For Your Eyes Only Read online

  L.J. liked to compare himself to Bill Gates. They were both computer geeks who’d left college before graduating and both were visionaries of a sort. But while Gates armwrestled with IBM and Netscape in public, Smith scored his hits on the banking and credit industry with an elite guerrilla-warfare unit that pillaged and ran.

  Cornelius glanced up and down the aisle to make sure no one at the other tables was paying attention. “You’ve got my order?”

  “High-roller gold cards, twenty-to-fifty-thousand limits.” L.J. pulled out a leather case from his coat pocket and pushed it across the scarred wood table.

  “There were no problems with the I.D.s?”

  “You’ll find everything exactly as ordered. Eight men, four women. Assorted verification documents. Of course, the 48-hour turnaround and the photo IDs are going to cost an additional twenty-five grand.”

  “That’s highway robbery!”

  Smith laughed. “We’re the only shop that’s figured out how to duplicate that new tamper-proof hologram. Besides, you still get a clean fifteen thousand on even the low-limit jobs and a thirty-day-minimum window for use. Out of state, of course.”

  Cornelius pulled out a pocket magnifier glass and went over the sets of cards and identities with the expertise of a jeweler appraising a diamond. “They’ll pass. Where are the rest?”

  “When you’ve paid in full.”

  For several long seconds, Cornelius looked as if he would walk. Instead, he shoved his briefcase across the table.

  L.J. snapped it open and verified the cash inside. “It appears that everything is in order. We’ll expect the additional fee within twenty-four hours, and you’ll get the rest of the order. You know how to reach us.”

  “ARE YOU PARKED in the garage across the alley?” Jenny asked Detective Brisco as she heard him scrape back his chair.

  He laughed. “Police muscle. I’m in the no-parking zone in front of the building.”

  “I guess you must have known I’d be in a hurry,” she answered, trying to match his light tone, trying not to think about why they’d met. She hadn’t liked falling apart in front of him. Or anybody else, for that matter. Later, when she was alone, she’d grieve for her friend. Now her mission was to convince a blind girl named Barbara Taft that she could go after any career she thought she could handle. Slipping the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she led the way out of the office.

  If she’d been better acquainted with Detective Brisco and they were in unfamiliar surroundings, she might have taken his arm and let him lead her. But she knew the way to the elevator as well as she knew the layout of her kitchen at home. Swinging her cane to make sure there were no obstacles in the way, she managed to stay several steps ahead of the detective as they walked toward the elevator.

  She wondered why she was letting him give her a ride rather than simply calling a cab. She’d used the excuse that she didn’t want to keep Barbara waiting, yet she knew that wasn’t the only reason she was still in Ben Brisco’s company. He interested her. Or maybe she wanted the satisfaction of figuring him out.

  She already knew a fair amount about him. He was a muscular man. Not too tall, judging from where she heard his voice. Not heavy for his height. Agile. She could tell both those things from the way he walked. And his hands were large and warm and a little callused. The last silent observation was accompanied by the ghost of a shiver that made her wonder why she was responding so strongly to this stranger. Probably because his bad news had thrown her so off balance, she told herself. And he cared. She’d felt that in the touch of his hand on her shoulder, and in his voice.

  The elevator came, and they stepped inside, each claiming an opposite wall. Neither of them spoke, and the silence was no more satisfactory than anything else that had passed between them. She found herself speculating about what he was thinking. She’d picked up that he was nervous about interviewing her. The little changes in his voice, the subtle alterations in the way he drew in his breath, told her almost as much as seeing his facial expression.

  An involuntary shiver traveled up her spine.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked without missing a beat.

  So he’d been staring at her, she guessed, feeling her skin flush.

  Fighting the impulse to turn away, she kept her face toward him. “I was wondering about Marianne. Is there something…something bad about…” It was harder to say than she’d expected. “The way she was killed?”

  “Murder is always bad.” There was no mistaking the edge in his voice.

  The door glided opened. She stepped out into the lobby but didn’t go any farther. “But there’s something you’d rather not tell me?”

  “How’d you pick up on that?”

  “You’re uncomfortable. Either it’s me—or the murder.”

  He made a noncommittal noise, and she chose to assume it was nothing personal.

  “What about Marianne?”

  “I’d rather not go into detail.”

  “What you mean is that I’d rather not hear.”

  “That, too.”

  They stood facing each other for a moment. When he didn’t volunteer anything else, she turned toward the street entrance.

  He came after her, forging ahead. She heard the heavy lobby door swing open. Outside, she took several breaths of the crisp spring air. A little breeze was blowing, and under other circumstances she would have enjoyed the feel of it ruffling her hair.

  “It’s like this,” he said. “When we’re investigating a crime, there are usually details we withhold from the public. If someone comes forward with information or confesses, we use those details to determine the veracity of the information.”

  “Oh. I didn’t think about that.” Probably it wasn’t the whole story, but she wanted to accept the explanation.

  He crossed the sidewalk. A car door opened.

  “Right here,” he said, his hand on her shoulder again.

  She slipped inside and stowed her cane between the seat and the door. Then she reached down to see what her feet were touching and came up with a handful of cellophane wrappers. Mostly they seemed to be from cinnamon balls, judging from the distinctive spicy smell. But there was a sprinkling of lemon and peppermint mixed in.

  “Sorry,” Brisco muttered after he slipped behind the wheel. “I would have cleaned up, but I wasn’t expecting company.” He sounded like a little boy who’d been caught with his earthworm collection spread across the diningroom table. The image was so telling that she couldn’t hold back a little laugh.

  “I think I’ve discovered your secret vice,” she murmured.

  “That’s true.” He touched her again. This time his large hand closed around hers. It was strong, capable. The gesture was very intimate in the close confines of the car. She wanted to ask how he’d gotten the calluses across the pads of his fingers. Instead she pressed her lips together. She wasn’t acting like herself. She didn’t know what was going to come out of her mouth next.

  Long seconds passed before he took the papers from her. One fluttered to her lap, but thankfully he didn’t try to retrieve it. While he stuffed the wrappers into the ashtray or something, she toyed with the one in her lap. She liked the texture of the cellophane. But she wouldn’t kid herself. Playing with the wrapper was a way to cope with tension— to focus on a small physical activity rather than the overwhelming man in the seat next to her. She didn’t know him well enough to figure out what was happening between them, or perhaps she was too out of practice with the opposite sex.

  “So can you direct me to the federation?” he asked, the strained quality back in his voice. It was reassuring to know she wasn’t the only one reacting.

  It was a bad idea to encourage him, she told herself, so she kept her answer businesslike as she slowly slid the candy paper between her fingers. “It’s on Johnson. I, uh, haven’t had to find it on my own.”

  “That’s okay.”

  She heard the distinctive crinkle of a large map. “Square three-H,” he mu
ttered.

  The car started. He spun the wheel sharply and pulled out into traffic. A radio crackled, and she heard a dispatcher ordering nearby units to the scene of a traffic accident on Eutaw Street.

  He didn’t hit her with any personal questions. Was he curious about her background? she wondered. A lot of people wanted to know if she’d been blind from birth. In fact, they asked all kinds of probing stuff, as if her blindness gave them a license to be impolite. But he was either incurious or well-mannered.

  Despite her earlier resolve, she found she was the one who wanted to keep the conversation going. “You have other interviews?” she asked.

  “Yes. The other detective I mentioned—Pete Diangelo—and I are splitting them up. I’ll try to get a line on the ex-husband.”

  He made a left turn, then a right “We’re across from the building, beside a park. I can make a U-turn and put you right in front of the entrance.”

  “No. This is fine. Thank you for going out of your way.”

  “No problem.”

  Maybe she’d been mistaken. Maybe he wasn’t as interested in her as she’d thought. She should be relieved. Instead, she was disappointed.

  After locating her cane, she felt for the door handle.

  “Push the latch to the right,” Brisco told her.

  She followed directions and the car door opened. “Well, thanks again for the lift.” Automatically she listened for the sound of approaching cars before stepping off the curb and starting for the other side.

  THERE WAS NO REASON to hang around. But instead of pulling away from the curb, Ben sat, watching Jenny, enjoying the glint of sunlight on her hair and the way her hips moved as she walked at a quick pace. She was lithe and graceful, and were it not for the cane you wouldn’t know she couldn’t see.

  He’d known damn well he was making her nervous in the car before he’d told himself to cool it But not as nervous as she would have been if she’d realized what he was thinking. Probably he shouldn’t have touched her again. But he’d wanted an excuse to find out if her hand felt as feminine as her shoulder. Only he hadn’t been staring at her hand. He’d been admiring the gentle swell of her breasts. Not too large, but oh so tempting beneath the clinging fabric of her blouse—with the outline of her nipples slightly raised so that he could see them.

  He’d reacted to that. Oh yeah, he’d reacted, all right.

  “Very professional, Brisco,” he muttered.

  By an effort of will, he’d torn his gaze away. There was no future in getting turned on by Jenny Larkin, because he couldn’t have her. And it was no fair taking advantage of the fact that she couldn’t see. Still, it was going to take a nuclear explosion to get her out of his mind.

  The crackle of a call over the radio reminded him that he couldn’t stay here obsessing about her. He was about to pull away from the curb when he saw a blue pickup swing around the corner and come barreling down the blacktop.

  A curse that was part surprise and part panic erupted from his lips when he realized the truck was heading straight for Jenny.

  Chapter Three

  Ben’s reaction was swift and primal. He was out of the car and running before he realized his fingers had jerked the door handle.

  “Jenny—watch out!” he shouted as he closed the distance between them. Too far. Too damn far.

  It was all happening much too fast. Yet he felt as if he were viewing the scene in slow motion. Jenny standing stock still in the middle of the narrow street. The truck making straight toward her.

  At the warning shout, she half turned, her face registering alarm and confusion. He knew with a sick feeling that the only thing he’d accomplished was to make sure she was no longer a moving target for the juggernaut coming toward her.

  Like a desperate sprinter surging toward the finish line, he leaped across the last five feet that separated him from Jenny. With stiff fingers, he grabbed her shoulders and yanked her back. She screamed as his hands closed around her, screamed again as the vehicle whizzed by, the side mirror missing his arm by a hair. The tail wind buffeted them so strongly that he was almost knocked off his feet Swaying, he managed to keep them both from falling as well.

  When he had the presence of mind to look up, the truck was halfway down the block and picking up speed. There was no way he could make out the license number as it receded into the distance. He saw the right rear taillight was shattered, but all he saw of the driver was a dark head through the back window. He couldn’t even tell if it was male or female.

  Jenny had his sportcoat in a death grip. Her other hand still clutched her cane.

  With a strangled exclamation, he folded her close, cradling her slender body protectively against his. She was trembling. And he wasn’t all that steady on his feet, either.

  His vision was a shimmery blur. Closing his eyes, he rested his face against the top of her head, unconsciously moving his cheek against her soft hair. Another few seconds and that truck would have—He didn’t allow himself to complete the terrible image.

  Her hand opened and closed around a fistful of his jacket “Wh-what happened?” she asked in a hoarse gasp.

  His own voice came out low and strained—a strange, grating sound. “A truck was heading straight for you.”

  “I thought…I was sure…there was no…no…traffic,” she quavered, raising her head and looking as if she was trying to figure out how she’d messed up.

  “You were right about the street being clear,” he rasped. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  It was the most natural thing in the world to pull her back into his embrace and envelop her protectively with his body. Her arms crept around his back, and they stood quietly holding each other. Her body felt fragile, fine-boned, pliant. With a little sigh, she leaned into him. Her posture was totally trusting, like a woman giving herself to the man she loves for the first time.

  For several heartbeats Ben managed to shut out the reason he had taken her into his arms. He was nothing more than a man, glad that he had a very desirable woman in his embrace. His lips skimmed the side of her silky hair and he breathed in the delicate scent of citrus.

  Perhaps she was just as befuddled as he, because she murmured something that didn’t sound as if it were born out of panic, something that danced along his nerve endings like a caress. Wanting more, his hands moved up and down her back as he gathered her closer. His lips drifted toward hers. They were parted, inviting, the warmth of her breath heralding the touch of flesh to flesh. Seconds before the contact, a horn honked in back of him, and reality came surging back. He remembered they were still standing in the middle of a city street and that a truck had come within inches of hitting her.

  It was an effort not to curse the impatient man glaring at them through the windshield of a sporty green coupe. Hadn’t the fool seen that they’d almost gotten blown away by a reckless driver? Ben settled for shooting the guy a scathing look.

  “We’d better get out of the street,” he muttered as he drew Jenny out of the traffic lane and back toward his car. She came without protest, a dazed expression on her face. Finally they were standing in front of his vehicle.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

  She drew in a ragged breath. “It was so close—I could feel the wind whipping us around—and smell the exhaust like a poison cloud.”

  “The damn thing materialized out of nowhere. It was heading straight toward you,” he barked.

  Bewilderment was etched across her features. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was some nut who likes to go after people who can’t see him.”

  He felt a shudder wrack her body as the nasty implications sank in. She could be as careful as a fire-eating woman in a carnival sideshow, and it wouldn’t protect her from a deliberate attack.

  Wishing he’d kept the speculation to himself, he led her around the side of the car. “Come on.”

  By the time he eased into the driver’s seat, she was sitting very still, shoulders hunched.

&n
bsp; He started to touch her arm, but thought better of it. “Are you okay?”

  “Just shaken up. Thanks to you.” She straightened and raised her face toward him. “Tell me again. What happened?”

  “A truck came around the corner like he was heading for a three-alarm fire. But there was no way he could have missed seeing you. Unless he was blind.”

  She gave a sharp laugh, and he felt his face heat.

  “I mean—”

  “It’s just an expression. I know what you meant.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Blind people don’t usually drive trucks. Even in this neighborhood.”

  This time he was the one who laughed.

  She waited for a moment before speaking. “When you dashed into the street and grabbed me—you could have gotten killed,” she said in a low voice. “I—” She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  “I’d offer you a drink but all I have is cinnamon candy.”

  “Actually, that sounds a lot more enticing.”

  He reached in his pocket for a candy for each of them.

  “I’m too finicky a housekeeper to throw the wrapper on the floor,” she said as she handed it to him.

  He was conscious of the brush of his fingertips against hers. He wanted to ask what she’d been feeling when he’d held her, but he knew he had no business asking that kind of question. They were still strangers. Or rather, he was stuck pretending that they were.

  He watched her lips as she sucked the candy as if the sweetness could wipe away the earlier horror. “I haven’t had these since I was a kid,” she said. “Now I may have to get a bag of them.”

  “Don’t tell the department I have an addiction.”

  She grinned. “Does this mean I have something on you?”

  “Only if you’re unscrupulous.”

  “Can I get arrested for that?”

  “It’s not in the statute books,” he countered. He liked the way she smiled and seemed to relax. But he knew he had to question her about what had happened. “We need to talk about that truck.”