Eyes Like the Night

by Emma Accola

  Eyes Like The Night

  Emma Accola

  Copyright © 2018 Emma Accola

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actuals events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by an information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  Table of Contents

  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

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Eighteen Months Ago

  The part-time instructors’ office was quiet. Only a couple people were working at computers on the far side of the room. The solitude should have made me happy, but it didn’t, because it was Friday night and I was still on campus. Instead of going out like all the other graduate students in the world, I was stuck in the office writing lecture notes and grading papers. The professor I worked with as a teaching assistant had announced with great pleasure that he, his wife, and his grandchildren were going to Lake Tahoe for the weekend. He handed me a file and made one of those requests that was really an order: Gracie, could you get these essays graded this weekend so I can return them on Monday afternoon? The more feedback the students receive on their essays, the better. And while you’re at it, could you lecture for the first part of Monday’s class on the Henry James novella The Turn of the Screw? Of course that isn’t an easy novella to teach, but smooth seas never made for skilled mariners, so have at it.

  Who was I to refuse an offer like that? I didn’t want to go home to an empty apartment and work there. That seemed to be too sad and desperate for a Friday night in an exciting city like San Francisco. My roommate, Tamra, had gone to spend the weekend with her family, so she was out with her fun-loving sisters while I toiled in obscurity. I shuffled the students’ papers as if that would work up some motivation to get started. The office door opened and closed quietly as someone went out and another person came in. The interruption of my thoughts only made me more impatient.

  “It’s not as if I don’t have my thesis to work on,” I grumbled aloud.

  “Do you have a lot of research to do?” came a deep, low voice.

  The tones were oddly familiar, like I had heard them before. I gave a pretend cringe. “Oh, no. Did I say that out loud?”

  A gorgeous, dark-haired man grinned at me. “Yeah, you did. And I sympathize.”

  He was leaning against a long counter and holding a water bottle. A friendly smile showed his neat, even teeth and accentuated his amazing cheekbones. The charcoal gray suit he wore lay over a deep blue shirt that was tieless and open at the neck. The mixture of formal and informal was sexy, like a woman in an evening gown lying in the sand on a beach. His open briefcase lay on the counter and he slipped in a manila folder before closing it with a sharp snap.

  I realized I was staring. He was one of the most insanely handsome instructors that I had ever seen. When I was eighteen years old, having a professor like that would have made even an early morning class a thrill. Those cheekbones alone would have had every young woman in the class crushing on him. The defined, decisive chin and elegant brow were amazing. My eyes had been on him too long, so I looked away, suddenly shy. It wouldn’t do for him to think he’d captivated me at first glance.

  “Did you just get out of class?” I asked abruptly, feeling like I needed to say something.

  “No, but I had to come in just the same.” He looked at my stack of essays. “So you’re a teaching assistant? I remember those days.”

  “Fondly, I hope.”

  “For the most part.” His bright blue eyes widened slightly. “I’m interrupting you.”

  My eyes drifted toward his left hand and didn’t see a ring. There should have been a ring on that long elegant finger. “No, I’m fine. Actually, I was about to walk to the student center and get some dinner.”

  “It’s still open? I’m never here this late on a Friday night.”

  Because a man who looks like you would never be alone, I thought. “The place that sells donuts, hamburgers, and sandwiches is.” I began gathering up the essays, hoping that I would give the impression that I had a life beyond the campus and most definitely somewhere to be. “What do you teach?”

  “Administration of justice. And you teach English.”

  “Modern American literature.” I held out my hand for him to shake. “Gracie.”

  He shook my hand. “Mike. I’m new here. As a graduate student, you must know your way around pretty well.”

  “I know a little something.”

  Relief flooded his features. He opened his briefcase again, pulled out a roster, and touched his finger to the building and classroom number on the top of the page. “Then maybe you can help me locate a room that’s supposed to be in the library. I’ve walked all around in there, and I couldn’t find it. I have a late-start class that begins on Monday, so I’d rather not humiliate myself on the first class by showing up late.”

  “And being a man, you were too embarrassed to ask for directions?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” he said with mock insult. “I came in here hoping to find some kind soul who would help me out. And in my own defense, I’ve heard that the ability to find that classroom is the mark of a veteran on this campus.”

  I laughed and tried to ignore a slight, tickling tension in my muscles. “Do you want me to show you?”

  “I don’t want to impose. You’re busy.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, getting to my feet and putting the file of essays into my backpack. “I have to walk past the library on my way to the student center. I’ll show you.”

  “Is the student center food any good? I haven’t had anything since lunch.”

  I thought how smoothly he’d given us something in common, as if he wanted to eat with me. “It all depends upon your standards and whether you have something at home in your cupboards beyond a can of sardines and some packets of noodles.”

  Mike laughed. “You probably could do something interesting with sardines and noodles.”

  “Not something a civilized person would be willing to eat.” I lifted my backpack over my shoulders. “Shall we?”

  We left the building and strolled through the shadows and lamplights of the campus grounds. The sidewalks were busy with students walking singly and in pairs. A small group gathered around a bench singing to the accompaniment of a guitar. The sound flowed easily over the cooling night air. We got to the library, and its automatic doors opened with a spaceship beep and whoosh. I led Mike past the reserve counter toward the elevators. An atrium in the middle of the building lent a greenish light to the study area. A few students were working at the computer desks. As soon as we got to the elevators, I stopped and gestured.

  “The classroom is down this little hallway. Students have to be looking really hard to even see it. The first week of your class the library staff will assign a student employee to stand here for the sole purpose of directing students to this hallway.”

  “No doubt.” Mike gave me a warm, grateful smile. “Let me buy you dinner to show you my appreciation.”

  Though I expected this, I gave a nervous laugh because I wasn�
�t exactly unattached, not really. All my friends assured me that my five-year relationship with Leonardo would soon take a more serious turn now that he had been promoted to chief executive officer at his parents’ shipping company. My sister told me frequently that Leonardo was a great catch and there was no way I could do better. She said it with the conviction that I was about to reach the finish line, as if I had almost completed the race and would soon embrace the trophy.

  “I really couldn’t.” Leonardo’s face floated before me. “I’m seeing someone.”

  Mike’s eyes widened as if he had been taken aback. “Oh, no. I’ve given you the wrong impression. I was thinking of us catching a bite to eat in the student center. Nothing more than that. I haven’t had any dinner either.”

  My face tingled as the blood rose to my cheeks.

  “We would be there as colleagues,” he went on gently in tones that didn’t quite scold me for my presumptuousness. “It’s just that I haven’t met anyone on this campus but the dean and his administrative assistant. Having someone like you to give me advice about working here would take the edge off my anxiety. I hope you can spare a few minutes for the new guy. But if you’ve got a jealous boyfriend or something, I understand.”

  For a moment he looked really young and forlorn. No one seeing that expression could refuse without feeling guilty, but I hadn’t missed the challenge in his last words. Was I someone who pandered to her boyfriend’s insecurities? If so, he would understand. Then I wondered where Leonardo had gone tonight. Was he out with his friends? Was he at the office crunching numbers, as he liked to call it? Certainly he had meetings with members of the opposite sex. Why should I have to be all business, no fun? This wouldn’t even be an issue if this man weren’t so attractive.

  “I guess I could,” I said, making my tone tentative, so he wouldn’t think my agreement came easily. “The place that’s still open serves decent cheeseburgers. The fries that come with it are only a little limp.”

  “With a ringing endorsement like that, how could I refuse? Cheeseburgers and fries it is. Lead the way.”

  We left the library and stepped out into the cool night air. The breeze off the Pacific Ocean was gentle tonight, hardly rustling the eucalyptus trees that stood tall all around campus. Soon we passed through the shiny glass doors of the student center and were met with a low roar of voices and the smell of coffee and fried foods. Students were playing cards, chess, or video games. Some in small groups had their books open and were going over their notes as they snacked on nachos and sushi. Janitors with rolling barrels were emptying the garbage cans. Mike and I made our way through the tables to the counter of the cafe and placed our orders. He waved away my money when I offered to pay. We moved away from the cash register to a different counter where a cook was slamming down trays of food and shouting out order numbers. While we waited, Mike gave me an apologetic smile and began answering text messages on his phone. Having his attention off of me was welcome. Now my eyes could drink him up without being obvious.

  The top of my head didn’t even reach his chin. His skin was unlined, his hair dark and shiny, making me guess he was only a few years older than I. The suit he wore was beautifully tailored, the fit and fabric much finer than a young, part-time college instructor ordinarily could afford. Possibly it was a gift and the only nice suit he had, but he wore it with such familiarity and comfort that I doubted it. His long, slender fingers skipped over the screen of his cell phone with practiced ease. When he finished, he slipped the phone into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. The cook bellowed our order number.

  “Ah, here’s our food,” Mike said, reaching out and taking my tray and his. “This looks good. Do you eat here a lot?”

  “Sometimes, when I get sick of microwave meals,” I said as I picked up our fountain drinks. “And I’m going to pay you back.”

  “I’m buying. I insist.” He gave me a devastating smile. “Let this be my gift to offset your consumption of sardines and noodles.”

  Ordinarily I would have protested more, but nothing about his appearance bespoke a man who was short of money. I had seen plenty of cash and several credit cards when he opened his wallet. Nor had I missed the brand on the key remote of his car when I caught a glimpse of it in the faculty office. This man clearly had more means than the usual young part-time instructor who was barely holding his head above the tidal wave of student loan payments.

  Mike chose a table in a quiet corner of the cafeteria and set down the red plastic trays with their little paper boats of cheeseburgers and fries. He pulled out a couple chairs, and I gave him one of the fountain drinks I was carrying. When we were seated, Mike spread a thin little paper napkin over his lap before handing me several foil packets of ketchup. Carefully he opened one of his and made a little pool in the corner of his paper boat. He took a sip of his cola and picked up his cheeseburger.

  “I don’t believe I caught your last name,” I said.

  He took a bite, nodded, then held up a finger indicating that he couldn’t speak with his mouth full.

  “That’s the trouble with an alias, isn’t it?” I said as if I hadn’t noticed the gesture that would buy him a few moments. “No matter how hard you try, it doesn’t trip off your tongue like your real name. If you need a moment to recall the name you put on that roster, I can wait.”

  Mike kept his face carefully neutral as he chewed. The silence between us became charged and heavy as if there was no low roar of student activity around us. This exquisite man, this predator, had meant for his dark handsomeness and light blue eyes to distract me. It hadn’t worked.

  “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to meet me.” I took a dainty bite of a French fry. “Mr. Micah Ekstrand, the kid brother of Mr. Caleb Ekstrand, esquire.”

  His eyebrows twitched, a tiny movement that spoke volumes to me.

  I smiled and gazed straight into his emotionless eyes. “What’s on your mind, Micah? And don’t try to deny who you are. I was expecting you.”

  Micah appraised me over the top of the cheeseburger. He took his time before answering, unwilling to be rushed. I picked up my burger and waited for him to reply, pretending to be so cool, as if handsome men trying to deceive me were a normal part of my day. A peculiar awareness pulsed through me. Micah’s attractiveness could steal the breath from my body. Clearly it masked a shrewd mind, a truth I must never allow myself to forget.

  “Why were you expecting me?” he asked before taking another bite.

  “Caleb was bound to send someone. He’s come to my door and left multiple messages on my voicemail and email, all of which I’ve deleted. Now he’s sent his kid brother, the esteemed criminal defense investigator Micah Ekstrand. I should be flattered.”

  “And I should be ashamed that you figured out who I was so fast. What was my first mistake?”

  “You don’t have an access card to that faculty office. You waited until someone left and slipped through the door before it slammed in your face. You only barely caught it with your fingertips. Had you an access card, you would have used it instead of risking your soft, delicate little hands.”

  “What was my second mistake?”

  “Showing me that roster. It’s from last semester. While you did a good job of switching the actual professor’s name to an alias, you missed the fact that the library is renovating the classroom you claim you’d been assigned. No classes are being held there this semester. And even if the classroom had been open, the Administration of Justice Department never assigns its classes there. It’s only used by English and psychology.”

  “Was there a third mistake?” he asked, his tone dry.

  “Yes. No man who was really interested in me would have brought me here for dinner. No, you would have asked me for coffee and later invited me to a nice restaurant for a date tomorrow night. Clearly you didn’t plan on seeing me again. You had a goal to be fulfilled tonight.”

  “And I thought I had it going on. Did I get anything right?”

  “Y
ou’re amusing me.” I kept eating my fries as if his being here didn’t matter. It did though. I was having trouble keeping a nervous smile off my face. My throat was tight with anxiety. I took a sip of my drink because I could barely swallow the fries. Even though he was devastatingly handsome, I couldn’t allow myself to forget that Micah Ekstrand was a formidable opponent working on behalf of Harry Spice, the man who had drugged and raped my roommate, Tamra. No doubt Micah would be unscrupulous. The guilt by association was all the proof I needed of that.

  “Then you know why I’m here.”

  “And you know that you can’t change my mind about your swine of a client.”

  Micah gave me a chilly smile. “That’s fortunate, since that was never my objective.”

  “There was a fourth mistake.” I couldn’t let him have the upper hand.

  He raised his eyebrow in question.

  “You look too much like your brother. And your voice sounds like his. I did an internet search of Caleb and watched an interview. I had guessed that this might happen. Your brother is as ruthless as you are.”

  The pale eyes flashed. “That’s the first time I’ve heard anyone call him ruthless. A zealot maybe. He’s always believed that justice is a long arc, but one worth pursuing.”

  “If that’s your goal, then why are you so hell bent on trying to get Harry Spice exonerated? Does your long arc cover the fact that there is no justice in letting him go free?”

  Micah’s brow lowered as my question annoyed him. His gaze stayed on my face as he studied me intently. “Even an English major like you should have heard of the presumption of innocence. I’ll remind you that Harry Spice hasn’t been convicted of anything yet.”

  “I don’t need a long, drawn out trial to prove to me what I already know. I saw him at the end of the hallway in my apartment building after he assaulted Tamra.”

  “You saw someone at the end of an extremely long hallway illuminated only dimly by a few fluorescent lights. You didn’t see that person actually exit the apartment.”