For Her Eyes Only (McCormack Security Agency)

by Curtis, Shannon

  “So, let’s look at how things we’ve done in the past affect our life situation today,” Neil suggested. Oh, God, what deceitful little story could she make up about that? He would ask her—with the way her luck was running, he would definitely ask her. And she’d have to sprout some convincing yarn that would cement her cover. What if she couldn’t? What if she screwed this up, too?

  Vicky watched as Meagan James sidled into the room and leaned against the door, as though she wanted to hear this, too.

  “Why don’t we start with you, Margie? What have you done in the past that has had far-reaching ramifications?”

  Margie glanced up, wide-eyed and uncomfortable at being put on the spot. “Oh, uh, I’m not sure I can think of anything.”

  Neil arched his eyebrow. “Are you sure? Remember, we’re all in this together.” Vicky tried not to roll her eyes. “What was the first thing that popped into your mind when I asked you?”

  Margie shifted, looking with uncertainty to her husband, who nodded in encouragement. She took a deep breath and glanced around the group. “I gave a baby up for adoption.”

  Vicky watched her closely. Their backgrounds hadn’t been verified yet. Despite the thought, she couldn’t help believing the tortured expression on Margie’s face.

  “I live with the pain of that decision every single day of my life,” Margie said quietly, looking down at the hands she clenched in her lap. Vicky watched as Jeffrey covered her hands with his.

  “Anything else?” Neil asked.

  Vicky frowned, as did Margie. Wasn’t that enough?

  “Uh, I don’t understand. I thought that was pretty significant,” Margie stated, her voice just a little shaky.

  Neil gestured widely with his hands. “There is nothing else that you’ve done in your life that’s had a profound effect on you or others?”

  Margie shook her head. “Not that I can think of,” she said, glancing in confusion to her husband, who shrugged.

  Neil nodded. “Okay, then. What about you, Kurt?”

  Kurt shifted, darting his eyes around group, before lifting his chin. “Nothing that I can think of.”

  Even Vicky could tell he was lying.

  Neil smiled tightly. “Tell me, Kurt,” he stopped and cocked his head. “What are you hiding?”

  Vicky’s eyes rounded, and she glanced quickly at Ryan, who gave an infinitesimal shrug of his broad shoulders and a don’t-ask-me look on his face.

  Kurt folded his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Neil stared at him for a moment, then glanced around the group. “We all have something we’re ashamed of in our closet, and it’s not until we admit it, face up to it, that we can really learn and move on from it.”

  Vicky immediately started to think up a story for her turn.

  Neil leaned forward. “Come on, Kurt. Tell us, what is something that really, really bothers you about your past, and how it affects your life today.”

  Kurt stared up at the ceiling for a moment, before taking a deep breath. “Sometimes I...sometimes I have thoughts about men.”

  The room was silent for a moment. Neil’s brow puckered.

  “What do you mean?”

  Vicky stared at Paula, whose expression held confusion and dread.

  Kurt blinked, and cast a quick glance at his wife. “I have thoughts about men,” he said to her quietly.

  “What do you mean?” She asked, her voice low.

  He hugged himself tighter. “I’m sorry, babe, but sometimes I think of men like...that.”

  Paula rose from the sofa. “Like what?”

  He looked up at her, his expression pleading. “I think I might be gay.”

  Vicky’s eyes rounded. Oh. Wow. She looked at Paula. Her jaw had dropped, but she recovered almost instantly, sounding off in a barrage of Spanish, her hands gesturing wildly.

  Vicky quickly looked at Neil, who wore a dumbfounded expression. So he hadn’t seen that one coming, either.

  Kurt rose to his feet and tried to embrace his upset wife, tears tracking down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, babe, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  Vicky shot Ryan a dark look at those words, then turned back to the arguing couple. Paula was throwing her hands up and storming around the couch, swearing and flapping her arms, and Vicky wasn’t sure, but she might have been praying, too. Vicky wanted to crawl away somewhere and hide. This was intensely personal, intensely raw and painful, and she hated to witness it.

  Kurt tried to stop Paula, tried to hold on to her. She shook him off. “I’m sorry. I love you, babe,” he said, raising his voice. “I can’t help these feelings, though. Do you think I want to feel like this?” he asked, thumping his chest. “Don’t you think I hate myself, every day? I want to be straight. I don’t want to have these feelings. Sometimes I want to kill myself.”

  Paula stopped, and gazed at her husband, tears welling up at the obvious pain in her husband’s voice, in his words. She shook her head as she walked up to him. She clasped his hand with one of her own, trailing the other hand down his cheek.

  “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that,” she said, her accent thick. She took a deep shuddering breath. “I have something to tell you, too,” she said, and kissed his hand, uncertainty and trepidation lining her face.

  He nodded. “Okay, babe. Tell me.”

  She clung to his hands, gripping them tight. Vicky held her breath. This is like a car wreck. You wanted to look away, but were fascinated by the whole bizarre scene.

  “I used to be a man,” she told him.

  Kurt blinked. “What?”

  She shrugged. “I used to be a man. I had an operation, and now I’m a woman.” She cupped his cheek. “I know all about wishing you were different, about hating the way you are. So don’t you ever say you want to die, not to me. We’ll work it out.”

  Kurt nestled into her palm. “I love you.” He hugged his wife.

  Vicky glanced around the room. Deborah and Hank were gaping at the couple. Elliot had crossed his legs, a frown on his face, and Margie had tears running down her face.

  Neil cleared his throat. “Okay. Uh, Peter, what about you?”

  Vicky stiffened as she waited for Ryan to respond. Ryan removed his arm from her shoulders, straightening in his seat. He looked at her, and she waited. What was Mr. Pants-on-Fire Liar going to come up with now?

  “I tried to kill my father,” he said quietly, his face serious. Vicky’s eyes widened. There was something about him, a solemnity that she hadn’t seen him show before. This isn’t a lie.

  Neil leaned forward. “What happened?”

  Ryan didn’t bother to look at him, but kept his eyes on Vicky. “He beat my mother. For years, he beat her. When he started beating me, that’s when we left. We moved around a lot.” His voice was low. “But he found us. He was so angry that she’d left, he made damn sure she couldn’t do it, ever again. He beat her to death.”

  Vicky’s mouth went dry, and she rested her hand on his thigh as tears welled in her eyes. Oh, God. How horrible. Ryan blinked, forcing his expression into controlled composure, and took a deep breath. “I was too late. I couldn’t help her. Couldn’t save her. She died in my arms.”

  She tightened her hold on his leg, trying to send comfort and reassurance to him through that single touch. It must have been absolute hell.

  “I went after my father. The cops had to pull me off him. I nearly killed him. I wanted to kill him.” He smiled, shakily, self-deprecatingly. “Those are some of my issues,” he whispered.

  She nodded. “Okay,” she whispered back. She couldn’t begin to imagine how that had affected him, the constant relocating, looking over your shoulder, then to have your worst nightmare played out in living Technicolor, and losin
g the only family member who cared enough to risk her own life to keep you safe. “Okay.”

  “All right! I can’t stand this,” Deborah cried, standing up. She faced Hank, twisting her hands together. “I’m pregnant.”

  Too much, this was all way too much. Vicky patted Ryan on the knee before turning her attention to Deborah. Hank’s expression went white, then mottled as he stood.

  “What?” he shouted.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  His mouth opened and closed, like a fish. “It’s not mine,” he said finally through gritted teeth.

  Deborah faltered. “Of course it’s yours. Why would you say that?”

  “Because I can’t father children. I had a vasectomy,” he growled.

  Vicky covered her eyes. Okay, now it was way too much.

  Deborah’s jaw dropped, her face frozen in shock for a full minute, before she screeched at her husband. “You what?”

  “Who is he? Who’s the father?” Hank bellowed.

  “You knew! All this time I’ve been pumping myself with damned hormones, you knew! Gavin is right, you are a selfish bastard!”

  Hank snapped his fingers. “It’s him, isn’t it? All those damn appointments—and I was paying for them! Wait until I get my hands on that SOB.” Hank barreled out of the lounge area, shoving past a surprised Meagan James.

  “No, Hank, please!” Deborah ran after him.

  Neil shut his eyes briefly before following them.

  The rest of the couples sat for a moment, looking at each other with stunned expressions. Vicky glanced at Ryan, thinking of his shocking confession. He’d gone through hell. She couldn’t even imagine that kind of dysfunctional emotional trauma. Yet he’d come out of it as a man of honor, of integrity. He risked his life, over and over again, in the name of all that was good and just.

  He was pinching the bridge of his nose, and he finally dropped his hand to look at her. “Now you know,” he said quietly.

  She nodded. “Now I know.” It was a start.

  A scream echoed down the hall. Ryan bolted up and out of his seat, and Vicky chased after him.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Deborah stood in the doorway of Gavin’s office, screaming her head off. Ryan nudged her aside and stepped in, but halted at the sight that met his eyes.

  Hank stood to the side of the desk, his hands up as he backed away. “I didn’t do anything,” he muttered. Neil stood just inside the doorway, his face turned away.

  Gavin Dryden sat in the chair, his head lowered, a silver letter opener stuck in his chest. Blood covered the man’s shirt, looking dark and rusty. He’d been dead for a while.

  Deborah was still screaming. Ryan turned around to bark something at her, but Vicky was there, putting her hand on her arm.

  “Deborah. Deborah! Stop.” Her voice was low, calm. Deborah stopped screaming, the silence abrupt until Meagan James came up to the door. She gasped when she saw inside the office.

  “Oh, dear God.” She crossed to Neil and buried her face in his shirt.

  Ryan’s face twisted in a grimace. That was...nasty. It reminded him of the crime scene photos from Karl Kruger’s murder. Multiple stab wounds, a weapon of opportunity.

  The Maxwells.

  “We need to call the sheriff,” Ryan said quietly.

  Vicky nodded and stepped outside the office, toward the reception area.

  The other guests crowded around the doorway, making noises of shock and horror. Someone puked. Elliot, Ryan thought.

  “Who saw him last?” Ryan asked, looking at the group at large.

  Neil shook his head. “I hadn’t seen him this morning. I assumed he’d slept in. He does that sometimes.”

  Meagan lifted her head, tears running down her face. “I saw him late last night. I was leaving my office and he was just walking into his.” She shrugged. “He said he had to catch up on some paperwork.” Her eyes darted to the corpse in the chair and she shuddered.

  “I haven’t seen him since the session yesterday afternoon,” Kurt said, and the others nodded.

  Ryan’s lips firmed. Someone was lying.

  Meagan gasped. “You don’t think it was one of the staff, do you? They’ve all left.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “The killer got away.”

  Vicky returned to the doorway, her face pale. Ryan frowned and crossed over to her. “What’s wrong?”

  “The phone lines are dead. All of them.”

  Deborah wailed.

  “It’s probably the storm,” Neil said. “It’s pretty brutal outside.”

  Ryan looked around the group. They were stranded. Shut up at the top of a mountain in the middle of a blizzard, with killers on the loose. Great. One look at Vicky’s face told him she’d grasped the consequences just as quickly as he had.

  Hank shook himself. “Okay, everyone, let’s clear the room. Nobody touch anything,” he said as he tried to herd everyone out. Ryan arched an eyebrow.

  “I used to be a deputy,” Hank reminded him. “This is a crime scene.” Ryan knew the drill, and nodded.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Margie said, and clapped her hands over her mouth. She ran down the hallway.

  “I’ll go help her,” Jennifer said, and followed her.

  “Me, too,” Meagan said, and disappeared.

  “We should get everyone back to the lounge and question them,” Ryan told him.

  Hank’s eyes narrowed. “I guess we do. How did you know that?”

  Ryan shrugged. “That’s what they do on TV. Seems obvious to me.” He met Vicky’s wary gaze. They had to get everyone in the same room, and hopefully uncover who had murdered Gavin Dryden.

  Kurt started to turn away, but halted as something caught his eye. “Wait a minute.”

  He crossed over to the credenza. The door was wide open, affording a clear glimpse inside.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Ryan blew his cheeks out when he saw the contents. A digital recorder sat on one of the shelves, with piles of flash drives stacked neatly on the side. Ryan stepped closer, as did Hank. Each drive had name on it.

  “What are these?” Kurt asked.

  “They’re recordings,” Hank muttered, bending over to look inside. He let out a low whistle. “There’s even stuff in here with my name on it, but I never sat with Gavin. My session was with Neil.”

  Kurt swore. “He’s the one!” he shouted at Paula, who held up her hand.

  “It looks that way, baby,” she said, trying to soothe him. Kurt paced a little, like a caged tiger that wanted to rip something to shreds.

  Ryan frowned. “What do you mean, he’s the one?”

  “Nothing,” Kurt snapped.

  Ryan crossed his arms, bulking up his physique. “Try again,” he suggested coolly. “The man is dead, and you seem to know something about him, something personal.”

  Kurt put his hands on his hips. “I don’t need to tell you jack,” the man said belligerently.

  Ryan shrugged. The man was big, but he’d learned over the years that the bigger they were, the faster they cracked. “Fine.” He squatted down and rifled through the drives until he could pull a few with Kurt and Paula’s names on them.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Kurt protested.

  “You can either tell us, or we find out another way,” Ryan said.

  Kurt put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder to stop him.

  Ryan grabbed the guy’s hand and flipped it over, yanking him down hard and fast. Kurt cried out as he fell to his knees, trying to keep his thumb from breaking.

  “Don’t ever touch me,” Ryan said mildly. “So, what’s it going to be? We listen to all of these recordings, hear everything, or you tell us what we want to know.”

  “Fine, fine,” Kurt gasped. “
Someone’s been blackmailing me. It was something I mentioned to Paula in private, so I couldn’t figure out how anyone else knew.”

  Hank approached, standing over them. “What was it?”

  “I...” Kurt grimaced, “I forced a girl to have sex with me once.”

  “You mean you raped her,” Hank corrected, frowning fiercely. Ryan twisted the thumb he held just a little harder.

  “Ow, no! All right, yes.”

  Ryan let him go, flinging his arm away in disgust. There was no excuse for forcing yourself on a woman. Ever.

  He rose to his feet, and Kurt clutched his hand to his chest, panting. Ryan started toward the door. “Let’s get everyone back to the lounge.” It was crunch time. He had to find which one of these couples was the Maxwells.

  “You make me sick,” Hank said.

  “I know,” Kurt said in a small voice. “You told me that at the time.”

  Ryan paused, tilting his head to the side. Huh?

  Hank frowned. “What?”

  “You were the one who questioned me.”

  * * *

  Jade held the stall door open as Margie threw up her breakfast. Odd, how people could do the cruelest things, yet still be so squeamish.

  She eyed the other woman in the bathroom as she ran water over some paper towels and hurried back to the hunched over Margie. Oh, be still my bleeding heart.

  Jade smiled coolly as the woman held the damp towels to the back of Margie’s neck. She was a complication. Jade wanted some alone time with Margie, and this woman stood in the way. Well, she’d deal with her, then with Margie. Excitement rose in her, and she had to bite her lips on a giggle.

  “How’s that?” the woman asked Margie. Margie nodded weakly before she bent over the toilet to heave again. The woman stood back and grimaced, backing out of the stall.