The Eyes Of Derek Archer
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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.
Chapter Three
When the staff vehicle finally reached the Riverfront Hotel where Susan’s car was parked, she clambered out so quickly her purse slid to the ground. Bending to pick it up, she saw Derek Archer stride through the lobby doors.
After what she’d been through, she didn’t want to talk to him, and turned away, hoping he wouldn’t follow her to her car. She didn’t want him to see her like this, flustered and scared, afraid the police might actually indict her for Brian’s murder.
He didn’t take the hint, easily catching up with her as she hurried away from him. “I hope you don’t have to go back to work, so we can finish our business.”
She looked up at his face. Taller and broader than she remembered, he let his cold blue eyes, now strangely seductive, drift from her face down to her uniform-clad breasts and back to her face again, in a sweeping, deliberate movement.
Her face flushing with unexpected heat, she almost increased her pace and told him to leave. But that would be a cop-out. His insolent glance was a conscious challenge, and Susan couldn’t ignore it, no matter how decrepit she felt. So instead she turned and faced him. “It’ll have to wait until tomorrow, Archer.”
“I don’t want to pry into your business, Susan, but I’m a good listener,” he said, buttoning his overcoat in the gathering darkness.
So he was curious about what had happened at the police station, was he? That’s what his challenge had been about. Disconcerted, she stepped off the driveway onto the sidewalk, trying to decide whether or not to tell him.
Behind those sexy eyes of his lurked a bitter cynicism that made her distrust him. After being photographed and fingerprinted at the police station, her earlier suspicions about him seemed silly. But he was still a stranger, not somebody she could discuss her personal feelings with.
“No, I’ve got to get home.” Susan started toward her car again. “I’m bone-tired. Our business will have to wait.”
He fell into step beside her. “So what’re you going to do? Go home and have a good cry?”
His abrupt, taunting words took her breath away. “Wha-what do you mean?” At the base of her throat, she felt a pulse beat as though her heart had risen from its usual place.
“Isn’t that what you were about to do? Huddle down in a corner somewhere and cry?” His iridescent blue eyes focused on her so accusingly that she shivered.
“I’m not upset,” she lied, unable to meet his gaze.
“Of course you are. The police have you scared witless. Now you’re going home and giving up, just like a world-class quitter.”
Susan could feel her eyes filling and swallowed hard, trying to force the tears away. He was right, damn him. She had planned to go home and spend the night feeling sorry for herself.
They’d reached the end of the sidewalk. He stopped and faced her. “What’d they do? Accuse you of killing your husband?”
She blinked her tears away. “How did you guess?”
“I took one look at your face when you got out of that staff car.” His eyes were no longer menacing. “I can help. Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”
NEXT TO SUSAN in her Firebird, Archer silently congratulated himself for forcing the truth out of her. He felt an unexpected pang of remorse that he’d made her cry, but told himself not to feel sorry for her: she’d probably killed her husband. Whatever she’d done, the knowing did nothing to lessen his lust for her. When she was around, he halfway forgot his desire for revenge.
Don’t screw up by playing around with Brian Wade’s widow, he warned himself. She’s only a resource for information to use against those dirt bags who witnessed against me. But he couldn’t rid himself of his awareness, no matter how much he concentrated on the downtown area as they drove through it.
Archer knew where she was headed. High Drive Parkway paralleled the edge of a steep drop-off to the canyon floor over one hundred feet below. The executive homes across the road sat well back from the rim, their windows looking out over miles of breathtaking scenery. On the canyon floor, a freeway snaked its way south.
Susan pulled into a turnoff. Nearby, a bench faced the hill across the canyon, now lined with scarlet in the rapidly fading light.
Archer undid his seat belt and leaned back against the passenger door, giving her plenty of room.
“Did they come right out and accuse you?” He made sure his tone was only mildly interested. She mustn’t guess he had an urgent need to know if the police had connected Brian Wade’s death to the murder of the squadron commander last year—and if they considered the middle-aged man in the newspaper picture a suspect.
“They didn’t arrest me, if that’s what you mean.” Lifting her chin, she looked him straight in the eye. “The police found the gun they say shot Brian at Cavanaugh’s Inn. It’s got a skylight and an atrium in the lobby.”
She swallowed hard, and Archer waited patiently while she got control of herself. “The weapon was buried in the dirt of a planter in the atrium. When the police questioned hotel personnel, several described a woman who looked like me. They say she was in the lobby that afternoon.”
“Several employees described this person? After two months?” Archer whistled softly. “Looks like somebody went to a lot of trouble to make sure those people remembered her, whoever she was.”
“Somebody went to even more trouble,” she said grimly.
Archer could see her mood veer sharply from despair to anger. “What?” Leaning across the car seat toward her, he caught a faint whiff of female skin and spicy lemon, and had to force himself to inch backward, away from her
Unconsciously, Susan moved toward him, maintaining the same distance between them. “That afternoon Brian was killed, somebody called me at the office, claiming to be the wife of one of my airmen. She said she was calling from a pay station along Argonne Road because she’d run out of gas. She’d left the house to get away from her husband and didn’t dare let him find her until he’d cooled off.”
Susan gave a forced smile, seeming irritated at herself for being taken in. “I should have known better than to traipse out there—her voice didn’t sound right to me. But he’s one of my best airmen, and I hated to see him end up in jail for wife beating. You can’t imagine how upset I was to telephone their house when I got home and find out she hadn’t made the call.”
He nodded slowly. “From my army days I remember how close our—” in the nick of time he remembered that a squadron was called a company in the army “—company was as a unit. Like a family.”
Her expression brightened. “Then you understand how it was.”
To his surprise, Archer found he almost believed her.
“Why wasn’t the woman’s husband—your airman—in the office with you?” he asked, caught up in her story.
“Because of the holiday,” she returned. “The squadron had Hercs—C-130s—in the air, so somebody had to be on duty in all the sections. I let my airmen off, and took the duty myself.”
She gave a hysterical little laugh. “And if all that’s not bad enough, the police say the gun they found in the atrium was registered to Brian.”
“Then you had access to it.” Archer whistled softly under his breath. Glancing at her chest he saw her expert marksman’s ribbon. He forced himself to concentrate on the decoration and not on the feminine curves underneath her uniform. The sight brought back his fantasy of the two of them entwined in an intimate embrace. He wasn’t able to let it go as easily this time.
“When I told them he kept the gun at the squadron, I’m sure they didn’t believe me,” she added.
A twinge of foreboding rippled down Archer’s spine. The mysterious telephone call, the reliable witnesses at the hotel, the late discovery of the murder weapon, its registration to her husband—her story had the touch of a well-thought-out conspiracy.
“Whoever planned this knew a lot about you and your schedule,” he remarked, reviewing her words in his mind. “I’m betting somebody’s trying to frame you.”
He heard her quick gasp. Panic glittered in her eyes.
“My God, what am I going to do?”
“You can get me to look into your husband’s death,” Archer returned quickly.
HAD SHE HEARD HIM RIGHT? Susan wondered. “What? Are you a private investigator on the side?”
When he shook his head, another lock of black hair dropped casually across his forehead. “No, but I’ve done some investigative work for my company. Since I’ve got to spend a few days here, anyway, calling on prospects, I could ask some questions, see what I can find out about your husband’s murder.”
Be careful, she warned herself, unwilling to trust him too far. He’s a good salesman, and he wants something from me. But what? In spite of her doubts, she felt herself reacting to his compelling indigo eyes, his square-cut features, the confident set of his shoulders as he sat next to her in the car.
“What makes you think you can locate Don Albright when the police don’t have a clue?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I’m not talking about Albright.” He studied her with curious intensity. “You’re not dealing with one man here, Susan. Too much coordination went into your husband’s murder to blame it on one individual with revenge on his mind. If one man was responsible for both murders, he had a lot of help.”
When Archer paused, Susan could see the wheels turning in his head. “There’s no other way to explain why the lights were turned off an instant before the commander was murdered last year,” he went on. “Or the fact that somebody was awfully familiar with your schedule—and your husband’s, too. They had to be to lure you away from the office at exactly the right time on a holiday when you normally wouldn’t be there.”
Susan felt herself frowning. “You might be right about accomplices being involved. But Don Albright’s behind this. I’d bet a year’s pay on it.”
The car was getting stuffy. Climbing out, she walked across the yellowed grass to the edge of the precipice. To the south, stands of fir trees circled the emerald green of a golf course beside the divided freeway. Directly below, the steep slope dropped one hundred feet to the valley.
Instantly, the blood rose to her face and the scene swam dizzily before her eyes. Looking straight down had been a mistake. Susan stumbled backward, her stomach a lump of ice. Archer appeared beside her, a large, solid presence. Acutely conscious of his tall, athletic physique, she took another step backward. Did she feel comforted or threatened by his nearness? To her dismay, she wasn’t sure.
“Vertigo?” His smooth baritone voice was both soothing and disconcerting.
She gave a shaky laugh. “It’s not a phobia. High places don’t bother me as long as I look into the distance, not straight down.” Deliberately, she forced her gaze to follow the gray ribbon of freeway south until the canyon disappeared on the horizon. Almost immediately, her stomach relaxed.
Turning, he headed toward the bench. “Let’s sit down.”
Her legs still shaky, Susan stumbled after him. When she slid onto the bench, she left plenty of space between them.
“If heights bother you, I’m surprised you brought me here.” His gaze traveled over her face and sought her eyes. Now that the sun had gone behind the opposite hill, his square-cut features were bathed in the sunset’s rosy glow. His rugged good looks made her forget her dizziness.
“That’s the first time I’ve gone to the edge,” she admitted weakly. “After what I’ve been through today, this place seemed appropriate.”
“I know what you mean about going to the edge. I’ve been there a few times myself.” Moving toward her, he thrust his arm behind her on the bench. Susan wanted to inch away, but couldn’t force herself to stir.
“Let me ask a few questions about your husband’s murder,” he suggested again. This time there was a forced urgency behind his offer, as though something valuable would be lost if she refused. “I know I can help.”
To keep herself from being influenced by his nearness, she took a deep breath. The cold, dry air tasted so fresh and clean she wished she could bring some home to her empty condo.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Your offer’s awfully generous. What’s in it for you?” As she felt the pressure of his arm against her back, an involuntary quiver coursed through her.
“I don’t like what’s happening to you,” he said. “A long time ago some people I thought were friends sold me down the river. I swore I’d get even if it was the last thing I did.”
He sounded so vengeful, she turned, searching his compelling face. With his lips pressed tightly together and deep scowl lines etched on his forehead, he looked so brutal she shivered, sensing the force of his hatred. If people he considered his friends had betrayed him, no wonder he seemed dangerous and vindictive. But the thought of a vengeful man like Archer working for her scared her. It would be like trying to control a black panther with a ribbon for a leash.
Turning back toward the opposite hill, she saw lights blink on, dotting the surrounding landscape. At her side, she felt the heat of Archer’s body, warming her through her uniform coat. She resisted the urge to move closer.
“Isn’t it funny how things turn out?” she asked, to defuse his anger. “This morning I was sure you were a con man or a swindler. Now I’m thinking about hiring you as a private investigator.” To her dismay, there was a note of unsteady laughter in her voice.
“Why did you think I was a swindler?” The thread of tension in his voice hadn’t been there before.
When Susan put her gloved hand on his arm, wanting to soften her words, a surprisingly intimate awareness surged through her. Slowly removing her hand, she forged ahead. “First, because you weren’t registered at the hotel when I checked this morning. But mainly because I had no record of your company’s insurance policy. I can’t imagine Brian having a policy with me as beneficiary and not putting it where I’d be sure to find it.”
“That does seem strange.” But Archer’s tone was matter-of-fact, as though this happened all the time. “Have you looked everywhere?”
She nodded. “Before I went to Hawaii.”
“How about safe-deposit boxes?” Dropping his arm from the back of the bench to her shoulders, he gave her a little hug. Her heart lurched into her throat. What was there about this man that made her tremble at his slightest touch? Though keenly aware of his body against hers, she didn’t move away.