For Her Eyes Only

by Cait London

  His continental appearance came second to the vibrations emanating from him. When he’d been in her shop, disguised as that Nordic blond, Leona had caught a fragment of those same energies. But now, unwrapped to reveal this monster’s true nature, they were psychopathic and deadly. “Rolf Erling, I presume?”

  “At your service. I thought you’d recognize me. I was right…. I’m always right. This room is great, isn’t it? High-tech sound equipment, courtesy of a country singer now on tour. Vernon was looking in on the place for Billy Balleau. It’s acres from the other estates, so we won’t have to be quiet as we entertain ourselves. It’s quite comfortable, more so than Alex’s house.”

  Rolf poured the wine with elegant movements. “I hope you like pasta. I’m on a tight schedule tonight, or we would have had sushi. I learned from a master chef in Japan.”

  “Oh, did he live?” Despite her sarcastic tone, every particle in Leona concentrated on Owen. Owen? Can you hear me? Feel me? Can you see what I see? She looked around the room, willing Owen’s psychic antenna to tap into the stream she projected. She focused on the poster of Billy Balleau.

  Rolf momentarily seemed to enjoy the memory of the chef. Then he shrugged. “No. The sushi chef didn’t live. Neither did the artist who created my sword.”

  “And Alex?”

  “Mm,” he mused. “Useful…but dead, too, I’m afraid. He was a very lonely man after his mother died.”

  Leona feared asking the next question, but she managed, “And Owen?”

  Rolf picked up a wineglass and studied the contents. “Balleau’s wine cellar is stocked…regional brands, nothing Australian or French…. Oh, Owen is upset, I’m sure. He’s to be a good boy, and he knows it. Otherwise, you’ll pay.”

  “I’m going to ‘pay’ anyway, aren’t I? So is Owen?”

  “Bills must always be paid, my dear. It’s only logical.”

  Leona focused on a large picture on the wall, the winner’s circle at the Kentucky Derby, and a blown-up advertisement for Billy Balleau. Billy Balleau…the initials B.B…. she was in the home of Billy Balleau…. Owen? Come to me…. “You’re afraid of Owen, or you’d meet him, man-to-man. You’re afraid of me, or I wouldn’t be tied.”

  A ripple of Rolf’s anger burned her. But his only visible anger was how he placed the wineglass too gently on the tray. Studying Leona, he slowly wove one braid beside his face, tied off the end, and fashioned another.

  “You’re not afraid, are you?” he asked almost clinically, as if he were studying her reactions. “No, you’re too angry to be afraid. I can feel it pumping from you, like fire in my veins. That’s good. I can use that.”

  Leona forced herself to calm. She pushed down her fury, when she actually wanted to attack him physically. “Was Missy afraid?”

  “Oh, yes. It was delicious. Robyn gave in too easily. Missy fought a little. It was arousing. I was only sorry it lasted such a short time.” He walked to a long drape and eased it aside to reveal an embellished leather sword scabbard. “You’ve seen this before you surprised me that day. Maybe you’d actually like to feel it. By the way, how do you like the new cuff bracelet you’re wearing? A gift from me to you. The cuff will keep the ropes from marking your skin. Have to keep the restraint marks at a minimum, you know.”

  Rolf studied her as he held the ornate grip of the sword. The deadly slide of three-foot tempered steel from the leather caused Leona’s skin to crawl. She forced herself to smile. “That’s a pretty toy.”

  The blade flashed as Rolf brought the tip to her throat. He turned it, using the edge to lift her chin. “You really shouldn’t have tried to ‘see’ me, Leona. I didn’t like that.”

  “This isn’t going to work, you know. Owen will find me. He’s—”

  “One of them,” Rolf supplied. “One of Thorgood’s warrior-descendants. His faithful men who had promised always to protect the Aisling line, blah-blah-blah. Your sisters bonded with their descendants, too, though Neil and Marcus didn’t have what Owen does. You know that old saying, ‘save the best for last.’ That would be you and Owen Shaw. I needed him to transport the bait, which you nicely took.”

  “Just exactly how did you know we might connect? This is a big city.”

  Rolf smiled knowingly. “Robyn suggested your shop to Owen. She thought Janice might need a little feminine pick-me-up. Wasn’t that nice of her? And I knew that once Janice held that bag, she’d want to meet you.”

  “That was very smart of you. What is my travel bag doing here? It’s not exactly your style…neither is my monogrammed tote.”

  Rolf glanced at her bag. “You dropped your bag at the airport. I thought it wise to take it with us. I already had the travel bag. Vernon was kind enough to bring your things to me in it. Including the exact outfit you wore when you called me that night—the green gown, the gold headband, the armband. I wanted you to wear them when I finally had you by candlelight. There may be a little blood on the bag…his. It seems he tangled with your dog.”

  Vernon had come to her shop that day after he’d been to her house; Max had attacked him. Owen? Can you hear me? Owen?

  Rolf lifted the blade higher and bent down to peer into Leona’s face. She focused on her own strength. She focused on Owen’s, on the bond she had with her family, and they with her. Rolf’s eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared. “Family…You call your family to you. The clan gathers to protect their own…. How sweet. Just as you and your sisters and your mother always do, protect each other. Red-haired witches, all of you. My ancestors saw that a few of you were burned at the stake. Interesting when that hair—” he lifted a strand of her hair with the blade—“actually catches fire.”

  “And what you did to my husband? And my sisters? My father and my grandmother? All planned, wasn’t it?”

  He smiled coldly. “Daddy did such a good job with your grandmother. And your grandfather. Dear old dad was a good teacher, but not as strong as I. I found that out when I did your father. I was only eight, you know…. But then, you do know, don’t you? All those little images that came more frequently when you opened to help your sisters. I’ve had those visions ever since I could remember: Thorgood, Aisling, the way the clan ran Borg out into the world, the hunter who tracked him, that brooch and the curse, of course.”

  Rolf ran that cold deadly blade along Leona’s cheek. “Thorgood’s brooch is going to be mine, and you could share everything with me. But it isn’t your nature, is it? I don’t think I could trust you in my bed, Leona. If I drugged you, or took your mind, it just wouldn’t be the same. Maybe I could use some other inducement to make you cooperate. You’ve always been very sensitive to what happens to your family.”

  Lifting the blade away, he let the light dance along the deadly edge. “You don’t actually know who Owen is, do you? Shall I tell you something that neither of you knows? Yes, that would be appropriate since both of you are going to die.”

  “I’m not going to open for you, Rolf.”

  “That’s too bad. They say a picture is worth a thousand words.”

  Greer had said there was a certain borderline, after which there would be no return. She’d also said that he had a temper, and Leona decided to push him. “My mother said you’re a fake, needing to use drugs and hypnotism, and devices to appear as if you are a psychic talent. But she found you out, didn’t she?”

  “Not quite. I blocked Greer from reading certain details of our history together. And I blocked you. Neither one of you was strong enough to get past my energies.”

  “My mother didn’t try. She could have fried you if she’d wanted. Instead, she just proved you to be weaker, a fake who had to use gimmicks. The great Rolf Erling, bested by a mere woman. And an Aisling woman, at that.”

  “You need a lesson, Leona Fiona.” Suddenly, Rolf focused those black eyes on hers, and bent close. Opening his hand, he placed it directly on her chest. Leona refused to show fear and braced herself for the impact, for that sense of being crushed. The force pushed at her. She pushed
it back, willing herself to be stronger, to lean into his energy and curl herself around it, snatching it back within her….

  Rolf’s eyes widened, and he jerked back his hand, rubbing it against his thigh.

  “Naughty little girl.” His open hand crashed against her cheek. The blow snapped her head to one side. She took the pain inside her, took Rolf’s angry energy, and fed herself with it; she forged it into one cold, thin shaft. When that shaft was white-hot, Leona opened suddenly and sent out probing tendrils to weave into his mind.

  This time, those hard black eyes widened just slightly. Then Rolf smiled grimly. He sat beside her and sipped his wine as he studied her. She shifted her head away from Rolf’s hand, but his fingers winnowed through her hair in a caress that caused her skin to crawl. He looked down her body, letting his hand flow over her breast, and squeezed her thigh slightly. “You’ve got great legs. You should wear dresses more, though these slacks look very nice. You have that classic look.”

  Rolf wrapped his hand around her ankle and slid his fingers up under the slacks. He took another sip and looked at her lips. “Is this what you like? Sensual? Slow? Is that how you do it with Shaw?”

  Owen had heard her silent cry before. Would he now? Owen, come to me.…

  When she didn’t answer, Rolf smiled. “You almost had me a moment ago. Sending out those little feelers, but that isn’t how it’s done. It’s more of a seduction, and good ones take time. Seduction is like growing a plant from a tiny seed—feeding it slowly, tending it.”

  “You prey on the vulnerable. That’s the mark of a coward.”

  “Or superior intelligence. I like the play, moving the lesser around in their little lives, letting them kill themselves—like my father did with Stella Mornay.”

  “He drugged her, Rolf. She never would have been unfaithful or gotten in so deep. He was rotten, too, weak, and a blackmailer. Not really someone to be proud of, was he?”

  Rolf shrugged and downed the last of the wine quickly. Then he placed both hands on her ankles, caressing them. A sensual heat began at his touch and started warming her skin, crawling upward. Leona jackknifed her legs away and raised both to kick. Rolf quickly caught them, forcing her legs back to the recliner. “It only makes sense to use weaknesses, doesn’t it? Everyone is vulnerable, somehow. Why not make use of what is already available? He said your grandmother was very—hot.”

  Leona’s temper spiked, and she forced it back. Owen….

  Rolf’s hands clamped around her ankles, holding her still. “Is this how it felt at the Blair Institute of Parapsychology? When you were lying there, feeling everything your sisters were feeling? Claire’s terror as she absorbed every emotion possible and the physical pain of others? Of Tempest’s furious anger?”

  A wave of claustrophobia hit Leona, swirled around and enveloped her. For just that instant, Leona was that ten-year-old girl, unable to protect her sisters. For just that heartbeat, she was a child again. She almost cried out, furious with herself for not revealing her precognitive dream….

  Then Leona glimpsed pleasure in Rolf’s black eyes, the eyes of a torturer, a predator who would take his time. She thought of the daisies Owen and his mother had picked together, of the pot of daisies he’d given her. The images calmed her. “I’m over that now. I couldn’t have stopped them. I wasn’t to blame.”

  Rolf’s fingers bit into her ankles. “I read the reports. You couldn’t have gotten over that nightmare so easily.”

  “You’re bluffing. Those reports were destroyed. A court order from my mother—”

  “Not all of them. My father had already taken copies—he was quite active in that whole scenario. For years, I studied them, detail by detail.” Rolf looked down at his hands and eased his grip. “Your skin is very fair. I must be careful.”

  He’d been foiled, and a slip of his anger had escaped. Leona snatched the thin angry strand before it could slither back into Rolf’s keeping. “They tested you, too, didn’t they? In a psychic ward? Let me guess…they declared you unsuitable to live within the general population? That ‘crazy-as-a-loon’ thing?”

  His smile didn’t reach those cold eyes. “They just didn’t understand me. I have needs. I inherited them, just like you did, that old DNA thing. And I can live quite nicely anywhere, as anyone I choose. You didn’t ask about Shaw—about what you don’t know. Aren’t you interested in your lover? You see, I’ve had the same visions as you, but perhaps with the opposing point of view. Would you like some wine now? Or would you prefer to eat. I’ll have to feed you, of course.”

  “I’d rather not. I get the feeling I’d choke on anything you prepared. I’m a little nauseated by you right now.”

  “Mm…your defiance is so predictable. Later, then.”

  She had to know. “I thought you had some lie about Owen that you wanted to tell me.”

  “Ah! The famous Aisling curiosity. I thought you’d never ask. I’m looking forward to meeting Shaw, to see if he’s as good as his ancestor. His secret? A special gene, that of a clairvoyant that must have gone back to prehistoric times. I caught the images from Janice, wall paintings on rock, hunting and the usual male-female fertility symbols. She never understood them, but I did and used them. In Owen Shaw’s case, the Viking genes dominated, thus the ‘gray-eyes,’ as men like him have been called for centuries. It’s likely that his images—perhaps dreams—ran more to male interests. The combination of primitive and Viking has made him very strong, but he’s untrained…I’m not.”

  “You think Owen has visions?” Leona asked unsteadily. She turned to look at the initials on the bass drum and on Billy Balleau’s huge poster. Owen, I need you.…

  Rolf caught her chin and turned her face back to him. “I know he sees images. Janice told me that Owen and his friend, Jonas Saber, went on secret boyhood ‘vision quests’. Their fathers punished them for it. As men, they were talking, and Janice overheard. I tested Owen at the farm, didn’t he tell you? Gave him a vision, and he reacted to it. He was busy thinking about that and distracted when I marked him as my kill…that little wound on his back I gave him when I could have killed him then. You know about marking, don’t you, Leona? Those little bite marks on his throat, scratches on his back, like a cat in heat? That little amulet, the silver rune you gave him?”

  “Let me go. Just give me your nice little toy, and I’ll be happy to mark you.”

  Rolf laughed wildly, the sound eerie and hollow in the specially created sound room. “What an attitude! That’s the best thing about you, Leona. You’ve got killer instincts. You’re cold and creative. I admire that. You just haven’t used your talent yet. I’ll miss enjoying that part of you. I’ll have to kill you. Or have you commit suicide. Likewise your sisters and your mother, then I’ll have Thorgood’s brooch. I’m going to enjoy Greer for a time, though. I am going to ruin that witch…enjoy it as her so-called peers laugh at her.”

  That thread of fear Leona had been fighting snaked through her. She had to protect her family. Owen? Come to me.…“Revenge won’t give you what you need. You’ll never have enough. What are you going to do with Vernon?”

  Rolf turned to consider the man in the stupor. “In a drunken rage, he’s going to kill both you and Shaw. He’s going to crush you and Owen in a car at the junkyard—I thought crushing would be very suitable for your death. Then our boy Vernon is going to have an unfortunate accident.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  At eight o’clock, Owen stood inside that triangle of natural water. If Leona and her family could communicate through that medium, perhaps he could catch some of her energy.

  Six hours had passed, and no one had heard from Leona. It was too soon to report her as missing, and that wouldn’t be wise anyway. If cornered by the police, Rolf would kill Leona instantly. Leona was out there somewhere, and Owen had to find her.

  There were just times when legal means weren’t possible, and this was one. Fighting needed to be done on a different plane. Owen closed his eye
s, let the earth and sky enfold him, until he became one. He let the visions he’d fought since childhood float into his mind, the ships with the red sails, prows biting into the seas, men straining at oars…. Crows gleamed on trees, feathers shining like polished obsidian. Men painted on rock walls hunted deer…. Heavy swords and mallets, screams and smoke….

  A woman with red hair and green eyes stared at him through the smoke…. Owen…. Owen, come to me….

  Ancient tribal drums pounded in Owen’s mind. A man with long black hair stood in a cave, the walls painted white, the sword gleaming on a table, reflected in a mirror. Wigs and cosmetics littered the table, chemical bottles lined in a row. Tall white pillars of a plantation home appeared out of the darkness and steps leading downward into darkness….

  Owen recognized that home; it was Alex’s. Raising his arm, he rubbed the bandage over his back, the mark of the man he wanted.

  At his side, Max snarled, his hackles raised. “Okay, you know what we need. Let’s go hunting.”

  The country estate of Billy Balleau wasn’t difficult to find.

  The initials of B.B. on a bass drum had appeared as Owen had looked down at a white plate on Alex Cheslav’s kitchen table. As Owen focused on the plate, the singer’s image and a room designed to hold his memorabilia and music equipment slid across the plate. “She’s doing it, Max,” Owen stated quietly. “Leona is telling us where she’s at.”

  An earlier check had shown that the black SUV was gone. On a second, more thorough search through the house, Max had found the panel in the kitchen that led down to a “hidey-hole,” commonly built in homes during the Civil War.

  The earlier image that Leona had given Owen of sagging, worn steps, and a stone wall, painted white had been accurate. Only a few bits of furniture and a smashed mirror remained.

  Owen had tapped the white plate he’d been holding. Leona was pushing herself, trying to connect with him, and she’d succeeded. “B.B…. Billy Balleau’s…She’s there. Let’s go.”