Secret Eyes (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Marie Jermy

  Rogers resolutely shook his head. He straightened in his chair and stared Scott directly in the eye. “Mr. Rafferty, you are the only man who can help me. I know exactly who you are. You’re a director of the Federation. North America Division. Would you like to know how I know that?”

  His calm and polite composure a façade, Scott said, “Please, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rogers stood, and in a blink of an eye, the clothes dropped to the floor, and Scott suddenly knew what was strange about the man and the reason why he couldn’t go to the police. “You’re a shape-shifter,” he said as he stared at Archie. Or at least his twin. No wonder Rogers had been shaking and sweating—he’d been trying to stop himself from changing.

  In another blink of an eye, Rogers transformed himself back into a man. A very naked man. Scott ignored him as he dressed and re-read the letter.

  A five-star hotel that blackmailed its guests after watching them having sex was almost unbelievable. But with photographs taken of the intended victims by state-of-the-art camera equipment and the demand for money letters typed on the hotel’s headed paper and signed by the management, the evidence was just too strong not to believe. He wondered how many other people had been the targets of the same blackmail.

  He stared out of the window at Manhattan Heights. Obviously the hotel only blackmailed those who basically were having sex with people they shouldn’t be having it with. An idea began to take shape as Scott again read the letter. “With regards to you being a shape-shifter,” he asked over his shoulder, “do either your wife or this Jane Pilkington know?”

  “My wife does. Like I said, I love her dearly, yet this is how I repay her kindness and understanding. I don’t know how I’m ever going to make it up to her.”

  Scott swiveled around to address Rogers. “By telling her the truth and then getting down on your knees and begging for forgiveness.” He swore inwardly. He sounded such a hypocrite. He’d had an affair with another man’s wife for years. Not that he would have begged for Senator Williamson’s forgiveness. The “pompous prick” that Carrick always fondly regarded him as had blown a hole in Laura’s head because Williamson would rather see her dead than have her divorce him.

  “So, you will help me, yes, Mr. Rafferty?”

  “That’s a no-brainer, Professor. However, and despite you being a shape-shifter, I don’t class this as Federation business, but a case for Magnum Investigations. Take your wife on vacation. I can’t save your marriage, that’s up to you, but what I can guarantee is by the time you return, the Manhattan Heights will be out of business. For good.” He rose to his feet and escorted Rogers out. “Oh, and the hundred thousand you were going to pay me? Donate it to one of the NYPD benevolent funds set up for officers lost on 9/11.”

  For the next hour, Scott scrutinized the photographs and letter again, making notes on his plan of action and reading the Manhattan Heights’ website on his laptop. He then called Leia into his office. He watched her closely as she sat down, Archie by her side, wondering if he was doing the right thing by asking her to do something that definitely wasn’t in her contract. But then again what they did earlier before wasn’t in her contract, either.

  “I want to show you something,” he began, pushing the photographs across the desk to her. He then smacked his forehead. “Sorry.”

  She smiled. “Don’t be sorry at all. One of the biggest compliments we can get is when someone forgets we can’t see.” She picked up the photos and placed them in her lap. “May I touch them? Perhaps I can catch a vibe.”

  He laughed. “Vibe away.”

  The first photo almost slipped to the floor when Leia ran her fingers over it. “It feels blue.”

  “Well, that’s one way of putting it,” he remarked dryly.

  “They’re pornographic?”

  “Every one of them and explicitly so. They’re of Professor Rogers and his secretary and were taken at the newly opened Manhattan Heights Hotel. There’s a very good view of it out the window if you want to look…But you can’t see…” He shook his head, mentally kicking his ass at his continuing stupidity.

  “Compliment, remember?”

  Leia flicked through the rest of the photographs while Scott explained Rogers’ blackmail story, omitting the shape-shifter part. Surprisingly, part of him wanted to tell her, but his allegiance to the Federation prevented him. The Federation was a highly-classified organization, and he was duty-bound to keep it that way. Once he’d finished, a small frown had drawn Leia’s delicate brows together.

  “What is it?” he asked, rising to his feet and rounding the desk to casually perch his ass against it in front of her. “What else can you feel?”

  “I’m not quite sure.” Her frown tightened. The photograph in her hand showed a particularly “blue” shot of the professor being blown to surrender. “It’s strange, but, yes the professor is the target, but he’s not the target. If that makes sense.”

  Scott frowned. “You mean, the woman he’s with, his secretary, is the real target?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “But the photographs, and the letter were sent to Rogers,” he pointed out. He picked up the blackmail letter and read it to Leia. “If Rogers isn’t the target, then why ask him to pay the hundred thousand?”

  She shrugged as he took the photographs from her outstretched hand. “I’m guess I’m wrong. My vibe radar has been off-key lately. And don’t even think about commenting on that!” she said, turning to Archie.

  Scott couldn’t be sure, but did Archie actually roll his eyes in a “would I?” gesture? Scott’s feet were crossed at the ankle, but Leia, with unerring awareness, prodded them apart with her boots. A heated rush stiffened his cock as she stood to stand in between his now open legs. Depositing the letter and photos on the desk behind him, he planted his hands on her hips and pulled her flush to him.

  A moan of pleasure fell from her lips then, and again with unerring awareness, she said, “You want us to stay at the Manhattan Heights and have sex so they can blackmail you like they did with Professor Rogers, don’t you?”

  “That’s exactly what I want to do, Leia, but I’ll understand if you say no. It’s one thing to have sex with me on the desk alone at work, but it’s a totally different ball game to do it in front of an audience.”

  She nodded. “Who else can you ask? Jessica’s in England. Not that I think Ross would be happy about it even if she were here. He’d probably skin you alive.”

  “Well, he could try,” Scott smirked. He knew of one woman he could ask—Steph Powlson, a Federation member and escort at a reputable agency. He deliberately blanked his mind so that Leia couldn’t read his thoughts. Still, he should have remembered she possessed an unerring quality in knowing what he was thinking, though in this case she was slightly wide of the mark.

  “A prostitute? You’d seriously consider approaching and paying a prostitute?” He didn’t answer. “No, Scott…” Her hands slid from where they’d rested against his chest up to around his neck, and she tugged his head lower. “I’ll do it,” she breathed against his lips. “But on one condition.”

  “And what’s that?” he asked, his hands moving from her hips to behind to cup her ass.

  “That you’ll consider going out on a date with me. I like you. You like me…”

  Scott needed all of one second to think about his answer before delivering it to Leia. On his desk.

  Chapter 4

  An icy, anxious, and troubled presence accompanied Leia as she rode the elevator up to Magnum Investigations the next morning. The woman ghost had returned. But why the elevator and not the office?

  Archie whined. “It’s okay,” she soothed, scratching his ears. “She’s not going to hurt you. What’s your name?” Although she felt sure the ghost wanted to answer, the only reply she got was the computerized announcement that the elevator had arrived on the eightieth floor.

  Still, the ghost followed Leia to the office, where after finding the door unlo
cked and crossing the threshold, it abruptly vanished, and a familiar dark, dangerous, compelling, and woodsy aroma infused with coffee made its presence known.

  Scott.

  “Good morning, Leia. Would you like a coffee? I promise not to shower you with it.”

  She smiled at his businesslike tone that was in such contrast to the day before where not only had he made the next two, three, and four moves, but she’d ditched her promise of patience. Even though the sense that Laura still occupied his thoughts, and regardless of the Rogers’ case, it was obvious from Scott’s actions that he wanted to start living again, and he’d chosen her to help him. And if the hot, hot, hot sex from the day before was anything to go by, she was more than willing to help.

  “Thank you, but no. I don’t drink it. Only make it.”

  He stepped closer until his breath fanned her face. “Are you still willing to have sex with me in front of an audience?”

  She reached up with her free hand to touch the groove she knew had formed in Scott’s brow. “Yes.”

  Two woofs.

  No.

  Leia ignored Archie. “All I ask for is a date.”

  “Then come with me.”

  She entered Scott’s office and, with Archie’s guidance, took a seat in the chair that Scott pulled around to his side of the desk. He squeezed her knee as he sat beside her. At the tapping of fingers moving across a keyboard, she asked, “Is that my laptop or yours?”

  For a split second, the tapping stopped before carrying on, then, “Mine.”

  “Is it the one you said you dropped yesterday?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Obviously not damaged then.”

  “No.”

  “Do you use it for business purposes as well as personal?”

  “Sometimes.”

  With Scott’s brief noncommittal responses, Leia sensed that even his laptop was secretive and not up for discussion. She blew out an exasperated breath. “What are you doing?”

  There was another pause, then, “I’m sorry, Leia. I keep forgetting you can’t see. At this very minute, I’m booking us into the Manhattan Heights to spend the weekend in its Liberty Penthouse Suite. It’s where Professor Rogers and his secretary stayed.”

  Her brows rose. “I read a review of the Manhattan Heights in a Braille magazine I have delivered. Isn’t the Liberty Penthouse the most expensive suite at the hotel?”

  “Actually, the term ‘suite’ is misleading. It just a hotel room. Saying that, though, at five thousand dollars a night, it is the most expensive hotel room in the whole of New York.”

  “And the professor has that kind of money?” she asked, surprised. Professor Rogers might have had a strange aura, but he didn’t feel wealthy.

  “Yes, but Alan McNulty, the hotel’s manager, invited him to stay free of charge. However, I do have that kind of money. Just before I turned nineteen, I won some money on the lottery and made some shrewd and lucrative investments.”

  There was a muffled “damn!” as if Scott was annoyed with himself for telling her that. Although the material of his suits were expensive and possibly tailor-made, he didn’t feel wealthy, either. Men bragging about the size of their wallets didn’t exactly turn her on, so Scott not shouting about his added to his attraction.

  “And you’re using your real name?” Leia inquired when something occurred to her. “If Mr. McNulty finds out you’re a private investigator, do you think he’ll still blackmail you?”

  The tapping stopped. She sensed the annoyance that was no doubt directed at himself for forgetting such a small but important detail.

  “Leia, don’t get me wrong, I do like the way you smell, but damn, your perfume is screwing with my brain. Of course I can’t use my real name. I need a fake ID. And I just happen to know who to—Oh, hellfire!”

  “What’s the problem?”

  There was a nine-month pregnant pause, then, “No problem.”

  Now why didn’t Leia believe him?

  * * * *

  No problem, his ass! Scott would have thought that if Leia didn’t have the ability to read his mind. In terms of size, this problem was the size of the Titanic. The person who would provide him with a fake ID was not only a five-hundred-year-old vampire, but, and particularly when in the presence of a beautiful woman, had a tendency for revealing what he actually was. The fact that a different continent, the Atlantic Ocean, and a telephone line separated Pakefield from Leia meant nothing to a vampire with sex on the brain.

  But he didn’t have a choice. He needed that fake ID. And pronto.

  Scott glanced at his watch, mentally calculating it was about four in the afternoon in Bucharest where Pakefield resided. He’d be asleep, but would still answer his phone as he always took it with him to his vault. “Leia, Henry Pakefield, the man I’m now going to phone to get a fake ID from, is a total loon,” he explained, hoping to hell he sounded convincing.

  “Can I listen?”

  He would have said no, but since Leia had exceptional hearing, there’d be no point. He switched the phone to loudspeaker and dialed. A sleepy voice answered on the sixth ring. “Henry, it’s Scott.”

  There was a thud, possibly head hitting wood, and Pakefield immediately came awake. “Scott, the main man! How’s life at the Federation?”

  Before Scott could open his mouth, Leia broke in, “The Federation? Surely you mean Magnum Investigations?”

  “Well, hello, sweet lady,” Pakefield drawled, definitely awake and no doubt about to give Scott a major headache. “Allow me to introduce myself. Henry Pakefield. Currently unattached vampire. Five-hundred years on the clock but with own teeth and hair. Generous to a fault with anything and everything. Home owner and collector of fine wines at your service. Not that I can drink those wines, but I can still dream.”

  Leia laughed. “Leia Howard. Are you really a vampire?”

  “And a vegetarian one at that, which means I drink from animals, not humans. Come to Bucharest and let me show you how safe your lovely neck will be.”

  “Bucharest? As in Romania? Transylvania?”

  “Yeah, well, I know it’s a bit of a cliché, but vampires actually do originate—”

  “Apart from being a loon,” Scott interjected with a feigned yawn, “Henry is a pathological liar, a conman, and a thief. We met when I was a detective, and I busted his ass for identity fraud. Right, Henry?”

  “Right back at ya. I take it this is not a social call?”

  “No, it’s not. I need a fake identity, so the norm, driving license, passport, credit cards...”

  “How many?”

  “As many as you can produce. I need a sizeable credit on them, say a million on each card. And I would like to keep my first name to avoid any awkward situations. Not that I think for one minute that you’d blow my cover by calling me Scott instead of whatever,” he said to Leia, reaching for and holding her hand in his.

  She smiled. “It’s okay. I understand perfectly.” Besides, I’d rather have your name on my lips than another man’s.

  That silent sexual innuendo was about as subtle as a knee to the balls. Scott ran his eyes over the cream silk blouse and navy-blue slacks that Leia wore, very much liking the way the deep V of the blouse emphasized her gorgeous breasts and how the cotton material of the slacks clung to her hips and legs like a second skin. Are you wearing boots?

  Her smile turned soft and sexy. Yes.

  How high?

  Do you have a boot fetish or something?

  With a flick of his wrist, Scott pulled Leia into his lap, stifling her startled gasp with a long, hard kiss. Even as he maneuvered her to straddle his thighs, she was deftly unzipping his pants and palming the throbbing rigid length of his cock in her hand. He emitted a rough groan when she sucked his tongue into her mouth, and then his whole body jerked as she increased the speed of her working hand.

  Sweet heaven, she was going to bring him off then and there. And he would have let her if he hadn’t become aware that Pakefield w
as practically shouting for attention. Depositing Leia back in her chair and managing to zip his pants over his still-throbbing cock, Scott returned to the matter at hand. “Sorry about that, Henry. What was that last question again?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re very sorry,” Pakefield mocked. “I asked if you’re going to be using your own address.”

  “Yes. Problem?”

  “Nope. Hey, Leia? I know I’m a veggie, but did you know that Bram Stoker based his book Dracula on yours truly?”

  “Really? That’s fascinating.”

  “Yeah, fascinating,” Scott agreed with a roll of his eyes.

  Twenty minutes later, and thankfully with Pakefield adopting a more serious attitude, Scott had acquired a whole new identity. That of Scott Walker, real estate investor, multi-millionaire (not far from the truth), a complete nerd on Star Wars (so far from the truth it was unbelievable), husband, and father of one.

  He had wanted Laura for his wife, but her name got stuck in his throat, so, and rather wickedly, he’d said Jessica. Sam as his son’s name would have Anderson exploding like Mount Vesuvius should he call at an inopportune time, which was as likely as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. Not that he wanted Anderson to call. He wanted him to butt out.

  His surname and the Star Wars interest had been Leia’s input. Walker coupled with Scott sounded like “Skywalker.” He had to agree. However, and despite his reasoning that his so-called passion for Star Wars wouldn’t even come into question, he’d relented because he had the feeling Leia’s other suggestion would have been vampires.

  “Send me a photo of yourself to my cell, and I’ll get working as soon as it gets dark. Then I’ll turn into a bat and deliver them personally—”

  Scott punched the disconnection button, cutting Pakefield off in mid-flow. “What he means is that he’ll send them via express overnight courier.”

  “If you say so,” Leia said with a knowing smile. “What’s the Federation?”

  He ignored her and fished his cell from his pocket. Taking a photo of himself using the built-in camera, he sent it to Pakefield and then keyed in his fake details to book the Liberty Penthouse Suite for the weekend. Just as he shut his laptop down, from the corner of his eye, he spotted something that gave him another headache. Those two lesbian ghosts from the night before had materialized through the far wall.