Читать книгу The Eyes Of Derek Archer - Vickie York - Страница 11

Hesitating, Susan glanced around the hotel lobby, searching for a middle-aged man with a red handkerchief in his pocket. The faint smell of woodsmoke from the stone fireplace, along with the subtle fragrance of fresh flowers, enveloped her. A vaseful of yellow roses stood on a rough-hewn table near the door, another sat on the registration counter.

She couldn’t help staring when she spotted the red handkerchief. The man wearing it looked years younger than she’d expected after talking to Archer on the phone. Though deep frown lines between his dark brows gave him the disturbing, faintly ominous air of someone on a life-or-death mission, he couldn’t be much older than Brian. But in spite of her odd first impression, Susan had to admit he was attractive, in a rugged sort of way.

For an instant she felt an unwelcome tug of interest. He’s been an officer in the service, she thought, eyeing the sharp creases in his pants, the shine on his black loafers. In his gray business suit, he carried himself with the self-confidence that came with military command.

Though he looked tough and lean, she could see his shoulders straining against the confining fabric of his suit, as if he’d gained muscle recently. A couple of unruly strands of curly black hair drooped over his forehead. His eyes, such a dark blue they were almost indigo, clung to hers with an intensity that made her catch her breath. They were the eyes of a dangerous man, so penetrating they seemed almost as though they’d glow in the dark.

Watch it, Lieutenant, she told herself, surprised at her sudden breathlessness. She was a new widow. She couldn’t let herself react to the first interesting man she’d met since Brian’s death. And he did look appealing, she had to admit, in the frightening way a free-roaming black panther looked alluring. What had happened to give him that tough, predatory look? she wondered.

Starting toward him, she forced herself to remember her plan to trap him into telling another lie. Derek Archer was probably a con artist out to swindle her out of her inheritance. No matter how attractive he was, the sooner she found out what he was up to, the better.

He came up to her with a half smile.

“Mrs. Wade?” He extended his hand.

Susan recognized the smooth baritone voice she’d heard on the telephone. “Yes, I’m Susan Wade.” She took his hand. It was surprisingly rough for an insurance agent. His square jaw was thrust forward, as if he expected a confrontation.

Almost without realizing it, she checked for a wedding band. He wore none. She was irritated with herself for feeling relieved.

“Thanks for coming, Mrs. Wade.” His voice, deep and sensual, seemed years younger than when she’d heard it on the phone.

He stared frankly into her eyes. When her gaze didn’t waver, he cleared his throat and glanced away.

“Excuse me for staring,” he said. “When I was in the army, I never ran into any lieutenants as attractive as you.”

Susan didn’t let herself get distracted by his compliment, despite an unexpected sense of warmth coursing through her. Salesmen were good at buttering people up. If he was working some kind of con on her, this was how he’d start.

“When were you in the army, Mr. Archer?” Her words were quick and sharp. She hoped to catch him off guard.

He took her arm, urging her toward the dining room. “After I graduated from college, I put in my six years to pay off my ROTC commitment.”

His reply was so glib, Susan suspected he’d prepared an answer to fit into whatever swindle he was planning. Not until they arrived at the table did she realize that he’d never answered her question.

ARCHER EYED SUSAN WADE, seated opposite him in the Riverfront Hotel’s Crown Room. After his months on the run, he was good at sizing people up without their knowledge.

Studying Susan, he decided a picture of her he’d clipped from the local paper didn’t do her justice. Instead of looking merely healthy and sturdy, the way she did in the newspaper, she glowed with a kind of inner vitality. Maybe it was the combination of tanned skin, golden hair and brown eyes that gave her such an earthy, vibrant quality. And, close up, she wasn’t what he’d call sturdy, not in the usual sense. Rather, his experienced eye detected a firm, well-rounded figure beneath the confines of her uniform.

Watching her, an unexpected surge of pure desire washed over him. He wanted to do more than have a meal with this woman, he realized to his chagrin. He wanted to unloosen the hair at the back of her neck so it streamed down her bare back. And he wanted to hold her tight against his naked chest while he was doing it.

Archer recognized his feelings for what they were: simple, unadulterated lust. As he studied his menu, he told himself to back off. For his plan to work, he had to keep his distance from this woman. But he couldn’t help stealing another glance, only to find her brown eyes staring back at him. She glanced down, but not before Archer caught what he thought was a gleam of interest. To his dismay, this time his body responded. Heat surged through him, tightening his muscles.

Damn. He’d have to watch his step. The last thing he wanted right now was an unwelcome attraction to Brian Wade’s widow, something that would only interfere with his need to get even with the men who’d betrayed him.

“Tell me about this policy you say my husband took out,” she said. “How much is it for?”

Her voice was low and musical, more appealing than it sounded on the phone. But her question made her appear mercenary, like he’d expect a husband-killer to sound. Yes, she might have done it, he decided, eyeing her tempting mouth with its full lower lip. Incredibly, his suspicion made her seem even more attractive, perhaps because it gave them something in common. They were quite a pair: the convicted killer and the grieving widow who might have murdered her husband. For a moment he let himself picture the two of them locked in a lusty embrace, his hands warm on her full breasts.

“It’s an accidental death or dismemberment policy for fifty thousand dollars,” he said, reluctantly letting the fantasy go. He hadn’t had a woman in months and knew the feelings were normal. But why at such an inappropriate time?

He handed her the packet of insurance papers he’d had printed, and she leafed through them.

“Industrial Indemnity doesn’t sound like the name of an insurance company that handles this type of policy,” she commented, without looking up from the page in front of her. Her lashes, several shades darker than her gold-blond hair, shadowed her high cheekbones.

He shrugged. “Our company’s been in business for more than sixty years. We started out with heavy industries where accidents were a big problem. Then, twenty years ago, we began accepting individuals. Your husband said he wanted a sound accident policy that would cover him in war or other violence connected with the military service. Industrial Indemnity is one of the few companies to offer that type of coverage.”

She skimmed through the policy. “Yes, I see the limits here in paragraph 4B.”

The waiter appeared. Susan ordered a cup of tea instead of a cocktail. Too bad. Archer had hoped to loosen her up with a few drinks.

“My husband was murdered, you know,” she said after their beverages had been served and they’d given the waiter their lunch orders. As she spoke, lines appeared on her smooth forehead, giving her a vulnerable look that made him doubt his suspicion. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure she’d killed her husband.

“Yes, I know,” he returned. “I checked to find out how he died right after I talked to you.”

She eyed him quizzically. “Then you must have gone to the newspaper office right after you called from the hotel this morning. The libary’s not open that early.”

Archer almost said yes, he’d gotten the details of Wade’s death from the Chronicle files. But something in the expectant way she was sitting, leaning toward him with her back straight and her beautiful brown eyes slightly narrowed, alerted him. Did she have a friend on the Chronicle staff ready to deny he’d been there?

He shook his head. “No, I had our research people in San Francisco look into your husband’s death.”

“And you called them from the hotel this morning?” Her musical voice held a rasp of excitement.

He adopted a tone of irascible patience. “Yes, of course. Where else would I call from?”

When Archer saw the look of triumph on her face, he knew he’d made a mistake. But what was it?

HE’D BETTER HAVE a darn good explanation, Susan thought, watching the play of emotions on his rugged, square-cut face. Why did he have to look so darn sexy? From the swath of dark curly hair falling on his forehead, to his thick brows and firm chin, he struck a vibrant chord within her. And his intense, purple-blue eyes—set wide apart above an aquiline nose—seemed omniscient, almost as if he could see into her mind.

Planning her attack, she took a bite of her fish. He couldn’t have called San Francisco from the hotel. He wasn’t even here yet at seven o’clock this morning.

“Mr. Archer,” she began quietly.

His tight expression relaxed into a smile, but the wary look in his eyes remained.

“You can forget about the formalities,” he said with a smile that set her pulses racing. “My friends call me Archer.”

She took a deep breath and shook her head. “We’re not friends, Mr. Archer. Not while you’re playing games with me.”

His smile vanished. He seemed speechless in his surprise. As their eyes met, a shock ran through her. Brows lowered and nostrils flared, he gave her a threatening glare that burned into her brain. For a frightening moment, she thought he might slap her.

“What are you talking about, Mrs. Wade?” His usually smooth voice grated harshly.

“About your lies this morning on the phone.” She stared at him. Even as she watched, his expression veered from anger to confusion. He seemed honestly bewildered by her accusation.

“What lies?” Menace remained in his eyes, but a ghost of a smile touched his lips.

“You said you called me from the hotel this morning,” she said, her face burning. “When I checked, the desk clerk told me you weren’t here. You obviously called from somewhere else. I want to know where—and why you lied about it.”

She waited while he took a bite of steak. When he met her eyes, the menace was gone, but there was a deadly coldness hidden behind his direct gaze. What had he expected her to accuse him of?

“When someone in your family dies violently, it’s a terrible shock.” His sympathetic tone was not matched in his iridescent blue eyes. “No wonder you see suspicious characters lurking behind every bush.”

Again, he hadn’t answered her question. Her doubts about him refused to go away. What clever line was he giving her now?

“What are you getting at?”

He leaned toward her, a determined look on his face. “As soon as we finish eating, we’ll go to the lobby. The clerk will tell you I signed in at eight-thirty this morning, about an hour after I talked to you on the lobby phone.”

“Why did you call me before you registered?”

His brows drew forward in a frown. “Because at least fifteen people were in line to check out. If I’d waited, I might not have caught you at home, so I used the pay phone. After I talked to you, I called our research people and had some coffee. Then I registered.”

Susan could hardly believe there could be such a simple explanation. But, surprisingly, she found herself relieved that he had one. Drawn to him, she wanted to see him again. If he was a legitimate insurance agent, she knew she would.

“I’m sorry, Archer.” She eliminated the formalities to let him know she meant what she was saying. “You’re right. I’ve become paranoid since Brian was killed. He wasn’t robbed, so police know that wasn’t the motive. And the one man who might have seen the killer has vanished into thin air.”

Archer settled back in his chair. “If this possible witness disappeared, how did the police find out about him?”

Susan opened her black leather service bag, pulled out a newspaper clipping and handed it to him. “Here’s a picture of the eyewitness and a story about what happened.”

While Archer read the accompanying article, Susan studied his face. The frown lines were back between his eyes. He scowled as he read. But no matter how formidable he looked, he was still the most fascinating man she’d met in a long time.

What would have happened if she and Archer had met last year, before she married Brian? she wondered, and then gave herself a quick mental kick. Archer was the last thing she needed right now. Behind his sexy eyes was a menacing coldness that frightened her. To clear her mind, she forced herself to concentrate on a window across the room. Outside in the sun, bare branches starting to bud were silhouetted against an azure sky.

He folded the clipping and returned it to her. “Are you sure this man with his back to the camera is your husband?”

“Positive. Nobody but Brian had hair that curled that way around his ears.”

Archer leaned toward her, resting his arms on the edge of the table. “Tell me honestly, Susan. Who do you think killed your husband?”

“Don Albright, the man who murdered Brian’s squadron commander last year,” she replied quickly.

Susan felt her temper rising just saying Albright’s name. The certainty of his guilt relieved her own anguished feelings. Since he did it, she couldn’t possibly bear any responsibility for not telling Brian about her covert assignment. “While the verdict was being appealed, Albright jumped bail, faked his own suicide and escaped. The police are still hunting for him.”

Archer’s scowl lines deepened. “Did Albright have a motive for killing your husband?”

“The best in the world.” Susan felt her face flushing as her anger increased. “Revenge. Brian was the one who put the finger on Albright at the trial. If it hadn’t been for Brian’s testimony, Albright might never have been convicted.”

“I remember reading about that trial.” Archer’s voice was thoughtful. “I never understood how your husband could be so sure Albright murdered the commander. Any one of the six other men at the table might have done it.”

“Brian felt Albright move his arm,” Susan said, remembering what Brian had told her. Her fingers tightened around her napkin. “Don Albright had the gun, for God’s sake. He killed his squadron commander because of a bad effectiveness report that kept him from getting promoted.”

She stared at Archer, daring him to dispute her. Don Albright was guilty as sin, and she wanted the whole world to know it.

Archer met her gaze head-on. “Did they ever find the accomplice?”

“You mean the person who turned out the lights?”

He nodded. “Whoever it was must have known he’d be an accomplice to murder. If that person was a friend, why couldn’t the police find him or her?”

“Maybe it wasn’t a friend. Maybe Albright paid somebody to help him.” Alarm and anger rippled along her spine. “You seem awfully sympathetic to that murderer all of a sudden. For a minute there, I thought I was talking to Albright’s defense attorney.”

He shrugged dismissively. “Just playing devil’s advocate. That’s a good way to find out what somebody thinks.”

“Well, now you know exactly what I think.” Susan settled back in her chair.

“I understand several thousand dollars were offered to anyone with information about the commander’s murder.” There was a subtle undercurrent in his voice. “You’re suggesting Albright paid his accomplice. If he’d take Albright’s money, why not the reward?”

It was a question she couldn’t answer. Disturbed, Susan shifted uneasily on her chair. Why did Archer make her so darned nervous?

“Dozens of people turned up to claim the reward,” she said. “But none of their stories checked out. The missing accomplice was one of the weak links in the case.”

Across from her, Archer shot her a cynical smile. Then his gaze shifted to something or someone behind her.

“Sorry to interrupt your lunch, Lieutenant Wade.”

Susan glanced up to see Major Savage, her squadron commander, staring down at her with his hawklike eyes.

“SORRY TO INTERRUPT,” Major Savage said again, after Susan had introduced him to Archer. “But there’s been a new development in your husband’s murder. The Spokane police want to see you at their headquarters across the river.”

Apprehension coursed through Susan as she rose to her feet. What was so important that the police had to see her immediately? She’d already told her story over and over again. Her heart pounding, she glanced at Archer. “Can it wait half an hour or so? Mr. Archer and I haven’t finished our business.”

Major Savage shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Lieutenant. When the police tried to reach you on the base, I checked your sign-out board and saw you were here. I told them I’d make sure you got there ASAP.”

Nodding, Archer helped her slip into her coat. “I’ll be at the hotel for a couple of days, Mrs. Wade. We can get together tomorrow and go over these forms.”

“Fine,” she said, more anxious by the minute.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Susan allowed Major Savage to escort her across the stone-floored lobby and through the etched glass doors of the Riverfront Hotel.

An air force staff car was parked in front of the lobby entrance. Susan could barely hide her startled gasp when she saw who was inside. Seated beside the driver on the passenger seat was a lanky lieutenant colonel she recognized as John Tinnerman, the commander of the security police squadron at the base. In back was a lieutenant she’d met at the officers’ club. With rising concern she identified him as Phil Davidson, a lawyer recently assigned to Fairchild.

A lawyer and a military policeman. “What’s going on?” she cried as the car moved away from the hotel.

“Pull into the Azteca parking lot,” Major Savage told the driver. “We need some time to talk, and it’ll take only ten minutes to get to police headquarters from here.” He turned to face Susan. “Detective MacElroy said he had new information about your husband’s death. I have no idea what that news is, but thought it best to bring one of our base attorneys along.”

Colonel Tinnerman grinned at her from the front seat. “And I’m here for moral support. If you’ve got questions about the police and how they operate, I’m your man.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said gratefully. With his round face and button nose, the colonel was one of the homeliest men she’d ever seen, but his down-home manner reassured her.

During the next half hour—interrupted occasionally by Major Savage—she briefed the attorney about her husband’s case. When he was satisfied, they resumed their drive across the river.

Arriving in front of the City County Public Safety Building, Susan and the lawyer climbed out of the back seat. Neither Major Savage nor Colonel Tinnerman moved.

Dismayed, Susan peered in the back window at Major Savage. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

The major shook his head. “When the police interview you, they won’t allow anyone but your attorney in the room. The car will take the colonel and me to the base. It’ll be back for you in about an hour.”

With a lump in her throat, Susan turned away. Major Savage wasn’t the friendliest commander she’d worked for, but she’d counted on his support. Instead, she had a fuzzy-faced lieutenant just out of law school.

“I don’t think they’re going to charge you,” Lieutenant Davidson said, holding the door to the building open for her. “But Major Savage thought it would be a good idea for me to come along, regardless. If they do arrest you at some future time, you’d be better off with a civilian attorney since your husband’s murder occurred in a civilian jurisdiction.”

The young lieutenant sounded more capable than his youthful appearance indicated. But that didn’t keep Susan’s legs from shaking as she walked to Detective MacElroy’s office.

MacElroy stood and extended his hand when Susan and Lieutenant Davidson entered. She recognized him immediately. A big, barrel-chested man with a florid complexion and bushy mustache, MacElroy was in charge of the on-going investigation into Brian’s death. Since the murder had occurred off base, the local civilian authorities had jurisdiction.

After introducing Davidson, Susan shook Mac-Elroy’s hand and lowered herself onto one of the two chairs in front of his inspection-clean desk.

“Thanks for coming, Lieutenant Wade, Lieutenant Davidson,” MacElroy said. After settling himself, he placed a tape recorder on his desk. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to tape our interview.”

Susan caught Davidson’s nod. “That’s customary,” he said.

Swallowing hard, she gave a shaky “Yes.”

MacElroy started the recorder. When he focused on Susan, his eyes narrowed. “Since you’re not under arrest, you’re free to leave at any time. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” She forced the word out through clenched teeth.

“You have the right to remain silent, you have the right…”

As MacElroy droned on, Susan froze in her chair. He’s reading me my rights, just like I’m a criminal. When the detective was finished, she turned to Davidson. “If I’m not under arrest, why is he reading me my rights?” Her voice quavered so much she was shocked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Davidson said. “It’s just added protection for you.” He focused on MacElroy. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

The detective folded thick arms against the diamond-patterned sweater he was wearing. He looked first at Susan and then at Lieutenant Davidson. “We’ve found the murder weapon. It was buried in the atrium at Cavanaugh’s Inn at the Park.” Cavanaugh’s was a four-star hotel in Riverfront Park, across the Spokane River from Archer’s hotel.

Susan listened with bewilderment. “That’s very interesting, but I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Were you in Cavanaugh’s lobby the afternoon your husband was murdered?”

Her insides turned to jelly. “No, of course not. You know where I was that afternoon. In my car on Argonne Road, trying to help an airman’s wife.” She stared at him accusingly. “I never went near Cavanaugh’s.”

“You already know all this,” Lieutenant Davidson interrupted. “Lieutenant Wade told me she gave you this information in a signed statement.”

MacElroy kept his eyes pinned on Susan. “Witnesses at Cavanaugh’s claim to have seen a woman who matches your description in the lobby shortly after your husband was murdered.”

Susan could hardly believe her ears. The stuffy little room tilted, and she heard a muffled roaring in her ears. When she opened her mouth to speak, nothing happened.

The witnesses are wrong, she wanted to scream. I’ve never been there.

Beside her, Lieutenant Davidson spoke. “Captain Wade was killed more than two months ago. How can these people remember a specific day?”

“It was a holiday—Martin Luther King’s birthday. Remember?” A smug smile crossed the detective’s face.

“That’s right,” Davidson returned. “Two months ago. Why have these employees taken so long to come forward?”

“Because a gardener just found the gun today.” MacElroy’s expression sobered. “When we asked for a description of people in the lobby that afternoon, several remembered a woman with long blond hair and brown eyes, about Mrs. Wade’s height.”

“That’s impossible,” Susan blurted.

“The witnesses especially remembered your long blond hair and the short white dress you were wearing.” MacElroy shot her a contemptuous sneer, as though positive he’d find the dress if he searched her closet.

“Not my hair,” she corrected him. “And I don’t have a short white dress.” She flashed him a look of disdain. “I never wear white.”

His lips twisted into a cynical smile. “If you say so, Lieutenant Wade.” A probing query came into his eyes. “Since you’re so positive, I’m sure you won’t mind letting us take your picture and fingerprints.”

Lieutenant Davidson jumped to his feet. “You can’t tell me you’d arrest Lieutenant Wade on the strength of a photo ID! Any fool knows how unreliable pictures are.”

Unperturbed, MacElroy leaned back in his chair. “Settle down, Lieutenant. A photomontage is just another step in the process.”

Davidson leaned over MacElroy’s desk. “What’s this about fingerprints?”

“If you’ll sit down, I’ll explain.”

Reluctantly, Davidson returned to his chair.

MacElroy’s eyes bored into Susan. “We need your prints to compare with some partials we found on the weapon.” He lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Incidentally, the weapon was a 357 Magnum revolver registered to your husband. Ever remember seeing it around your house, Lieutenant?”

Clenching her hands so tightly they hurt, Susan forced herself to look directly into MacElroy’s accusing eyes. “No, Brian kept his gun at the squadron. It was stolen last November, around Thanksgiving.”

“Was the theft reported?”

“I honestly don’t know. Brian didn’t say.”

MacElroy’s eyes narrowed, and she could tell he thought she was lying through her teeth.

She hadn’t believed Derek Archer, she remembered, increasingly anxious. She’d thought he was a con man, trying to work a swindle on her, and now she was in the same position. The image of his expressive face appeared in her mind. What she wouldn’t give to be back with him in the Riverfront Hotel right now, worrying about something as unimportant as an insurance policy.