For Her Eyes Only

by Cait London

  Determined to put his dark past away, Owen slowly eased the charm bracelet around Leona’s wrist. His hand stayed to stroke her skin. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “It won’t. You won’t let it.” Leona understood exactly how safe Tempest and Claire felt with their husbands, men with whom they had bonded; she sensed the same safety and unity with Owen.

  She also understood how difficult it was for Owen to come the emotional distance, to express himself in words. Grateful to him for sharing his past with her, she hoped to reassure him. Lacing their fingers, she let her feminine softness blend with the harshness of his past. “My relationship with you is entirely different from mine with Joel’s.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to tell. You hide what’s going on with you.”

  “You’re a still-waters-run-deep, yourself. I trusted Joel with all my heart. But somehow, I knew—”

  Owen stared at her. “Knew what?”

  “That you would come into my life, and it would change…. With you, I would change.”

  “Good or bad?”

  Leona considered the woman she had been and the woman she was with Owen. “Depends. I’m different. Stronger, more alive. I’m not certain if I like how I feel at times—a little savage, a little primitive.”

  “I like it when you let go. Or when you don’t.” Owen smiled slightly as he studied the contrast of their skin, the size and shape of their hands. “You’re doing it again. Healing me. I felt it last night…like flower petals falling all over me, a warm stream of them….” He studied her expression. “You’re opening the store today, aren’t you? I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “I’ll be careful. We can’t stop our lives because of fear. Rather, I will not stop mine. Or ask you to stop what you have to do. Janice is depending on you.”

  Owen’s gaze locked with Leona’s as he brought her hand to his lips; then he drew her to his lap and rocked her with his body. “You have to tell Greer whatever you suspect about Joel, your father, and her mother. You can tell me when you’re ready.”

  “The question is: Why doesn’t she already know everything?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to know.”

  “That could be. She could be strong enough to block herself. I don’t know how that works. I only know that this Borg-descendant got close enough to me and I didn’t always sense him. He’s good at blocking his real identity—or disguising it.”

  The tingle at the back of her neck wasn’t going to go away. “It’s Claire. She’s worried. I need to talk with her.”

  As she stood, Owen patted her bottom, then his hand stayed for a slow caress as he also stood. His lips brushed hers, his tongue flicking a bit into her mouth. “I’ll take Max out to the backyard. Then you can tell me about what really happened to your wrist.”

  He picked up his cup of chai and patted her bottom again, a definite proprietary gesture, a man who considered a woman to be his.

  Leona liked that feeling.

  She smiled as she answered Claire’s call. “What’s up?”

  “You’re glowing, that’s what. Where’s Owen? What’s going on, and why did you tell Tempest to keep me out of this?” Claire demanded.

  Leona’s quiet, gentle sister had definitely changed, and her husband had everything to do with it. Leona looked out the kitchen window to see Max chasing a stick Owen had thrown. The play led into a rougher one, which ended up with Owen stretched out on the lawn, laughing as Max frisked about him. He seemed oblivious to the wound on his back. Struggling to focus on Owen and not her youngest sister, Leona hoped to keep her sister safe from her concerns. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Gentle, peaceful Claire was set to argue. “Don’t you dare block me, Leona Fiona. You’re getting too good at it. What’s going on? If you don’t tell me, Neil and I are headed down there.”

  That swung Leona’s attention fully to Claire. “You can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

  She hadn’t had time to rephrase her thoughts. To prevent Claire from learning more, Leona concentrated on the rune characters.

  Claire wasn’t to be detoured. “Have you been wearing Tempest’s jewelry, the Celtic stuff? You have, haven’t you? I can feel it pulsing around you! You’re experimenting with what you can do, aren’t you? My gosh, Leona, you’re setting yourself up as a target, as bait, aren’t you? You are actually going to take this beast on!”

  “If he’s out there, I’m getting him.” Leona rubbed the smooth surface of the eolh rune, one that served as a protective charm. In reverse position, it signaled a warning: that whoever asked the runes for answers could be duped in the future, or the ones around them misled.

  “That doesn’t answer my question. I know that guy is out there, but something new has happened. I want to know what…other than you’re obviously getting stronger….” Claire cursed softly, for the first time that Leona had ever known. The phrase she used was definitely masculine. But then Claire was learning all sorts of things from Neil, a good-natured man who easily let Claire explore anything the empath wanted—as long as it wasn’t dangerous to her. Overly curious, his wife was probably very busy exploring everything about her husband, fulfilling her own need to free that little fighting strand of Viking blood within her.

  “I have a little problem, Claire Bear. Maybe you can help me.” Leona explained the vision of that eight-year-old boy imprinting Daniel Bartel with that deadly image. “I think I snagged a bit of the Borg-descendant’s grown-up energy that day he came into the shop.”

  She waited for the shock waves coming from Claire to settle into a furious hum. Then Leona spoke carefully. “Five years ago, you were in that hospital, almost the same day that Joel died. Claire, I thought my dreams lately of being crushed were because of how Joel had died in that snow avalanche, but they weren’t. I think this monster—a Borg-descendant—took some of my energy when I visited Tempest in July, and definitely when he came into the shop.”

  “Damn him. That’s what we thought! That jerk was playing, just getting warmed up. He was testing himself and us.”

  Neil’s indistinct rumble preceded his order. “Give me that phone, Claire. You’re getting upset.”

  Claire answered him, attempting unsuccessfully to muffle the conversation. “I will not. Leona has him, Neil. She’s getting close.”

  Neil Olafson wasn’t one to waste time. “I’m going down there to take care of that bastard, once and for all. Tell Leona to wait for me. I’ll just take a little something for my upset stomach, and I’ll be fine.”

  “Dammit, back off, Neil,” Claire replied, “Go eat a cracker or something. I think there’s something else Leona wants to say. I feel her uneasy hum. She doesn’t know whether she should tell me or not…. Leona, tell me everything, or I swear, the both of us will come down there.”

  Faced with Claire’s threat and the fear that her unborn baby could suffer from the trauma of a psychic encounter, Leona obliged. “Sit down, Claire. Put Neil on the line, in another room. You’re picking up his anger…I can’t deal with you and overlaps of his anger at the same time.”

  Neil picked up the extension. He was munching on a cracker. “Husband and protector here.”

  “You are not to let Claire get upset, Neil. I want you to hear, too. You need to understand how serious this is for Claire…. Ready? Okay, Claire, here goes. First of all, you have to keep Mom from discovering that Dad’s death was planned. Secondly, she absolutely cannot know what really happened with Grams until I can speak with her personally.”

  Leona briefly described her grandmother’s urgent warning, her guilt over an extramarital affair. Stella Mornay’s deep guilt had been used to drive her mad and eventually to suicide.

  Claire exploded instantly. “Grams believed her affair was why Grandpa died of heart failure. And that beast wouldn’t ever let her go, driving her on. She couldn’t force herself to explain to Mom.”

  “Back then, Mom had all she could handle with us. Grams didn’t want her burdened even
more. Grams never wanted what she was and had always pushed it away. She punished Mom as a child for telling lies…but she just wanted Mom to be—normal. Grams felt guilty and afraid, and she was terrified, too. And she loved us. All those emotions acted against her. She couldn’t bear to be an instrument, a doorway into what could happen to Mom or to us.”

  “Poor Grams. Mom would have understood.”

  “Grams didn’t. She never understood why she began that affair. I think I know. Listen closely, Claire. I actually saw this Borg-descendant, and he didn’t like it. I surprised him. I just concentrated and followed a mind-stream, and a thin film tore open, exposing him. Black hair, those braids beside his face, those piercing eyes, those sharp features. He’s gotten to a good friend and changed him. Through my friend, and another man I helped ‘clean,’ I must have picked up more of his energy, enough to track him down. His energy had transferred to the bracelet Tempest made, the runes. One of his victims—my friend—tore it off me. But my friend came to his senses and gave it back.”

  Leona took a deep breath and continued, “Claire, I cleaned that bracelet! I did it! I removed his energy. I didn’t know I could, but last night—Owen thinks that he’s marking his kills—he just cut Owen’s back when he could have killed him. I saw him! He’s in a cave somewhere, and I saw a sword that looks like it’s Viking judging from the designs on the grip.”

  As warning prickles circled her body, Leona turned to see Owen standing at the kitchen door, his arms crossed over his chest. His hard expression said he’d heard everything; those gunmetal gray eyes pinned her. Leona hurried to end the call; she didn’t want Owen to hear more. She feared what he would do with the information “Oh, that’s nice, Claire. Good-bye.”

  “Wait—”

  Leona replaced the receiver and braced herself to face Owen. The phone rang again, and if it was Claire—Leona read the digital number; it was the wrong moment for Alex to call. She had to cut him off before he apologized on the message machine—and Owen could hear what he said.

  She picked up the line, and Alex hurried to apologize. “I don’t know what got into me, Leona. I’m so sorry….”

  “Could we talk later? I’m in the middle of something right now.”

  “You’re really mad, aren’t you? I need to talk with you.”

  Leona glanced at Owen, who had come into the kitchen and now stood at the sink, rinsing his cup. His tense shoulders reflected his mood; she could feel the prickles coming off him like small spears. Oh, he was really, really angry. “I’m afraid now isn’t a good time. We’ll talk later. Good-bye.”

  “Want to tell me about it now?” Owen asked too coolly, when she hung up.

  “I think you heard about everything. I just haven’t had time to tell you.” She wasn’t certain how to handle Owen, his temper bristling around him.

  “You’ve had plenty of time. Let me know when you’re ready to talk. I’m going out to check on the horses, and you’re not coming along. I want you here and safe. Call me if Vernon turns up, or anything else happens. Just do it, Leona.” Owen picked up his moccasins and glanced at Max. “Stay with her.”

  His crisp order grated, but Leona understood the wisdom of it. In a nasty mood, Vernon could easily overtake her. She had to do something to protect Owen—if he was right, he’d been marked for the kill. Her fear spiked, her stomach turned. “If you have to go out—without me—I want you to wear something for good luck.”

  He looked wary, but Leona moved quickly to unlatch the small eolh charm from her bracelet. She asked for one of his moccasins. As she took it in her hands, the soft touch of a loving woman spread over her. “Your mother’s work.”

  Owen nodded and watched her remove the laces, fashioning a leather cord. Leona slid the charm onto the leather thong, then tied it around his neck. “I’ll find you something else to use for laces. Wear this for me,” she whispered as she framed Owen’s face with her hands. “Yes, I love you, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Suddenly, Owen pushed her hands away. “Don’t try that on me. Don’t try to soothe me. Not now. You’d better answer your cell when I call, or I’m coming after you. I’ll always come after you, and you know it. Just make it easier on the both of us for once, will you?”

  Leona closed her eyes and locked into the energy pulsing from him. “You’re really going hunting for him, aren’t you?”

  “You bet. Now I know what I’m looking for…one hell of a coward who lives in a cave. All I have to do is find the right cave. I saw him last night…or maybe just the imprint of Janice’s sketch came at me. But someone put that blade to my skin and shot my revolver. I’d recognize the slug and the sound of Dad’s revolver anywhere. He’s real flesh and blood, and he can bleed as well. I’m really going to enjoy seeing that.”

  Leona hadn’t told Owen about her vision, how she’d seen the man of her nightmares in his lair. “How do you know he lives in a cave?”

  Owen patted her cheek lightly; he was definitely angry. “Why, honey, I just found out. I heard what you said to Claire on the phone. And you’ve seen that sword. You should have trusted me enough to tell me about everything but you didn’t.”

  Leona realized that Owen wasn’t only angry; she’d hurt him. “I’m sorry, Owen.”

  When he turned away and didn’t answer, Leona understood he’d closed an emotional door to her.

  She could only hope his mood was temporary.

  Throughout the day, Owen’s calls to Leona at Timeless Vintage had been brief. The code words and responses they’d prearranged to let each other know they were safe gave her some small sense of security. Even without her psychic senses on the rise, Leona would have understood the vibrations coming across the line; she couldn’t miss Owen’s impatience and frustration. You should have trusted me enough to tell me….

  When Leona had entered her shop that morning, she’d been very careful to stop inside the back door. Momentarily, she wished for Max to be at her side. However, because some of her customers were allergic to animals, she’d left him at home. Owen wouldn’t be happy about that—if he found out.

  Leona had cautiously opened her senses, letting them flow up the stairs to her office and into the dressing area. She sensed no immediate presence.

  But in the display room, Jasmine had been pushed down, her body broken and trashed. The mannequin had been the only thing touched in the shop. Leona understood the warning—Vernon, or Borg’s descendant, who could be the same, intended to do the same to her.

  “If you’re listening, freak…you’ll have a hard time doing the same to me, sword or not.”

  Jasmine had become almost like a dear friend. It hurt to see the mannequin broken and scarred. But it also demonstrated that her stalker had an unreasonable temper, and Leona could use that against him. And she had better learn how very quickly.

  Now, after another hard day of waiting on customers and trying to find a clerk and someone for alterations, Leona called Charlotte Franklin. Uneasy about her initial conversation with the young woman, Leona wanted a personal chat. She planned to open herself to every vibration and discover if Charlotte had been seduced into serving Borg’s descendant.

  On her way to turn the CLOSED sign in the front door, Leona turned to her image in the mirror. Shadows circled her eyes, her hair was slightly mussed from demonstrating to her last customer how a large-brimmed hat should be worn. Her wide cuff bracelet and the silver runes flashed as she lifted her hand to smooth her hair. “Hello, Aisling. You’re very close to me now aren’t you? Well, I’m worried, too,” she said, then felt her palms grow warm.

  Leona’s heart seemed to slow. Suddenly she was looking at blood on her palms, flowing hotly through her fingers. Images slid through her mind: Max’s bared teeth…blood…. Visions could be interpreted wrong, could be misleading, but Leona understood: Blood would flow. But whose blood? Owen’s? Hers?

  Tires screeched and Leona glanced outside to see a familiar pickup pull into the shop’s parking space.
Vernon pushed out of the truck, his expression furious as he charged through her front door. Leona backed up, bracing herself as he paused, glanced up at the bell that had just tinkled, and reached for it. A tug and the bell came down, tossed to the floor. There was blood on his leg, his overalls and shirt torn.

  If he’d hurt Owen…Could Owen already be dead, and she not feel the loss instantly? She told herself to be calm. If Owen needed her, she couldn’t afford to clog the connection to him with her fear. “Hello, Vernon. I’ve been calling you. We need to talk.”

  He pointed to her, and she noted the towel, spotted with blood, wrapped around his wrist. “You! I went to your house to work and all my tools are gone…everything. Someone finished that closet, and it’s painted…. Then this killer guard dog attacked me.”

  Leona leaned back against the counter, forcing herself to appear relaxed and confident. It wasn’t easy with fear spiking wildly in her. She crossed her arms, one hand gripping her brooch. “If you’d answered my calls, you would have known that there was a dog in the house.”

  “Not any dog, either. This one is an attack dog. He could have killed me,” he answered sullenly. “You owe me for work and for personal damages.”

  She noted how Vernon’s face had changed since she’d met him. The lines were deeper, harsher. Was it possible that the man who wanted to kill her, to destroy her family, stood so close? “I’ll send a check.”

  “Pay now…cash. I’m behind in my bills, and they’re threatening to take my house. It’s all I’ve got left of my wife. I know you’ve got money in the till.”