See No Evil

by Morgan Hayes

  He’d gone too far, Allister realized. Stevie was right—the risk had been too great. He’d been lucky for once in his life. Had Fenton caught him, Allister wouldn’t have known what to do. He could have been killed, and Stevie would have been out there alone in the car. Maybe she would have called Paige, but more likely, knowing Stevie, she would have tried to come after him—right into Fenton’s clutches.

  And if she had listened to him, if she had called Paige and gone home, what then? Bainbridge and Fenton would have come after her, and Allister wouldn’t have been there to protect her. Even if the tables had been turned, if he had used Gary’s gun and hurt or, worse, killed Fenton, it would have been only a matter of hours before Devane had Allister behind bars again. Breaking his parole would have been the least of his problems.

  Either way, Stevie—on her own—was a prime target for Bainbridge.

  Allister knew he had to be more careful. Tonight’s attempt had been irrational. And for the first time, Allister realized it wasn’t the coins, or even the hope of clearing his name, that had taken him to Fenton’s apartment. It had been revenge that had driven him tonight—revenge for Gary’s murder, and revenge for the four years Bainbridge had stolen from him.

  Yes, he hated Bainbridge, more than he’d ever imagined he could hate anyone. And it was because of that violent hatred that Allister couldn’t let this sudden desire for revenge dictate his actions. Because if he did, he’d not only put his own life in jeopardy, but Stevie’s, as well.

  And the thought of Edward Bainbridge getting ahold of Stevie…Allister couldn’t live with that possibility.

  STEVIE WAS ASLEEP. And in her own bed at last, Allister thought, shifting his jeans-clad legs. He’d felt her body relax by degrees, and now he could hear her low easy breathing. She was curled up beside him in her oversize T-shirt, the covers pulled to her waist and one arm draped across his chest. Her head rested against his shoulder, and when he brushed her hair from forehead, she only nuzzled more tightly against him.

  During the rest of the drive home from Fenton’s she’d been unnervingly quiet. Even after he’d helped her through the back door of the studio, she’d remained withdrawn. When Paige had come out of the darkroom, she immediately recognized her friend’s distress, and once Stevie had left them to take a bath, Paige had demanded answers from Allister.

  While she made a pot of herbal tea, he’d told Paige about Vince Fenton. He’d also filled her in on the coins and Bainbridge and briefly mentioned his prison term before Stevie had rejoined them.

  She’d been dressed for bed, but insisted she was not ready to sleep yet. So, while Paige had gone down to the darkroom for what she’d promised would be only another hour of work, Allister had proposed they watch one of the movies she had on video. He hadn’t known what else to suggest after seeing the strain on Stevie’s face, and fortunately she’d agreed.

  The TV was in her bedroom, so they’d made themselves comfortable on Stevie’s bed, Stevie half-under the covers, Allister on top of them beside her. But half an hour into Casablanca, Stevie was asleep. Allister had figured it wouldn’t take her long tonight, after everything she’d been through.

  Gently he eased her back onto the pillows. She moaned softly and awakened only slightly.

  Now, as he lay beside her, he caressed her cheek with his hand and looked at her. Too much was happening too quickly. Their kiss at the hospital this morning—Allister couldn’t remember another kiss that had so totally overwhelmed him. He’d surrendered to an almost primal urgency to be with Stevie, to feel her flesh against his, to consume her with his passion. It had been years since he’d been with a woman, and this morning in the hospital room, when he’d given in to that sudden and fierce hunger, Allister knew he’d frightened her. He’d seen it in her eyes. And he swore now that he never wanted to see her fear him like that again.

  Yet, beneath that desperate lust, there had been something deeper, something gentle and sincere. And he had little doubt that Stevie, too, had felt the significance of that kiss, knew as well as he did that it would have been much more than a kiss had they not been in a hospital room.

  To top off the whole complicated mess, tonight he’d told Stevie he loved her.

  He hadn’t told her that simply to stifle her objections when he climbed out of the car at Fenton’s, Allister knew as he gazed down into her calm face now. He almost wished that had been the case. Yet as insane as it sounded, after all the lies, those three words were the truest ones he’d spoken to Stevie yet.

  But the truth didn’t matter now. He shouldn’t have told her he loved her. And he shouldn’t be feeling the constant ache and the raging desires he did every time he looked at her or touched her or so much as heard her voice.

  After all, what kind of future could they possibly have together, anyway? If Stevie regained her sight and recognized him, it wouldn’t matter if she believed him innocent of Gary’s murder or not. She could never forgive him for the lies and the deceit. On the other hand, if she never found out, if her blindness was permanent, how could he possibly live with the guilt of seeing her day in and day out, her blindness a constant reminder of what he’d done to her, and the terrible truth he was hiding.

  Still, he couldn’t just leave her. Not with Bainbridge still desperate for the coins. Until this whole mess was over—if indeed it ever was—Allister would be by Stevie’s side. He would protect her. But that couldn’t entail any intimacy with her. A relationship would interfere with his judgment. It already had. If it hadn’t been for his feelings for Stevie, he wouldn’t have cared so much about what she said or felt tonight. He would never have given in when she’d demanded he take her with him to Fenton’s.

  Allister gazed again at her sleeping face, at the satiny curve of her neck. Being this close to Stevie, Allister could imagine pressing his lips against that soft skin, could imagine her returning his caress.

  He suppressed a sigh of frustration, got off the bed and pulled the covers higher. She’d sleep well tonight, he hoped. And she’d sleep without him.

  From the nightstand, he picked up the remote control. When he turned, about to stop the movie and switch off the television, Paige suddenly appeared at the open doorway. She gave him a warm smile and nodded to the TV.

  “Don’t turn it off. She’ll only wake up,” she whispered. “Come on. Looks like you could use a drink.”

  Allister put down the remote and followed her. He glanced back at Stevie’s still form once more before pulling the door shut behind him.

  “You drink scotch?” Paige asked when he joined her in the living room.

  “Sure.” But the truth was, anything would do tonight.

  “Stevie doesn’t drink it,” Paige murmured as she poured a shot into an ice-filled tumbler. “She keeps it out of habit really—her father was a scotch drinker.”

  She handed Allister the glass and there was the rattle of ice when he tipped it to her. “Thanks,” he said, savoring the warmth that raced down his throat.

  “Sounds like you two had quite a night,” Paige said as she sat across from him with a cup of herbal tea.

  Allister nodded, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Yeah. I’m not sure if Stevie will be so quick to forgive me this time.”

  “Sure she will.”

  He caught Paige’s reassuring grin.

  “She’s just worn a bit thin is all. She’s been through a lot these past few days, Allister. The break-in, the crash and then tonight. On top of all that, she’s trying to deal with the results of her last appointment.”

  “She wouldn’t tell me much about it.” Allister took another sip of scotch.

  “Of course she wouldn’t. And she won’t tell me, either. That’s just Stevie. She’s gotta keep it all in here.” Paige made a fist over her heart. “But she’s terrified, Allister. Oh, yeah, she puts up a strong front—the flippant jokes, that sarcastic attitude—but inside…” Paige shook her head and sipped her tea. “Best you can do is go along with it. It’s the o
nly thing getting her through this mess.”

  “So, how do you deal with it?” he asked. “I mean, with everything she’s going through and her still shutting you out?”

  “I’m here for her. Stevie knows that. I’m here when and if she needs me. She’s stubborn and she’s independent and she’ll take a hell of a licking before she turns to anyone. Like I said, she puts up a good front, but trust me, Allister, I don’t think Stevie’s ever been more terrified in her life.”

  Paige must have sensed his frustration, because she retrieved the bottle of scotch and poured him another shot.

  “You gotta understand, Allister, you’ve only known Stevie without her cameras and her work. Photography is her life. Always has been. I have yet to meet anyone else in this industry who possesses the passion and the drive she has for it. From the second I met her, I knew Stevie would go places. She has something. I don’t know what it is exactly, but it’s something only a few people in this business have. I don’t even think Stevie realizes it because her passion for photography is so personal.

  “And that’s what makes this whole situation so hard on her. It’s not just a professional loss she’s trying to cope with right now.”

  Paige circled the rim of her cup with a fingertip, then looked at Allister again.

  “I guess I saw it most clearly when Stevie’s father died. That was shortly after I started working with her. Of all her family, I think his death hit Stevie the hardest. And her way of dealing with that grief was to turn to her photography. She must have worked twenty-hour days then, for weeks on end. That’s what she does when things get rough—focuses on her work. And now, probably the worst time in her life, that’s the one thing she can’t do.”

  Allister had the urge to tell Paige now, to confess that it had been him at the warehouse that night, that he was the man who’d caused Stevie’s fall. It wasn’t just the scotch, Allister realized. It was the agonizing guilt that had tormented his every thought and every breath since that night. He needed to tell someone. He needed to get it out. And why not Stevie’s friend? Paige, of all people, should know how Stevie would react if she found out the truth. Paige would know what to suggest.

  He studied her. How hard could it be to tell the truth? How hard could it be to trust again?

  As he hesitated, still uncertain, Paige looked up and met his gaze. There was a sadness in her eyes. With an affection in her voice Allister found almost painful, she said, “Stevie’s a very different person right now.”

  “In what way?”

  “Without her photography, she’s lost. Every once in a while, when she doesn’t realize I’m in the room, I see her fear. And I hear her crying in the middle of the night.” Paige shook her head. Her voice had lowered to a whisper. “I don’t think she’s ever been this lost in her life. And there’s nothing I can do or say to console her.”

  So Paige felt helpless, Allister thought. About as helpless as he did whenever he looked at Stevie, whenever he gazed into those dark unfocused eyes of hers.

  “If her sight doesn’t come back,” Paige continued, “I honestly don’t know what she’ll do. Sure, she’s strong. In my whole life I’ve never met anyone as strong and determined as Stevie, but you’ve got to understand, her life’s just ended, Allister. Everything she ever lived for is gone.”

  “Surely there must be something we can do for her.”

  “There’s nothing we can do. Stevie’s going to deal with this on her own until she’s good and ready to accept someone else’s help. That’s just the way she is.”

  Paige stood up then, and Allister followed her to the kitchen where she rinsed her cup and his glass. When she turned from the sink, there was a renewed resolve in Paige’s smile.

  “Just be there for her, Allister. I know it seems like the two of you only just met, but somehow, I think Stevie’s counting on you more than she lets on. I think she’s going to need you, Allister, and…and I really hope you can be there for her when she does.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SOMETIME IN THE NIGHT the furnace had kicked in. Stevie awoke with the covers shoved clear to the end of the bed and Tiny draped across her stomach, a furry hot-water bottle. She pushed the cat to one side, ignoring his plaintive yowl, and rolled over.

  The bed was empty.

  Whether she’d been dreaming about Allister or remembering how good it had felt snuggling next to him before she’d fallen asleep, Stevie felt a pang of disappointment at his absence.

  He must have gone home during the night.

  Except for Tiny’s heavy-pawed lumbering out the bedroom and no doubt to the kitchen to check his dish, the apartment was quiet. Stevie swung her legs over the edge of the bed and shuffled to the window. Drawing up the blinds, she could feel the sun’s warmth on her face. But when she looked toward that warmth, there was only the relentless blackness she had come to know as her reality.

  Finding a pair of jeans and a fresh T-shirt, Stevie dressed and headed for the kitchen. She needed a coffee. When she crossed the living room, she tiptoed, moving slowly, touching each piece of furniture and placing it on the map in her mind’s eye. And as she passed the couch, she held her breath. She heard breathing.

  Good, Stevie thought as she slipped by and made her way to the kitchen. At last Paige was sleeping in.

  In spite of Stevie’s demands that Paige not overdo it, she’d been working late hours. One by one, the contracts were being filled. Projects were being completed, and soon, there would be only the Armatrading reshoot hanging over their heads. And after that…well, after that Images could close, if it had to.

  Paige had cited a dozen valid business reasons for Images to continue as usual, taking on small contracts at the very least, and she’d offered to put in the requisite hours. But Stevie had been adamant they not take on any new contracts. When Paige had finally accepted her decision, she knew that Paige at last recognized the personal reasons behind it.

  As long as there was no change in her condition, Stevie didn’t want the added pressure of new contracts piling up. At least, that was what she’d let Paige believe. But in truth, Stevie felt her own faith dwindling with each passing day. And when she went out—when and if Images was forced to close—Stevie wanted to go out quietly.

  Measuring each spoonful of coffee grounds by touch and each cup individually, Stevie had the machine brewing in a matter of minutes. The steamy hiss whispered through the quiet apartment, and as she waited, Stevie wondered about Allister.

  Part of her worried he might have left last night to pull another stunt like the one at Fenton’s apartment. She prayed that wasn’t the case. Last night had been too close.

  But why else wouldn’t Allister have stayed?

  Then again, why should she have expected him to? Did it have something to do with what he’d said to her last night before leaving the car to go to Fenton’s apartment? I love you. At the time, those three words had struck her as profoundly sincere. His voice had sounded so certain, so heartfelt, that for a while, sitting there in the silence of the car, Stevie had actually believed him.

  But eventually, she’d realized that Allister had likely anticipated the shock those words would give her and had said them simply to put an end to her argument. Well, it had certainly worked, she thought now, smiling inwardly at her foolish heart. After all, they’d really only just met; what on earth would possess her to believe that Allister had fallen in love with her in such a short time? Just because her emotions had been turned upside down and inside out over the past week didn’t mean his had been.

  Stevie shook her head and reached for a mug. But when she turned, her elbow struck something on the counter, sending it flying to the floor. A glass, she realized the instant she heard it shatter.

  “Damn!” She didn’t have to worry about waking Paige now.

  She heard the approaching footsteps.

  “Sorry, Paige. I didn’t mean to wake—”

  “It’s not Paige.”

  Stevie was certain she
jumped a good foot. The mug she’d been holding dropped to the floor and exploded, as well.

  “Dammit, Allister!”

  “Stevie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Both hands were on her shoulders then, and she grasped his bare arms to balance herself.

  “I thought…I thought that was Paige sleeping on the couch.”

  “Paige went home last night. Are you all right?”

  She nodded, knowing her smile was a shaky one at best.

  “Yeah. It’s just…you scared the hell out of me.” She let out a long breath, feeling her heart gradually recover.

  “Sorry.” He touched a finger to her chin, tilting her face toward him. For a second she thought he was going to kiss her, but then she realized he was staring at her.

  “I’m okay, Allister, really,” she assured him, reaching a hand to his chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. But then, with the furnace running on high all night, why should he?

  Under her palm, she felt the mat of soft hair and then the shift of muscles beneath before he slipped an arm around her shoulders.

  “Come on, let’s get you out of here so I can sweep this up.” He guided her to one of the stools along the kitchen bar, but Stevie realized how close he had come to kissing her again. He’d been standing so near she’d felt the heat of his body against hers. She’d felt his breath whisper across her cheek, and the air around them come alive with desire. He’d wanted to kiss her, but for some reason had refrained.

  And now Stevie understood why Allister hadn’t shared her bed last night. He knew as well as she did what would have happened if he had, and in spite of the words he’d spoken last night in the car, he was afraid of getting closer to her. That had to be it.

  Stevie wished she could see Allister’s face, see the expression there, because maybe then she’d have a better understanding of what was happening between them. Then again, was she ready for what could have happened last night?

  It was probably just as well Allister had stayed on the couch, after all.