God's Eye

by Scudiere, A. J.

  They didn’t make it all the way to naked, somehow more frantic this time than they had been before. Her skirt was rucked up to her waist, her hose destroyed and dangling from one foot. Her blouse was open and pushed back, the cuffs having caught at her wrists, effectively binding her hands behind her.

  Allistair’s hands were not restrained; his shirt merely dangled open, allowing her to nuzzle at his exposed flesh, to kiss along the line of his ribs and up his neck as he struggled with the bindings on his pants. Her mouth was still on his skin when he groaned and pushed into her again. His weight and advantage bore her back over the desk, pressing her down onto her papers, making it impossible to avoid full-body contact with him.

  She didn’t want to avoid it. Katharine breathed him in, writhed against him, cried out with each delicious push and drag of him inside her. She strained to free her hands, wanting to touch him as he touched her, needing to hold his face and turn his eyes to hers. But she couldn’t. She was captive beneath his strength and held by the shirt she would gladly rip if she could. His body moved against hers, making sparks she hadn’t known existed, but his face stayed averted.

  His mouth touched her neck, her ear, her shoulder, as her tension built. The sounds she couldn’t help but make surely told him she was almost there. She heard her name in her ear, in a version of Allistair’s voice. Deep and almost guttural, it sounded as though it had crossed some great distance to get to her, although she could feel his breath on the side of her face.

  One last time he pumped into her, his voice repeating her name in waves. Katharine Katharine Katharine Katharine Katharine

  At the last moment, she fell over the edge he had pushed her to. Her head dropped back, over his arm, and her body rolled to the rhythm of his voice, until the waves subsided and she was deposited back in her body, atop her own desk.

  • • •

  Something was wrong with Katharine. Zachary frowned at her as she stood in her doorway, but he made his voice as soothing as possible. “Katie.”

  She backed away, into her condo, but her face told him not to cross the threshold. “Don’t come in. I’m sick.”

  It was a bald-faced lie. She wouldn’t have even been able to pull that one off with a human male. To him, the lie radiated out from her, screaming that it was untrue. The problem was that he only knew that she lied; he didn’t know what the truth actually was. And calling her on her lie was a bad idea at this stage of the game–when she stood in her doorway telling him to go away as she oozed the scent of everything she had done with Allistair so recently.

  He tried again. “Tell you what. I’ll bring you chicken noodle soup, and warm blankets …” Zachary trailed off. She was already shaking her head. “Katie?”

  She made her voice sound deeper and scratchier, the notes ringing false all around her. “I feel really sick. I don’t want you to catch it. I think I’m just going to sleep all day tomorrow.”

  Only the last line held a grain of truth to it. Whatever else was going on, she actually intended to go right back to bed. “Will you call me when you feel better?”

  She nodded, but even the simple movement was another lie.

  Still, he had to push what he could. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, baby.”

  With a small shrug that was a cross between a nod and a head shake, she closed the door on him.

  Katharine was done with him?

  No. It wasn’t possible. There was no way that Allistair had taken her and won her over by that simple act. Only the strongest could manipulate like that. Allistair didn’t have that kind of power–he barely had control over the power he did have. Certainly Allistair and his ilk were very charismatic; it was where the idea of thrall had originated. It was the spark for the idea of human hypnotism. And Zachary too had it in spades.

  Or he thought he had–somehow that had changed. It seemed now he couldn’t even get Katharine to open the door to her boyfriend. Never mind that she’d been with another man since she’d seen him last. He couldn’t hold that against her. It wasn’t the way she usually operated. He knew that. They all did. Katharine had lost every single secret long before this game had even begun. She was being pulled now, tugged between him and Allistair like a toy. That was why she had been acting this way. She was behaving like what she was: a pawn.

  Zachary walked back down the hall on mortal feet, letting himself in through his front door. But when it closed behind him, he began to change. His skin lost some of the pale beautiful color he had earned. His eyes grew in size and depth, his jaw expanded. Lean, solid muscle flexed beneath his slick new skin. He had to get back into Katharine’s home. Back into her head.

  He couldn’t let Allistair have her.

  In his own shape, he walked the confines of his condominium, thinking. Perhaps Allistair had been on his way over to play with Katharine some more.

  All the better. If Allistair arrived to see her, he would have to look human. In keeping form, he would lose some of his senses, some of his strength.

  So Zachary would sit and wait like this. As himself, he’d know of Allistair’s approach long before his opponent sensed him. He’d hear all the movement and what words they said on the other side of the flimsy barrier.

  He settled in, snug against the wall, waiting for the vibrations that would tell him what he needed to know.

  • • •

  Katharine knew the pounding in her head was merely the exaggeration of her heartbeat. That didn’t keep her from feeling like someone was beating her skull with a mallet. And it didn’t look like it was going to get better anytime soon; the day was getting progressively worse.

  That wasn’t a good thing, since the trouble had started when she arrived home Friday night.

  Fresh from her second tryst with Allistair, she had snuck into her own unit, not wanting to run into Zachary. She was pretty sure she’d succeeded, too. Until he showed up at her door just after she’d settled into her couch in her sweats. It wasn’t until she heard the knocking that she decided she needed the weekend to herself. And rather than saying so, she’d lied–straight to his face–which was just another sign that her life was going to hell.

  Wasn’t that what she liked so much about Zachary–his trustworthiness? He did what he said he’d do. Zachary wasn’t out tomcatting when he wasn’t with her; she didn’t doubt what he told her. But she herself was another story these days. Sweet Katharine, who always did what she was supposed to and didn’t lie, had full on cheated big time on the best boyfriend she’d ever had. Then she’d lied to his face.

  She might have felt better about lying to him if she’d suffered a good dose of guilt about it. About any of it. But she didn’t. She couldn’t dig up any shame. She felt bad about cuckolding Zachary, but mostly she was upset that he’d be upset when he found out. Not that she felt bad about it. Her brain certainly knew that what she’d done was wrong. But she couldn’t conjure a single feeling about it.

  Her only consolation regarding the lie was that later the next day she decided she actually was sick. Maybe a brain tumor, pressing on some vital decision-making part of her cortex.

  In the end, she’d accomplished nothing. Katharine hadn’t called Zachary all weekend, hadn’t left her condo, hadn’t even ordered food in. She’d heated up her Tupperware meals that had been accumulating since Zachary had taken to feeding her. She hadn’t gotten dressed at all; she’d sat on her sofa, eating and watching CNN.

  All the while her brain had wondered why?

  Why hadn’t she told Allistair that she couldn’t? Sure, she had been befuddled, but couldn’t she have uttered, “I have a boyfriend”? Then again, Allistair knew she had a boyfriend. There had been that meeting of the lions circling her like fresh meat in the hallway. Had it been some kind of superiority fuck?

  Just the thought of that made her wince.

  She didn’t even try to deny to herself that there was every possibility that she didn’t stop him simply because she didn’t want to. Her brain had been fueled by ima
ges of the two of them tearing at each other’s clothing for over a week now.

  Allistair hadn’t called her all weekend. Not to ask how she was, whether she wanted to see him again, or even to apologize. Zachary hadn’t come back either. And there hadn’t been any animals visiting. Maybe there was some cosmic awareness that Katharine needed her space. That, if you confronted her, she’d just as likely rip you a new one. So no one came around. And Katharine settled down.

  In the end, she’d done what she always did. She ignored what she could and got on with her life.

  She had curled into her bed, her back pressed into the far corner against the wall, and grabbed what little sleep she could. Monday morning, she woke up with her alarm and checked her apartment for soot. She dressed for work and ate a bowl of granola. When she went down to her car, she looked straight ahead and didn’t admit to herself that she hoped she wouldn’t run into Zachary.

  She arrived earlier than Allistair and was glad that things were back on track. This was the way it was supposed to be. Or so she thought, until her trainee arrived, right on time, and casually closed the office door behind him.

  As if it were perfectly natural, he came around her desk and used his foot to scoot her chair back while he perched on the edge of her desk. His arms came around her and pulled her out of her chair, positioning her body flush against his, his mouth finding hers and seeking every corner.

  Some deep part of her thought she ought to be offended at the way he invaded her personal space, at the assumptions he made. But that part sat back and watched the greater part of her lean into him and forget everything else around. It was a mystery how much time passed while they necked on the corner of her desk. It was the ringing phone that brought them both out of their daze.

  His mouth and his voice found her ear. “Answer it.”

  Strong arms rotated her to face the phone while warm lips found the base of her neck and placed small, sweet kisses there. Her arm snaked out for the handset, the distinct sound of the ring finally penetrating her brain and telling her that someone was calling her desk directly, bypassing Lisa. She stiffened in Allistair’s grip as she answered. “Katharine Geryon.”

  “Patricia Sange.” The voice was smooth and professional, and Katharine took a moment to be grateful that the door was already closed. Inside three minutes Katharine had all the information she needed.

  “Thank you.” She set the phone back in the cradle and turned to Allistair, who had loosened his grip on her as he sensed the importance of the call. “The account in Panama traces back to Mary Wayne. The original payout has an authorization code that was never assigned, but that Mary Wayne certainly had access to.”

  He only nodded.

  There wasn’t opportunity to respond further, because the phone rang again. Again the ring was indicative of her private line. She picked it up, still trapped within the circle of Allistair’s arms. “Katharine Geryon.”

  “Katharine,” her father barked. “We have a problem with Mary Wayne. I’ll see you in a minute.” With that, he hung up.

  She turned to face Allistair, “I have to go see my father regarding Mary Wayne. Come with me.”

  Her eyes searched his face and found no trace of artifice. His fingers tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, lingering on her skin and settling himself a little deeper into her soul. This time, she did remember Zachary, waiting for her somewhere beyond the boundaries of Allistair’s arms. But it didn’t affect her at all; nothing penetrated this bond when he was near. He nodded, agreeing, and slowly let her go. His fingers trailed down her arms, briefly twining their grasps before breaking the contact.

  With a subtly flirtatious smile she didn’t know she owned, Katharine led him out of the office.

  CHAPTER 9

  Both her father and Toran Light had frowned as Allistair entered the CEO offices right behind her. But her assistant hadn’t seemed to take as much offense as she did at the gesture. It was Katharine who directed Allistair to a seat, playing the hostess and being gracious despite the ire of both the older men.

  For just a moment she toyed with telling her father that she was sleeping with her new assistant. On her desk. During work hours. She stifled the smile that fought to escape and made formal introductions even though she was sure either her father or Uncle Toran had met with Allistair previously to hire him. Then she settled gracefully onto the couch beside Allistair as she smiled at the two owners of the firm.

  “Allistair has been assisting me with this search ever since you were able to rule him out as a suspect. He knows as much as I do about the Mary Wayne issue.” She didn’t pause to let them voice any concerns; she wasn’t stupid. “What can we do to help?”

  With a breath in, Uncle Toran started. Katharine was grateful that he addressed his statements to both of them.

  "Mary Wayne just gave us one month’s notice. Her letter of resignation was tendered yesterday. It showed up on my desk this morning.

  We need to know where she stands in this investigation. Is she still a suspect?"

  Katharine’s eyes darted sideways at Allistair, as if for confirmation. Which was ridiculous. She had never needed confirmation on this kind of thing in the past, but now automatically she looked to her assistant? She shook it off and started speaking. “She is no longer on the suspect list; she is the suspect list.”

  “Explain.” Her father sat back, his arms extending along the top of the sumptuous leather sofa, as if he knew he was in for a long and unpleasant story.

  “The private investigator we hired traced the missing money to a single account in Central America. We found out this morning that Mary Wayne is the sole holder of that account. Also, the money was moved using a pay code she had access to. It’s either an excellent frame job or Mary is our thief.”

  She quit speaking and waited. One of the men would say something; it would just take a minute. Allistair was smart enough to stay quiet too.

  Uncle Toran formulated words first. “Maybe she is being framed. She moves all that money into a single account with only her name on it. Seems a little obvious for a smart thief.”

  Allistair opened his mouth at this point. As it appeared none of them had expected him to actually participate, his voice startled all of them. “Really the name on the account isn’t an issue.”

  “How so?” Arthur Geryon took the bait but didn’t move forward, didn’t budge.

  “That’s not how she hid the money. We weren’t supposed to find the account at all. At least not until it was too late, so her name being on it doesn’t matter. And she was right about that. It was very well hidden; we would never have found any of it without Patricia Sange’s company. The reason Mary Wayne used her own name on the account is that she did such a good job of getting the money out of Light & Geryon that she didn’t think she needed to hide it anymore.”

  “Well, we did find her, so she wasn’t that brilliant.”

  Somehow she knew what was coming, and Katharine wondered if she should stop Allistair. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. So she listened.

  “With all due respect, sir, you didn’t even know that she was taking the money until a few weeks ago. She’s been at this for months with no one the wiser. And without some serious professional help, we would never have found that account.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees in a casual position that conveyed he was comfortable, even among these people who probably only had a Webster’s definition of the word.

  She watched while her father absorbed the idea that his employee had bested him. Then they all discussed what to do. Mary Wayne needed to be confronted. Charges needed to be pressed. Katharine voted to give her one opportunity to defend herself, with the head of security present, of course. After a little badgering, her father and Uncle Toran agreed.

  Afterward, she and Allistair went back to their office and tried to come up with a good excuse to talk to Mary Wayne without making her run.

  • • •

  Jeff Grason st
ared at the video footage, just as perplexed as Katharine was. For three days now she and Allistair had been trying to get Mary Wayne in for a meeting. For three days they managed to miss her–just barely miss her–each time they tried. She left work early. Took lunch at an odd hour. Went to the ladies room with an uncanny knack for timing. Yesterday evening Katharine had hung out in the lobby, waiting for Mary to pass by on her way out. She was going to pretend to have run into her. But Mary Wayne hadn’t come by.

  Katharine had waited and waited, but as time passed, her pretense of work at the lobby desk wore thin. This morning she had arrived early and tried again. At ten thirty she had given up and gone to the security division to ask them to keep an eye out for her.

  Jeff Grason had agreed to keep an eye on the cameras. As Katharine had been leaving, he hollered to her retreating form that she should come back.

  Typing in any employee’s name would bring up the nearest video surveillance. In Katharine’s case, this was the hallway outside her office door, and for Mary Wayne, who had a cubicle, it brought up a clear frame of the woman’s desk.

  Mary Wayne was sitting in her chair, working away.

  Katharine’s brain stuttered. “How did she get there?” There was only one way in and out of the Light & Geryon building that wouldn’t set off serious alarms and security checks. “Unless she just didn’t go home last night.”

  Grason shook his head. “That couldn’t happen. Security would have found her, and someone would have been notified or it would have been logged.”

  Katharine was sure her face must have shown her confusion. Security was certainly the next division she needed to learn, as she clearly didn’t understand all that was going on.

  He explained. “Night shift makes a sweep. Security logs everyone in and out. Last year an employee was investigated as part of a hit-and-run investigation. He claimed he was working late that night. We showed the police his computer logs, and it was clear that someone with his access codes had been doing his work on his computer at the time of the incident. We even had footage of him entering and later leaving his twelfth-floor office. It made for a pretty airtight alibi. We can also show you that Mary Wayne wasn’t here last night.”