For Her Eyes Only

Jessica stared at the checks, but couldn’t bring herself to move. She tensed, then cleared her throat.

“She did?”

He nodded, unaware that his hairpiece went one way as his head went another. In spite of the oddity of Jeff Dolby’s hair, it was what he’d said that gave her pause. She licked her lips, wanting to ask, but afraid of what he might say. Moments passed, and finally, she could stand the suspense no longer.

“I hope it wasn’t serious.”

“Well, yes, I believe that it was,” Dolby said. “She called me just before you came in.” He paused, and then continued. “You know, it was the strangest thing. She got an anonymous phone call here at the office. Someone said her house was on fire.”

“Oh, my,” Jessica said, and felt the skin on her neck starting to crawl.

“As it turns out, the call was on the up and up. If it hadn’t come, her house would have burned down. She said most of the damage was confined to the kitchen.”

And then Dolby gasped and suddenly bolted from his chair. His hairpiece slid forward over his left eye as he made a grab for Jessica. But he was a couple of seconds too late.

She slid out of her chair in a faint.

* * *

Smelling salts stunk. Enough so that wherever Jessica had gone when she fainted, she came back in a rush.

“Easy now,” someone said.

She looked up, noting that Mr. Dolby had more natural hair up his nose than he had on his head.

“Don’t move just yet. Take a couple of deep breaths and relax. When you feel able, we’ll help you up.”

One of the maids was cradling Jessica’s head in her lap while another mopped at her face with a very wet cloth that smelled of disinfectant.

At least I will be clean when I die. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

She covered her face with her hands.

“Bat barf.”

Dolby patted her arm. “Now, now, you’re going to be fine. I appreciate the fact that you came in this morning to finish payroll, but I think you came back too soon. We’ve called for an ambulance. They’re going to take you—”

She pushed them aside and sat up with a jerk, then clutched her head with both hands, reeling as the room began to spin. Someone pushed her head between her knees and she found herself looking at a dried raisin that was stuck in the carpet. It was a fitting analogy to the way she felt.

“I’m not going back to the hospital,” she said. “I don’t need a hospital.” All I need is a new brain. Mine broke.

The sound of sirens could be heard coming up the road leading to the lodge.

Jessica groaned. “Send them back.”

Her request was too late. Paramedics came in on the run, followed by a couple of curious cops who’d been on their way to the lodge to interrogate the hired help about the missing bride and had decided to follow the ambulance instead.

When Stone Richardson followed the medics inside, it had been in the line of duty. A “just in case he was needed” decision that soon brought him up short. At first, he didn’t recognize the woman on the floor. But then she looked up, and he saw past the new haircut to the face beneath and found himself on the floor at her side.

His gruff voice and gentle touch were nearly her undoing.

“Damn it, Jessie, what have you done to yourself now?”

Jessica’s hand went to her hair, then she paused, uncertain as to which disaster he was referring—her hairdo, or the fact that she was about to go for another ambulance ride.

“She fainted,” Dolby said.

Jessica eyed the paramedic, who was fastening a pressure cuff on her arm. She refused to lie down. “I’m fine. They shouldn’t have called you, and I am not going back to the hospital.”

Stone heard what she said, but he had his own opinion of what she needed. She was pale and near tears, and the thought of Jessie unconscious and helpless did things to his heart he didn’t want to consider.

“You will if they say so,” he said, angry with himself and the emotions he kept feeling whenever Jessie was around.

Stone’s bossy attitude was more than Jessica was ready to accept. She gave him a sidelong glance. “Don’t you have someplace else to be?”

“No.”

Disgusted at being the center of so much unwanted attention, she closed her eyes and slumped forward, laying her head on her knees in a gesture of defeat.

Jeff Dolby patted his hair, making certain it was still in place, then touched Jessica’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“We can muddle along without you. I suggest you take off as much time as you need to recover from your injury. If need be, I’ll call in a temp.”

She groaned. Just after she’d started working at the lodge, she’d come down with a virulent flu bug that had taken its toll on the whole staff. Then the temp agency had sent a man who’d reorganized her entire filing system and crashed the computer. Fixing Dolby with a crushing stare, she gave him fair warning.

“If they send Lester Cushing, I quit.”

Dolby looked taken aback and then nodded nervously. “Don’t worry. I’ll see to it personally. You just get well. That’s all that matters.”

The paramedic began gathering up his things. “Miss Hanson, your vitals are normal, but I think you should see a doctor just the same. You can’t be too careful about head injuries.”

“I’ll call Dr. Howell when I get home,” she said. “I just need to go get my purse and keys.”

Restraining her intent, Stone pointed at one of the maids who was standing nearby.

“Would you please go to Miss Hanson’s office and get her purse?”

Jessica started to argue, when he silenced her with a look.

“Look, Jessie. I suggest you use what’s left of that hardheaded brain of yours. You just passed out. You are not going to be driving anywhere. I’ll take you home.”

Jessica slumped again, this time muttering the most disgusting slur she could summon on short notice.

“Tick teeth.”

Stone grinned. “Yeah, well, the same to you, lady.”

Startled, she looked up in time to see him wink. She felt herself blushing and looked away in disgust. I am immune to his charms. I am immune to his charms. The mantra did not work.

While Jessie was stewing quietly, Stone stood up. His partner, Jack Stryker, made no attempt to hide a grin.

“Stuff it,” Stone said as they walked to the other side of the room.

Jack whistled softly between his teeth and shrugged. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“You didn’t have to,” Stone said. “I saw that smirk.”

“I take it we’re going to delay the investigation of Randi Howell’s disappearance.”

A faint flush spread across Stone’s cheeks. “Look, Jessie is a good friend, okay?”

Jack’s grin widened. “From the way you hit the floor when you saw her down there, I’d say she’s more than your friend. However…I could be wrong.”

Ignoring his partner’s comments because they were too damned close to the truth to comment upon, Stone turned and then suddenly bolted across the room. Jessie was struggling to her feet. He should have known she wouldn’t do a damned thing he said.

A few minutes later, Jack leaned in the car window, sympathetically eyeing Jessica’s pale face as Stone fastened her seat belt. He knew Stone had been right in wanting to help her. This storm had messed up a lot of lives. He supposed it was fortunate they’d happened along.

“Miss Hanson, I’ll bring your car to your home when I pick up Stone, but I need to talk to a couple of people here at the lodge first,” he said.

Jessica’s lips trembled as she handed him the keys to her car. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Stryker walked back toward the lodge as Stone pulled out of the parking lot. He gave Jessie a sideways glance.

“How come you appreciate Jack’s help and mine annoys you?”

Jessica stared out the window. Maybe because I don’t dream about going to bed with your partner. She took a deep breath and fought back new tears.

“Detective Richardson, I appreciate your help.”

He tried to laugh off the hurt he kept feeling as she continued to shut him out. “Dang, you sweet-talking woman. You’re just liable to sweep me off my feet.”

She refused to comment.

Stone tried another subject. “I see you cut your hair.”

She burst into tears.

Startled by her reaction, Stone swerved the car to the side of the road and jammed it into Park. Worried, he slid his hand up the back of her neck.

“Are you sick? Do you want me to—”

His touch, his consideration and those damned gray bedroom eyes were going to be her downfall. Desperate to put some distance between herself and the man who could be her Waterloo, she turned on him without warning.

“Stone Richardson, if you don’t put this car into gear and take me home, I will never forgive you.”

Torn between anger and dismay, he moved back to his side of the car.

“Lord love a duck, Jessie Leigh, you’d make a preacher lose his religion.”

Then he grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. The car took off from a parked position like a turpentined cat, leaving black rubber and smoke to mark its passing. A short while later, he turned the corner leading down her street and slid to a stop at the side of her driveway, leaving just enough room for Jack to park.

Jessica breathed a quiet sigh of relief and reached for her seat belt, anxious to make a getaway before she embarrassed herself even more than she already had.

“Thank you for bringing me home.”

This time his laugh was little more than a gruff bark. “You don’t get rid of me this easy.”

Before she could argue, he was out of the car and helping her up the walk. When they reached the door, he stopped and turned.

Pinned beneath his watchful gaze, she realized he was waiting for her to open the door.

“Just a minute,” she said, fumbling through her purse for the keys. “I know they’re in here.” And then she remembered she’d given them to Stryker. She looked at Stone. “Oh, no, I gave them to your partner.”

“Allow me,” he drawled, and before she could think to argue, he had pulled the lock pick from his pocket and, once more, picked the lock to her front door.

She started to comment, but changed her mind when he stepped aside and pointed forcefully.

“You! Inside!”

“But I—”

He took her by the hand and pulled her after him, shutting the door behind them.

“Damn it, honey, you are trying my patience to—”

It was once too many times to ignore. Without thinking, she drew back and let fly, thumping his arm with the bulk of her purse.

“Stop calling me ‘honey’! You gave up that right when you walked out of my life!”

Stunned by the fact that not only had she hit him with her purse, but she was yelling at him, Stone yelled back.

“I’m not the one who walked out, you are.”

In spite of the ominous swing to the purse she still clutched in her hand, Stone held his ground and wished he hadn’t given up the right to hold her. Right now he would give a whole lot to have her in his bed and his arms. The blue in her eyes had turned dark and angry. Staccato bursts of her breath brushed his face. Stone remembered thinking that she was close—but not nearly close enough to suit him.

The next thing he knew, he’d yanked her into his arms and was kissing those sweet, pouting lips. Tasting her shock and the echoes of her words, and knowing it was never going to be enough.

Jessica went from stunned to surrender in just under three seconds, unprepared for the jolt of emotion that tore through her. The only thing she remembered thinking was that she’d wasted the last two years. She hadn’t gotten over a thing.

Stone took a deep breath and turned her loose, and in those moments before he moved away, something precious passed between them that they couldn’t take back. Unspoken, but obvious, just the same.

“Stone, I—”

His voice was gruff, but his hands were shaking. “Get in bed.”

She took a sudden step backward. Where had all the tenderness gone?

He groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said softly, and took a deep breath while trying to calm his racing pulse. He reached out, lifting the fringe of her bangs to look at the white bandage beneath. “You have to be careful. I still think you should call the doctor. Head injuries are tricky.”

Her fingers brushed the surface of her mouth. “Not nearly as tricky as you.”

He flushed but held his ground. “I will not apologize for what just happened.”

She lifted her chin and walked back to the door, then opened it and stood aside, waiting for him to leave. As he stepped out, she slammed the door behind him. When she was certain there was at least three inches of solid wood between him and her, she shouted, “I don’t recall asking for an apology.”

Stone froze in midstep and then pivoted. His hand was on the doorknob just as a familiar click sounded. His eyebrows arched in disbelief. The little witch! She’d locked him out.

“What about your car keys?”

“Drop them through the mail slot, and thank you for the ride.”

“You call the doctor or I’ll do it for you!” he shouted.

She didn’t answer, and he could hear the sounds of her footsteps as she walked away. Torn between elation and frustration, he kicked at a rolled-up newspaper lying on her porch and sent it flying. It landed on top of a nearby bush.

“Damned woman.” He dropped down on the top step, waiting for Stryker to come with her car.

It didn’t dawn on him until later that he’d actually thought of her as a strong, capable woman, not one who cried and begged and blamed as Naomi had. But by the time he’d come to that conclusion, Stryker was pulling into the driveway in Jessie’s car.

Jack got out with a mile-wide grin on his face. “What are you doing out here?”

“None of your damned business,” Stone muttered.

Jack held up her keys. “What about these?”

Stone stuffed them through the mail slot in the door. They rattled as they hit the floor, and the moment they were out of his hand, he realized he should have kept them. Now there was nothing to keep her from getting back in the car and driving. And she was just stubborn enough to try it.

He sighed in frustration and headed for his car. Maybe he could find peace of mind in his work.

* * *

Jessica sat huddled on the floor in the hallway, listening for the sounds of Stone’s departure. She was afraid to sleep—afraid she would dream. But the real truth was, she was even afraid to think. She hadn’t been asleep when she’d seen Sheila’s house on fire. She’d been at her desk and minding her own business.

Her lips still tingled, and she thought of Stone and shivered with sudden longing, wishing that things were different. Wishing that she wasn’t so certain she was about to come apart at the seams.

He was an officer of the law, trained to help, trained to serve. She’d been injured. It only stood to reason he would consider it his duty to offer assistance. However, she reminded herself, he’d had no earthly reason to kiss her just now as he had. Except, she reminded herself further, she had been irritating him unnecessarily. Maybe he’d done it just to shut her up. She inhaled on a soft, helpless sob. Well, it had worked. She felt lost and rudderless, uncertain of what would come next.

She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Tears trickled out from beneath the lids, and she bit her lip to defend herself from the threatening flood. The truth be told, Jessica Hanson was afraid—afraid of herself, and afraid of what she might see next. She got to her feet and went to bed. Right now it was the only place she felt safe.

* * *

Horror shattered the joy in Olivia Stuart’s eyes as a hand clamped across her mouth and she was shoved forward, pinned between the table and the unyielding body of her attacker. The overpowering scent of gardenias mingled with a sudden pain in the back of her leg. Moments later, another pain, different and more threatening, mushroomed in the center of her chest. Her arms flailed outward and upward. She would never see her son again.

* * *

Jessica woke with tears streaming down her cheeks and the scent of gardenias swirling around her. She sat up with a jerk and took a long, deep breath.

“Why,” she whispered, and buried her face in her hands. “Why is this happening?”

She crawled out of bed and walked through her house toward the kitchen, comfortable in the darkness and with the familiarity of her own things. She poured herself a cold drink of water and drank it from start to finish without pause. When it was empty, she set the glass in the sink and then looked out the window to the night beyond.

Moonlight bounced off the nearby hedge, coloring the neatly clipped branches in a cold, silver glow. She shuddered as echoes of the last three days crept back in her mind.

Olivia Stuart’s attack.

Her sister’s lost keys.

Olivia Stuart’s attack.

The fire at Sheila Biggers’s house.

Olivia Stuart’s attack.

Something she hadn’t considered suddenly occurred. She hadn’t been wrong about where Brenda’s keys had been. She hadn’t been wrong about the fire at Sheila’s house. She started to shake.

Then, what if I’m right and they’re wrong about the reason for Olivia Stuart’s death?

The longer she stood, the more certain she became of what she must do. Like it or not, she had to talk to the authorities. If she didn’t, someone would be getting away with murder!

Chapter Four

Stone Richardson’s day was already screwed when he walked into the precinct on Wednesday morning. Thanks to the massive storm, there was a backlog of cases they might never get through. And when a handcuffed hooker called out his name and then winked, he muttered beneath his breath in disgust. There was a real good chance that the day might never get better.

Ready to get down to work, he draped his sport coat on the back of a chair and reached across the permanent stack of files on his desk for his coffee cup.

Stryker, who sat across the aisle, was on the phone. When he looked up and saw Stone, he put his hand over the receiver long enough to give Stone a message.

“There’s a man waiting to see you. He said Dr. Howell sent him.”

Stone nodded. “Tell him to have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

He headed for the break room, moments later, pouring what was left in the pot in his cup, dregs and all. When some of it splattered on the toe of his boot and the edge of his jeans, he frowned, then took a quick sip on the way out the door, thankful it had missed his white shirt. It was the last clean one he had.

On his way back to his desk, he glanced into the hall at the brawl in progress. Two men were trading blows while a woman stood nearby, screeching at the top of her lungs. In the midst of it all, he got a glimpse of red hair and a dark blue uniform, and grinned. Delancey, a beat cop and a nineteen-year veteran of the force, had it under control. The complainants just didn’t know it yet.

As Stone reentered the room, he paused in the doorway, taking careful note of the man sitting at his desk. He was lean and looked unnaturally pale. His blond hair had recently been cut. His jeans and shirt were unremarkable in style, but clean. As Stone neared his desk, the man suddenly stood, and the cold blue intensity of his gaze, as well as the way he waited without moving, gave Stone an impression of military bearing.

“Have a seat,” Stone said.

They both sat, and Stone took a last sip of his coffee before shoving aside a stack of papers to make room for his cup.

“So, what can I do for you, Mr.—?”

The man shifted nervously. “You can call me Smith. Martin Smith. However, I seriously doubt that it’s my name.”

He had Stone’s attention. “Excuse me?”

The man took a deep breath. “I don’t know who I am. My entire memory consists of the past few days. I don’t remember anything before Friday evening, when I wandered into the emergency room of your local hospital.”

Stone gave him another glance, this time more thorough.

“Were you injured?”

Smith shook his head. “Yes, but not much. They guessed I probably suffered a blow to the head. I had some cuts and bruises, but I’ve had worse.” The moment that came out, he looked startled. “How did I know that?” he muttered, then sighed in frustration.

Stone picked up a pen and started making notes. “Friday. That would be five days ago.”

“During the storm.”

Stone nodded. Another set of troubles to add to the mess they were already trying to unknot.

“And you hadn’t been in an accident?”

Smith shrugged. “I don’t know. All I remember is that my head hurt. I’d been walking for some time, through mud and debris. Most streets were blocked off. Everything was dark. And then I saw lights in the distance and headed toward them.”

Stone remembered what Vanderbilt Memorial had looked like that night. The lights had been weak and flickering, but the security they represented had been comforting, even to him.

“So, what do you want of me?” Stone asked.

Smith hesitated briefly, then his jaw squared and he leaned forward. “Maybe you could check missing persons reports. And I want you to fingerprint me. See if I have an identity on record. See if I’m—” He paused and then looked away, unable to finish the horror of what he was thinking.

Stone finished it for him. “See if you’re in our database or if there’s a warrant somewhere for your arrest?”

He looked up. “Yes. No matter what, I want to know.”

“Okay,” Stone said, and turned a fresh page on the pad. “Let’s talk. We might get some answers from you that you didn’t know you had.”

Smith began to talk while Stone asked the occasional question, making notes in between and trying to make himself heard above everything else that was going on.

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