sign of impending doom.

Suddenly, she wanted to be home. To find the familiar within her own house before dark. Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed and went to the closet. Brenda had brought her clean clothes as well as the discount flowers. At least she wouldn’t have to go home in torn and bloody clothing.

But getting dressed wasn’t as simple as she’d expected it to be. Every time she leaned down, the room started to spin and she was forced to grab onto the bed to keep from falling. It took all she had just to put on her underwear and jeans, and by then she was in a cold sweat. Barefoot and clutching a T-shirt to her chest, she staggered to a nearby chair, where she sat staring at the tennis shoes still in her closet. They were less than a yard away and it might as well have been a mile. Hating this feeling of helplessness, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall.

“Bug breath.”

It was a fair comment on her condition, as well as her state of mind.

* * *

This time when Stone entered Vanderbilt Memorial, he went in the front door and took the stairs on the right to the third floor. He came out of the stairwell, his long stride carrying him down the hall with single-minded intent. Under the weak glow of the generator-powered lighting, the shadows beneath his eyes seemed darker, the strain lines at the corners of his mouth deeper, and the sun-bleached highlights in his hair gleamed like wheat in a noonday sun. His expression was grim. It was what his friends called his “cop face.” But all he needed was some more rest. And that would come, after he’d seen for himself that Jessie was really all right. He’d tried to talk himself out of this trip all the way to the hospital, yet when he’d parked and gotten out of his car, he knew he would never have been able to rest without seeing her face…hearing her voice…even suffering the guilt he would feel when he saw her. He had to know she was all right. Then he could rest.

“Richardson, haven’t you gone home yet?”

Stone paused and turned. Noah Howell was coming out of a room he’d just passed.

“Hi, Doc. I thought I would look in on Jessie Hanson. Last night, they said she’d been put in 339. Do you know if she’s still there?”

Noah nodded. “But not for long. I just released her to go home. In fact, I’m on my way to the nurse’s desk to call her sister to come and get her.”

Stone didn’t stop to think why he was offering, he just blurted it out before he changed his own mind.

“Don’t bother. I’ll see that she gets home okay.”

Noah grinned. Stone’s defenses went up.

“Get that look off your face,” Stone warned. “Just because I’m concerned about an old friend, it doesn’t mean anything. Hell. I dated her sister once. Besides, she’s just a kid.”

“If my memory serves, she’s twenty-six, old buddy. That’s hardly robbing the cradle,” Noah said.

Stone ignored the comment and knocked, waiting for an invitation to enter. When it came, he went in, unprepared for the woman inside.

* * *

Jessica jerked as the knock sounded on her door. Still sprawled in the chair with the T-shirt clutched to her chest and expecting one of the hospital staff, she spoke without thinking.

“Come in.”

When Stone walked into the room, she gasped and grabbed her shirt with both hands, holding it up beneath her chin.

“How dare you!” she muttered, and tried hard to glare, but frowning made her head hurt worse.

Stone was transfixed. He’d expected her to be safe in bed and covered up with a sheet, not half dressed and sprawled out in a chair with a shirt clutched to her front like a shield. All he could think to say was “You told me to come in.”

Jessica’s lower lip slid forward. “But I didn’t know it was you.”

She looked so lost and hurt sitting there. Stone fought the urge to hold her.

“Sorry, do you want me to leave?”

She nodded, then groaned. If only she could remember to speak instead, it would be a lot less painful.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She grimaced, closing her eyes to steady the sudden sway of the room.

“Of course I’m not all right!” She sighed, trying to relax the tension knotting at the back of her neck.

Stone frowned. The past two years had certainly changed one thing about Jessie. She never used to be so angry.

“I told Doc Howell I’d take you home.”

Jessica’s eyes flew open, and the shirt began to slip. When it revealed two mounds of creamy flesh held fast beneath a white lace bra, Stone reacted by pointing at the T-shirt.

“You gonna wear that home or just carry it?”

Jessica’s eyes teared in frustration as she stopped its escape. “I got dizzy.”

His expression softened. “Need some help?”

She hesitated.

“Come on, honey. I’ve seen it before.”

The look on her face was priceless, and Stone knew he’d reminded them both of something better left forgotten.

Jessica’s ire rose. “Just turn around, you mealymouthed snake.”

He grinned slightly as he turned. “Dare I turn my back on a woman who’s just called me a snake?”

Jessica glared at his backside, reminding herself to ignore the wide shoulders, narrow hips and long legs as she thrust both arms in the shirt, yanking it down over her head in haste. But she’d forgotten the bandage at the edge of her hairline and yelped in pain when the neck pulled too tight for comfort.

Stone spun, took one look at the predicament she’d put herself in and stalked across the room without waiting for an invitation.

“Easy,” he warned, and pulled the shirt back up enough to give himself room to maneuver. She started to sputter. He frowned. “Calm down, damn it. I’m trying to help.”

When she muttered something he didn’t understand, he figured it was better to let lost curses die. This time when he eased the shirt down, he started the opening at the back of her head first, then pulled it toward the front, stretching the fabric as it slid past the bandage. When it cleared her nose, he looked down. Two orbs of pure blue were gleaming up at him with malevolence.

“You’re welcome,” he drawled.

She resented his arrogance. Why did devastating men always smirk?

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

The question took him off guard. What was he doing here? Last night had resulted in a multitude of disasters that had sent literally dozens of Grand Springs residents to the hospital. And Jessica wasn’t the only one he knew who’d been admitted. Why had he felt the urge to make sure she, above all others, was going to be okay? Uneasy as to how to answer her, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I was on my way home. Thought I’d stop by.”

“You live on the other side of town.”

His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t prepared to pursue the issue. Not with her. Not even with himself.

“I know where I live. Do you want to go home or not?”

Jessica’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, please.”

Satisfied to be back on firm ground, Stone nodded. “That’s fine, then.” He looked down at her feet. “Where are your shoes?”

Jessica pointed toward the closet and started to cry. Not loudly, just huge, silent tears spilling out of her eyes and down her face.

At that moment, something tore loose inside of Stone that had nothing to do with compassion. If he hadn’t been so rattled by a particular tear hanging on the edge of her lip, he might have realized the emotion for what it was. But he was, and he didn’t, and by the time he got the shoes on her feet, the notion of pursuing the thought had long since passed.

Their drive home was silent. A half hour later, he pulled into Jessica’s driveway and parked. Every house on the block was little more than a dark shape against the shadows of the coming night. Now and then a weak glow of some lantern or candle could be seen shining through curtains, but it was the depth of darkness out on the streets that made Jessica jumpy.

After offering to carry her inside, and getting a quick glare for his efforts, Stone settled for walking her to the house. Lit only by the glow of a three-quarter moon, he guided her to the porch steps. They were at the door before Jessica drew back in dismay and slapped her hand against the side of her leg.

“Wormy, wormy fudge,” she muttered.

He chuckled beneath his breath. One thing he’d loved about her was the uniqueness of her colorful language, but even that sounded gross to him.

“What’s wrong?”

“My keys are in my purse, and it must be back in my office at the lodge.”

“Not to worry,” Stone said, and slipped a small lock pick from his jacket pocket. Moments later, the lock clicked and the door swung open. He stepped aside.

“Don’t mention it.”

She glanced up at him in silent appreciation. “Thank goodness you’re on our side.”

Stone followed her in, shutting the door behind him. “Got a flashlight or candles?”

“Both in the kitchen. Top drawer on the right.”

He traded the lock pick for his own small flashlight. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

When he started toward the back of the house, Jessica frowned.

“How do you know where the kitchen is?”

“I’m following my nose.”

She sniffed. He was right. The scent of burned bacon was still evident.

Smart aleck.

But she didn’t voice her thoughts. She didn’t have it in her to complain anymore. An old Elvis Presley song came to mind as she leaned against the wall to keep from falling. Yes, her legs were shaky, and her knees were more than weak. She was definitely all shook up, but from the accident, of course. Not from the fact that she’d just spent the better part of an hour with a man who’d haunted more than one of her dreams.

Jessica closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. When she looked up, he was coming toward her, carrying a lit candle. His face was cast in shadow, but the cut of his cheekbones, a broad slash of jaw and his lower lip were highlighted by the soft yellow glow.

Exhaling slowly, she watched as he set the candle on a nearby table and then led her toward the chair beside it. She sat.

“Here,” Stone said, and dropped her flashlight into her lap.

Suddenly the intimacy of being alone in the darkness with this man was too much. She’d spent two years trying to forget how it felt to go to sleep and wake up in his arms.

“Goodbye, and thank you for bringing me home.”

His easy laugh did things to her nerves she didn’t need to feel.

As Stone chuckled, it crossed his mind that his ex-wife would have cried and clung with every ounce of her being. She’d hated his job as a cop, but she’d hated her lonely life as a cop’s wife more.

“Damn, honey. I’ve had the brush-off before, but never so sweetly.”

Muttering beneath her breath, she looked away. “That wasn’t a brush-off, and stop calling me ‘honey.’”

He cupped her chin, tilting her face until she was forced to look at him.

“Hey, you.”

Now her nerves were really on edge. There was a low, breathless quality to his voice that she’d never thought she’d hear. At least, not when speaking to her.

“What?”

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Jessica’s heart started to thump erratically. “Long time since what?”

His voice deepened. “Since we’ve been together.”

“I’ve spent two years trying to forget,” she muttered.

“So that’s why you left without so much as a goodbye.”

She swallowed, trying to get past the pain. “You’d made yourself painfully clear,” she said, and then looked deeply into his eyes. “There wasn’t anything left to say…was there?”

He looked away, and then back. “Will you be afraid?”

She gripped the arms of the chair as her heart skipped a beat. Afraid? The only thing that ever scared me was losing you and I survived that. This is a piece of cake. But she didn’t answer.