They made quite a pair…

The murderer and the grieving widow who might have killed her own husband. Yes, she might have done it, Archer decided, eyeing Susan Wade’s tempting mouth. Incredibly, his suspicion made her seem even more attractive. Perhaps it gave them something in common….

After months on the run, Archer was good at sizing up people. As he watched Susan, an unexpected surge of pure desire washed over him. He wanted to unloosen the hair at the back of her neck so it streamed down her back. And he wanted to hold her tight.

But as Archer studied his menu, he told himself to back off. For his plan to work, he had to keep his distance. An attraction to Brian Wade’s widow would only interfere with Archer’s plans to get even with the men who’d betrayed him….

VICKIE YORK

Before becoming a writer, Vickie York served as a commissioned officer in both the U.S. Army and U.S. Air Force. After an assignment to the Defense Language Institute, she served as an intelligence officer for the rest of her military career. Vickie was awarded a Bronze Star for service during the Vietnam conflict. After traveling extensively, she now lives in Tacoma, Washington.

The Eyes of Derek Archer
Vickie York

www.millsandboon.co.uk

TO MY CRITIQUE GROUP

Joe Contris

Ethel Flannery

Darcea Schiesl

June Summerville

Gayla Goller

Thanks for all your piercing comments

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Susan Kirkpatrick, attorney;

George Sexton, cockpit design engineer, former air force pilot;

Carolyn Williamson, attorney

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Prologue

San Francisco

Hungry to read it again, he reached for the newspaper article describing his suicide and prior murder conviction. There it was, right where he’d put it, next to the pile of information he’d collected on the seven men who had witnessed the murder.

Over the past year, the article’s plastic jacket had become scratched from his constant handling. But his picture was still as clear as the day it was taken—a mug shot of a stone-faced man with vindictive staring eyes. The face of a killer, he thought grimly, reading the article for the third time that day, even though he knew the words by heart.

Captain Albright Missing

Police Suspect Suicide

Spokane, Washington. Air Force Captain Donald W. Albright may have leaped from the Tacoma Narrows Bridge early this morning, less than twenty-four hours after his conviction for the April 22 murder of his squadron commander, Major William F. Bradley. Bradley had commanded the C-130 squadron at Fairchild Air Force Base.

Out on bail pending appeal, the 31-year-old Air Academy graduate is believed to have jumped from the bridge’s central span at approximately 3:00 a.m. Witnesses saw a man in an air force uniform on the bridge at about that time. An hour later Albright’s Ford Explorer, containing his wallet, a note to his parents, and some personal belongings, was found by police parked on the east side of the bridge.

In spite of the note, there is some question whether Albright really committed suicide. Until the body is found, police will continue their search for the fugitive.

Go ahead. Try to find me, he thought, clenching his fists. With his appearance altered surgically, not even his own parents would recognize him now. The newspaper story went on to describe the scene at the Spokane tavern where the murder occurred. In detail it told how the lights flicked out, shots were fired, and the squadron commander was killed. Later, police found Albright’s fingerprints on the murder weapon. He knew the words as well as he knew his new identity and name: Derek Archer. Reading the article every day had become an obsession, like his dark desire for vengeance.

Pacing back and forth in his cell-like room, Archer remembered the damning trial testimonies of the other men at the stag party. Each had named him as the murderer. Supposedly his friends, they were all members of the same C-130 crew, having a beer bust with their squadron commander off base at a local tavern. With the lights out, how the hell did they know who fired the fatal shot? They couldn’t possibly have seen him in the darkness.

Most damaging was the story told by Brian Wade, the C-130 pilot, once his best friend. Wade swore Albright touched him when he lifted his arm to fire at Bradley. As he pictured Wade’s handsome, mocking face, bile rose in Archer’s throat. He’d touched no one during those fatal few seconds. He was damn sure of that.

Since Archer had faked his own suicide and changed his name, he’d been obsessed with only one thought. Get even. Every day he spent hours in his basement apartment poring over newspapers from the towns of the seven men who had witnessed against him. From the newspaper articles, data collected through the Freedom of Information Act, and various stolen computer files, he compiled a dossier on each man. Eventually he would destroy everything they held dear: their honor, their families, their property. That would teach them to turn on him.

Maybe he’d even kill them. Already convicted of one murder, he’d simply add seven more. In spite of the dank coldness of his unheated basement room, Archer felt himself start to sweat.

During the past few weeks a new element had been added, one he could use to his advantage. Two of his accusers had died in accidents. According to the newspapers, the authorities saw nothing suspicious in the deaths. But the other witnesses to the squadron commander’s murder would suspect that Don Albright—or his ghost—had struck them down for vengeance. He’d be a ghost, all right, a living spirit appearing out of nowhere to haunt them. By the time he was through with them, they’d wish they’d never been born.

Feeling like a caged animal, Archer stopped pacing and sat down in front of his scarred table. Though he didn’t have all the information he needed, he couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

It was time to confront Brian Wade, his principal accuser.

Chapter One

Spokane

With an odd mixture of rage and foreboding, Archer eyed his disguise in the men’s room mirror after his plane landed. The confrontation he’d planned with Brian Wade was risky. He didn’t want anyone to know for sure that he was still alive. But a face-to-face meeting was the only way to judge Wade’s reactions to the accidents. With this disguise added to his changed appearance, he should be able to protect his new identity.

A light brown wig with a big bald spot covered his short black hair. Thick horn-rimmed glasses hid his blue eyes and dark eyebrows. A fine film of white powder turned his emerging beard to a sandy color and gave him a careless, unkempt look. By stooping slightly to camouflage his six-feet height and adding a seedy gray overcoat, Archer guessed he looked twenty years older than his actual thirty-one. If he could only keep his cool, he’d be okay.

From the airport, Archer took a cab to Grand, and walked to a side street a block away from the Cathedral of St. John where Wade had agreed to meet him. Then he waited in the freezing January wind, hands shoved in his pockets, until he saw Wade’s green Buick park between piles of snow on E Street.

Wade, a fringe of red hair showing beneath his uniform hat, buttoned his overcoat as he locked his vehicle and started across the street toward the cathedral. Feeling his anger, Archer forced himself to subdue it.

What would his old buddy say when he heard two of Albright’s accusers had been killed in accidents? Though the deaths occurred in other cities, Wade might have heard of them. Would he suspect Don Albright was responsible—in retribution for last year’s murder conviction?

As far as Archer could determine, nobody was following Wade.

Still, he watched for a full ten minutes before leaving his hiding place behind a parked car. It was quiet on the street. On this frigid holiday afternoon, few pedestrians were willing to brave the biting wind and hard-packed snow on the sidewalks.

It was time to go. Archer sucked in his breath and concentrated on keeping his expression carefully neutral. Wade mustn’t see his festering rage. Stooping, he assumed a limp and moved slowly down the side street and across Grand. Wade glanced toward him but didn’t move from his position on the sidewalk in front of the cathedral.

Archer saw no recognition in Wade’s eyes as he approached.

“Captain Wade?” Archer asked.

“Yes. Are you Mr. Dillon?” While speaking, Wade turned his head sideways so he wouldn’t be facing into the biting wind.

Archer pulled his hand out of his pocket and shoved it toward Wade. “I’m Glenn Dillon, Captain Wade.” It was a false name to protect his new identity.

Wade shook Archer’s hand without removing his glove. His round face was tinged with crimson in the bitter cold.

“Just who the hell are you, Dillon?” Wade spit out the question in his raspy tenor voice. “What’s your interest in this case?”

“It’s to your advantage to talk to me,” Archer shot back. “That’s all you need to know.” He affected the same accent he’d used yesterday on the telephone when he made the appointment.

“Let’s hear your big news, Dillon.” Lifting his glove, Wade glanced down at his watch. “This better not take long. My wife and I have plans for the evening.”

“It won’t take long, Captain.” Archer pictured Susan Wade in his mind from the photographs he’d studied. Long gold-blond hair, brown eyes, sturdy frame. Mrs. Wade, an air force lieutenant, was the intelligence officer in Wade’s squadron. Though Archer had never met her, he’d known who she was when she answered the phone yesterday. They’d married only four months ago.

Poor woman, Archer had thought at first, aware of Wade’s many affairs. But then Archer had learned they’d known each other only five or six weeks before they married. If she was that impulsive, maybe they deserved each other.

“Well?” Wade asked, obviously irritated at Archer’s silence.

“The matter concerns two of the men who were witnesses to Captain Albright’s murder of your squadron commander last year—” Archer spoke slowly, dragging out the suspense. “The two who were transferred from Spokane to San Antonio and Colorado Springs.”

“What about them?” Wade asked tersely. Ignoring the wind, he leaned toward Archer, his eyes narrow.

“Did you know they both died in accidents recently?”

Wade muffled his quick intake of breath. Archer sensed rather than heard it.

“The police say the deaths were accidental, but I don’t believe it.” He paused, enjoying the momentary look of fright on Wade’s loathsome face. “How about you, Captain? Don’t you think that’s too much of a coincidence?”

Archer felt Wade staring at him, and deliberately turned away so the other man wouldn’t see the hatred in his eyes.

“What’s it to you, Dillon?” Wade asked, his eyes accusing. “You’re starting to sound like a nosy private detective. Who the hell are you working for?”

“Nobody you know,” Archer returned, expecting the question. “I’m sure you’re not surprised that the case has attracted high-level attention.”

Wade’s face was carefully devoid of expression. “You think the accidents were arranged—that those men were killed—because of what happened last year?” His answer was cold, noncommittal, in the tone of a man used to hiding his emotions. But in spite of the keening wind, Archer heard a tiny tremor in his voice. Whether Wade had known about the accidents or not, Archer suspected that talking about them made him nervous.

“Damned right they were arranged,” Archer said.

“Then you must suspect that Captain Albright—the man convicted last year—didn’t commit suicide. That he had a hand in these deaths, too.” Wade was studying Archer’s face the way a hawk eyes a field mouse.

“Maybe,” Archer said, trying to sound thoughtful. “From what I read in the papers, Albright had a strong motive, and there’s some doubt about his suicide.”

A fierce gust of wind swallowed his words.

“What did you say?” Wade asked.

Nodding in the direction of the cathedral, Archer started toward the arched entry to the building’s west-facing wing where they’d have some protection from the wind. After a moment’s hesitation, Wade followed. The stairs had been cleared of snow, and they reached the vaulted entrance with no difficulty.

Masking his rage, Archer turned to face Wade. “I was talking about motives.” It was getting harder to keep his emotions hidden. In spite of the piercing cold, his face burned and his armpits were wet with perspiration. Wade’s face blurred before his eyes. He blinked, struggling to clear his vision.

Then he heard a cracking sound above the howling wind. Unbelieving, Archer watched Brian Wade’s big body topple forward, his crimson blood oozing onto the entryway’s white sandstone floor.

THE TELEPHONE was ringing when Susan Wade walked into her well-ordered office at Fairchild Air Force Base. She frowned, glancing at her watch. Six-thirty. And this was a holiday. The caller had to be Brian. He was going to be late again. She just knew it.

Oh, he’d have a good excuse. He always did. She was beginning to think Brian put her at the bottom of his priority list. He was never late for anything or anybody else.

The telephone rang again. She picked up the receiver. “Lieutenant Wade.”

“I’m glad I caught you, Susan.” It was her commanding officer, Major Savage. “I tried to reach you at home but got no answer.”

She tensed. The major never called anybody by their first name. Something must be wrong.

“Yes, sir,” she said automatically, conscious of her pounding heart.

“Would you stay in your office, please? I’ll be down to talk to you right away.” His usual authoritarian tone was gone. Instead, she heard a faint quiver in his voice, as though some emotion had touched him. The sound sent anxious tremors jolting through her. Could he have stumbled onto her covert mission at Fairchild? Heaven knows she’d spent enough time out on the flight line snooping around the C-130s. But nobody knew about her assignment except the military brass at the Pentagon Intelligence Agency. Not even the FBI or the treasury people had been informed about it.

“I’m not in uniform, sir.” She heard herself, weak and tremulous, and struggled to put more confidence in her voice. “Brian’s picking me up here as soon as he runs over the check-list with the ground crew for tomorrow morning’s flight. We’re going to dinner, then the reception at the club.”

“Civilian clothes will be fine, Lieutenant.” The major’s voice was still gentle, but a measure of his usual command authority was back. His changed tone made Susan feel better. Maybe it was nothing after all. Maybe he just wanted to discuss tomorrow morning’s briefing.

“This won’t take long,” he went on, “but it’s vital that I see you right away.”

A few minutes later he appeared in her open doorway, a somber expression on his hawklike face. Behind him was a heavyset colonel Susan recognized as the senior base chaplain. Standing to greet them, she felt the blood drain from her face. Why was the chaplain here? Had somebody died?

Major Savage, whose beak of a nose and sharp-sighted eyes matched his wiry appearance, took the empty seat beside her desk. The chaplain pulled one of her spare chairs near her desk and settled himself on it.

“Colonel Ratigan, this is Lieutenant Susan Wade,” Major Savage said.

The colonel reached out and clasped her hand between both of his. “I’m one of the chaplains here at Fairchild.”

“I know,” she blurted, scarcely aware of her own voice. “What’s happened?”

“Please sit down,” the colonel said.

Numbly, Susan sat.

The chaplain eyed her, his brow furrowed. “There’s been an…accident, Susan.”

“My husband?” She could hardly force the words out.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” Major Savage began, “but Brian’s been shot.”

She jumped to her feet. “Is he in the base hospital?”

“No, he’s not.” The chaplain rose and put his hand on her arm. “Captain Wade—well—he’s no longer with us.”

“You mean he’s dead? That’s impossible.” For a moment Susan wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Shaking her head, she sank back into her chair. “You’ve made a mistake. Brian had an inspection scheduled for his ground crew this afternoon.” She heard her voice rising and knew she was on the verge of losing control. But she couldn’t help herself.

The major leaned toward her, lines of worry between his sharp-sighted blue eyes. “He must have left the base after his inspection, Susan.”

You’re wrong, she wanted to scream. He had a date with me. Why would he leave the base? Instead, she looked down at her hands twisted nervously in her lap. “It wasn’t him,” she said. “It couldn’t be. Someone’s made a terrible mistake.”

The chaplain shook his head. “There was no mistake, Susan. His ID card and driver’s license were in his wallet. The man they found was Brian.”

Waves of disbelief swept over her, and she struggled to keep from screaming. “I want to see the body.”

“Of course,” the chaplain said, glancing at Major Savage. He nodded slightly.

The room swam around her as tears blinded her eyes and choked her voice. Until now Susan had been able to fight this awful lie. But she couldn’t any longer. Unable to see clearly, she fumbled in her purse for a tissue. In front of her, a clean linen handkerchief appeared in the chaplain’s hand.

“Take it,” he urged gently.

He and Major Savage got up, and the two men turned away while she wiped her cheeks dry and blew her nose. Thank God they knew enough to give her some privacy. She heard the low murmur of their voices as from a great distance, though they were only a few feet away.

Finally she gained a measure of control over herself. But even then she couldn’t seem to function properly. When she tried to stand, her knees buckled. Leaning on her desk, she sank back to her seat.

An instant later, the chaplain pulled his chair closer and sat down. “Are you certain you’re up to seeing Brian right now, Susan?”

She nodded, swallowing her sobs.

“Come with us,” Major Savage said.

THE MORGUE WAS COLD and silent. An attendant ushered them into the sterile white room where the identification would be made.

Please let it be someone else, Susan prayed as she approached the gurney where the body lay. Holding her breath, she watched the attendant fold back the sheet. Brian’s face stared up at her, still and white.

All the breath seemed to leave her as she stood there rooted to the floor. Stepping closer, she touched his face with her fingertips. His skin felt cool and smooth, like old silk. Though he hadn’t lived up to her expectations, she couldn’t bear to see him like this. Standing there beside his body, she felt tears slipping down her cheeks.

“It’s him,” she said, unable to speak above a whisper. “It is Brian.” Finally the chaplain took her arm and eased her away from the table.

Shivering, she hugged her wool coat around herself. Though still inside the building, she felt cold, so terribly cold. Would she ever be warm again?

Not until she was in the car with Major Savage and Colonel Ratigan, headed back to the base, did she think to ask who fired the shot that killed him.

“Do the police know what happened?”

“They’ve already identified a person of interest,” Major Savage announced, glancing at her beside him in the front seat. “A taxi driver described a bald, middle-aged man who was in that area about the same time your husband got there.”

“An eyewitness?” Her mind was still too full of the horror of Brian’s cold, pallid face to digest the importance of what she was hearing. “Do the police know who he is?” She heard herself ask the question, but it was as if she were on autopilot and her intelligence training had kicked in.

“No, but they’re trying to track him down. It’s been only a couple of hours since…” He glanced at Susan. She stared rigidly ahead, willing herself not to break down.

She forced the stark image of Brian’s dead face out of her mind. “Do the police have a motive for the eyewitness?”

Major Savage didn’t answer right away. When he did, his words were halting. “Nothing was stolen. So maybe this terrible tragedy is tied into that murder last year of the major I replaced as squadron commander.”

In the back seat, the chaplain cleared his throat. “I don’t think this is a good time to talk about that.”

Susan jerked bolt upright on the seat. “What was his name? That air force captain who was convicted of the murder?”

“Don Albright,” Major Savage supplied.

Mulling over the case in her mind, she reached into her memory for bits of information. “Wasn’t there some doubt about his suicide?”

“There’s been speculation that he faked the leap from the Tacoma Narrows Bridge so he could jump bail and escape.” The major’s voice was cold and exact.

Susan clenched her hands together so tightly the knuckles cracked. “If Don Albright’s alive, he must be the one who killed Brian.” Anger released some of her grief, and she didn’t try to fight it. “I’ll see he pays if it’s the last thing I do.”

San Francisco

SEATED AT THE TABLE in his cramped room, Archer stared in disbelief at the picture on the front page of the Spokane Daily Chronicle. Though the focus was a little hazy, he easily recognized the man facing the camera.

It was himself, in the disguise he’d worn in Spokane. Stiff with shock, he read the news item under the picture.

Have you seen this man? the caption read. Eyewitness wanted for questioning in the Wade killing. The article went on to say that the picture was taken by a tourist visiting the cathedral. He’d sent the photo to the paper anonymously because he didn’t want to get involved.

Though only the back of the other man in the photograph was visible, the newspaper identified him as Air Force Captain Brian Wade, the officer who’d been murdered two weeks ago.

Archer crumpled the newspaper in his sweaty fists. Were the police trying to find the eyewitness because they thought he was the murderer? Lord knows, he’d dreamed of strangling Wade with his bare hands.

But the police couldn’t possibly suspect the man in the picture. With the sophisticated techniques available today, they had to know the bullet was fired from the street, not a foot away. But maybe they thought he’d moved from his photographed position and then committed the murder.

He turned his attention back to the picture. Where had it come from? Not from “a tourist who wanted to remain anonymous.” Archer was certain of that. Somebody wanted Glenn Dillon to be charged—either that, or to tell what he’d seen.

What had he seen? he asked himself. In the traumatic moment of Wade’s death, he hadn’t focused on anything but the body toppling toward him. Fuzzy images of a white, late-model sedan with a blond woman at the wheel appeared as indistinct figures in his memory.

He eyed his burgeoning file on Susan Wade. She was a blonde. Could she have been the woman he saw? She certainly had a motive. According to the information he’d collected, Wade’s death had made her rich. From her service decorations, Archer knew Susan was an expert marksman on the rifle range, and she could have fired the gun that killed her husband.

By the time a month had passed, Archer knew he’d have to risk another trip to Spokane to meet her and fill in the blanks about her character and objectives. In the automobile garage where he worked, he plotted his every move as he changed oil and replaced worn-out fan belts.

By night, hunched over a flimsy table in his cramped basement room, he examined the newspapers he bought every day and added more information to his growing files. On days off, he compiled the forms he’d need, had them printed and finalized the background information for his cover as an insurance agent.

Two weeks later he was ready.

Spokane

SUSAN YANKED UP the kitchen blind and peered across her deck through the predawn grayness. After the luscious green foliage of Hawaii’s Big Island where she’d spent the past month, the bare trees and yellowed grass behind her condo looked as bleak as a graveyard. Disturbed by the sight, she released the cord and let the blind drop with a noisy rattle.

On Major Savage’s orders, she’d taken leave in Hawaii shortly after Brian’s funeral. Now she’d been home almost a week, and her spacious condo still seemed filled with his presence. Glancing from the kitchen into the contemporary living room, she could almost see him sitting on his leather recliner.

Why hadn’t she told him the truth about her assignment to Fairchild? Maybe if she’d trusted him more, their marriage would have been better. She’d wanted to tell him she was here on a covert mission so secret no one knew about it except key officers at the Pentagon Intelligence Agency. But her sense of duty always held her back.

Now Susan was left with the piercing guilt that she was somehow responsible for Brian’s death. Brushing her hair off her forehead, she told herself Don Albright was the killer. But she couldn’t help wondering if Brian’s death was somehow tied in to her covert mission—if he might still be alive if he hadn’t married her.

Brian had also left her a lot of money. The authorities had been delicate in their questioning, but there was no doubt they thought she had a motive for killing him.

Worse, she had no alibi for that awful afternoon. Absently, she placed the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher as she remembered what had happened. A telephone call—allegedly from the wife of one of her airmen—had led her on a wild-goose chase. The guard at Fairchild’s main gate remembered both her and Brian leaving the base within minutes of each other.

She’d told the police about the telephone call and her fruitless search for the airman’s wife, hoping they’d realize she’d been set up. They’d asked a few questions and talked to the couple, who denied making the call. Afterward, the police had acted even more suspicious.

Sighing, Susan put on her uniform overcoat. The phone rang as she started out the door. Returning to the kitchen, she picked up the receiver.

“Good morning,” she said, hoping it was somebody from the squadron with an urgent assignment for her, something important that would occupy her thoughts.

“Is Captain Wade there?” a man’s voice asked.

Susan’s heart sank at the friendly tone in his voice. He sounded vaguely familiar. Probably one of Brian’s friends, who didn’t know about the murder. She dreaded telling him. “No. Are you a friend of his?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “I’m an agent with Industrial Indemnity Insurance Company. Is this Mrs. Wade?”

“Yes.” Suddenly warm, she shrugged off her overcoat and laid it over the back of a chair.

“This is Derek Archer,” he said. “I’m sorry to call you so early, Mrs. Wade, but I’d hoped to catch your husband before he left for work. Could you give me his number at the office?”

“No,” she said abruptly. “He doesn’t need any more insurance.”

“I’m not trying to sell him a policy, Mrs. Wade. I’m trying to service the one he’s got.” He sounded tired, like a middle-aged man who was fed up with talking to difficult clients. Susan had a good ear for voices. Where had she heard his before?

Trying to be patient, she took a deep breath. “I didn’t know we had a policy with your company.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, you won’t have it long if you don’t get caught up on your premiums. Your husband’s missed the last two.”

Susan’s throat tightened. The last thing she wanted right now was more talk about insurance.

“Mrs. Wade?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“I’ll be in Spokane for the next few days at the Riverfront Hotel. That’s where I’m calling from. Tell your husband to call me so we can get this settled—Derek Archer from Industrial Indemnity.” He repeated his name and then gave her the hotel’s telephone number.

Susan didn’t bother to write it down. “My husband’s been dead two months, Mr. Archer. That’s why your premiums weren’t paid.”

There was a long pause. When he spoke, his tone was grave. “My condolences, Mrs. Wade. That puts a different light on things. Maybe we should get together to discuss your husband’s policy while I’m in town. How about lunch in the hotel dining room at noon today?”

Hesitating, she nearly said no. She was trained to be suspicious, and something didn’t seem quite right about this agent with a policy she had no record of. Why was he servicing the policy personally? Didn’t the company notify tardy payers by mail?

Then her natural curiosity took over. What was this man up to? Besides, if an insurance company owed her money, she’d be a fool not to collect it. “Fine,” she told him.

She started to hang up when he spoke again. “How will I recognize you?”

“I’m blond and I’ll be wearing an air force lieutenant’s uniform. How about you?”

“I’ll have a red handkerchief in my coat pocket.”

After she’d hung up, Susan kicked herself for saying yes. After the funeral, she’d examined every document in Brian’s file cabinet and safe-deposit box and had contacted the two insurance companies that carried his policies. Industrial Indemnity wasn’t one of them.

Better not go, she warned herself.

Quickly she dialed the number of the Riverfront Hotel and asked for Derek Archer.

Nobody with that name was registered.

For an instant she stood there motionless, the receiver clutched in her hand.

What kind of game was Derek Archer—if that was his real name—trying to play? Whatever it was, Susan wanted no part of it. She replaced the receiver on its cradle, even more certain he was up to something—maybe a con game to swindle her out of her inheritance. Still, the agent might be for real. If Brian wanted her to have this policy, she felt obligated to check into it.

By ten o’clock, after she’d finished her third cup of coffee, her curiosity had gotten the best of her. Perhaps the young man she’d talked to at the hotel had made a mistake when he examined the register early this morning. Sighing, Susan dialed the hotel again and asked for Mr. Archer.

“I’ll have the operator connect you,” said the clerk. His voice sounded like that of the young man she’d talked to earlier.

“Just a minute,” Susan said. “When I tried to reach Mr. Archer at seven o’clock this morning, you told me he hadn’t checked in. Did you make a mistake?”

There was a short pause. Then a congenial chuckle. “I make a mistake now and then, but this wasn’t one of those times.”

“Can you tell me when he signed in?”

The clerk hesitated. “I can’t say exactly, but I think it was sometime around eight-thirty,” he replied finally. “I’ll ring his room.”

Susan hung up before Derek Archer answered. She spent the time until lunch wondering why he’d tried to give her the impression, early this morning, that he was calling from the hotel when he obviously wasn’t.

She’d test him, she decided. If he lied again, she’d know he was up to something.

Chapter Two

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.

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.

“Two policies were in the safe-deposit box,” she said. “Your company’s wasn’t.”

“You only had one box?” he asked in the same cool tone.

Knowing she had to get closer or escape, Susan slid away from him, toward the end of the bench. He removed his arm from her back, leaving an empty space where he’d been.

“Why would we need more than one safe-deposit box?” In spite of herself, her voice trembled.

Turning slightly, he shrugged. “Sometimes people keep separate boxes for different types of items.”

Now she saw what he was getting at. “You mean illegal items or anything a person doesn’t want his spouse to know about?” She stared at Archer’s rugged profile. While she watched, a muscle clenched along his jaw.

“Something like that.” Frowning, he paused. “I’m not implying that your husband was hiding anything from you. I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”

Much as Susan didn’t like to admit it, she’d always felt Brian was keeping something from her. A safe-deposit box was infinitely better than the woman friend she’d secretly suspected.

“Yes, it’s a possibility,” she agreed softly, rising from the bench. Archer followed her to the car.

On the way back to the hotel, he suggested dinner, but Susan declined. She intended to tear the condo apart when she got home. If Brian had a box key hidden there, she intended to find it.

“We still have the insurance policy to go over,” Archer reminded her. “And you haven’t given me the green light on my offer to help.”

“I know,” Susan murmured. “Let me sleep on it.”

When he didn’t press her, she was grateful.

Mixed feelings surged through her when he took her hand before he got out of her car at the hotel. She still didn’t trust him, but his touch felt oddly reassuring.

“Tomorrow for lunch?” His gaze held hers.

She nodded, jerking her eyes away to slow her pounding heart. “I’ll see you then.”

As she drove home, the touch of his hand and sound of his smooth baritone voice replayed in her mind. She’d known him less than eight hours and already he acted almost as interested in her as Brian had before their marriage. Why? her suspicious mind kept asking.

It must be the insurance policy, she thought. There’s something about it Archer’s not telling me.

And why hadn’t Brian told her about it? If he had had a second, secret safe-deposit box, where would he hide the key?

As soon as she got home, she searched the downstairs, then the two upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms, but found nothing.

From inside the house, she entered the garage through the front hall on the other side of the living room. Brian’s workbench was opposite the big double car door. A feeling of sadness came over Susan as she remembered Brian working there. Even before he died she’d realized he wasn’t the right man for her, but that didn’t ease her guilt and sorrow at his death.

Glancing around the area, she saw the screws and nails he kept in marked cans on a shelf above his bench. One by one she dumped the cans over, carefully replacing the contents of each before turning over another.

She found the safe-deposit key in the next-to-last can.

WHEN ARCHER RETURNED to his room after a quiet meal downstairs, the blinker on his phone was flashing. Even before he talked to the hotel operator, he knew the message was from Susan. Nobody else had any idea he was here.

He dialed her number, a little surprised at himself for remembering it. He was even more shocked when she recognized his voice.

“Thanks for calling back so soon.” She spoke eagerly, full of enthusiasm. “You were right about the second safe-deposit box. I found the key about half an hour ago.”

Archer felt himself stiffen with surprise. He hadn’t expected her to find a key—had only suggested she look as an explanation for the missing insurance policy. Since she didn’t need a copy of the policy to collect the insurance, he hadn’t dreamed she’d be so concerned about finding it.

“Good for you!” He strove to eliminate his surprise and put matter-of-fact sincerity into his voice. “I was pretty sure your husband had another box. That’s got to be where he put my company’s policy. Do you have any idea where the box is?”

“Not a clue.” Her voice dropped in volume. “All that’s on the key is a number. I suppose I’ll have to call every bank in town to find out where the box is.”

“Don’t call,” Archer said, eager to spend an afternoon with her. “We’ll go to the banks tomorrow. When we find out which one has the box, we’ll get the contents released to you since you’re his widow.”

“Will a bank release the contents? Just like that?” She sounded doubtful.

“I don’t know,” Archer lied, “but it won’t hurt to try.” He knew damned well no bank would release the contents of a safe-deposit box to anybody but a cosigner—not even a widow—without a court order. But as soon as she agreed to let him help her, she was well on her way to accepting his offer to act as her private investigator. And, if Archer played his cards right, that meant more opportunities to pump her for information and play her off against the other witnesses.

On the other end of the line, Susan warned herself to go slow. Impressed as she was with Archer—especially now that he’d been proved right about the safe-deposit box—she didn’t want to do anything impulsive.

But she dismissed the thought as being paranoid again.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll talk to Major Savage and arrange for tomorrow afternoon off. We can go to the banks then.”

“Bring along some ID, your marriage license and a copy of the death certificate.” Though his voice was solemn, Susan heard a trace of elation. Her heart gave a momentary leap, and she hugged her satin robe more tightly around herself—as if a snug robe were a coat of armor to shut out her confused feelings.

After she’d hung up, Susan shook her head, annoyed with herself. Archer wasn’t interested in her. He simply wanted to locate the missing insurance policy to prove Brian had it so she wouldn’t think he was a fraud.

His proposal to act as her private investigator was harder to figure out, she thought, drumming her fingers on the table by the phone. He didn’t impress her as a man who offered his time without a good reason. Somehow, his explanation that he wanted to help her because he’d been betrayed himself didn’t ring true. Was there something else behind his offer? For that matter, was he really an insurance agent? With her special training, she should have checked straight off.

She picked up the phone again and dialed the telephone number written on the insurance forms he’d given her. Though it was after nine at night, maybe someone was in the office to handle claims. If not, voice mail might give her some information about the company, and she could call back tomorrow.

A woman answered. “Industrial Indemnity.”

Mildly surprised at getting a person instead of an answering machine, Susan asked for Mr. Derek Archer.

“Mr. Archer will be out of town until next week. If you’ll leave your number, I’ll have him call you tomorrow.”

“You mean next week? When he gets back?” Susan felt her resistance slipping. The more she probed, the more it appeared that Archer was exactly who he said he was.

“No, ma’am. I mean tomorrow.” The woman’s voice turned patronizing. “He phones in for his messages every day. If you’ll leave your number, I guarantee he’ll return your call.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Susan said. She’d found out what she wanted to know. Derek Archer really was an agent working for the Industrial Indemnity Insurance Company.

THE CHAIR IN FRONT of Major Savage’s desk squeaked when Susan leaned forward. Crossing her ankles primly beneath her, she resisted her urge to squirm in the chair like some ten-year-old called into the principal’s office. A drop of sweat ran down her back, cold against her skin.

The major’s hooded, hawklike eyes surveyed her from across his desk. “Of course you can take this afternoon off if you need it, Susan.”

Her heart plummeted. Something must be wrong. Major Savage called people by their first names only when he felt sorry for them.

“Thank you, sir.” She started to get up.

“Before you go, there’s something we need to talk about.” He motioned her back to her chair.

Sinking down, she leaned toward him.

“I’m sorry to have to do this, Susan,” he began slowly, “but now that you’re under investigation by the police, I’m going to have to transfer you out of the intelligence office.”

Mortified, she lowered her head. “Because of my top secret clearance?”

He nodded. “I’m sure you understand why we can’t leave you there.”

“Of course.” Was that squeaky little voice hers? “I’ll help out with some of your unclassified work in the orderly room.”

His hooded eyes studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “Sergeant Philips doesn’t need any help in the orderly room.”

Heat rose in Susan’s cheeks. “Then, what?” she stammered.

He leaned back. The movement made him seem even shorter. Susan straightened to see him better.

“Colonel Tinnerman took a shine to you when he met you yesterday. He can use some help in the security police shop—he’s got some unclassified research he needs done.” His expression softened. “Quite frankly, Susan, you’ll probably be better off there than in the orderly room. If you stayed around the squadron, there’d be questions….”

“I understand,” she said, not understanding at all. There would be just as many questions if she left and wasn’t around to defend herself. Worst of all, she’d no longer have an excuse to snoop around the C-130s and talk to the air and ground crews right after the planes landed. Without that access, her covert mission was wiped out. She’d failed at Operation Macula, her first big assignment.

“Colonel Tinnerman’s on your side, Susan,” the major went on. “Maybe he can give you some helpful advice and counsel.”

“I appreciate that, sir.” All she wanted now was to escape the major’s forced sympathy and get to a phone. Her Pentagon controller had said not to call unless the matter was urgent. Getting fired from her job certainly qualified, since it meant her investigation was finished.

Opposite her, Major Savage cleared his throat. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please ask.”

She hesitated, then plunged. “There is one thing. If I could have a couple of days off before I report into Colonel…”

The major began shaking his head before she finished speaking. “I’m sorry, Susan, but Colonel Tinnerman wants you to start on his research project tomorrow morning.”

Before she could get up, the major came around his desk, his hand extended. “Thanks for your good work in the squadron, Lieutenant.”

Susan took his hand. It felt hot, dry, bony—like a claw. “When I get this mess straightened out, maybe I’ll be back.”

“Of course you will.” His smile seemed phony.

Lifting her arm in a quick salute, Susan didn’t smile back.

“WE’LL HAVE YOU reassigned immediately.” The well-modulated voice on the telephone was carefully neutral, revealing no emotion.

“You can’t do that.” Susan kept her irritation under control, her voice as neutral as the man’s she was talking to. “I just told you the police consider me a suspect in my husband’s murder. They don’t want me to leave the local area.”

In the silence that followed, the growl of an eighteen-wheeler shifting into low gear filled the air. She slid the door to the phone booth closed to block out the street noise.

“Did you do it?” the voice asked.

Heat flamed her face. How could her Pentagon controller ask a question like that? “No, of course not.” She didn’t let her humiliation show in her voice.

“Your husband might have been one of the men we’re looking for,” her controller reminded her. “Your job for us makes you appear even more guilty.” There was a subtle warning in his words. “It’s more important than ever that you keep quiet about the operation.”

“Don’t worry, I know my orders.” She’d been cautioned a dozen times that if something went wrong with her operation, she couldn’t count on the agency to come to her rescue. As far as the outside world knew, Pentagon Intelligence didn’t get involved in cases like this. After she volunteered for the program, Susan received special training so she’d know what to look for.

“We’ll leave you assigned at the base where you are for the time being,” he said. She noticed he was careful not to reveal her location over the open phone line. “Let me know if anybody’s charged in your husband’s death. Meanwhile, take yourself off the operation. Though you’ve found nothing to substantiate the rumors, there may be a connection between your search and your husband’s murder.”

“Yes, sir,” she returned automatically. But in her mind she was already planning to let Archer go ahead with his investigation. If he found out something she could report to her controller under Operation Macula, so much the better.

Chapter Four

She’d forgotten how penetrating his eyes were, how they seemed to know just what she was thinking. Or rather, she hadn’t forgotten, she’d simply failed to reconcile their deep-down animosity with the lazy allure of his gaze.

He was looking at her seductively now across the luncheon table, his eyes such a dark blue they seemed almost purple. Or was she imagining—or wishing for—such a look? Staring across at him, Susan knew she’d get no sympathy when she told him about her transfer. She tried to put a humorous touch to her words so he’d see what stern stuff she was made of.

“Now that I’m a suspect, Major Savage doesn’t think I should be trusted with classified material, so he’s transferring me out of the squadron.” But as she spoke, the humiliation of being fired hit her anew, and her attempt at humor failed. She swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in her throat.

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.

When she returned to the parking lot, Archer was waiting inside the car. He got out when he saw her coming.

“That didn’t take long,” he said. “Was the bank manager right about the forty-eight hours?” Opening the passenger door, he helped her inside.

“Yes. We’ll have the court order in the next couple of days. Now all I need is a few hours off from my new job.”

He started the engine. She didn’t miss the satisfied smile on his face.

“Before we do anything more, there’s something we need to get straightened out,” she said, keeping her voice deceptively calm. Might as well get this over with right now, she thought.

Switching the engine off, he turned toward her and leaned back against the door. “So let’s have it. What do we need to get straightened out?”

There was a wary watchfulness in his expression that made Susan wish she’d never brought this up. He focused his cold blue eyes on her, and she backed away from him on the car seat, even as she reminded herself she was the boss here, not him.

“Before we go any further with our investigation,” she said slowly, “I want to know the real reason you offered to help me.” Hardly breathing, she tried to detect any change in his expression that might clue her in as to his thoughts. But nothing changed. His brow remained furrowed, his mouth drawn down.

Then he drew in his breath and drawled an answer in his rich baritone voice. “So you spotted the lie I told you yesterday. For your information, I don’t give a tinker’s damn about what happens to you, lady.”

Too shocked to speak, Susan stared wordlessly at him.

“There’s only one reason I’d take on a two-bit job like this,” he continued abruptly. “For the money, of course. I expect to be paid for my services.”

He gazed at her with a bland half smile. “You look surprised. Why else would I offer to work for you?”

“Why I…I don’t know.” The words came out a broken whisper.

It was obvious to Archer that, finally, she believed him. What irony. She wouldn’t believe the noble half truth he’d told her yesterday: that he’d been shafted and didn’t want to see the same thing happen to her. But she was perfectly willing to accept a crass financial motive for his good deed.

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