Eyes Like the Night

by Emma Accola

  Smudge grabbed up the envelope of money and tossed it at Micah’s feet. “I don’t do menial tasks. Leave.”

  Micah’s face stayed carefully impassive. “I’m being cyberstalked.” He pointed to me. “So is she. Her name is Gracie. And now the stalker is after her family.”

  Smudge allowed himself to look at me. “Is she yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your lover?”

  “Yes,” Micah said without hesitation. “And someone is trying to surveil us both.”

  “If she’s your lover, then why would a stalker care about her family? And why should I care?” Smudge asked. “Your problems are boring me. Leave.”

  Micah kicked the envelope of money back across the grimy linoleum floor to Smudge’s feet. “Caleb cared.”

  “He’s dead and I made us even. I don’t owe you any favors.”

  Micah acted as if Smudge had never spoken. “Caleb liked Gracie a lot. He said she was smart and cute and that the man who could get her love would be the luckiest man in the world.”

  Smudge looked at me carefully. “That has nothing to do with me.”

  “Caleb was murdered by the same man who is cyberstalking Gracie and me. He is working to destroy Gracie’s career and her family’s winery.”

  “Still not interested. Leave.”

  “Not so fast,” I snapped, advancing on Sludge. Nobody dismissed my winery that easily. I picked up the envelope and threw it on his bulging stomach. The hundred-dollar bills fell out, slid down the curve of his gut, and fluttered to the floor. “You’re going to listen to us.”

  “Get out,” he croaked, but he didn’t move. His deep-set eyes had become round.

  My little voice shouted to me what to say. “Caleb took you as a client because he believed that everybody, no matter how strange or different, deserved justice. Caleb was a good man who went out of his way to help those who didn’t conform.”

  Smudge sneered. “Did he really? How would you know?”

  “He helped you, didn’t he?”

  Smudge’s greasy face started quivering with indignation. “Get out.”

  I wasn’t finished. “What did you ever do to repay him?”

  Smudge’s tiny and mean pig eyes blinked at me, but he didn’t argue back. My little voice said that this was a man who understood the concept of quid pro quo. That was the way to get through to him.

  “Nothing,” I said with a sniff of disgust. “That’s what I thought.”

  “I did do something,” Smudge said in a growl. “I made sure that his office was secure. I warned him that someone was monitoring his home security system.”

  “That’s all? Did that take somebody with your skill set a whole ten minutes?”

  Smudge stiffened in his chair, causing it to squeak loudly. He glared at me, as if surprised that I didn’t acknowledge his benevolence.

  “That same cyber stalker is after Gracie and me,” Micah said. “And we need your help. We don’t want anyone hacking our computers, my car, my television, my security system, and anything else that could be used to spy on us.”

  “Just doing that isn’t enough to make you safe,” Smudge said with a growl. “I did all that for Caleb and it didn’t stop a killer from coming.” For a moment his glare softened. “Caleb helped me. He was one in a million. If it weren’t for his sake, right now I’d be calling the police and having your asses hauled out of here.”

  “But you did have Caleb,” I said. “And there’s more. I want you to make secure my parents’ winery. You will make sure no one hacks into the systems and crashes the winery’s computers and ruins the wines.”

  “Says who?” Smudge asked.

  “Says the woman who will stop Harry Spice, the man that I believe caused the car accident that killed Caleb.” I drew myself up. “Caleb didn’t understand until too late what kind of monster he was dealing with. Caleb didn’t know, but we do, and we will get justice for him with your help.”

  Smudge’s little eyes narrowed until they were just slits. He grew mocking. “Harry Spice? The Harry Spice? Is that all we’re talking about here? Anything else?” Smudge glowered. “Don’t you think that I have something better to do with my time?”

  “Right now you don’t.” We’d come in while Smudge was watching porn. Though he had minimized the porn on one of his screens, he hadn’t turned the sound down enough, and I could hear the actors moaning and gasping.

  “I’ll think about it,” Smudge said.

  I looked around his apartment, seeing Japanese anime figurines on bookshelves, pages torn from magazines taped to the walls, and The Hobbit collectors’ items. On the floor and piled in the corners were crushed boxes from Amazon and other online retailers. This man never had visitors and seldom ventured past his apartment door. Fortunately he understood quid pro quo. My little voice began whispering to me what this sad, lonely man needed—someone to look out for him. Household help, even in a little way, was what he saw as caring.

  Micah got there first. “Just take a look for us. While you’re doing that, we’ll haul out those garbage bags and pick the place up. Maybe you’d like an order from McDonald’s.”

  Smudge flicked his fingers at me. “And?”

  “I will tidy up your kitchen a bit,” I said with some disgust. Hopefully when I touched the pizza boxes, I wouldn’t be disturbing a colony of roaches.

  Smudge nodded at Micah and pointed to the money where it lay on the floor. “That’s a good start, but I also want new clothes. You and your girlfriend here can take some of that cash and go to Walmart and get me some new clothes. I want something nice.”

  The request clearly surprised Micah. “You can’t do that with a few clicks of your mouse?”

  Smudge reddened and averted his eyes. “Because you’re all stylish, the way women like. I want you to pick me out some tee shirts and new shorts that women will like. And I want them today.”

  “We can do that,” I said. “But you need to take a shower. And I’m throwing away all your old clothes and buying you some antibacterial soap. And you’re going to buy a new chair because that one reeks and is completely worn out. It must hurt your back.”

  While Sludge grumbled about bossy women, Micah started gathering up the already-filled garbage bags. Meanwhile, I opened every window in the apartment to let in the cleansing air of the Pacific. As we worked, I began seriously worrying that the stink of this place was getting into my hair. I loaded the dishwasher with moldy plates and silverware. After starting it, I took an empty garbage bag and started filling it with filthy clothes and mildewing towels. When in the bathroom, I was surprised to see a washer and dryer. Clearly it hadn’t occurred to Smudge to use them.

  “I’m not touching that bed or those sheets without gloves,” I whispered to Micah when he came in.

  “Gloves? I want a hazmat suit. And whatever you do, don’t open the refrigerator.”

  “I hear that.” I frowned slightly and kept my voice low. “Why does he live like this? Is he broke?”

  “He’s definitely not broke. Hold this garbage bag open for me.” Micah glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Smudge was still at the keyboard. “He earns plenty of money, but both his mother and sister require a skilled care nursing home because they have some kind of genetic degenerative disorder. He pays for their care, and it’s over ten thousand dollars a month for each. Until her health failed, his sister used to look after him.”

  “That’s really sad,” I said, reevaluating my opinion of this man. “He could hire someone to clean up after him.”

  “Let’s suggest that.”

  “How does he earn his money?”

  “He gets contracts from white-hat security companies. As you can see, he doesn’t get out much and doesn’t seem to want to.”

  “But he worked for Caleb.”

  “Somehow Caleb made a good impression on him.”

  “I don’t know how Caleb managed it, but thank goodness he did.”

  For the next couple of hours, M
icah and I hauled out trash and sorted through the mess on the floor. Then we went to Walmart shopping for new clothes for Smudge. It seemed like a strange way to pass a Saturday morning, as if we were taking care of a child, but Micah didn’t complain. He chose all the tee shirts, nylon shorts, underwear, and socks, and together we selected new sheets and towels. There were no cleaning supplies at all in the apartment, so Micah and I tossed some into the cart.

  Back at the apartment, Smudge let us in with a grunt of ill humor. He’d taken a shower, and his braid lay over his shoulder like a wet rope. I cut the tags off the clothes and put them in the washing machine. Micah went to buy a large order of McDonald’s for Smudge while I finished with the mess in the kitchen. Finally, all the dishes and laundry were done and the rooms were cleared. Micah returned with the fast food and assembled the new office chair. Smudge didn’t bother to hide his delight. He spun it around several times and leaned back with a look of satisfaction. I thought Micah and I would choke as we carried out the old one. When we were about to leave, Smudge almost smiled at me.

  “I stopped the hack on your family’s winery,” he said in a flat voice. “This morning someone had changed all the settings on your fermentation tanks. That would have crashed the system in your canning factory on Monday, but I got it stopped. I will monitor that situation.”

  My knees started shaking. I grabbed Micah’s arm to steady myself. “Thank you, Smudge. I am grateful. I really am.”

  “Funny though, how Harry Spice would hack his own system and put his company’s reputation on the line by ruining your family’s wine.”

  “It’s personal.”

  Smudge’s little pig eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Yeah, right.”

  I paused to collect myself because my voice began to crack. “By the way, I know someone who will come here and keep your apartment clean and do your shopping and laundry. But you will have to pay her in cash. She only works under the table.”

  “Don’t bother. My sister takes care of me.”

  “Yes, she does,” I said soothingly as I exchanged a glance with Micah. “But lately she isn’t well, and until she feels up to it, this cleaning woman will help your sister out. You know, to take some of the pressure off of her. It would only be temporary. Your sister would want to know that someone came to look after your apartment while she gets better.”

  “I don’t want any government spies in here.”

  “There’s no need to worry about that. This woman can hardly read English and she doesn’t know her way around a computer the way you do. She’s a simple person who lives here in Vallejo and has been working for me. You can count on her to be trustworthy.”

  Smudge seemed to consider my offer. “As long as she’s good and quiet. That last thing I need around here is more witless babble.” He pulled out a metal box from under a router. When he opened it, I saw that it was full of crumbled bills of many denominations. “I have cash. When will she be here?”

  “I’ll call her and let you know.”

  “Email or text me. I hate the sound my phone makes.”

  Micah was pulling me out the door. Apparently he’d had his fill of Smudge. We hurried down the long narrow hallways and steep steps until we reached the sidewalk. Once outside, Micah began taking in big breaths of air. He ordinarily looked so polished and urbane, that I wondered if his co-workers would recognize him now, rumpled and disheveled, though still outrageously handsome. I liked this Micah, the one who would do whatever it took to solve the case. No wonder Caleb had found him so valuable.

  Micah looked troubled as he rubbed his chin. “I’m bothered by how fast Sludge found that hack.”

  My hands tingled as they began to sweat. “But that’s a good thing. And Sludge is really good. You said so yourself.”

  “Harry Spice is really good too. And he created your system.” Micah frowned. “Harry Spice wouldn’t have made it that easy to find and correct, even for someone like Sludge.”

  “Do you think this is like when he hadn’t changed back the printer setting on my office computer on the day that I got the threat?”

  “Yes, exactly. He wanted you to know about his hack.”

  A chill shook my entire body. Harry Spice liked for me to feel his cold breath down my back. “I should call Mom. I’ll make her listen to me.”

  “No, don’t. What would you say? Would she believe any words that came from you?” When I didn’t answer, Micah opened the car door. “Let’s get out of here. The last thing we want is to draw attention to Smudge. We need to keep him off Harry Spice’s radar screen.”

  I rubbed the back of my hand over my eyes. “I need to get my life back.”

  “It won’t be the same one.”

  “I know,” I whispered.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After my shower, I put my and Micah’s clothes in the washing machine. That seemed strangely intimate. For a moment I wondered what Micah would think of them mingling. The inward debate didn’t last long because the smell of Smudge’s apartment clung to them. I added extra detergent and started the machine. As I watched it fill, I wondered what I should change into for dinner. On the drive back, Micah said we were going to dinner at a fine restaurant to reward ourselves for all our hard work. Could this be called a date? It bugged me that I cared about the label. My logical side pointed out quite correctly that Micah and I were thrown together by circumstances. Thanks to Harry Spice, we would never have the slow, gentle unfolding of getting to know each other that other couples who met as strangers would experience. As I left the laundry room, I wondered whether it was possible in any way to start our relationship over.

  Upon moving into Micah’s place, I had taken over the hall bathroom. My lighted makeup mirror graced the fine marble countertop. The toothbrush holder was so fancy that an object as prosaic as my toothbrush almost seemed like an offense to it. My makeup was now housed in the fine cabinet that smelled like cedar. Many small lights framed the huge mirror and made all my jewelry sparkle. I liked this bathroom and mentally thanked Caleb’s girlfriend for her excellent design. When I finished my hair and makeup, I went into the guest room and debated for a long time over what to wear. What dress said “date night” without being too obvious? I settled on a black sheath accessorized by my grandmother’s pearls and a pair of strappy spike heels Tamra had picked out for me.

  I found Micah at the dining room table laying out on a timeline the evidence that he had uncovered about Harry Spice. He paused and turned gracefully, caressing me with his cool blue eyes. Man, how I loved those cheekbones. He was wearing a black suit over a charcoal gray shirt and tie, looking dark and dangerous, and for tonight, all mine.

  “That dress. Those heels,” he said softly. “You look beautiful.”

  I blushed. The compliment moved me so deeply that my entire body felt a warm glow. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

  He forgot the timeline and offered me his arm. “Shall we?”

  We went out to the garage and he opened the car door.

  “The restaurant overlooks San Francisco Bay,” he said as I got inside. “We’ll be able to see the Golden Gate while we eat. I put the reservation on my work calendar in full knowledge that Harry Spice would be monitoring it.”

  At those words I felt a pang, wishing for all the world that this night wouldn’t carry the taint of Harry Spice. What woman wouldn’t want to be out in the presence of someone as hot as Micah Ekstrand and have it be just about her? I fought the urge to sigh. Though it seemed selfish of me, especially in light of what was happening with my family’s winery, I really wished I could be with Micah just for the sake of us, not because of Harry Spice.

  “What are you thinking?” Micah asked as he drove us across the city.

  I had been quiet too long. “How much truth do you want tonight?”

  He gave me a sharp look. “We agreed to honesty.”

  My words came quickly, tripping over themselves. “In my heart of hearts, I would rather be going out to dinner wi
th you because you wanted to spend time with me, not because some vindictive self-involved swine is trying to ruin us.”

  “Ah, I see.” His voice softened. “I do want to spend time with you.”

  “It doesn’t seem that way right now.”

  “Oh, man.” Micah exhaled loudly. “I would give every single thing I have to edit Harry Spice out of our lives so I could meet you in your winery, all clean and shiny, with no baggage at all. Since that’s impossible, all I can offer you for this night is the next best thing. When we get to the restaurant, let’s create a Harry Spice-free zone. We’ll have drinks, a great dinner, and a few laughs.”

  I tried not to scoff. “They’ll be fake and empty, like a laugh-track on a television comedy. How will we be able to relax knowing he’s going to be there laying some sort of trap?”

  “We’re the ones laying the trap—not him. He doesn’t get to control our moods. It’s up to us to make the laughs real. And we can ask each other another of the twenty questions so the spotlight stays on us.”

  That idea gave me a little thrill since I had a few of them tickling my mind. Nevertheless, I wanted to sound cool. “Aren’t you being a little too cavalier?”

  “No, not really. Aren’t you the one who wanted dinner to be just about us?”

  Us? The notion distracted me. “What are you going to ask me?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  “Is it a personal question?”

  “Where we’re concerned, is there any other kind?”

  There wasn’t. As Micah wove the car through the heavy San Francisco traffic, I wondered whether the question I wanted to ask sounded needy. He stopped in front of the restaurant and handed his keys to a valet. A chilly wind blew in off the Pacific, making me glad when Micah put his arm around me. We went into the reception area where several other couples were waiting to be seated. I felt a flash of jealousy when a few women let their eyes linger appreciatively on Micah. He didn’t seem to notice, but I pulled him closer to me. We only waited a minute before we were led to a table against the window. White lights from outside glittered and twinkled in the dark glass. The waiter laid menus in front of us.