For Her Eyes Only

by Cait London

  For Her Eyes Only

  Cait London

  To My Readers

  I hope you’ve enjoyed the Aisling Psychic Triplets as much as I have. For Her Eyes Only concludes the stories begun with At the Edge. I’m sad to leave them. My thanks to Lucia Macro, Esi Sogah, and all others at Avon Books for their very fine work on my stories and covers. My thank you to my daughters for their patience. My thank you to you, my readers, for writing and encouraging me. You’re the best!

  Contents

  Prologue

  “LEONA WILL NEVER FORGIVE ME.”

  One

  HER SENSES SEEMED TO SCURRY WITHIN HER LIKE A frightened…

  Two

  LEONA PUSHED HERSELF THROUGH HER MORNING ROUTINE and the sporadic…

  Three

  OWEN HELD HIS BREATH AS LIGHTNING LIT UP THE STORMY…

  Four

  ELECTRODES REACHED OUT FOR LEONA. BRIGHT LIGHTS burned her eyes,…

  Five

  “ONCE I DESTROY LEONA, I’LL HAVE THAT BROOCH. THEN I’LL…

  Six

  AT SIX-THIRTY IN THE MORNING, LEONA DROVE TOWARD THE Shaws’…

  Seven

  OF COURSE HE HAD LEONA’S SCARF.

  Eight

  VERNON CHOSE THE WRONG TIME TO STOP AT ALEX’S house.

  Nine

  “I’M SORRY FOR SO MANY THINGS.” LEONA STARED AT THE…

  Ten

  “ROBYN WHITE’S DEATH APPEARS TO BE AN ACCIDENTAL drowning—unofficially.” The…

  Eleven

  “OWEN PROVIDED SOME HELPFUL INFORMATION, MOM. Unfortunately, that description could…

  Twelve

  “NICE WORK,” OWEN STATED, AFTER THEY HAD SETTLED Sue Ann…

  Thirteen

  LEONA SMILED CONTENTEDLY AS SHE SAT IN HER LIVING room,…

  Fourteen

  “DEAR MR. BORG. F.Y.I. YOU ARE NOT ALONE IN YOUR…

  Fifteen

  “I’M IN THIS JIGSAW PUZZLE. TO PLAY THIS GAME, I…

  Sixteen

  “AND YOU ARE?”

  Seventeen

  “MOTHER IS TRYING TO REST. SHE’S HAD ENOUGH FOR ONE…

  Eighteen

  LEONA FOUGHT THE POUNDING PAIN IN HER BRAIN; SHE forced…

  Nineteen

  “OWEN, WHY AREN’T WE FOLLOWING HIM?” LEONA ASKED, as Owen…

  Epilogue

  “IT’S BEEN A HELL OF A LONG NIGHT. I JUST…

  About the Author

  Other Books by Cait London

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  “LEONA WILL NEVER FORGIVE ME.”

  Mist curled around Greer Aisling as she brooded about her daughter in the predawn hours. Beyond her northwest home, the Pacific Ocean’s waves crashed against the shoreline.

  As she stood in her garden, overlooking the ocean, she thought how much the black ocean swells suited her dark mood—and her fears for all of her daughters, who were asleep upstairs. But Greer held her rage deep within her, using every bit of her psychic ability to block her feelings from her intuitive daughters. The triplets were especially sensitive to her moods now, after all they had suffered these past months.

  Her ten-year-old triplets, born three minutes apart, would never be the same now that they knew how very different they were. How being born of a world-famous psychic had marked their lives.

  Greer’s rage swerved as suddenly as the winds that shook the stunted branches in her oceanside garden. Studying the eerie silhouette of the trees in the gray light, she thought about how as a widowed, working mother, she had left her children in the care of a loving guardian and housekeeper, and friends. Greer had thought her daughters were well protected from the curiosity of the outer world, but her home had been invaded, her triplets taken by doctors and parapsychologists. “All in the name of research,” she murmured darkly.

  She had been accused of neglect and abuse, but that had been a ruse. Researchers at the Blair Institute of Parapsychology wanted to examine her daughters and had gotten the child-care authorities to cooperate. They actually took her daughters from her on trumped up charges, entering her home, shoving aside her daughters’ caretakers with their false legal accusations, and took them from their home!

  Greer swore to herself that she would destroy every one of them.

  She had even changed her name from Bartel to protect her daughters. Now, despite her efforts, the triplets would be exposed to the world, newshounds sniffing at them for the rest of their lives.

  Shivering against the mist’s chill and the fierce anger within her, she inhaled the salt-scented air. The experience had made her daughters realize just how very different they were from other children, their childhood marred. And the tauma only made the extrasensory abilities the girls were born with even stronger….

  Though the sisters looked the same, with hair as dark red as Greer’s and almost identical green eyes and pale skin, the triplets had very different personalities and psychic powers.

  Claire, the youngest and an empath, had suffered the most during those two days of testing by researchers of the Blair Institute of Parapsychology; she’d absorbed too much from the people surrounding her. Their emotions, senses, and physical needs had battered her. As a result she would always have to lead a restricted, carefully sheltered life.

  In contrast to Claire’s calm, gentle personality, Tempest, the middle born, was impulsive, a rebel and a fighter. Her emotions easily read by others, Tempest was restless and more willing to take risks than her sisters. Whenever she left their home, Tempest wore gloves to protect her hands because any object she touched might be dangerous to her. Her ability to sense the history of anything she touched could be astounding. Unfortunately, Tempest also caught the emotions and thoughts of others who had come into contact with the object, which left her vulnerable to all kinds of evil.

  Warmth slid up Greer’s nape, a unique trickling sensation that told her one of her daughters was near. “Good morning, Leona. Can’t you sleep?” Greer asked before she turned to the eldest triplet.

  In the dim light, Leona’s small face was pale and taut, her fists held at her side. Leona had always resented the extra senses that made Greer and her daughters so different, and the anger she’d withheld until now erupted. “I’m not going to be like you or grandmother,” she stated fiercely. “I’m not going to be a freak.”

  Greer damned the researchers again, while carefully blocking her rage from her daughter’s psychic antenna. “We can’t help what we are, Leona. We have to learn to live with what we are.”

  “I don’t. I won’t. Grams doesn’t want it, and I don’t either. Look what it’s done to her—she’s gone crazy! Grams barely recognizes us now.”

  A streak of pain shot through Greer. Over six years ago, Stella Mornay’s sanity had begun slipping. After her husband’s fatal heart attack, her unwanted psychic gift went on overload with grief. In a sense, Greer had lost not only her father but her mother, too.

  Greer could have used her mother’s comfort now. In the aftermath of the trauma of recovering the triplets from researchers, Greer ached for her daughters. Her mother understood better than anyone how a psychic “gift” could be a lifelong burden and curse, and Greer wished she had her help now.

  Greer wanted to hold and comfort Leona. Though still a child with an underdeveloped clairvoyant ability, Leona sometimes sensed disasters. As a precognitive, her mind caught visions of events before they actually happened. But Leona would not easily admit any of her insights; she attributed them to dreams that anyone might have. To resist what lived inside a mind, soul, and body was much more difficult than to accept it. But Leona was a fighter; she had and would continue to resist her psychic inheritance.

 
Greer moved closer to her daughter. Cupping Leona’s face in her hands, she kissed her cheeks. “I’m sorry. But you’re not to blame, Leona. You couldn’t have stopped them.”

  Tears glittered in Leona’s eyes, spilling in a silvery trail down her cheeks. Her thin, uneven tone rose above the crash of the ocean’s waves. “I saw the bad men coming. I knew what would happen, but I didn’t want to believe my dream.”

  “Maybe it was just a dream, nothing more. You couldn’t have known, darling,” Greer tried to soothe her daughter, knowing as she did that it was likely Leona had foreseen the kidnapping by the Blair Institute of Parapsychology researchers. If Leona trained and developed control, she could be the most powerful of the triplets. Her potential could equal Greer’s, and she could probably even have more extrasensory abilities.

  “You never should have left us,” Leona stated, drawing away from Greer. She crossed her arms and scowled at her mother. “If you’re such a psychic, why didn’t you know they would come after us?”

  Because Greer had believed she’d done everything possible to protect her exceptional children. Because she was a widow whose finances had run out, and she’d had to make a living. Because she’d been hired as a psychic and she had to take the job, even if it meant traveling to Canada, far from her daughters. Because her powers were weaker when she was away from the ocean…

  “We can’t always see everything, predict everything. I’m so sorry, Leona.”

  “I’ll never forgive you, Mother,” Leona stated fiercely. “And I will never be like you!”

  One

  Twenty-two years later

  HER SENSES SEEMED TO SCURRY WITHIN HER LIKE A frightened mouse seeking a safe place.

  Yet when Leona Chablis searched the shadows of her shop, she found no cause for uneasiness. Still, she struggled to free herself of the ominous feeling that danger waited for her. With determination, Leona put herself into her workday routine, just as she did every day, and prepared to open her shop.

  She automatically straightened the necklaces on her shop’s counter. The onyx beads glittered next to her pale hands, reminding her of drops of black blood. The display room of her Timeless Vintage clothing shop seemed eerily quiet, the September day bright beyond the tinted display windows.

  At nine-thirty on what should be an ordinary Tuesday morning in Lexington, Kentucky, everything inside Leona seemed to stop and wait. She hated her sixth sense; it lingered inside her, ready to strike and toss glimpses of the future at her. For a lifetime, she’d fought her psychic inheritance. But now, just as “Bluegrass Country’s” racehorses circled the track, her sixth sense circled Leona…and it screamed danger.

  Leona tried to wrap the reassuring safety of her present reality around her. In early September, the days were still hot, with fall’s cooler temperatures seeping in during the evenings. Soon, the trees on the rolling hills beyond the city would begin flaming with color. Soon the restaurants would be filled with diners who, over open-faced sandwiches of “hot brown”—a mixture of turkey or ham and bacon covered in cheese and gravy—would choose their pick of the two-year-old horses. They’d talk of thoroughbreds, the various “horse farms” in the area, and the events held at Keeneland and at the famous Kentucky Horse Park, where racing champion Man O’ War had been buried.

  Leona turned to face her shop’s large, seemingly cluttered showroom, which presented new elegant garments and accessories in simple, vintage-style designs. Timeless Vintage was a perfect boutique for discriminating tastes, for those moving in the “horsie” racing crowd. They needed elegant apparel for their boxes at the races, as well as for the social events that took place in the evening after the Kentucky Derby. Leona was always very careful to keep a regular client’s purchases of designer evening-and-daywear listed. Her special care prevented the awkward situation of two clients turning up at an event with the same outfit.

  Overhead, the slowly revolving ceiling fan stirred the soft fabrics of dresses, blouses, slacks, and skirts. Leona automatically adjusted the heavy curtains that concealed a doorway leading to the dressing and fitting rooms at the rear of the store. Beyond that was the tiny cubbyhole for storage, a rear entrance, and the narrow stairs that led up to her cluttered upstairs office.

  In another half hour, Leona would unlock her shop’s door. But for now, that feeling waited inside her, that uneasy stirring of her senses.

  She knew an image in her mind was bound to become real when it was accompanied by icy prickles. The prickles would spear deep into her skin and enter her bloodstream. Her body would chill, then in a blinding flash of unreality, a scene would appear in Leona’s mind. Sometimes her visions were small, everyday or natural occurrences. And sometimes, they were horrible, like a morning’s image of a deathly car wreck that would occur at that evening’s rush hour. Only brief contact could connect Leona to an image of another’s future event.

  Five years ago, she’d had that same uneasy sense of danger. The night before her husband left for his conference in Colorado, she’d had a vision of Joel dying in an avalanche. She hadn’t stopped him from going—and Joel had been crushed to death in a snow avalanche.

  Recently, her restless dreams came frequently, refusing to be locked away. Day or night, flashes of the future tumbled over each other, waiting to pop open in her mind.

  She didn’t want any part of her psychic inheritance from the ancient Celtic seer, Aisling. Leona’s grandmother had killed herself because of this gift, this curse that had been handed down to the female descendants of her family along with red hair, green eyes, and pale skin.

  Nights were the worst, when Leona was tired and worn and more vulnerable. Her dreams mixed with thoughts of her past and her family. Last night, that terrible sensation of being crushed she often experienced in dreams had awakened her into a cold sweat. “Since Joel died that way, it’s only natural that I might have those dreams,” she reasoned aloud.

  Her denial was automatic and fierce; nonetheless, fear circled her, like a cat stalking a mouse and waiting to pounce.

  On the other hand, Leona’s mother, a powerful psychic, had said that there were “psychic vampires” among the “gifted.” These psychic vampires could suck energy from others and cause the same crushing sensation.

  Was the curse from centuries ago which she’d learned about only recently, the promise to end her family’s bloodline, really true? Wrapped around an ancient brooch, the words of the curse had been translated by Greer months earlier: He’s sworn vengeance when the time is right…when he is strong enough. When his line has found the right descendant, one with enough power….

  “You can have my so-called gift. I never asked to be a precognitive. Just leave us alone,” Leona whispered desperately to the shadows. “Please don’t hurt my family.”

  The curse had burned itself into her mind and slithered around her, waiting for a weak moment. It showed up in her dream last night…. He showed up….

  Leona hurriedly set herself in motion, anything to escape the overwhelming sense of danger. Her fingers trembled as she quickly checked the shop’s cash register, although few shoppers used cash in her store. Her usual customers preferred credit cards and monthly billing.

  Immersed in her daily routine, she scanned her eclectic stock of new clothing, straightening the scarves and glittering marcasite-and-gemstone jewelry on the glass countertop. She quickly adjusted the mirror her clients used to help them make their purchase decisions.

  While mirrors were necessary for her clientele, Leona preferred to cover them. Because she had the same red hair and green eyes, her reflection was an unwanted reminder of Aisling and the ancient curse on her family.

  She straightened the gloves inside the display case to one side of the counter. A long strand of dark gray pearls ran across the elbow-length dove-gray gloves. As she arranged the pearls, Leona looked up to see the mannequin’s black, sightless eyes staring at her.

  Pinned by “Jasmine’s” stare, Leona shivered. The mannequin’s eyes almos
t resembled those of the man in her nightmare: as bottomless as those in her enemy’s cruel face as he cursed her ancestral bloodline. Thin braids framed his sharp face, his black hair whipping around as if he stood in a storm….

  Other than her dreams, she’d never actually seen a face like his, one with penetrating black soulless eyes. Yet he came in her nightmares to crush her breath from her body….

  He wanted revenge. From her dreams, she knew his name, and it was Borg.

  With a gasp, Leona tore herself free from the sense that one day, she would see him in reality—or someone who looked exactly like him. A face like that, mesmerizing eyes burning at her, could never be forgotten….

  She forced herself back into reality and automatically checked the mannequin’s clothing. The large floppy brim of Jasmine’s hat shadowed her face, her hand stretched out artfully to show the drape of the surplice-styled dress. The luxurious charmeuse fabric suited the gray color—black stripes running down the skirt, the sleeves puffed and smocked. Tied to the side, the belt suited the style, as did the peep-toe platform heels. Jasmine’s other hand fitted to her waist and held a tiny gold box-purse.

  Leona adjusted the purse to show the tag, “Claire’s Bags.” She was very proud of her sister’s exquisite handcrafting; Timeless Vintage was the exclusive seller of Claire’s high-priced, handcrafted, one-of-a-kind handbags.

  Leona crossed her arms, tilted her head, and studied the mannequin critically. Her outfit was perfect for fall’s evening galas, but without the hat…perhaps just a large rhinestone barrette, maybe the feather design in the showcase.

  Leona removed the hat to fluff and arrange Jasmine’s wig. Then another chilling sensation circled and reached inside her. She forced it away and carefully arranged the mannequin’s long beads. Just there, with her hand on Jasmine’s cool hard chest, Leona braced herself against the bubble of her own rising fear.