For Her Eyes Only

by Cait London

  On Monday morning, she prepared for her role as “bait.” Since she had no idea where to hunt the monster stalking her family, she’d decided to open her shop and wait. If there were hidden cameras, she wanted the Borg-descendant to know that she wasn’t afraid and would continue her life as usual.

  Still, she took some precautions. At the first tingle signaling her mother’s call, she’d turned up the radio, hoping the sound would override any high-tech sound equipment Owen hadn’t found and removed.

  “We think it’s someone with theatrical or stage background…someone who knows high-tech stuff, who knows how to disguise himself, like a good special-effects man in Hollywood. They can do fantastic work, and you can’t even recognize the movie stars. If that’s true, then the big blue-eyed blond in my shop could be the same man as the one in the sketch. With more padding around his face and some makeup, those eyes wouldn’t have stood out as much as in the sketch.”

  “Or in your dreams?” Greer questioned softly.

  Leona caught the sounds of the ocean waves and the wind in the background. She ached for the safety of her family home. Safe. Tempest and Claire had to be kept safe.

  Leona shivered as she thought about Greer’s dreams and her own. She’d made love with someone in her dreams, before Owen. If that monster had actually entered her body… Leona forced herself back into the call with her mother.

  Cradling her telephone between her shoulder and her neck, she dressed in her guest bedroom. The bed’s sheets and coverlet looked as if they’d been kicked and pulled; the pillows were still rumpled where she’d held them against her. Last night, Max reluctantly leaped up on the bed at her coaxing. Lying along Leona’s back, the dog had been a warm, heavy comfort, though a poor substitute for the man she really needed to hold her.

  She bent to nuzzle the bouquet Owen had given her, the poor blooms crushed and wilted. The calla lilies were more brown than creamy. Rose petals had fallen away. She scooped a few of them up carefully in her hand and slid them into her slacks pocket.

  The earlier image of Owen standing on her driveway caused Leona to ache. He’d looked down at the pickup keys as if uncertain of his next move. It was clear he hadn’t slept much. Shadows ran beneath his eyes, the lines deeper on his face. Leona wished she could drop her pride and call him, but her emotions concerning Owen were still unsteady.

  Last night, she’d entered her house with enough anger at herself and at Owen to rattle any extra energy tidbits lying around. Losing control wasn’t something she liked to do. At his house, she’d devoured him, running across the finish line with him, when she would have preferred to enjoy the journey. They’d reacted to the aftermath of danger, clinging to one another as a reassurance that the other was safe and alive. Still, she resented her raw, sexual, demanding side, triggered by Owen’s hunger.

  With no basic foreplay or afterplay, Leona’s body still hummed restlessly. But the last thing she needed was a male dominating her life, demanding that she leave her home.

  “How’s Janice doing?” she asked her mother now.

  “She’s worried about Owen, and you. Try not to be angry with him, Leona. Owen just wanted to reassure himself that you were alive, and you wanted the same. Words don’t always suit.”

  Leona held her breath. She worked furiously to build a mental wall. She had to prevent her mother from entering her thoughts about making love so primitively with Owen. It had been a celebration that they were both alive and in each other’s arms…but Owen had also wanted her to obey him. “I’d rather we didn’t talk about this.”

  Greer spoke urgently, “You’re getting stronger, and you’re angry, sending sparks all over the place. That makes you vulnerable. Control it, before it controls you…. Focus, Leona. You did that last night when you came into the house. You focused on your senses, on how you felt. Trust yourself, Leona.”

  Focus, Leona…trust me, her mother had said as she’d fought to haul Claire and Leona back to the capsized sailboat. You’re strong…. I know you can do this. Do it for Tempest and for Claire, make yourself strong…focus, dear. Don’t let Claire feel your fear. We’ll do this together, get Claire and Tempest, all of us back to the boat.

  Despite the towering swells around them, Greer’s compelling eyes had locked with three-year-old Leona’s. But had her mother actually spoken? “Did you…did you actually talk to me when the boat capsized? Did you think that something was out there in the water? Something using that psychic portal to harm us?”

  Greer’s silence said that she’d protected her daughters from any other psychic influence in those dangerous moments. She’d locked on to her daughters’ gifts and cast a protective psychic net over them; she’d willed them to concentrate on her, on living. “I just knew that nothing could happen to my daughters.”

  All these years, Leona had never forgiven Greer for leaving the triplets alone while she’d made a necessary living. “I…thank you,” Leona stated simply.

  “You’re upset now, but you can do this, Leona. Owen will understand. He’s just terribly worried for you.”

  You can do this, Leona. How many times had her mother said the same when Leona had been a fiercely resentful, angry child, detesting the gift that had made her different?

  Leona frowned at the wrinkles in her practical blue blouse and black slacks. “It’s this house. Everything is all in turmoil. I had to dig through my clothes this morning, just to get something to wear. All my things are under that plastic in my bedroom.”

  “Ah. The handyman, Vernon. He’s on your to-do list.”

  “Yes. He matches Owen’s description. And so far as I know, he’s the only one—other than Owen—who has been in my house. I take that back—Vernon had another man come in to help him with a stopped drain…. To think that guy actually could have seen me doing yoga exercises—disgusting. Do you know that was my scarf wrapped around Robyn’s neck?”

  “You’re developing very quickly….” Greer’s voice changed suddenly, fear threading through it. “Do you feel anything unusual about Vernon?”

  “When I hired him, I felt nothing at all about his psychic energy. He seemed like just a simple man, trying to make a living with odd jobs…. That was this spring, when Sue Ann—”

  When Sue Ann had recommended Vernon. And now, Sue Ann had distanced herself from her.

  “I have to go,” Leona said before her mother could tap into her fears for Sue Ann. She suspected it was already too late.

  “It was nice to hear your voice, dear,” Greer stated softly. “And you’re right about Robyn’s involvement. As Janice’s memory of this empties, she’s having flashbacks. Robyn was definitely a link. She wanted Janice to listen to tapes, always when Owen wasn’t around. Robyn let her use a computer then, too, and that’s how that monster communicated with Janice. He’s used a combination of subliminal suggestions, hypnotism, brainwashing by sleep deprivation, and his gift. He’s played on her every vulnerability. He’d instilled key words and phrases in her that triggered her to react in certain ways. We’re working with that now, deprogramming her. Janice is horrified at what she did now, but she’s healing. She may not even need those prescriptions at this rate.”

  “You’re probably working with Janice the same as you did with us—after we were taken.” Tears burned Leona’s eyes; it was time to forgive.

  Greer’s next words captured Leona’s thoughts. “I know, Leona. I’ve always known that you love me. Just do what you have to.”

  “I will.” After the call finished. Leona stood very still and closed her eyes. The sense of being watched was gone, replaced by the need to see Owen.

  But not just yet, not until she was calmer.

  He’d loved a woman. Did he still love her? Had he made love to her as passionately?

  The dream Leona had in her restless night without Owen was almost a replay of their passion. But in her dream, she’d been Aisling, defying Thorgood’s wishes. Aisling had gone out to seek Borg, to make him remove the curse from the brooch. In
pursuit, Thorgood had reclaimed her, bearing her back to their bed. His lovemaking had been to prove his point, that he was bigger, stronger, and in command of her life and actions. In a rare loss of her control, Aisling’s temper had ignited, challenging him. Thorgood had been stunned, because she was usually so calm and sensible. His demand that she leave her safety to him mirrored Owen’s. In the aftermath of their passion, Aisling had banned him from their bed. Sulking, Thorgood had spent a cold, brooding night outside their room. But Aisling had missed him, too; she’d spent a long night hugging the fur pelt where his body had been.

  “Just great, Aisling. Thanks for that tidbit. Men give orders and think we should obey. So the point is: Men will be men, right? High lords over us helpless little females?”

  In Leona’s mirror, her reflection seemed to smile. We’ll have to teach them manners, won’t we? They’re really worth it. They mean well and only want to protect us. It is their nature. But it is up to us to teach them. Do you agree?

  “Absolutely.” Still nettled by Owen’s orders to leave Lexington, Leona walked into the kitchen. She poured a glass of orange juice, and settled in to appreciate Tempest’s latest gift. The small package had been in her mailbox on Saturday. Leona had been too angry with herself and with Owen to appreciate it fully. Now she opened the box and lifted the silver bracelet with the detachable, retangular runes. “Perfect. I’ll call Tempest later to thank her.”

  In the next heartbeat, Leona rummaged through her kitchen shelves until she came to another box. She opened it and prowled through the Celtic-styled jewelry. In her lifetime, she’d tried to avoid anything to do with her ancient heritage. “If I’m baiting this creep, I’d better dress the part.”

  While she loved Tempest’s jewelry and appreciated her sister’s artistry, Leona had worn little of any kind. Now she chose a wide silver cuff bracelet and a ring with swirling Celtic designs. She studied the jewelry on her wrist and fingers, then added the rune bracelet. This time, she didn’t care if that high-tech equipment was picking up sound. “Okay, Mr. Vampire. This is what I am. Come and get me.”

  The tingle on her neck told her that Tempest was calling again. Leona quickly clicked on her kitchen television set before picking up the telephone. In a hushed tone, she said, “Someone could be listening. Owen thinks this creep uses high-tech sound equipment, so you’re going to have to listen to the weather report while we’re talking. Thank you for the lovely bracelet. If I were Aisling, I’m sure I would be detaching the runes and using them now. I’ve never wanted to do that, but—”

  She had focused on each individual rune—upright, the character could be interpreted with one meaning. In reverse, the meaning changed. Viking seers had used the runes often, but Aisling had only relied on her gifts.

  Leona’s methodical mental separation of the runes, their design and interpretations, prevented Tempest from entering her emotions. Then Tempest suddenly exploded with her news. “I’m preggers! Picked it up from Claire last night. She’s so easy to read. Marcus is—my gosh, you’d think he was the only guy with sperm. He’s actually swaggering. He can’t wait to tell everyone, but we’re waiting for the usual timing. He’s so traditional, you know. Imagine that, me—pregnant.”

  “I’m so glad for you.” Leona smiled, and a crop of little red-haired, green-eyed girls running wildly about Tempest and Marcus floated across her mind. She decided not to tell Tempest that Claire was also expecting. Polka dots could be so confusing, and they could have blended. Once off her excitement cloud, Tempest would probably realize on her own that some of the polka dots weren’t hers.

  “Yeah…kids…me and Marcus,” Tempest murmured dreamily. “Scary, huh?”

  “If they’re like you, yes. Ah…Tempest? You’ve always blamed Dad’s accident on yourself, the time you broke your arm and he was rushing home to see you?”

  A jagged scarlet streak of pain cut through Tempest’s happy glow. “My fault. I shouldn’t have been—”

  “Listen to me. Focus on me, Tempest Best,” Leona ordered. With a new baby on the way, it was time to erase Tempest’s guilt.

  Tempest’s silence and the energy coming from her said she had focused, the link strong. “You’re getting very strong,” she said breathlessly. “I’m reading you loud and clear.”

  “Open for me. Let me in.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Leona waited until the plane between her and her sister started rippling. It slowly smoothed into a light, soothing blue-gray palette. Then she began a pinpoint of light, seizing on to it and waiting as it grew larger. She gently probed for the perfect spot, then pulsed slowly through it, opening the path to Tempest. If she was successful, Tempest would never again feel guilty about their father’s “accidental” death. Leona slowly visualized that eight-year-old boy looking at Daniel Bartel, imprinting him with the image of that nonexistent boy running across in front of his car….

  The vision squeezed closed suddenly. Tempest’s anger exploded as she yelled, “He did that? That monster? I’ll kill him!”

  “Not if I get to him first. He had help though. At that age, I don’t think he could have done it himself. Someone, probably his father, stood beside him that day and joined with him. It was no accident that he came to stand beside Dad that day. Someone had to get that boy in that exact place. Someone studied Dad’s routine and arranged the meeting.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Tempest repeated as if she were slowly erasing her years-long guilt.

  Leona held her breath and tried to dim the violence within her, but it was too late. Tempest had snagged it. “You’re playing with those runes and thinking about how you’re going to call him out, aren’t you? My gosh, you’re standing there, wearing every bit of Celtic designs and all decked out to notify this guy—”

  Leona frowned; something given, something taken. Tempest had grabbed her emotions. She moved in to distract her sister. “You create lovely jewelry. You’re really talented.”

  “Don’t change the subject.” Tempest’s fear zigzagged around Leona. “Don’t you play with this bastard, Leona Fiona. If he could do that at eight, even with help, he’s had years of practice now and—”

  Leona couldn’t prevent a bit of her violence from escaping. “And I think he killed Joel, too. Claire lost her baby five years ago, and that was when Joel died. That’s too much of a coincidence. He was just playing around, getting warmed up, testing us.”

  Tempest cursed softly. “I’m coming to help.”

  “Sorry. You’ve got a baby on board, and you’re out of this one, Tempest Best.”

  “Great,” Tempest grumbled. “The big sister orders me yet again. You’re off to fight the wizard all by yourself. This isn’t any yellow-brick road, you know.”

  Leona smiled as she lifted her tote’s straps to her shoulder and prepared to leave her house. “Hey. Those three minutes count for a lot of seniority, and I do have ruby red heels.”

  A little while later, as Leona drove through Lexington’s Monday morning traffic, she decided to call Owen. She needed to hear his voice, to explain that she was not only angry with him, but with herself.

  Owen wasn’t answering.

  With Max waiting in the pickup, Owen made his way around to the back of Vernon O’Malley’s house.

  The handyman wasn’t there, and Owen used a credit card to open the back door and get inside. If Vernon was tied up in Robyn’s death and had anything to do with Leona’s missing scarf around the nurse’s throat, Owen wanted details.

  From his initial interview with Vernon, Owen understood that the fiftyish handyman and carpenter had once had a steady job with benefits. “Cutbacks” in the hospital maintenance staff had left him without insurance; his wife’s terminal disease had taken all of their savings. Vernon had been unable to secure anything but part-time work. After her death, he’d settled into the freelance home-repair business. That was quite profitable since the area’s historic, elegant plantation-style homes needed constant servicing and updating.
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  On an old residential street, Vernon’s tiny house was neat, but reeked of alcohol. Empty whiskey bottles and beer cans filled a trash can. Paperwork lay scattered across the kitchen table. A shoe box filled with medications made out to Lucille O’Malley sat next to a stack of bills. Some of the vials were empty; pills lay scattered on the table. A book of drug definitions lay opened to a page of heavy-duty painkillers. An assortment of over-the-counter medicines was stacked nearby.

  Owen studied the pills and the prescriptions written on the vials; he remembered the pills in Robyn’s and Janice’s prescription bottles. They were a match.

  Fingering through the stack of envelopes, he noted the bills and payments to hospitals and doctors. Vernon apparently had set up payment schedules, but he was now far overdue. A telephone disconnect notice lay beneath the other bills.

  Owen picked up the telephone, but there was no dial tone. He went back to the table, collected a business card from a box of newly printed ones, and used his cell phone to dial that number. Vernon’s usual recording came on. “I’m busy. Leave a message.”

  “Vernon, I need to get an estimate on central air-conditioning. I was wondering if you could recommend someone.” Well established with other workmen, Vernon had recommended different services to Owen. The call was only an excuse to pinpoint the handyman’s whereabouts. It hadn’t worked.

  As he left the house, Owen placed a small tape over the back screen door. If anyone visited this house, the tape would be disturbed.

  As soon as he opened his pickup door, Max leaped out onto the ground, barking wildly.

  “Max. Be quiet, boy.”

  At Owen’s order, the dog stopped barking. His hackles raised, the dog’s legs were spread defensively as he growled at the house. It was the same way he had growled in the direction of the Kentucky River.

  Owen calmed Max and got him back into the pickup. “Well, from what you said, Max, old boy, whoever was at my house and by the pond and in the field, has something to do with Vernon. We need to find out just what, don’t we?”