See No Evil

by Morgan Hayes

  Stevie’s hungry moan drew him back. Her hands, still under his shirt, reached for his shoulders as she guided him up again, to her throat, her ear and finally back to her mouth. It was in the urgency of her kiss that Allister realized the extent of Stevie’s own longing.

  And never had a kiss tasted so exquisite. It ignited every nerve in his body and awakened the savage and longsuppressed need that set his heart racing.

  Allister drew back slightly, his lips still only inches from hers, and felt the heat of her breath on his face.

  “Stevie.” He looked down into her exquisitely dark eyes, getting lost in them. He trailed his thumb along her jaw and then up again to tease a curl of hair around one finger. “There hasn’t…I haven’t been with anyone since.”

  She pressed her palm to his cheek and whispered his name. In it he heard her compassion. And when he kissed her again, there was an unbearable tenderness about her.

  With his life the way it had been for the past few years, Allister never believed he would ever find such absolute and open tenderness. He never thought he’d find love after the hell his life had been. But Stevie offered both of these and more. Much more.

  When he looked at her now, shafts of light touching her olive-colored skin and flowing over each curve of her body, Allister wished there was a way he could hold on to this moment forever. He wondered if she felt the same way.

  “Allister?”

  “Mmm?”

  Stevie propped herself up on her elbows, and with the play of shadow across her face, he could almost believe she was looking at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He caressed her cheek. “I was just thinking. wondering what it must be like for you.”

  “You mean, not being able to see you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Stevie reached toward Allister’s voice and found his jaw. From there she pressed her fingers against his lips and felt their moist firmness. She was aware of him staring at her, of his admiring gaze sweeping over every inch of her halfnaked body, and she was surprised at how comfortable she was with that.

  “I was just curious,” he said.

  She rolled across the bed then and pulled open the drawer of her nightstand. In moments she found the bandanna she knew had been there and moved back to Allister.

  Sitting in front of him and hooking her legs around his waist, Stevie slid her fingers up over his chest, drawing his sweater over his head. His T-shirt followed, and her heart skipped a beat when she anticipated the searing touch of his skin against hers.

  He helped her then, tying the bandanna over his eyes, and when it was in place, he reached for her—touching her face first, then fanning his fingers along her throat and finally over her shoulders to completely remove her shirt and bra.

  When he lowered her back onto the sheets, she felt his fingers trail ever-widening circles along her skin, from her breasts, past her ribs to the hollow of her stomach. With her own hands, she mapped out the contours of his body as well: the ripple of each muscle along his back and torso, the wide shoulders and the narrow but strong waist where her venturing touches were blocked by his belt.

  Allister moved above her now, his mouth on hers, their quickened breath mingling as their growing passion urged them on. Time became meaningless as they rocked between insatiable fervor and exploratory caresses, each reveling in the other’s body, each craving the other’s touch.

  When Allister at last unzipped her jeans and slid his hand beneath the barrier, past her hips, Stevie gasped and shifted under him, allowing him to remove her jeans. Within moments, she was tugging at his belt. The buckle slipped once in her eagerness, and then her fingers found his zipper.

  Already she could feel him straining against the denim restriction. Breathlessly she tugged the jeans free of his waist. Savoring the anticipation, she trailed her fingers slowly upward along the inside of his thigh. And finally she caressed him, marveling at the intensity of his arousal.

  When Allister straddled her, Stevie felt his hardness press urgently against her inner thigh. She reached for him, drawing him to her as though he was her only light in this darkness of hers. His kisses burned along her skin, traveling upward across her stomach, past her breasts and at last to her mouth again. She heard him murmur her name—a gentle but desperate sound—and Stevie realized that if she ever needed anyone in her life, she needed Allister.

  Then, slowly, deliciously, he moved into her. She couldn’t restrain her cry of pleasure, nor the arch of her body against his. Her legs encircled his waist, drawing him deeper, meeting each avid thrust with one of her own.

  This time, when Stevie heard a moan, she knew it was not hers. The low guttural sound sent a shiver of raw emotion coursing through her. And as Allister delivered his final thrust, pushing them both to a new plateau, Stevie clutched him to her, determined now in her love for Allister—in everything he was and everything he would be with her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I’M GETTING really tired of this, Fenton. Why the hell are you calling me if you don’t have any news?”

  “Like I said, I think they’ve got the coins.” Vince wedged the receiver under his chin and picked up the phone. He started to pace the length of the phone’s cord and cast a tired gaze across his living room. The place was a sty. But so what. He’d be bailing out of Danby soon, anyway.

  “Of course they’ve got the damned coins!” Bainbridge was fuming. “Who the hell did you think had them?”

  “I’m pretty sure they’ve got ‘em in a bank.”

  “Great. More complications.”

  “And listen, someone broke into my apartment the other night.”

  “So? I don’t give a damn about—”

  “I think it was Quaid.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know, okay? Look, he’s on to me. I think you should get someone else to—”

  “Like hell, Fenton. You’re in this to the end. You already screwed up with Palmer. If you don’t see this through, I’ll make you my own personal project, after Quaid and that woman, you hear me?”

  Vince snapped the lid off an aspirin bottle and shook three tablets into his palm. He swallowed them dry.

  “So what do you want from me?” he asked Bainbridge.

  “We’ll have to go with our backup plan. You know what to do?”

  “Yeah, yeah. As soon as she’s alone.”

  “Good. I’ll wait to hear from you. And, Fenton? No screwups, you hear me?”

  STEVIE AWOKE by degrees, easing into consciousness of her surroundings. First there was the warmth of Allister’s breath on her neck, then the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back, and finally the rest of his strong body as it molded with hers. But this time there was no hospital blanket separating them, Stevie thought, a satisfied smile creeping to her lips. No, now there was nothing between them, and every curve and angle, even the heat of his skin against hers, whispered memories of their intimacy last night.

  He was lying on his side, and when she turned in his arms to face him, he stirred and drew her closer.

  Stevie opened her eyes. Another morning of darkness.

  She propped herself up on one elbow and trailed a hand along Allister’s shoulder, feeling the familiar planes of his muscles. She wished she could see him, sleeping next to her. But then, she was certain she’d committed every last inch of Allister’s body to memory last night. Once she’d tied the bandanna over his eyes, they’d explored each other with an intimacy that had culminated in a passion that consumed them both. No, she didn’t need to see Allister to know he was beautiful, to know she loved him.

  As she listened to his quiet breathing, Stevie couldn’t help thinking Paige had been right. Allister did love her. Never before had she experienced such a combination of tenderness and desperate hunger as she had from this man in her bed.

  And for the first time in years, Stevie’s waking thoughts had nothing to do with her photography. She could have blamed it on her blindne
ss, how the involuntary break from her work forced her to focus her energies elsewhere, but that would have been a lie.

  No, blind or not, for the moment, Allister was her only thought. He was immediate; he was there. And suddenly she envisioned spending the rest of her life with him. Even blind, as terrifying as that possibility was, Stevie could now see a reason for living; she could imagine going on, with Allister beside her, holding her hand.

  She followed the line of his shoulder and neck, and traced the chiseled angle of his cheek. Part of her was bitter though, she realized then. Bitter, because she’d never seen Allister’s face, never gazed upon his smile or seen the light in his eyes that Paige spoke of. If only she had, she would be able now to at least conjure up an image of the man with whom she’d fallen so deeply in love.

  Beneath her fingertips she felt the thin strip of gauze on his forehead where he’d gashed it on the Explorer’s steering wheel. These three days later, the memory of how close she’d come to losing him that afternoon still rammed through her. If she hadn’t managed to drag him from the freezing river, she would never have known this happiness.

  He stirred again, and Stevie smiled when she guessed that he was awake. She imagined that he gazed up at her through half-lidded eyes, and her smile widened as she wondered if he, too, was remembering last night’s intimacy.

  But in that same second, as her fingers fluttered across his forehead and over his brow to his temple, Stevie’s smile faltered, and she was gripped by an icy chill.

  A scar. Beneath her fingertips, the tight ridge of twisted skin curled along Allister’s temple to the top of his cheekbone.

  Her fingers trembled, and a wave of disbelief and panic surged through her. She tried to convince herself it was not a scar but a fresh wound, from the accident perhaps. But she’d already felt the bandage along his forehead.

  No, this was definitely a scar. The ridge felt gnarled, and smoothed by time. Just like the one she’d seen at the warehouse on that face she’d never forget, the face that had leaned over her in her final shred of consciousness. It was the last thing she had ever seen. Her attacker’s face. And it was the scar she’d focused on as her vision had faded and then was gone.

  She thought she heard her own thin cry, but couldn’t be sure. Allister covered her hand with his, and instantly she jerked away from him. Her heart was in her throat as she stumbled from the bed and staggered across the floor. She tripped over something she thought at first was Tiny, but then realized was her robe. She snatched it up and pulled it on, tightening the belt in a hurried knot around her waist.

  Her darkness was dizzying now. Her panic made everything spin. She backed away from the bed, away from Allister. It couldn’t be true, she prayed over and over. What she’d felt, it couldn’t be.

  But it was. The scar was there. She hadn’t discovered it last night because of the blindfold. But it was there now. It had always been there. It had been there the night of Gary’s murder, the night he’d attacked her.

  Stevie swallowed her fear. She had to get away.

  The floor was cold against her bare feet when she stepped off the main rug and onto the hardwood. She should have remembered the throw rug in the middle of the room, the one with the corner that always curled up. Her toe caught the edge of it, and she sprawled to the floor, twisting to stop her fall.

  Pain knifed up her wrist.

  And when she stood, she’d lost her bearings.

  She didn’t know where Allister was in the room. Until she heard his voice.

  “Stevie?”

  She spun around, trying to locate him. He was coming after her. Even as she backed away farther, she heard him leave the bed. She heard each step of his approach and desperately tried to think of anything in the room she might use for self-defense.

  “Stevie, what’s the matter?”

  His voice. It sounded so genuine, so concerned. And if not for the scar, she would have trusted it.

  “Stay away from me, Allister.”

  “Stevie—”

  “Don’t come near me or I swear I’ll…”

  She heard him stop then, and she tried to imagine where he was. Had he crossed to the middle of the room? Was he near the door? Still, she backed away until finally she found the wall.

  “Just tell me what’s wrong, Stevie. What is it?”

  She was shaking her head now. Frantically wishing, praying it wasn’t true.

  “It was you.” Her voice rasped with fear. “Your scar…”

  “What?”

  “It was you, Allister. At the warehouse. I know it. It was you.”

  Silence.

  She strained to hear any movement in the room.

  Would he come after her? Again?

  “Stevie—” He took another step toward her.

  “It was you I saw in Gary’s office. It was you who tried to hit me, Allister, who ran after me. You tried to—”

  “I took you to the hospital.”

  But she barely heard his words over the hammering of her heart. Her spine was pressed against the wall. Her shoulders ached and her legs where shaking. She thought she might be sick, as the horror of her realization coursed through her veins like a poison.

  “I would never hurt you, Stevie. You have to believe that. I could never hurt you.”

  “No? But what about Gary, Allister?” The words tore from her throat, edged with disbelief and wavering with tears. “Why? Why Gary?”

  “Stevie, for God’s sake, Gary was my friend. You can’t believe that I—”

  “You were there. I saw you.” For the rest of her life she would never forget the bloody images of that night. “You had…you had blood, Gary’s blood, on your gloves.”

  She couldn’t even say his name now. She’d fallen in love with a man named Allister. But this…this person was the man she’d seen at the warehouse, the man who’d killed her friend, who’d attacked her, and…No, it couldn’t be true, she tried to convince herself again.

  But the scar…

  “I saw you,” she said one more time. “Oh, my God…”

  ALLISTER COULD SEE her terror. He watched her lift her hand to her lips, stifling her cry. She was still shaking her head, whimpering over and over, “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” A voice filled with so much fear and mistrust that he wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her.

  But he was the one she was terrified of.

  He took a step toward her, and when he tried to touch her, she flinched and let out a frightened gasp. Instantly she took a stumbling step to the side, away from him.

  “Don’t…don’t touch me.”

  “Stevie.” He heard the plea in his own voice, wrenched straight from his heart. “Stevie, please, listen to me.”

  Her head was pressed back against the wall, her eyes wide and her face as blanched with fear as when he’d first laid eyes on her.

  “Yes,” he said at last. “Yes, I was the man you saw, Stevie. But it wasn’t the way you think, I swear. You’ve got to trust me, Stevie, please.”

  She shook her head mutely.

  “Surely you know me better than that.”

  When he took another step toward her, she obviously sensed it and backed farther along the wall. Pretty soon she would reach the corner near the door, and she’d be trapped. But she already felt trapped, he realized, and utterly defenseless, helpless without her sight.

  “Stevie, you know me, I would never—”

  “No. No, I don’t. I don’t know you.”

  “Then listen to me, all right?”

  She was still shaking her head, and Allister wondered just how much she was actually hearing. “No, Allister, no—”

  “Listen to me!” He wanted to reach out and shake her, make her listen, make her see the truth. But he knew he had to grant her space.

  “Gary was already…It had already happened when I got there that night. He died in my arms, Stevie.”

  Why did it feel as if everything was unraveling now?

  “He told me
about Bainbridge and the coins. He told me about you. God, Stevie, you have to believe me.”

  But it wasn’t his fear of being placed at the scene of the crime or being falsely accused of Gary’s murder that churned his desperation for Stevie to believe him. There was much more to it than that now. Seeing the fear in her wide searching eyes—fear of him, terror at the thought of his even touching her when only a few hours ago they’d made love—was what forced him to take another step toward her, closing the gap between them as if by simply being closer to her he could convince her of his innocence.

  “I thought…When I heard you come up the stairs that night, Stevie, I thought it was Gary’s killer returning. So I armed myself. The second I realized it wasn’t, that you weren’t, I stopped. I called out to you, Stevie. I shouted for you to wait. I wanted to explain. But you ran. I couldn’t have you rushing to the police and giving them a description of me as Gary’s killer. And I knew that Gary’s death had something to do with Bainbridge and the coins. With my past, I knew the police would suspect me first. That they might even be in on it themselves.

  “Stevie, I was trying to stop you. Nothing more. I ran after you, and I grabbed you, because I wanted to explain—”

  “And what if I’d regained my sight, Allister? What then?” Her lips quivered, lips that only moments ago had been curved into one of her glorious smiles. “What would you have done knowing that I could identify you from that night as the man who attacked me? What would you have done to me then?”

  “I didn’t attack you, Stevie! You’re not listening to me. I would never hurt you.”

  He closed the gap then, and her fright seemed only to increase. But he needed to touch her, needed to make the contact that would convince her of his love.

  Her robe had slipped down over one shoulder, and when he reached out to put his hand on the warm flesh that mere hours before had been so willing and so ardent against his, Stevie recoiled as though he’d held a hot flame to her skin.