The Third Eye

by Jenna Rae

  Shay sat gazing out of the window, her glossy, burnished hair the most visible thing about her. Usually this section was reserved for bigwigs like the mayor, Chief Walton, commanders, judges, visiting movie producers and high-powered executives. As the head waiter led her through the mass of customers, tables, and servers to the crow’s nest, Brenda wished she’d taken another minute or two to read more about Shay. That good table wasn’t for Brenda, of that she was sure. So who exactly was Tami Sheraton’s sister?

  In person and up close, Shay was even more gorgeous than her picture had suggested. Her strawberry-blond hair and whiskey eyes made for a striking combination, and her wide, warm smile was dazzling. Brenda had to work to concentrate on the banalities of polite greeting when Shay stood and offered a firm handshake. Her skin was cool and soft, her gaze clear and direct.

  The pair made the usual introductions and exchanged pleasantries while they examined one another. Shay’s eyes were a deep, rich brown flecked with gold. Blinking away sudden nerves, Brenda told herself the light she saw in those dark orbs was nothing more than a phantasm born of sudden, surprising attraction.

  Shaken by her physical response to Shay, Brenda was relieved to take her seat. She let her talk, offering little more than a polite smile and nods of encouragement until she could speak in a steady tone.

  “Thank you for calling me back. How are you doing?”

  The redhead smiled, dimpling prettily, and answered with words Brenda barely registered. She again let Shay’s voice flow over her agitation, in hopes the time would allow her to regain some equilibrium. But tension and awareness flowed through her, enervating her from the inside out.

  She let herself acknowledge it: Shay was stunning. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, her hair a halo of glowing good health. Even her ears were pretty, delicate and pink. She had a slight overbite and perfectly white teeth. She had small hands with short nails and tapered fingers. Brenda took in the minutiae of her beauty with painfully tender attention.

  Of course she’d been attracted to many women. She’d known she was lesbian since long before her high school years, and she’d always reveled in the myriad ways in which women could be beautiful.

  But for the last decade she had hardly noticed—noticed in the way that was now making her body quiver and her heart pound—anyone but Tori. She silently chided herself, dismayed the woman who’d struck such a deep chord in her was the sister of Tami Sheraton.

  Or was it the family connection that resonated with her? Was her guilt somehow making her respond to Sheraton’s sister? She made a conscious decision to separate her mind from the way her body responded to Shay, who was, after all, nothing but a stranger. Brenda shook herself. This was Tami Sheraton’s sister, here only because the kid was dead.

  Tami and Shay had the same coloring, but that was the end of the resemblance. This was more apparent in person than when Brenda had looked at Shay’s picture online. Tami had been tall and solidly built, with strong features and coarse, straight hair. She’d still looked like a coed, one who played lacrosse or field hockey. Shay was shorter and smaller-framed than her sister. She had fine features and wavy hair and was at least a decade older than Tami.

  She also seemed different in other ways Brenda worked to identify. Tami’s watch had been a Timex, while Shay’s was a Patek Philippe. Tami’s haircut had been a blunt Supercuts special, and Shay probably went to an exclusive salon in Berkeley or San Francisco for her perfectly balanced custom coif.

  Brenda knew she was intellectualizing, focusing away from her physical response to Shay in order to regain functionality. Noting this didn’t make it any less challenging, though, and she felt like she’d retreated behind a sort of emotional glass wall like a frightened child hiding behind her mother’s skirts.

  From behind her clear curtain she saw Shay and heard her voice. She responded to her appropriately. She heard her own voice and watched herself play the part of someone whose world had not been knocked off-kilter.

  They ordered iced teas from the fawning waiter. They commented on the spectacular view, the crowded bistro, the good weather, the brilliant sunset, and Dave’s updated menu. Brenda offered her condolences and Shay thanked her for providing her sister with a valued mentor. They ordered dinner, salmon for Brenda and something the waiter already knew Shay wanted, which Brenda noted and wondered about. Just how early had Shay arrived? Had she called from the restaurant? Or did she dine here so regularly that the waitstaff knew her on sight?

  “Do you come here often?”

  Shay smiled, her cheeks pinking prettily above her perfect dimples. “Too often,” she said, rolling her dark eyes. The unguarded gesture humanized the beauty and made her even more attractive.

  “Is that possible?” The smile that rewarded her silly joke warmed Brenda unduly.

  “This is where I do half my job.”

  “Oh?” She took a slow, deep breath and smiled. “Tell me about your work.”

  The answer went on for several minutes, something about corporate law, and she was glad for the respite it provided. It had been Shay’s idea to meet at Dave’s for dinner to talk rather than to meet somewhere quieter and more private. What did that mean? Was she simply accustomed to suggesting it as a meeting place, or was she looking for home turf because she was uncomfortable?

  Brenda was unsettled and intrigued in equal measure. She smiled at a little self-deprecating joke Shay made and drank iced tea so she wouldn’t gawk at her dark eyes, full lips, and sumptuous curves, the last evident despite the perfectly tailored, slightly severe slate suit she sported.

  “Sounds like you love your work,” she ventured.

  “Sometimes.” A little laugh accompanied a rueful smile. “Sometimes not.”

  Something about the redhead was familiar, and from more than just the Internet photo and a passing resemblance to her sister. The Pacific reflected the golden-pink setting sun with glaring intensity, and she finally gave in and looked back at Shay rather than at the blinding light. Where had she seen her before? And then it came to her.

  “You were at the hearing,” she said, her voice subdued. “Last Friday night.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that. It was ridiculous.” Shay made a rueful face. “I wanted to thank you but you seemed pretty done with people after that circus. You handled the clowns brilliantly, if my unsolicited opinion counts for anything.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured. “It must have been terrible for you, seeing the video and listening to all of that.”

  “Yes.” Shay nodded crisply. “Not as terrible as going to her funeral. After that, everything awful is just another echo.”

  She simply held eye contact. There was nothing meaningful she could offer beyond a bland apology.

  Death was always the enemy, wasn’t it? It took Lauren. It took Dave. It took Tami Sheraton. It even took helpless children and innocent families. Brenda had spent much of her life fighting that foe. She’d disarmed assailants, convinced potential suicides to at least postpone their self-destruction, escorted victims to safety and testified against men who, left free, would have continued to wreak destruction on others. Sometimes she’d saved people. Sometimes she’d only delayed the inevitable. Death was ever victorious, in the end.

  “Ms. Sheraton, I appreciate your being willing to meet with me.” She made an aborted gesture, a useless flap of her hand that seemed to speak more eloquently than her words conveyed how helpless she felt in the face of death.

  “Back at you. I want to thank you, Captain Borelli.”

  “For what? Letting your little sister get murdered?”

  “You don’t hold yourself responsible? That’s—no.” Shay sat back, and Brenda saw past the smooth perfection of the woman across from her. Relaxed, with her composure allowed to slip, Shay looked much more human. Brenda could more clearly see now the faint dark circles and tension lines around her expressive mouth and eyes.

  “Ms. Sheraton, I appreciate—”

  �
�Shay, please. If it doesn’t seem too strange, let me say, I feel oddly intimate, sitting here talking about Tami with you. I guess because she thought so highly of you. She…She was hard to impress. You impressed her a great deal. She saw you as a role model.”

  To this Brenda could only give a vague nod. She didn’t want their conversation to be about her, but about the young woman who had been murdered.

  Shay seemed to see this and shared a brief, amused smile before sobering. “If anyone is responsible for her death, it’s me. I was supposed to take care of her.”

  Brenda held her gaze, willing her to open up.

  “I tried to control her. I told myself it was to protect her, which boiled down to the same thing. I knew I pushed too hard, but I couldn’t stop myself. I let her down and now she’s dead. So climb down off the cross, Captain, I’m already there.”

  Brenda gave a rueful smile and let her words hang between them for a moment. Finally she shrugged. “I don’t know how to have this conversation with you. I should, I guess, but this is pretty surreal. I think we’re both drowning in guilt and pretty shocked by what happened to Sheraton—to Tami. You’re her family, and—”

  “Let’s cut through the bull, okay?”

  Brenda blinked. “Okay.”

  “I met Mark Donnelly. Well, more than met him.”

  “Oh?”

  “Of course. He was my little sister’s training officer. I wanted to check him out.” She shrugged. “Tami and I were fifteen years apart. Our folks were pretty distracted by the time their little ‘oops,’ as they called her, came along. They divorced when she was two. Tami had a nanny, so it’s not like she was neglected, but she was less their child than a little pet they would forget about and then bring out once in a while to show off to their friends.”

  “So you filled in.”

  “It was fine when she was still a little girl. I could distract her with a hug or a game. But she started to resent our parents once she was old enough to wonder why they weren’t interested in her. I tried to compensate, and maybe I overcompensated. I lavished attention on her.” She winced. “When she got older, I had to learn to let go.”

  The grieving sister stared out at the light-spangled Pacific Ocean. Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. She looked tired and defeated. Brenda nodded, trying to convey sympathy and encouragement.

  “I had a hard time with that. Smothered her. Daddy died of a heart attack, and Mom has never been as dialed in as Daddy. Tami became distant when I tried to steer her away from police work and toward something safer. I almost wondered if she became a police officer to defy me. I know, hubris, hubris, but I still find it—found it—hard to remember she wasn’t my kid sister anymore. She was a grown woman, a fully functional, capable adult, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”

  They shared a smile at the old-fashioned reference and suspended their conversation when the waiter brought their food along with his solicitous attentions. Watching the waiter fuss over Shay, Brenda was struck by how hard the staff worked to please her.

  There was family money. Was that a factor in Tami Sheraton’s death? For all she knew, Shay hired Mark Donnelly to murder her little sister. Plenty of people were murdered over money by people who claimed to love them and who cried big crocodile tears at the funeral.

  She grinned when Shay flashed the waiter a brilliant smile to go with the thanks she offered, and he nearly tripped on his own feet.

  After a minute, she prompted her. “You were saying?”

  “It was wrong of me to try to discourage Tami. I know that now. But I was afraid for her. I tried to bribe her to leave the police academy and go to law school. Did you know that? Oh, it was gross, crass. God, it was despicable. I offered her money!”

  She mirrored Shay’s rueful expression and nodded at her to continue.

  “Of course she was offended. Understandably. She wouldn’t talk to me for months. When she—I still can’t believe I’m saying this—when she was killed, we were just getting close again.

  “Just when I’d come to terms with her decision, it happened, the thing I would have given anything to prevent.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “God, I miss her. She was such a stinker.” Shay laughed and shook her head. Her mouth twisted like she was trying not to cry. “She was so smart and always in trouble, always asking a million questions. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be mawkish. I don’t want to reminisce about my sister’s life. I’d like to talk about her death.” She stared down at her untouched dinner.

  “You didn’t know she was investigating Donnelly?”

  “No, of course not. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? If I’d been more supportive instead of making her feel defensive, maybe she would’ve confided in me. Maybe she would have let me help her. I could’ve hired an army of investigators to help her, and she would still be alive.” She took a deep breath, redirecting her gaze and staring out at the sunset-painted marina and expansive Pacific.

  Briefly Brenda wondered if Shay could have arranged Donnelly’s death. If she really had the money and power she seemed to possess, why not? In her shoes, Brenda would have been sorely tempted to avenge the death of a beloved younger sister. In her shoes, she would have fantasized about killing her sister’s murderer. She might perhaps have done more than fantasize.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  She offered a quick, encouraging nod.

  “It’s funny, well, no, not funny at all. It’s haunting. I hired a private detective to investigate him, but I stopped the investigation. I was worried Tami would find out.”

  She took a tiny bite of her salmon to force a break and cover her keen interest. “Tell me about that.”

  “Right. Well, this is my baby sister we’re talking about. She tells me all about how great it is to finally be in uniform and on the job, how her training officer is so supportive and encouraging and helpful.” Shay stared at her. “I’m cynical.”

  She nodded, her expression receptive.

  “She’s beautiful. She was always more beautiful than she realized, and of course she had her trust fund. I always worried she was vulnerable to manipulation by men, and she resented that. She thought it meant I didn’t trust her judgment. Which I understand. Understood. Yes, she was smart. But she was a young, rather naïve and a decidedly heterosexual woman enthralled with her male boss.” Shay shrugged, her gesture and expression each a mix of embarrassment and defiance.

  “Oh,” Brenda said, working to hide her surprise.

  “All I could think was, this man could put my sister in a really bad situation, and I’ve made her too defensive to come to me for help if she needs it. I didn’t see anything that made me suspicious. I just didn’t like some man I didn’t know having such profound power over her. If I couldn’t stop her from putting herself in danger, at least I could try to minimize that danger.”

  “So you hired a private detective?”

  “Through an attorney, Jim Belafonte. Kind of an outsider. I’d just paid the retainer. I hadn’t even checked in with him when I got cold feet two days later and told him never mind. Frankly, after Tami was killed, I was afraid to check in with him.”

  “Afraid?”

  “That’s not quite the right word.” Shay took a long drink of her iced tea. “I didn’t want to know if there was information that could have saved her. Do you see what I mean?”

  Brenda nodded

  “I’d hired this person to find out about the man who ended up murdering my sister just a few short weeks after I canceled the investigation. If he, if I—please excuse me.”

  Rising suddenly, Shay fled to the restroom. Brenda considered following her but decided to wait at the table. This was a hard call. Shay was vulnerable, shaken, ready to spill. By the time she got cleaned up and back to the table, she may very well have shut down. But the poised attorney was moneyed, professional, and careful about her public image.

  Brenda wanted to be someone Shay felt safe with, and the woman w
ould not feel safe with someone who violated her need for privacy when handling strong emotions. Allowing her a minute alone to compose herself would endear Brenda to her, and she’d be more likely to open up and reveal whatever else she was hiding.

  Was Brenda trying to ingratiate herself to Shay because she was investigating the murder or because she found Shay attractive? She couldn’t have said.

  She sighed heavily and took a sip of iced tea. Reassuring the hovering waiter that Ms. Sheraton was fine and there was nothing wrong with the food, she considered the implications of what Shay had said. Rising tension and excitement fought with her desire to stay cool and objective. She replayed each time she’d brushed off Tami’s overtures because she was caught up in her own worries and those of her own officers. And she was reluctant to step on Vallejo’s toes.

  Guilt and regret dampened the fire in her belly, and she breathed deeply and slowly to clear her mind. In some Pavlovian response, she could hear the jangling of the grief group leader’s many necklaces, and she felt herself smile.

  Tall, handsome Michael Morgan approached the table, a blithe expression smoothed over his nonetheless evident curiosity. She rose and they hugged.

  “You’ve lost weight,” she said softly. “Not very good advertising for a restaurant owner.”

  His low chuckle drew a few glances. “I’m too busy running this place to actually eat the food. I had no idea how much Dave was still doing.”

  His thick, dark hair fell over his forehead, and she grinned. “You look like Clark Kent.”

  His smile faltered. “That’s what he used to say.” He pushed up his glasses. “How are you doing?”

  She shrugged. “Let’s get together for coffee one morning next week. Text me?”