For Her Eyes Only (McCormack Security Agency)

by Curtis, Shannon

  The next day at work Vicky had been cool, polite, and organizing a date with another guy—who ultimately turned out to be gay, or so Drew had told him. It had been the only thing that had stopped him from hunting the guy down and beating him like the Neanderthal Vicky inspired in him.

  “Well, what about all your boyfriends?” Ryan protested, annoyed at the defensive tone that crept into his voice.

  “Boyfriends? What boyfriends? I have the occasional date.”

  “Well, how do you think that makes me feel?” Ryan demanded. Just the thought of her spending time with another guy, of kissing another guy, or more, made him want to bellow in rage. In pain.

  “Nothing, because you never say anything about them,” Vicky shouted. “The only reason you know is because Blabbermouth tells you.”

  He didn’t want her to know that Drew didn’t really come to him; he had to go ask Drew.

  “Blabbermouth?” Gavin asked.

  Ryan ignored him. “What do you want me to say, that I don’t want you to go out with them?” he shouted back.

  “Er—” Gavin leaned forward, but Ryan held up a hand in the universal “butt-out” signal.

  “Yes!” Vicky exclaimed.

  Ryan rose to his feet, warmth creeping into his cheeks. “Yeah, and I can just imagine your reaction. You’d accuse me of being too arrogant. Too high-handed.” Anytime he tried to be protective, she always slapped him down. Hard.

  Vicky smacked her forehead. “Oh. My. GOD!” She rose to her feet, and stood toe to toe with him. “You never say anything about what you’re feeling. I ask you about your—” she darted a look at Gavin, “—your day, and you blow me off. We never really talk.”

  He gaped at her for a moment. She had to be kidding. “We talk all the damned time!”

  “No, we chat, or we fight. We don’t talk.”

  Ryan gestured between them. “Is this what you want? Is this what you call talking? Well, here we go. You don’t like the women I see, and I don’t like you dating other men. But is that going to change? Probably not.”

  Because then they’d have to get real with each other. That couldn’t be allowed. Maintain the status quo, no matter how painful that status quo became.

  “I don’t want to talk anymore,” he growled, and stomped out of the room.

  * * *

  Vicky watched, stunned, as Ryan stormed out and slammed the door.

  The room was silent, and she eventually looked at Gavin, who was staring at her.

  “Sorry about that,” she said, shifting on her feet. That had been...spectacular. She wasn’t sure what was Ryan, and what was show for the therapist.

  Gavin waved a placating hand. “That’s fine. It happens, sometimes. Does he do that sort of thing often?”

  What, cut and run when the going got personal? Yep. “Uh, not really. I must have hit a nerve.” Because she’d never seen him so passionate, so emotional about anything. Not even baseball.

  Gavin nodded, and jotted something down in his notepad. What she wouldn’t give to see what he’d written about them. Her. All of the guests.

  “Well, okay, then.”

  She smiled in relief. Great. The interrogation was over. Can’t do couple’s counseling without a couple, right?

  “Now, let’s talk about you.”

  Her eyes widened as she met his calm gaze. He shrugged.

  “I see no reason why we can’t take advantage of this time, and discuss you. I’d like to get to know the real Cassandra Winthrop, find out what makes her tick, and why she makes dates for her husband with other women.”

  Hell. She was in hell. She was going to make Ryan hurt. Bad.

  * * *

  Ryan walked down the hall, keeping his expression calm as his insides roiled. Talk. Of course they damn well talked. She even talked in her damn sleep.

  He talked a lot of things over with her, and he didn’t just mean the score at the bottom of the ninth. Sure, he dated women. But he didn’t talk with them like he did with Vicky. Why couldn’t she see that? He’d told her about his ultimate holiday destinations, his plans for his career, and eventually his retirement. Some of it had been pie-in-the-sky stuff, admittedly, but she knew he wanted to eventually buy property in Montana—something with a view that extended for miles, that was self-sufficient, where he could just sit, and not have to go anywhere. He’d told her about wanting to breed horses. Oh, not now, but eventually. She’d told him her dreams, too. He knew she liked fishing. He shook his head. Vicky liked fly-fishing. Go figure. She also wanted to take an ocean cruise.

  See, they talked. Just not about Christmas parties.

  He didn’t really talk about his job with her, either. She was right, there. Vicky was...well, not naive, maybe, or ignorant, just...innocent. Maybe that was it. He frowned. No, because that suggested she was unaware of things, and she was pretty switched on. The number of times she’d made arrangements that had saved his ass on an assignment, without him even telling her, showed that she had more of an understanding of what happened in the field than maybe he gave her credit for.

  He knew what she meant, though. They didn’t talk about them. He thought of the Christmas party. Nearly a year later, and it finally came up in conversation. She was right. She never pushed, she just let him...be. Just thinking of talking about them gave him the shudders. Talking about them wouldn’t be like ripping off a bandage and feeling the sting of exposed skin.

  No, talking about them would be like ripping off skin, pulling it back, layer by agonizing layer, to expose the vulnerability underneath.

  Nope, better to keep that Band-Aid in place.

  He turned left down a corridor, one that would take him to a rear exit. It opened not far from the maintenance sheds and the garage. He should be able to get a snow mobile and dash across to one of the cabins. He sidled up to the door. The floor was damp just in front of it, and he could hear the whine of the wind outside. He slowly pushed the door open.

  It was snowing. He gritted his teeth against the chill winds and glanced down at his casual attire. He wasn’t really dressed for sub-zero temps.

  “You’re not really going out there, dressed like that are you?”

  He started at Drew’s words. “Jeez.” He looked back down the hall, which remained empty apart from a trolley that Drew must have been pushing. He hadn’t even heard him.

  “It’s just me,” Drew said, throwing him a curious look.

  Damn. He’d been so involved with his thoughts, he hadn’t heard Drew approach. He’d never live that down. “No, my bad. Wasn’t concentrating.” He nodded at the trolley, laden with empty wine glasses. “Busy, huh?”

  Drew nodded. “Uh-huh. I was helping Ms. James in the cellar. Managed to grab Elliot and Jennifer’s glasses before she did. I’m going to lift the prints and send them to Luke and Maggie as soon as I can. What have you been up to?”

  Ryan screwed up a face. “Vicky and I drew the short straw, and ended up in Dryden’s office for counseling.”

  Drew barked with amusement. “Oh, priceless. I hope you guys worked everything out.” His chest heaved, and he covered his mouth to muffle his laughter. He tried to walk back toward the trolley, before cracking up against the wall.

  Ryan frowned. “Shut up.”

  Drew held his gut. “Wait...until...I tell...the others,” he rasped, tears streaming down his face.

  Ryan turned to him, clenching his fists. It wouldn’t do to knock a resort waiter out cold in the corridor.

  “Vicky’s right. You are a blabbermouth.” He watched sourly as Drew wiped his cheeks.

  “Hey, I don’t blab. I exchange information.” Drew leaned over and grabbed something from the bottom shelf of the trolley, then held it out to Ryan.

  “Please tell me you’ve actually done something other than get your jol
lies over Vic and me?” Ryan said, reaching for the bundle. A hooded coat and gloves. Excellent.

  Drew sniffed. “Of course I have. I’ve checked over a number of areas, and haven’t found that receiver yet. I even checked the linen supplies.”

  Ryan eyed him as he shrugged into the coat. He knew Drew. “With who?”

  “Mandy. She’s in housekeeping.”

  Ryan shook his head.

  “What was I supposed to do? She came in while I was looking. I’ve got no reason to be in there. I had to think quickly,” Drew protested.

  “I don’t know what’s worse, what you do, or your attempt to justify it.”

  Drew grinned. “Oh, it’s the justification, definitely. I can tell you now, I do pretty well. By the way, you’re going to need this.” Drew handed over a plastic card. Ryan looked at it. The Ultima Resort crest was boldly stamped on one side, with a plastic strip on the back of the card. A master key.

  Ryan rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile from his lips.

  “Besides, she’s a genuinely nice lady. I think I’m in love.”

  “Isn’t that the third time this month?”

  “Better to have loved a lot than not at all,” Drew misquoted loftily. “Anyway, gotta go. Gotta get these prints lifted and the glasses back to the kitchen before the boss lady starts looking for me.” He shook his head. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch, you know?”

  Ryan frowned. “How do you figure that? I’m in therapy with Vicky while you’re playing hide-and-go-seek with Mandy in the supply room.”

  “Which would you rather?” Drew said, and continued on down the hall, not bothering to wait for Ryan’s answer.

  Vicky, hands down. Ryan frowned. Now that was a problem.

  He donned the gloves and raised the hood over his head. If Drew was back with glasses, then that must mean Elliot and Jennifer had finished their wine-tasting session and were free agents. Which meant getting into their cabin would have to wait. Well, that still left three other couples who were otherwise occupied for a while. He shoved his hands in the coat pockets, and was surprised when he felt something hard in one of them. He grinned as he pulled out a pair of goggles. Damn, Drew was good.

  He exited the main building, striding purposefully across the snow toward the garage. He shoved thoughts of Christmas parties, Vicky and sexy green dresses out of his mind.

  He had some snooping to do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ryan slid the card through the entry lock, and grinned when the light flashed green. Sure, Drew could be annoying, but he did good work.

  He quickly let himself inside. Kurt and Paula were in a session with Neil. As long as they didn’t storm out, like he had, he was pretty sure he had at least an hour before they headed back to their cabin. He paused and listened. It was blessedly silent.

  First things first, though. He pulled out his radio frequency detector, switched it to silent and swept the cabin for bugs. He frowned when he located them.

  So someone was listening in on Kurt and Paula, huh? Perhaps on all of the guests. He’d have to be very quiet then. Irritating, but not impossible. The good thing was that there were no hidden video cameras. He’d checked very carefully.

  He started with the wardrobe, silently sliding the doors on their tracks. His eyebrows rose. Wow. He wasn’t going to complain about how much junk Vicky had packed ever again. There were enough outfits in the wardrobe to open a clothing—oh, wait, there were men’s clothes, too. Ryan frowned. A lot of men’s clothes.

  He searched all the garments, then inside all the shoes lined neatly on the floor. Nothing. He moved on to the drawers, under the bed, pillows, even the mattress, careful to ensure he left everything as he found it.

  He moved silently from room to room, searching from top to bottom in a comprehensive sweep. He finally ended up in the bathroom. Hoo-yeah. All sorts of bottles lined the vanity. The problem was, he couldn’t tell which product was for Paula, and which was for Kurt. He cocked an eyebrow as he opened the vanity drawers. Kurt might look tough and manly in his muscles, but he was beginning to look just a tad metrosexual.

  He opened the mirrored cabinet, and scanned the interior. He frowned. There was a small bottle tucked away at the back. It had been shoved behind a untouched birth control dispenser and a lady razor. He frowned at the label of the bottle. It was a prescription for Paula. He didn’t recognize the name of the drug. It could be medicine for post-surgery. Or it could be a generic happy pill. The resort had a strict policy on drugs — only medicine for a bona fide condition verified previously between the counselors and the client’s medical practitioner were allowed in, so either it was a legitimate medication the staff had approved for Paula, or else she’d been a very sneaky lady. He shrugged. Either way, he’d get Drew to check it out.

  He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and used the camera function to snap a picture of the bottle and its label. He then unscrewed the lid and removed one of the tablets for a test sample.

  He glanced at his watch. It had taken him a little longer to search the room than he’d anticipated. All those pockets in all those clothes. He shook his head as he placed the bottle back behind the pill dispenser and lady razor, shut the cabinet door and left the bathroom. He was crossing the lounge area when he heard the crunch of feet on the pebbled path outside, and angry voices as Paula and Kurt paused outside the front door.

  “Why did you tell him I was jealous?” Kurt complained.

  “Because you are,” Paula cried. “You’re always going on about how this guy is so good-looking, and that guy is handsome, and how I’m obviously having sex with everyone I work with. That isn’t jealousy?”

  Ryan ran on silent feet to the doors that led to the private terrace as the keycard slid through the lock.

  “You mean to tell me you don’t think the men you work with are good-looking?”

  “Well, they might be, but I’m married to you, Pookie, not them. I’ve never cheated on you.”

  Ryan slid out the door, shutting it carefully behind him, and slithered along the wall as the front door opened, and Kurt and Paula entered their cabin.

  “How do I know that? Why would I believe you?”

  “Okay, you see this?” Paula gestured between them. “This is jealousy. I’m sick of it.” She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door closed.

  “Yeah, see, you don’t deny it, do you?” Kurt called out, and flopped down onto one of the sofas.

  Ryan held still as Kurt turned on the TV and surfed some channels. When he was sure the amateur wrestler was distracted, he crept along the stone wall until he found a spot that was out of sight of the living area, and scaled it quickly, easily finding purchase in the uneven rock face.

  He levered himself over the top and dropped down the other side, and quickly made his way through the neighboring trees to the snowmobile he’d “borrowed.” He had to return it and get back to Vicky before anyone questioned his whereabouts.

  * * *

  Vicky stalked away from Gavin Dryden’s office in a foul mood. Be stronger, he’d told her. Be more demanding. Heck, was she really a weak-kneed timid little mouse with Ryan? Well, admittedly, they never discussed them and she never pushed. Was that it? Should she be more pushy, more demanding with Ryan? Like when she brought up the Christmas party? She cringed.

  Drunk. He’d thought she was drunk.

  She blinked back tears. How mortifying. She’d glammed up, she’d built up the courage to approach Ryan, not as a friend, but as a woman, and somehow she’d blown it. She didn’t know what was worse, not being successful in enticing Ryan, or him thinking she was drunk to even try it.

  What’s up with that? The one time she’d tried to get her inner vamp on, and he’d thought she was drunk. And he’d thought she was kissing everyone else, too. She stopped in her tracks as
realization struck. Oh, heck. She was the drunken slut at the Christmas party. Never mind that she’d had only one drink of bubbly on arrival, and that she’d saved the mistletoe for him, and only him. Yet he’d backed away, laughing it off as getting into the festive spirit, and then left the party.

  With another woman.

  She would give anything to have him look at her and see her—see her as a member of the opposite sex, for starters. Not just the baseball buddy to chug beers with, or the Girl Friday to book his flight and make a reservation for his latest fling.

  She sighed as she reached the cloakroom and asked the assistant to bring her parka and gloves. To be fair, maybe this wasn’t a Ryan problem. She’d had the same issue with every relationship since high school. She got close to the guy, they spent some good quality time together, doing the things friends do, and suddenly she was a good friend. A great buddy. She’d heard it so often she could almost recite it by rote. I respect you. You’re special. I think you’re a great friend. Oh, and her favorite: it’s not you, it’s me. I have issues. She snorted. Please. Breaking up wouldn’t be so hard if guys didn’t think they needed to sugarcoat it. That just made it even more pathetic. Issues. She snorted again. Everyone had issues. Issues was the new normal.

  Admittedly, it cut both ways. She viewed them as friends, too. She donned her coat and pulled on her gloves. And each time they tried to take it to the next level, she seemed to have the Kiss of Boredom effect.

  She forcefully pushed the fingers of the gloves over her digits. No zing. No fireworks, and then the relationship would just melt away. With a nod and a wave and a see you around, most of her connections with the opposite sex ended with an amicable parting of the ways.

  The Christmas party had been different, though. It had been wild. Wicked. Wonderful. Or at least, it had been for her. She paused. Oh, my God. What if I’m a dud? What if she couldn’t entice a man to the dizzying heights of sexual desire?

  She nodded to the cloakroom assistant and left the main building, burrowing into her coat and hiding her scowl as the wind rose. Thankfully it wasn’t snowing, but there was plenty of white cover on the ground. She didn’t want to guess what the temperature was. How apt. The cold alpine landscape reflected the bleak loneliness of her relationships.