See No Evil

by Morgan Hayes

  “They said you’d been traveling.”

  “I wasn’t, Stevie. Up until eight months ago, I.” He let out his breath in a rush and shoved his fingers through his hair. To tell her the truth, where he’d been, what he’d gone through, now seemed almost harder than actually serving the time. At least then, surrounded by convicted burglars, drug pushers, rapists and even murderers, he wasn’t worried about how others would perceive him. But Stevie…he wasn’t sure why her opinion of him should matter so much, but it did—almost more than anything else at this moment.

  Still, it had to be said.

  “Stevie, I wasn’t traveling. I was in a state penitentiary for four years. I was released eight months ago.”

  She didn’t say anything. But, she didn’t need to. Her face said it all. Shock, disbelief, even a flicker of fear.

  “Six years ago, I owned my own shipping company, one like Gary’s,” he explained. “It had been a family business, handed down to my mother. The man who was managing it for her was bleeding her dry, so I took over right after high school. I put years into that business, and Bainbridge was just one of my regular clients.

  “I handled a lot of packages for him over the years. Some for his antiques company, and others that I never questioned. That was my big mistake—trusting a man like Bainbridge. He had this shipment to go to Buenos Aires. Some antique jewelry and rare gems. I should have guessed that something was up when he told me there was no rush on the shipment. He usually wanted his stuff handled as quickly as possible. But this one he brought in past the deadline, and we couldn’t get it out until the Monday morning.”

  Allister told her about the burglary, how the company had been ransacked sometime during the Sunday night before the package was to go out, and how Bainbridge’s shipment of precious gems had been stolen. And then Allister told her how the investigation had gone sour.

  “I was living with my fiancée at the time,” Allister said, swallowing his animosity. “And four days after the burglary, we were packing for a long weekend out of town when the police came banging on our door. They’d received accusations from Bainbridge and handed me a search warrant. They tore the place apart. Went through everything right there in front of Michelle and me. But they didn’t find anything.”

  Allister would never forget how they’d practically dragged him from the apartment then, how he’d told Michelle to call Gary, to have him get a hold of his lawyer. And he’d never forget the shock on Michelle’s face as she stood there in the middle of all their stuff—clothes and books, the contents of their medicine chest, broken dishes, everything—strewn about the apartment. It was almost as if the police had done it on purpose, as though they knew that it was a frame-up and that they’d never have to answer for their overzealous search.

  “And then they searched my car,” he said. “When they pulled three of the missing gems from the trunk, I knew that both the heist and the search had been an elaborate setup. The entire process had been too slick to suspect that anyone but the police themselves had planted those gems.”

  Stevie remained silent and motionless on the couch.

  “Bainbridge had a hefty insurance policy on the contents of that shipment. He collected all of it, minus the three lesser gems he’d arranged to have planted in my car. And God knows he probably turned around only a few weeks later and sold the other gems to the originally intended buyer.”

  Allister went on to tell Stevie about the trial, how the physical evidence had been too damning, how he’d been convicted, and finally how he’d lost the business and everything else in his life. He could still feel his numbing horror when the judge handed down the sentence that morning. But even that hadn’t been half as sickening as the moment Michelle told him it was over between them.

  And the biggest shock hadn’t been the broken engagement; much worse was Michelle’s reason: she simply did not believe Allister was innocent.

  “Gary was the only person who stuck by me through it all,” he told Stevie as he stopped pacing and looked through the frosted window. He watched the glimmer of snowflakes in the yellow sodium glow of a street lamp. “Gary was the only one who really believed in my innocence. Even Barb, I think, has always harbored some doubts, although she’s never come right out and said so. But Gary. I don’t think there was ever any question in his mind. That was the one and only thing I could count on in all those years.”

  Stevie was pretty sure Allister was turned away from her, and she was glad. She didn’t want him to see her wipe at the stray tear that slid down her cheek. She swallowed hard, but the painful lump remained. No, she couldn’t allow Allister to see how deeply his story had affected her. Compassion and sympathy were not what he’d been seeking when telling her what he had.

  It was understanding he was after.

  Now, in the swell of silence that grew between them, Stevie hoped Allister recognized that she did understand.

  After all he’d been through, after everything he’d worked for had been taken away from him because of something he didn’t do, after those around him hadn’t even kept faith, Allister still possessed the courage and the stamina to go on.

  The hatred he must harbor for Edward Bainbridge! The man had snatched away everything Allister had known and loved. He’d altered Allister’s life forever, stolen four years that could never be replaced.

  It was the kind of hatred Stevie could understand.

  The same hatred darkened her own heart now—hatred for the man who had taken her sight. The man who had ended the world she’d known and taken from her everything she’d lived for.

  Setting her mug on the coffee table, she stood and stepped in the direction she’d last heard Allister’s voice. With one hand she reached out and connected with Allister’s arm, then lowered her hand to his. Strong broad fingers wove between hers once again, but there was a familiarity about it this time—the same kind of familiarity that prompted her to step into the inverted V of his long legs and made it feel so absolutely right.

  She felt the whisper of his breath against her hair, and the heat of his body beckoning her even closer.

  “Allister…” she whispered, but could think of nothing to say that might possibly express the connection she felt with him now, this common understanding.

  Instead, she brought her other hand up to his chest. Through the soft flannel of his shirt, she felt a quick quiver of muscle and then the rhythm of his heart, beating as urgently as her own. Her hip pressing into his thigh now, Stevie moved her hand farther up his chest.

  It was when she started to reach for his face that he caught her hand in his, and for one heart-sinking moment Stevie wondered if he was going to stop her. She needed Allister, needed his embrace, his closeness, to share their losses and their suffering.

  And then she felt his lips brush her palm.

  A hot rush of desire swept through her, and her fingertips trembled against his lips. She slid her fingers through his thick silky hair, drawing him nearer still. For a brief moment Stevie questioned her impulse to allow such closeness to a man she barely knew, had never seen.

  But when she felt his mouth move above hers and she heard him murmur her name, all hesitations were cast from Stevie’s mind.

  With one hand cupping her chin, Allister drew her into his kiss. His lips, at first gentle and testing, became more demanding, and Stevie matched his eagerness. And when his mouth left hers, Stevie bit back her disappointment. But within seconds she felt his lips press fervent kisses along the sensitive skin at the base of her throat.

  She was unable to suppress the moan that escaped her lips, and Allister seemed moved by the honest expression.

  He drew her closer still, pressing his strong body into her curves, igniting even more sparks of desire. His mouth found hers again, and this time their hunger was so acute, so desperate, that Stevie thought she couldn’t bear it.

  It was Allister who pulled back finally, his groan heavy with frustration.

  “I…I’m sorry, Allister,”
Stevie whispered, still held loosely in his arms. “I honestly don’t know where that came from, I guess—”

  “You don’t have to apologize, Stevie.”

  “Oh, I think I do. I mean, just because my place was broken into tonight…I’m on edge, but that doesn’t give me the right to throw myself at you.” She started to back away, but Allister caught her.

  “I don’t think that was your only reason for kissing me, Stevie.”

  She shook her head and immediately wished she could see Allister’s eyes. She wished she could see the way he must be looking at her now.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” he confided softly, every word whispering warmly across her cheek, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night.”

  He continued to hold her, his embrace tender, warm. Stevie felt so very right here in his arms. Nothing had felt that right in years. And not seeing him was something she should get used to, Stevie thought as she drank in his tenderness now, because she might never see this man.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “NO. STILL NOTHING, DOC.”

  “How about now?”

  “Nothing.”

  “And now?”

  Stevie let out a sigh of frustration. “No.”

  She had no idea how long she’d been at the hospital, only that it seemed like hours. Initially she’d been subjected to more scans, after which Dr. Sterling informed her that the swelling had indeed gone down. He’d then launched into his medical babble, talking about tissue damage and the occipital lobe and visual cortex.

  None of which sounded remotely optimistic. At least, not from where Stevie sat.

  She lifted her hand off the vinyl armrest of the examining chair intending to brush her bangs from her forehead, but her wrist struck the corner of a stainless-steel tray. She jumped at the resounding clatter of metal instruments.

  “Sorry about that, Stevie. Let me move this out of your way.” Dr. Sterling’s voice was low and calm, as it had been throughout his examination. “We’re through with this, anyway.”

  There was another reverberating clatter of the tray, followed by the harsh grating of Dr. Sterling’s stool against the linoleum flooring, and then the click of his hard-soled shoes.

  “It doesn’t look good, does it, Doc?”

  “I didn’t say that, Stevie.”

  “But there hasn’t been any improvement, has there?”

  “Of course there has. You said yourself you no longer need the painkillers, the headaches have eased up and so has the dizziness.”

  “But I still can’t see.”

  His footsteps came closer, and she sensed him beside her. The hydraulic chair she’d been half reclining in was gradually righted. Sitting in the almost tomblike silence of the room, Stevie imagined that Dr. Sterling was studying her.

  She prompted him again. “My sight’s still not returning.”

  “It’s only been a week, Stevie.”

  “You said—”

  “I said it could take a week. I also said it could take a couple of weeks. Or more. Stevie, you have to be patient.”

  “Oh, sure.” Resentful sarcasm sharpened her voice. How could she be patient when her career, her entire life, hinged on her vision?

  She sighed. “I’m sorry, Doc. I didn’t mean to—”

  “That’s all right, Stevie.” She heard him pull up the stool once more. “I realize this is very difficult for you. But you have to keep faith. Just because there hasn’t been any visual recovery yet doesn’t mean that there still won’t be.”

  She nodded. It was all she could do.

  Perhaps it was the quiet understanding in his voice, or maybe the fact that, unlike Paige and even Allister now, Dr. Sterling was a stranger, but here in his examining room on the twelfth floor of Danby General, Stevie no longer felt the need to be strong. From the moment she’d left Allister in the waiting room and stepped into the doctor’s office, her facade had steadily crumbled.

  Yes, she was terrified. And here, she no longer had the energy to mask her terror.

  For a week, Stevie had tried to turn off the fear of never regaining her vision, of never again gazing through a camera lens, the overwhelming dread of her future—but the nightmares had persisted. The worst was the darkness she always awoke to. It was constant. Not so much as a glimmer of light. Nor a glimmer of hope.

  Now, hearing the concern in Dr. Sterling’s voice, it took everything Stevie had to hold back her tears. He must have seen them well up in her eyes, because the next thing she knew, he was pressing a tissue into her hand.

  “Stevie, listen to me. I realize it probably feels as if your life is over, as if you have nothing to live for, but trust me, that isn’t the case.”

  “It is if my sight doesn’t return. Doc, I’m a photographer,” she reminded him. Her voice wavered. She hated the. sound of it. “Somehow I don’t think I’ll have quite the same edge as others in my field with a handicap like this, if you know what I mean.”

  But there was no responding chuckle. Obviously Dr. Sterling saw through her attempts at humor. His silence was unnerving, and Stevie squirmed in the big chair. When she lifted the tissue to her eyes, she knew he would notice her hand shaking.

  “Well, if nothing else,” she said, “my photography will certainly take on a unique angle. Who knows, it might just work.”

  Still no response.

  No, there was no fooling the good doctor with her offhand quips. Unlike Paige, who accepted her humor because she recognized it as Stevie’s way of coping, Dr. Sterling seemed determined to get to the heart of the matter.

  “Okay, Stevie,” he said at last, “what’s the worst that can happen? In all honesty. Between you and me and these four walls, let’s say your vision doesn’t return and your photography career ends prematurely. The main thing is, you’re alive, right? That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?”

  Stevie bit her lower lip. “I’ll have to get back to you on that one, Doc.” And she meant it, she realized. Without her photography, what would her life mean to her? There was no way she could answer that. No way she’d dare. Not yet.

  “Fine then. So let’s talk about when you do regain your vision.” His stool scraped back and she heard him move through the room, putting away instruments and closing drawers. “In most cases like this, although each is unique, there are some common experiences you should be aware of. Usually, at first, you’ll distinguish only light, most likely starting with your peripheral. Shortly after that, you should be able to discern movement. But this will be very blurred, and I’ll warn you, it can be very disorienting and you’re probably better off staying in bed during this period.”

  “How long should all this take? If…when my sight does start to come back?”

  “Generally ten to twelve hours. Sometimes longer.”

  “And then what? I’ll just be able to see again?”

  “Best-case scenario, yes. Of course, as I warned you earlier, if there is damage to the cerebellum, there’s the threat of double vision or other complications. But I’m not anticipating that,” he added, his tone lifting encouragingly. “You’ll get better, Stevie. Trust me. You just need time. And faith.”

  “You think you could bottle me some of that optimism of yours, Doc? I mean, for the ride home and all?” she asked as he guided her to his adjoining office.

  Now he chuckled and showed her to a chair. “I’ll work on it.” He patted her shoulder “Just sit tight. I’ll find your friend so you can go home.”

  Her friend. Poor Allister. No doubt, he hadn’t banked on spending hours in the twelfth-floor waiting room when he’d offered to bring Stevie to the hospital this morning.

  Then again, he hadn’t had much choice. After another sleepless night, this one in Allister’s bed while he slept on the living-room sofa, Stevie had just managed to doze off when Paige’s phone call had woken her. She’d heard the ring, and through the closed door of the bedroom, she listened to Allister’s muffled voice coming from the kitchen. Then there
had been the welcome aroma of fresh coffee, and that was all the encouragement Stevie had needed. She’d slipped into Allister’s robe, which he’d left at the foot of the bed, and headed to the kitchen.

  She’d been foolish enough to believe she could make it all the way through his apartment unaided. It was when she groped her way past the couch that she reacquainted herself with the coffee table.

  Her shin had collided with one sharp corner, and her curses carried easily to the kitchen. By the time Allister rushed in, Stevie was already on the couch, sitting amongst his rumpled sheets and blankets.

  Just another bruise to add to all the others, she’d told him, and cursed some more as he led her to the kitchen for a badly needed coffee. When he told her about Paige’s call, reminding her of today’s appointment, there was no arguing with him about how she was to get to the hospital, in spite of Paige’s offer to come and pick her up. They were already running late.

  During their rushed breakfast, neither of them mentioned what had happened between them the night before. Even when Allister had pointed out the misaligned buttons on her shirt, and had discreetly adjusted them for her, even then he hadn’t made any move to kiss her again.

  In fact, had it not been for the way he’d held her hand in the waiting room or the gentle squeeze he’d given it when the doctor had called her in, Stevie would have begun to suspect that last night’s kiss had been a figment of her rampant imagination.

  But it hadn’t been. The second she heard Allister’s voice as Dr. Sterling led him in now, Stevie felt a hot pulse of excitement quiver through her. Surely no imagination, even a rampant one, could generate such an acute response.

  “HOW ARE YOU DOING?” Allister placed a hand on Stevie’s shoulder.

  “I’m okay,” she said, the waver in her voice barely perceptible.

  “I think Stevie’s ready to go home,” Dr. Sterling said for her. “I’m sure you’ve had enough prodding and poking to last you for another week, am I right?”

  Stevie nodded, and Allister took her hand in his, again squeezing it gently.