The Eyes Of Derek Archer

Archer studied her intently from across the table. “Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself again,” he said, lifting one dark brow. “If I remember my army days correctly, people assigned on a temporary basis could pretty much come and go as they pleased. That’ll be a plus. In the next few days we’re going to need all the time together we can manage.”

She was caught off guard by the sudden vibrancy in his voice, and didn’t want him to stop talking, didn’t want to lose the warm feeling that coursed through her at hearing his rich baritone.

“You sound like you’re looking forward to our time together,” she said without thinking. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she could have bitten her tongue.

He held her gaze in a penetrating stare. “Aren’t you?”

She wanted to look down at the table, but she couldn’t. His eyes were too hypnotic. “I’m a widow whose husband has been dead only two months.” She was proud of the firmness in her voice. “What I’m looking forward to is seeing Don Albright back in jail where he belongs.”

A half smile crossed his lips. It wasn’t reflected in his cold blue eyes. In that instant Susan knew for sure her first impression was right. This man was dangerous.

“And what I’m looking forward to is helping the new widow clear her name.” The taunting tone was back in his voice.

What was she letting herself in for, she wondered, hiring an almost-stranger as a private investigator? She sucked in her breath, on the verge of telling him to forget their arrangement. But what alternative did she have with the police as good as accusing her of murder and someone out to frame her? Much as she hated the idea, she needed Archer’s help.

His familiar mask descended once again, and she felt his hand under her arm, helping her out of her chair. Unlike his taunting words, his hand seemed strong, firm, protective. When they crossed the lobby, she felt him beside her, his powerful, well-muscled body moving with easy, athletic grace.

A dangerous man is what I need, she convinced herself as she fastened her seat belt in his rental car. If anybody can find a convicted killer, it’s a man who’s just as deadly.

Susan felt him watching her, and turned her head toward him as he started the engine. Frowning, he searched her face in that enigmatic way of his, with his lids slightly lowered.

“Where to?”

Susan probed around in her bag until she found the list she’d made last night. “We might as well start with the banks downtown.” Eyeing him dubiously, she gave him brief directions to the first one. “When we find the right bank, do you really think they’ll let me look inside the box?”

He shrugged. “Since you’re not a cosigner, they’re not supposed to, but who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky. You can snow them with your ID and marriage license, and your husband’s death certificate. Act like they’re violating your rights if they don’t let you examine the box. Threaten to sue. That always gets people’s attention.”

At first she wasn’t sure he was serious, but one look at his sober expression convinced her. “I don’t want anybody to get into trouble or do anything illegal,” she protested, her doubts about Archer coming back full force.

Without saying a word, he swung into a bus zone near the curb and stopped, the engine idling. “Excuse me, Susan, but I thought you wanted to find whoever’s trying to frame you.” His eyes held hers relentlessly.

She backed away from him, a shiver shooting up her spine. “What’s that got to do with this safe-deposit box?”

“A hell of a lot.” He frowned at her like she didn’t know which end was up. “What’s inside that box may tell us who killed your husband.”

SUSAN HIT PAY DIRT at the fourth bank on her list. While Archer waited for her outside, she took the elevator down one floor to the vault area. Windowless, with fluorescent lights glaring down on plush carpeting, the place was overheated and smelled faintly of a flowery air freshener.

Unbuttoning her suit coat, Susan faced the clerk sitting at a desk outside the vault’s massive steel door. “I’m Mrs. Brian Wade, and I’d like to get into our safe-deposit box, please.”

The clerk, an attractive woman about Susan’s age, appeared to recognize the name. “Just a moment. I’ll get your card.” Smiling warmly, she swung her chair around and scooted to a cabinet behind her.

When she faced Susan an instant later, her smile had been replaced by a worried frown. “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Wade. Your husband is the only signer for the box. We can’t let you have access unless he makes you a cosigner.”

“My husband passed away two months ago,” Susan said, allowing her voice to tremble. She placed the death certificate on the desk, along with her laminated driver’s license. “Here’s the necessary information.” Tears filled her eyes and she didn’t hold them back. “I’m sure you understand why I need to get into our safe-deposit box.”

The woman nodded, her gaze sympathetic. “Why don’t you sit down here beside my desk while I call the manager? He has to approve this sort of thing.” She picked up her telephone receiver and punched in a number.

A few minutes later a man came out of the elevator and walked toward them. “Now, Mrs. Wade,” he began after the clerk had introduced him as the manager. “What can Inland Empire Bank do for you?”

Summoning all her pent-up emotion—as befitted a grieving widow—she told him what she wanted.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Wade,” he said when she’d finished. “I know what a difficult time this must be for you, but I can’t let you open the box without a court order.” He placed a pudgy hand on her arm. “I’m sure you understand.”

“I’m not certain I do,” Susan said tearfully. “Since my husband’s dead, he can’t possibly object to my seeing what’s inside the box.”

The manager sighed. “I know, I know. Some of these regulations don’t make much sense.” His expression brightened. “But you should have no trouble getting a court order.”

“How long will that take?”

He shrugged. “If your lawyer pushes the right buttons—a day or two.”

As quick as that? A thrill of anxious anticipation touched her spine. Some time in the next couple of days she’d learn Brian’s most guarded secrets. But now that the moment of revelation seemed near, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know them.

The chunky bank manager was watching her closely, one hand thrust inside the pocket of his ample trousers. His sigh of relief was audible when she turned toward the elevator.

Archer was waiting for her outside, leaning against the building’s red brick facade. Like her, he was dressed in a business suit. But unlike her, in his crimson tie and Gucci loafers, he looked more cosmopolitan. Susan couldn’t help noticing that every woman glanced their way.

“Brian’s box is in this bank,” she said, starting up the street toward Parkade, the tiered parking garage where they’d left his car.

He swung into step beside her, and she found herself highly conscious of the springy, athletic movement of his stride.

“That’s what I figured when you took so long,” he said. “Did they let you look inside?” He appeared as eager to find out what was in the box as she was.

“No. I need a court order. The bank manager said my lawyer should be able to get one quickly.” When they passed under a covered second-story sidewalk, part of a system permitting inside access to eleven blocks of downtown stores, his hip brushed hers. Susan could hardly believe the way her pulses leaped with excitement at his brief touch.

Take it easy, Lieutenant, she warned herself, fighting the warmth coursing through her. Wouldn’t he delight in knowing she heated up like a bonfire when he touched her?

“Where’s your lawyer’s office?” he asked, not seeming to notice her flushed face.

“On Broadway,” she replied without glancing toward him. “Across the river near the courthouse. You can drop me off there, and I’ll take a cab home.”

The irritated look he gave her made her sorry she’d suggested the taxi. “I’ll wait in the car,” he said. “When you’re finished, we can decide where to go from there.”

SUSAN STILL COULDN’T figure out what Archer wanted from her. But she was even more positive that he wanted something—more than helping her settle an insurance claim. The suspicion gave her an antsy, anxious feeling, like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

During the few minutes she sat in the plush waiting room while her lawyer finished a telephone call, she ran the possibilities over again in her mind. And, as always, she discarded every angle almost as soon as it occurred to her.

The most logical one—that he was a con artist out to swindle her—didn’t add up, now that she knew he was a legitimate insurance agent. And the notion that he might be helping her because he liked her seemed absurd. Men like Archer didn’t do favors for people because he liked them. Settling back in the comfortable chair provided by the attorney, she shrugged off the disquieting notion that she’d only seen a small part of him, that he kept most of himself carefully hidden.

When her lawyer escorted her into a small conference area, the first thing Susan did was peer out the picture window overlooking the parking lot. There sat Archer’s blue rental sedan. He stood beside it, leaning casually against the closed door. His unselfconscious grace made her think of a resting panther—dangerous even when relaxed.

While she watched, two women sauntered up to him from the nearby sidewalk. During the conversation that followed, he shook his head a few times, then pointed toward a bridge leading across the river. Susan sighed with relief when they walked away. How could one man evoke so many different feelings? she wondered. From tenderness, to suspicion, to plain old jealousy.

“Susan?” She became aware of her lawyer, speaking her name. “Our receptionist said you needed a court order.”

In a few words Susan told the attorney about the safe-deposit box and her encounter with the bank manager. But while she talked, all her busy mind could think about was Archer and why he’d offered to help her.

Why not ask him? If he had something to hide, he probably wouldn’t tell her. Still, wasn’t it worth a try? By the time the lawyer had assured Susan she’d have the court order in the next few days—maybe as early as tomorrow afternoon—she had made up her mind to ask him.