See No Evil

by Morgan Hayes

  He was sure she smiled.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I promise,” he said, feeling her heat against his chest.

  “You know,” she said, “I’m really getting tired of this place.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, you’re lucky.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “At least you don’t have to look at the godawful color scheme they’ve got going here.”

  Her gentle laughter rocked her delicate body, and Allister found a deep contentment in its sound and in the feel of her in his arms.

  They lay together in silence for a long time, both taking comfort in the closeness of the other, both realizing how lucky they’d been this afternoon. Eventually Stevie reached up to find his hand. She wove her fingers through his, holding tight.

  “So who was the man in the car, Allister?”

  He peered over her shoulder, watching her thumb caress the back of his hand. “I don’t know, Stevie.”

  “Who had you thought he might have been?”

  “I figured Devane had been tailing me. But it wasn’t.”

  “Could it have been another cop?”

  “I don’t know,” he said again. “I doubt it. I don’t think a cop would have hightailed it out of there, unless it was a cop on Bainbridge’s payroll. I think whoever was driving that car today is working for Bainbridge.”

  “But you said this guy’s been following you for a couple of days. Why? I mean, you thought it was me Bainbridge wanted. That he thought I somehow had his coins.”

  “I know.”

  “So what would Bainbridge want with you?”

  Only to frame me for my best friend’s murder, Allister thought for one bitter moment.

  “I don’t know, Stevie,” he told her, instead. “Maybe he thinks I’ve got the coins. Who knows?”

  There was another long spell of silence, and Allister wondered if Stevie had fallen asleep. She hadn’t.

  “So what are you going to do, Allister?”

  “Well, I’m going to find out who was driving that brown sedan—I’ve got his license-plate number memorized. There’s this guy at the Department of Motor Vehicles who takes care of our shipping trucks. I can get him to run a check on the plate for me tomorrow.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I have to see if my tail is linked to Bainbridge.”

  “And then you’ll go to the police?”

  “No!” His response was almost explosive in the hush of the room, and he wondered if he’d frightened her. He softened his voice. “No, I can’t do that, Stevie. It’s too risky. There’s no way of knowing at this point who’s on Bainbridge’s payroll. And that includes Devane.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Stevie?”

  Finally she nodded, but Allister could feel the tension along her back, almost rigid against his chest.

  “You’re right, Allister.” Her voice lowered to a whisper as though she were giving a confessional. “It’s just. I’m afraid.”

  “I know, Stevie. I know.” He drew closer to her then, pressing his cheek against hers. “But I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  He caressed her hair, wishing there was something he could do to ease her worry.

  Certainly, she had a right to worry. There were risks involved. But for Allister, there was much more at stake than proving his innocence or seeing Bainbridge brought to justice after all these years. There was Stevie now.

  And for Stevie, he realized, he’d risk just about everything, even his life, if necessary. He’d done enough to her already.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT TOOK SEVERAL MINUTES for Stevie to realize it was morning. She listened to the muffled sounds of the hospital around her, and then she heard the breakfast trollies trundle by in the corridor beyond the closed door.

  Only once had she and Allister been woken by the night nurse. Stevie had no idea what time it had been, but shortly after, groggy with sleep, she was certain she’d heard Dr. Sterling whisper something to the nurse about their “needing their sleep” and that they should be left alone. And it was in the undisturbed silence of their hospital room, in Allister’s embrace, that Stevie had found solace and a sense of security that had finally enabled her to sleep for the first time without nightmares since her blindness had begun.

  She had no idea when they’d eventually fallen asleep or who had drifted off first. They’d talked for a long time. Locked in each other’s arms, Allister had asked about Stevie’s family, her childhood, her career. He hadn’t pressed her about her future, about the blindness and her very real fears of its possible permanence or the end of her career. And for that, Stevie had been grateful.

  Likewise, she hadn’t asked Allister for details about his prison term and what his life had been like for those four years of unjust hell. What little he did divulge was enough for her to realize that the experience had been something he’d found difficult to deal with and now was almost impossible to forget.

  Allister’s fervent bitterness toward Bainbridge and the police, who he believed had planted the stolen gems in his car years ago, had been painfully obvious. And he’d held Stevie even tighter then, as though having her there with him somehow offered him the peace he’d needed but been denied all those years.

  A week ago, had someone asked her if it was possible to fall in love with someone she’d never seen, perhaps might never see, Stevie would have scoffed and given a resolute no. But listening to the low rhythm of Allister’s breathing behind her, feeling it fan the back of her neck, Stevie realized her answer would be different now.

  After the crash, when she’d lost Allister in the icy current of the river for that one frantic moment, Stevie honestly couldn’t remember ever being so afraid. And then last night, lying in each other’s arms in the hospital bed, their embrace had changed from one of comfort to one that stirred deeper feelings and roused long-dormant desires that Stevie had kept in check these past few years while her career took priority.

  Allister had become strangely silent after a while, as though he, too, sensed this deeper intimacy and shared Stevie’s longings. But if he did, he never acted upon them.

  Still, Stevie wondered, if it hadn’t been a hospital bed they’d shared last night, would things have gone farther? Even now, with Allister asleep and a barrier of sheets and blankets between them, Stevie longed to feel his body, feel that strong chest press against hers, and feel the heat of his skin tingle across her own.

  She turned slightly in his arms, easing her weight from her stiff shoulder, and as she did, Allister stirred. She pushed back the blanket that covered her, realizing he must have taken the one at the foot of the bed and drawn it over her sometime in the night.

  “Allister.” She’d only whispered his name, but instantly he was awake.

  “Allister, I think it’s morning.”

  “What time is it?” His voice, thick with sleep, murmured softly across her ear, sending another shiver of yearning through her.

  Stevie pulled away from his embrace far enough to reach the side table. Next to the lamp, she found the strap of his watch and managed to grab it before he pulled her back into his arms.

  She handed it to him.

  “Quarter to eight,” he told her, and then nuzzled the nape of her neck. “When is Paige coming for us?”

  “She said quarter past. We’d better get ready. Paige’s New Year’s resolution was to be on time. Now she’s almost always early for everything.”

  Still Allister held her securely against his chest, molding his body into hers, and there was no way Stevie was going to argue with that.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” Beneath her fingertips she felt the iron-hard muscles along his forearm, wondering why it should feel so right to be here in his embrace this way. “More to the point, how are you?”

  “A bit bruised and battered. But I’ll live.” He
propped himself up on one elbow and fondled a strand of her hair for a moment before she felt the gentle brush of his lips on her forehead. He was staring at her, she could tell. She could almost feel his admiring gaze sweep over her, and she turned her face toward him, as though she could gaze back.

  “Stevie,” he said quietly, “thanks for staying with me last night.” He traced her lips with the soft pad of his thumb.

  “Where else would I have been?” she answered seconds before she felt his lips on hers.

  There seemed a quiet desperation about him suddenly, an intensity in his kiss that left Stevie breathless.

  His big hands caressed her face at the same time, and a small moan slipped from Stevie’s throat. She pulled herself to him, responding to his hunger, feeling deeper cravings of her own calling out. She was aware of him moving above her and the sheets falling to one side. When she reached out, her hand skimmed across the hard ripple of muscle beneath the soft curling hair on his chest.

  Last night’s restraint was forgotten. Allister’s heart beat urgently under her palm as he shifted above her once again, and his thigh, still bound by the hospital blanket, pressed agonizingly against hers. His entire body, strong and solid, covered hers, so that it seemed as if every part of him touched her in some way, as though no amount of contact could possibly be enough. His power consumed her; his yearning enveloped her.

  And just when Stevie found herself gasping under the force of his advances, Allister eased off. He must have sensed her apprehension, her surprise at this unexpected and almost violent passion. His low groan broke the hush of the hospital room, and he drew back far enough that she could breathe again but could still feel the heat emanating from his body.

  Stevie slid her hand over his muscular shoulder and wove her fingers through his thick hair. She wrapped her other arm around his waist. They said nothing for a long time, and as she felt him gradually calm in her embrace, she wondered about the time he’d spent in prison and afterward. How long was it since he’d been with a woman?

  Again, Stevie found herself blinking back tears—tears for Allister and what he had lost.

  “I’m sorry, Stevie.” His whisper was ragged, and he pressed a tender kiss to her temple before drawing away.

  “No, Allister.” She shook her head, reaching a hand to his face and touching her fingers lightly to the same lips that had only moments ago expressed such passion. “Don’t be.”

  He was looking at her, she was certain. She gave him a quick smile and it was answered with another kiss—gentle, almost careful this time.

  “Now, what was that you were saying before about hating this place?” he asked.

  Stevie was grateful for the lighthearted change of subject. Grateful that neither an apology nor an explanation was due.

  “Yes, well, it doesn’t matter how good the, ah, service is here,” she said, “you still can’t get a decent cup of coffee in this place.”

  “Okay, okay. I get the hint. We’ll get you some bona fide caffeine.”

  She felt him leave the bed and immediately missed the contact.

  She could hear him dress, and as he did, Stevie brushed at the shirt Paige had brought her yesterday. No doubt it was hopelessly rumpled—as she herself felt right now. She ran her fingers through her hair and wished she could see herself in a mirror.

  Then Allister was beside her again. He brushed aside a stray wisp from her forehead and touched her cheek with one finger. “Don’t worry, Stevie,” he said as though he’d read her mind, “you look fine. In fact, you look beautiful.” And another hot shiver of desire went through her when he dropped a sweet kiss on her lips.

  AS PREDICTED, Paige was early—by ten minutes. What Stevie hadn’t predicted was the two cups of steaming coffee that were waiting for them in the car. Paige obviously had been feeling sorry enough for Stevie to give in to her addiction.

  Paige had brought the Volvo, claiming she’d pulled an allnighter at the studio, working on prints from another contract, and then hadn’t been able to start her Tercel in the cold this morning. They dropped Paige at her apartment on the west side after she carefully described the new security system at the studio and gave them the pass code, and finally Allister headed to the Palmer Storage and Shipping warehouse. He had some calls to make, he told Stevie as he steered the Volvo into the parking lot and turned off the engine.

  By Allister’s hesitation, Stevie knew that he recognized her reluctance. She hadn’t been in Gary’s warehouse since that night more than a week ago, and now even the thought of walking into the building made her feel queasy. She had to struggle to keep down her coffee.

  “Did you want to wait in the car, Stevie? I can leave it running if—”

  “No, Allister. It’s all right.” She opened the passenger door quickly before she could change her mind. Allister guided her through the side door of the warehouse, and when Stevie heard their footsteps echo through the cavernous building, memories of that night came thundering back. She shivered.

  “Come upstairs, Stevie.” Allister took her by the arm. “It’s warmer there.”

  But even on the second floor, Stevie couldn’t shake the chill that gripped her. As she sat in the secretary’s office, she listened to Allister rummage through one of the adjoining rooms. Then she heard him on the phone in the office across the walkway.

  Gary’s office. Where she’d seen his bleeding body, where she’d seen his killer seconds before she’d been attacked herself.

  Even now, nine days later, Stevie could still remember the deadly intent she’d seen in the man’s dark eyes. Or had it been fear? No, she distinctly remembered the rage that had twisted the man’s face. And it was that look of rage she wasn’t soon to forget, a face she would be able to identify for police once her sight returned. Then, and only then, with Gary’s killer behind bars, would she begin to feel safe again.

  The sound of Allister’s footfalls against the steel walkway wrenched another haunting memory up from her gut. Unconsciously Stevie’s fingers tightened on the chair’s armrests, and her spine went rigid against the hard back.

  It wasn’t until they were back in the car heading to her studio that Stevie was able to shake the ghosts from that night.

  “Looks like you’ve got company,” Allister told her as he slowed the car and pulled it into the driveway.

  “Who is it?”

  “Gray Buick. My bet’s on Devane.”

  He was right.

  Stevie had barely stepped from the Volvo when she heard the slam of a car door. The sound was followed by the detective’s unmistakable growl.

  “Morning, Ms. Falcioni.” The soles of his boots squeaked against the packed snow as he came toward them.

  “Good morning, Detective.”

  “Heard you had an accident yesterday afternoon. I hope you’re all right?”

  “We’re both fine, thank you, Detective.” She felt Allister’s hand on her arm then and welcomed his guidance to the door.

  Devane was behind them.

  “I saw where they hauled your truck out of the river, Mr. Quaid. Looks like the two of you were pretty damned lucky to walk out of that one. How’d it happen?”

  “Road conditions,” Allister told him as he worked the key in the lock. “Must have been a patch of ice.”

  Stevie didn’t need to see the two men to recognize the tension that crackled between them, the distrust and the suspicion.

  “Allister, the alarm,” Stevie reminded him quietly when they stepped through the door. She heard him punch several keys as Paige had instructed, and then there was a short beep.

  “Was there something on your mind, Detective?” Allister asked him. They moved from the front hall into the main studio area, and as they did, Allister released Stevie’s arm. She wondered if it had anything to do with Devane.

  “Actually,” the detective said, clearing his throat, “I just wanted to check on you, Ms. Falcioni, see how you were doing. And I thought you should know that our boys came up negati
ve yesterday when they dusted for prints. I’m sorry. But your partner assures me that nothing was stolen this time.”

  Stevie nodded.

  “Well, at least you’ve got the new security system. You shouldn’t be having any more problems with break-ins, and if you do, we’ll know about it right away.”

  “Thank you, Detective, for making all the arrangements. I’ll feel much safer now.”

  “Good.”

  There was a heavy silence then, a silence that had nothing to do with her, she realized, and everything to do with Allister. Just when she was about to break it, Devane cleared his throat and said, “Could I speak to you alone, Ms. Falcioni?”

  She hesitated, wishing that Allister hadn’t let go of her arm. She felt almost lost without him beside her now. “I don’t see how anything you need to ask me can’t be asked in Allister’s presence.”

  “That’s all right, Stevie,” Allister said. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” He touched her shoulder briefly before heading to the stairs.

  “Detective?” Stevie turned to where she thought he stood, but then she heard him pace for a moment. When he finally stopped, she’d lost track of him. “There’s something you wanted to say?”

  “Yeah, Ms. Falcioni, there is.”

  She heard the soft brush of nylon and imagined his blackblue police parka. Then he started to pace again, but this time, he came toward her. When he stopped, Stevie could have sworn he stood within inches of her, but she held her ground.

  “Ms. Falcioni, I don’t know what kind of relationship you’ve got going with Allister Quaid, but there’s something I think you should know about him before—”

  “Are you going to tell me about his time in prison, Detective?”

  He seemed surprised, but didn’t back off. “Ah, so he’s told you,” he said. There was the smell of cigarettes on Devane’s breath as he moved even closer. “Well, wise move on his part, I’ll give him that much.”

  “Yes, Detective, Allister’s told me about the four years he spent in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.” Stevie didn’t know why she felt the fierce compulsion to defend Allister now, especially to a man who suspected him of being involved with the stolen coins simply because of his record. But between her own exhaustion and Devane’s heavyhanded scare tactics, Stevie had had about all she could take.