For Your Eyes Only

by Sandra Antonelli

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Adams gave her a little nod, as if he were fine gentleman Bruce Wayne by day and Batman by night.

  Mitchell snorted again and glanced at the security monitor. “So, you’re going with Option B?”

  “Mm-hm,” she said.

  “Not sure that’s the way to go. I’d prefe—”

  “Kinsale and Dokowski are here. So is SAC Oscar.” Adams crossed the room to let the other men into the office. In the next moment, the smell of fresh coffee fused with the doughnut-scented air.

  Busy with his tablet computer, Oscar mumbled a greeting and didn’t look up from his iPad until he took the paper cup Kinsale offered then had a seat at the conference table. He glanced at the agents seated around a slab of faux wood. His eye lingered on Willa. Mitchell waited for the ‘Jiminy Christian Slater, woman, what the hell were yew thinkin’ doin’ that to yer hair?’ but this morning Oscar was all business.

  ”Now,” the SAC said, his accent flat, “where are we with this leak? Have we caught the bad guy yet? Agent Heston what can you tell me? What are your thoughts? What have you found? Impress me. And no bullshit.”

  Willa opened her folder of notes. She took the lid off the cup of coffee Kinsale and Dokowski had bought for her. Instead of black House Blend, there was cream in the brew. Yesterday, she would have looked at the milkiness and thought it signposted a billowing cumulo-nimbus cloud of trouble on the horizon. The pesky box of chocolates notwithstanding, today she had clarity of a sort. It was amazing what an orgasm could do for a tense body; it was better than yoga or a five-mile run. Even more amazing was the effect ‘I love you’ had on a scrambled, stressed, overworked brain. Today’s cloud was a wispy cirrus and she was about to fly through it by the seat of her pants. She smiled at Oscar.

  “Hmm.” The SAC sat back in his chair, eyebrows rising and falling. “That good, huh?”

  With an offhand shrug, she swallowed some of the latte. It was cinnamon flavored. “I have no proof, just a gut feeling. I’ve spoken with Dichter, Chandra, Brennan, and Ms Grafton. I’m going to go ahead and rule out Dichter. Completely. Chandra, well, he’s looking … how should I put this… Tom?”

  “Evasive. Avoidant. A little dirty.”

  “Avoidant. That’s good, but I’ll get back to Chandra in a minute. Brennan is tricky and needs some finessing due to our history. We had a bit of a falling out, and he doesn’t exactly trust me, although he has been willing to talk. In fact I’ve had dinner with him, twice, and we’re repairing our friendship, but he’s had limited involvement with the Lab in the last few years.”

  “So based on that limited involvement you want to rule him out too?”

  “No, sir. Not yet. Not completely. But I do want to eliminate Ms Grafton as a suspect.”

  “Yew do?” Oscar’s twang crept in with his surprise.

  Willa glanced down at her notes and the outline she’d written for herself. “I don’t think she’s involved in this. She looks good as a suspect. There’s damning evidence. She was a Lab assistant, the information was found on her property, except she hasn’t resided at that address for more than six months. Her brother has. Rather than focusing on her, I think we need to find out more about Rory Grafton. Early in the week, Agent Adams suggested Rory Grafton was… How did you phrase it, Agent Adams?”

  Agent Adams poked around the box of chocolate. “A pothead speed-freak who took advantage of his alcoholic sister-landlady.” He chose a white-tipped oval bonbon and pushed the box towards Kinsale.

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Agent Mitchell said. “I think the brother may be involved. On paper he’s stupider than a bag of bolts. We need to dig deeper into his life, find out more about his friends and associates. I believe he’s exploited something more than his sister’s charity. Jacqueline Grafton is a case of wrong place and time and a past that’s caught up with her.”

  Willa drummed her fingers on top of her notes. “That brings us back to Chandra. As you know, the commonality Brennan, Dichter, and Chandra all have is a relationship with Jacqueline Grafton. While Chandra broke off his affair with her four years ago, it’s possible he maintained a connection with Rory, especially when you consider Chandra’s bookkeeping.

  “Have you spoken with the brother, Agent Heston?”

  “Not yet.”

  ”Well, what are yew waitin’ for?”

  “I came to this conclusion late yesterday and wanted to brief you first.”

  “Mm-hm. I’m briefed.”

  Agent Mitchell said, “I’ll set up something with Captain De Silva for this afternoon. You good with that, Willa?”

  “Fine,” she nodded.

  Oscar draped an arm over the back of his chair. “Okay. Give me the rest yew got on Chandra. And somebody pass me some of that chocolate.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, they discussed Chandra’s creative accounting and proceeded to Kinsale and Dokowski’s data tracking. As Willa had hoped, progress had been slow. The men had covered twenty-two computers and red-flagged three paths, which, out of six hundred pages of information, wasn’t exactly significant, but it was curious enough to necessitate deeper exploration. Shifting the attention to Rory Grafton and Chandra, establishing any connection they might have, plus Dokowski and Kinsale’s pursuit of red flags, was a legitimate route to take this investigation. It was all moving away from Dominic.

  Oh, my God. This is going to work. Willa’s level of optimism rose even higher. She wanted to fist pump and squeal and dance around the conference table. Since that wasn’t an option, she settled for wiggling her toes inside her shoes.

  Some people checked their watch, or the clock on the wall, or their phone. Oscar checked his iPad to signal the meeting had come to an end. “Keep goin’. I’ll be back Wednesday.” He scooted his chair in reverse, pausing to select another chocolate from the Godiva box before he rose. “Anything else?” he said, candy lingering in front of his lips.

  Agent Mitchell cleared his throat. “Yes. There is something I don’t agree on with Agent Heston.”

  A gymnastic butterfly the size of an elephant dismounted inside Willa’s stomach. The flying pachyderm squashed her once buoyant confidence as it started to rumble up her throat. Leaden, she turned to the dark-haired agent seated at her left. What the hell had he figured out? She swallowed what felt like a wiggling trunk in her esophagus. “And that’s what, Agent Mitchell?”

  The three other men in the room re-focused their attention from SAC Oscar to Agent Mitchell. “Your situation with a particular man isn’t acceptable for this investigation. And what you propose is inappropriate, Agent Heston.”

  Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no… “What,” Willa choked down a tusk that was actually a scream, “is inappropriate?”

  “Come on, man,” Dokowski mumbled, a chunk of fudge in his mouth, “don’t turn this into a pissing battle of the sexes. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “I was under the same impression. Yew wanna explain, Agent Mitchell?”

  “It’s not her plan of action. It’s Farley.”

  “Farley? As in Farley the Lab Interim Director?” Oscar picked out another piece of chocolate and bit into it.

  “Ol’ Don has been cupcakin’ on Agent Heston all week, sending her muffins, and flowers, and that two hundred dollar box of candy you’re eating.” Agent Adams sniggered.

  “Two hundred dollars?” Kinsale muttered. “Wow.”

  “Farley sent you this chocolate?” Oscar licked cocoa liquor from the corner of his mouth.

  ”Yes.” Willa’s heart found it’s normal sinus rhythm; the elephant bloat in her chest burst into nothing more than utter annoyance—and the urge to burp and shudder in a very Homer Simpson manner. “He wants me to go out with him.”

  “You know a guy who spends two hundred bucks on a box of candy wants more than just a date.”

  “Kinsale’s right, Agent Heston.” Dokowski nodded, helped himself to something chewy, and passed the box back to Oscar.

  “He grabbed your a
ss, Willa. That’s a pretty clear indication of what he wants.” Agent Son-of-a-bitch had the audacity to smirk when he’d said that.

  Willa really, really wanted to smack that grin off his handsome face.

  Oscar stopped rummaging for chocolate. “The man groped you, Agent Heston?”

  “It’s clear sexual harassment, and Title seven of the 1964 Civil Rights Act—”

  “That’s enough from all of you!” Willa stood and shot an evil look at Agent Adams before she turned to glare down at Thomas Mitchell. “I don’t need you to rescue me, and I resent your assertion that my course of action is inappropriate. I want Farley’s continued cooperation. I can deal with him and his ass grabbing.”

  Agent Mitchell shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t think you’re going to handle him right. He’s not going to listen to anything you have to say. You’re a very attractive woman. He’s going to keep on trying to grab your ass.”

  “We’re only trying to look out for one of our own here, ma’am.” Adams, the little pimple-faced twerp said, and he was serious.

  Willa inhaled, choosing her words carefully. Gathering every ounce of saccharine, Splenda, and Aspartame she’d ever ingested, she smiled. “While I think you’re all such sweet, condescending, Cro-Magnon morons, if I wanted your help, I’d ask for it.”

  Oscar pushed in his chair and ran his tongue over his teeth, pretending to clean off any chocolate remains, but really to hide his amusement. He exhaled. “Boys, I think the important point to remember here is that it’s her ass. So, do what yew feel is necessary to maintain Farley’s complete cooperation, Agent Heston. Take care of it today or tomorrow and make a complaint later on, but maybe yew won’t have to worry about any more ass grabbin’. He might change his mind about how attractive he finds yew when he sees what yew’ve done to yer hair. What have yew done to yer hair?”

  “I’m really sorry about your hair,” Alicia said, her blue eyes glossy with tears. “I think that’s what I’m most sorry about.”

  Willa was on her third coffee of the morning. She wasn’t sure if the caffeine or Alicia’s litany of apologies—or something else—was the reason for the buzzing, flying sensation she felt all the way to the fingertips. The young woman had listed a multitude of sins she’d been contrite for, beyond the car and stolen money. Some things Willa knew, others—like spitting in the ice cream at home and the I Hate Witchy Facebook page—she learned about only in the last fifteen minutes.

  Miles’ daughter, her daughter, confessed every offence she’d committed, as large as the stomping on the car and as insignificant as leaving the cap off a tube of toothpaste. Yet she was not the only one culpable of sinning. Being the adult, Willa been more responsible, had played a greater role. While Alicia had been blinded by rage, Willa had been incapacitated by grief and then dispassion. She had disconnected when Alicia, still a child at sixteen, had needed her most, and Willa regretted that painful truth.

  Fear was a powerful motivator. Fear had spurred her into action, had saved them both. As much as Willa did not want to admit it, maybe he didn’t drag her out of bed, or shove food under her nose, or dump her in a bath like he had before, but Dominic’s absent-minded mistake, the one that put his freedom in jeopardy, had saved her, had led her to John Tilbrook. Willa laughed at another freakish synchronicity in her life.

  “What’s so funny?” Sniffling, Alicia wiped her wet eyes with her cuff of her woolly olive-green peacoat.

  “So we forgive each other?” Willa watched Alicia’s grazed hands move. Bright pink, a series of claw marks shone on her wrist, only Willa knew the scratches hadn’t come from any cat. She said, “You forgive my shutting down, and I forgive the purple hair?”

  Alicia nodded, frowning. “Why is forgiveness funny?”

  “It’s not.” Willa laughed again. “But spitting in the ice cream is.” She gazed up to the tree branch that stretched over the picnic table where they sat, beside duck-filled Ashley Pond. Springtime in New Mexico had two faces. The air was a cold kiss that reddened noses and cheeks. Despite the strong rays of mountain sun, patches of snow and ice lingered beneath tree trunks. Flurries were forecast for later in the day. This touch of winter would settle in for a day or two and then it would suddenly be summer. “You know,” Willa said, “I do believe that carton of vanilla spit-cream has been in the freezer for about two years.”

  Alicia giggled. “I created a new flavor: Vanilla Lugey-swirl.”

  “That’s gross.”

  “Chunky Vanilla Lugey.”

  Willa had been about to drink the last bit of coffee in her Starbucks cup. She set the drink down. “That’s even worse.”

  “I bet Ben and Jerry would say it’s an awesome name for a new flavor.”

  Willa leaned across the picnic table and took her daughter’s hand. The girl had soft, pale skin that was marred in places by red marks and half-moon bruising. Her fingernails were bitten down to the quick. Willa kissed her palm and said, “We need to keep doing this. We need to stay connected, no matter what, Alicia. You are precious to me.”

  Alicia’s eyes glistened again, but she fought back the tears and nodded. “If I think you’re trying to shut me out again, I’ll turn your hair lime green. I swear to God.”

  “I promise you,” Willa felt her throat tighten, “I will never retreat again. I’m going to bug the crap out of you. If you tell me to leave you alone, I’ll be in your face. I’ll never give you a minute’s peace, I’ll … oh, man…” Eyes rolling, she released Alicia’s hand.

  “What? What is it?”

  Willa rubbed her nose and mouth. Hard. “Remind me to call my sister.”

  “Mom?”

  Hearing that name made Willa smile. “Yeah?”

  “Call Aunt Isabel.”

  With another smile, Willa looked at the young woman across from her. She stood and moved around to the other side of the table to sit beside Alicia. “This is good. We’re talking. I’m glad we’re talking. I’m glad we’re here, getting re-acquainted, getting things out in the open and making threats, but we’re not through this yet. We have to keep talking, keep making mistakes, and that’s going to take some time. I’m going to mess up and you’ll be angry, but you have to understand, and let me be clear about this—if at any point you are overwhelmed by those feelings, if the anxiety is more than you can bear, if you go numb, you don’t have to cut yourself.”

  Alicia screwed up her face. Her fisted hands were twin turtleheads retracting into the shells of olive green coat sleeves. “I don’t cut myself!”

  “Okay. But if you did, or if you thought that hurting yourself would give you release, or show you you’re not numb to feeling—that is, if you ever had the idea cutting, or biting, might help, maybe you can … you can always talk to me. You can yell and scream all you want. I’m not going to go anywhere. Or you can see someone professional and talk about it. There’s no shame in asking for help. We all need help sometimes. It took me a while to work that out.”

  Alicia scowled. “Right. Uh-huh. What about the shirtless guy from last night? Is he helping you?”

  “His name is John. He’s a cop.”

  “You’re seeing him, aren’t you?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  Alicia’s scowl faded into worry and then moved into something blank. She was quiet for a long time. She rubbed her fingers over crescent-shaped red marks near her left thumb. Her eyes were fixed on the pond where ducks swam. “Oh,” she said finally.

  “How angry are you?”

  “I’m not angry. I don’t know what I am, but I’m not angry.”

  “You know that my seeing John doesn’t mean I don’t love your dad. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about him or that I ever will. It doesn’t mean that you’re not important to me or that I no longer love you.”

  Alicia exhaled. “How can you still love me?”

  As much as she wanted to, Willa didn’t put an arm around the girl. “How can I not still love you? You’re your father, but you’re also you, and there’s
no one quite like Alicia. First, you were like a little sister to me, and then, even before I married your dad, you were my daughter. You were my daughter two months after we met. Legal paperwork or not, you are my daughter, and I never thought of you as a ‘step’ anything, until you decided you were stepdaughter to an evil stepmother.”

  “Is it true you wouldn’t adopt me because of my mother?” Alicia said, still staring at swimming ducks.

  “Not wouldn’t, couldn’t. Faith refused to consent.”

  “She’s a bitch.”

  “I know I should be rational, try to be an adult, and a good Jesus person about Faith, but I’m not going to argue with you about the description.”

  For a few minutes, they were both silent, both watching ducks. The nearby Jemez Mountains were bathed in bright sunlight, the sky a vivid turquoise. New green leaves had opened, forsythia added to the spring color, but wind kicked up in dusty, wintry gusts. Willa shivered.

  Alicia sighed. “He’s hot.”

  Willa looked around their location, to the pond, to the Justice Center and police station, and back towards the sidewalk on Central Avenue. There was no one else around. “Who’s hot?”

  Alicia met her eyes and grinned. “The shirtless cop from last night.”

  Willa shivered again. “You have no idea.” If she timed things right today, she’d have the shirtless cop from last night shirtless again this evening.

  19

  Yellow and red plastic had been taped across where the taillights had been. Confused for a moment, Dominic stood at the threshold of John’s townhouse, watching a familiar, battered, blue automobile head off up the street. The girl inside waved at him as Willa came up the front steps. He said, “Willa, was that Alicia driving your Volks … wag … en…” His mouth went all round.

  Willa pulled the open storm door from his grip. “Yeah. We settled a few things between us. She left me her car and took mine to Albuquerque to have the lights fixed.”

  As he stared at her, Dominic’s face contorted and he recoiled. “Jayzus. I wasn’t serious about the old lady hair crack last night, Willa.”