For Your Eyes Only

by Sandra Antonelli

  “Well, thanks for the pizza, Detective,” Agent Mitchell said, pulling up the collar of his overcoat. “Willa, I suppose I’ll see you later this week.” He nodded curtly at Dominic and glanced back at John. “I appreciate the invite, but … I’ve got other plans.”

  Willa made it to the door and opened it, expecting a rush of cold, only the frigid night air was blocked by the wide body of the Los Alamos National Lab Acting Director. “Good evening, Dr Heston,” Farley said from the other side of the threshold, a bouquet of tulips in his arms.

  Tulips?

  She wanted to believe that it was simply a hallucination brought on by Dominic’s noogies, but the big, redheaded man with the armload of flowers was really and truly Donald Farley. “Hello, Dr Farley.”

  “Dr Farley?” she heard Dominic say.

  Farley leaned into the apartment, peering around Willa. “Ah, Dr Brennan. How’s the hardware business?”

  Thankfully, Agent Mitchell was quick. He stepped forward, saying, “Excuse me. Hello, Dr Farley. Willa, we can discuss things sometime tomorrow, if necessary.” Hand on her shoulder, he leaned over, dropped a kiss at the corner of her mouth. With a smirk, he did a little dosey-do with Farley in the doorway before heading down the stairs.

  “It’s impressive how you people work all the time.” Farley shook his head and came all the way inside. His bear-sized frame dwarfed her. “Here,” he thrust out the bouquet. “I know it’s unorthodox, but I wanted to do something to welcome you back to the Lab, Dr Heston … Willa. … I saw these and they made think of you.”

  Willa smiled weakly. What the hell else could she do with John and Dominic watching? It was fortunate Farley understood. As soon as the door had opened to him he knew this was not the time or place to be asking questions about the investigation. Instead, he prattled on about Amsterdam and tulip bulbs.

  Feigning interest, she leaned forward and listened to the interim director as he lied through his crooked teeth.

  Sniff-sniff-sniff. John scratched his head as Queenie dealt with another potential contender. This man Farley was built like a bear—a bear with a sorry red goatee and watery grey eyes that kept roving all over her.

  He was even more wrong for her than Mitchell.

  Mitchell, the asswipe, had put on such a show, kissing Queenie. It was plain that spectacle had been for his benefit. John wanted to put on a demonstration of his own. However childish and rude, he wanted to thumb his nose at the ursine man with the facial hair of a Vaudeville stage hypnotist.

  Instead, he smiled because he knew. Me. Queenie wants me. So, get lost, Smokey-the-Bear. Take your flowers, save the forest from fires, and buh-bye.

  Dominic plopped on the stool Mitchell had vacated. “What are you doing here, John?”

  “I’m on a date.”

  “Right.”

  “No. Really. Queenie and I are, as of tonight, dating. As soon as you and this joker leave, we’re watching a movie.”

  “Whose idea was that?” Dominic’s gaze shot to Queenie.

  “Mine. I think a movie is a good idea for a first date.”

  Dominic shook his head. “You don’t know her at all.”

  “You mean she doesn’t like movies?”

  “No. I’m telling you, you know nothing about her.”

  “I know she’s a widow, she hasn’t dated anyone for a while, and I know I like her.”

  ”Yeah, I like her too. She’s likable and you think you’re coming to her rescue. Jay-zus, you have no clue. She’s told you nothing.”

  John put his feet on the top rung of the other stool and leaned forward, forearms on his knees, unsettled by thoughts that were a little green and slightly fanged. “Hang on here. I know you two have unfinished business. I know you probably love her like a little sister and you’re pissed off that your sister didn’t come to your wedding. That must have hurt. I know you’re trying to work through that, and that’s great, but don’t try and put me in the middle of your crap. I love you and all, but you know, I’m not interested in waking up beside you.”

  “You’re sleeping with her already? She’s gone to bed with you already?”

  Eyes narrowed, John twisted to look at his cousin’s husband. “Ya know, every now and then you’re a real ass.”

  Dominic exhaled and rubbed his face. “Hole. I’m a real asshole. I’m sorry. This isn’t about you. It was… It is about her. It’s all about Willa.”

  “Don’t you think it’s odd, you being simultaneously pissed off and protective?” John sat back, knowing he sure as hell found it weird.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Yes.”

  “Blasting into the apartment yelling like you did is not going to bury the hatchet. That’s no way to repair a friendship, and she said that’s what she wants to do with you.”

  “Is that what she said? She told you that?”

  “Yeah. Look, I know you well enough. When you’re mad as hell at someone, you blow up, get it off your chest, and then you give that person the shirt off your back. That’s what you’re doing here, but I’ve gotta tell you. If I didn’t know how much you love Lesley, it’d be really easy to think you’re jealous or that you’re having an affair.”

  “I’m jealous? I think it’s more you’re jealous an—” Dominic’s mouth hardened and his glare turned volcanic. “Wait a minute. You think I’m having an affair?”

  “No. Of course you’re not. But the vibe you’re both giving off could certainly be construed that way. Your wife might see it that way if you’re not careful.”

  “That,” Dominic climbed off the stool, “is the most retarded thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  “Retarded?” Sniff-sniff-sniff. John grinned. “You know you sound just like your mother.”

  “Oh, Kee-rist.” Dominic rubbed his big hands over his face. “This is ridiculous. I don’t know how much longer I can do this, how much longer I can pretend. I haven’t been getting much sleep this week, keeping all this shit to myself, keeping my mouth shut, not saying a word to Lesley, and it’s ruining the quality of my life. I’m supposed to have quality of life at my age.”

  “So ask Sean to leave. You’re not going to hurt Lesley’s feelings. She knows her brother is a pain in the ass.”

  “Yeah. Right. Sean’s leaving will fix everything.”

  Willa’s phone let out a loud buzz and Farley harmonized with the sound, “Oh no, no, no!” he said, his voice going up a full octave on the last no.

  John and Dominic swiveled around at the same time to look at the man, who was shaking his head. “I insist!”

  Willa groaned inwardly. Yeah. Farley sure did insist. He’d been standing in her apartment for five minutes, insisting. Insisting he’d always found her attractive, insisting he had to take her out for dinner, insisting he’d take her ballooning a little later in the spring.

  And if all that insistence wasn’t enough, as he started to leave, rather than pinching her butt the way he had the other day, Farley—like Agent Mitchell—leaned over and kissed her, missing her mouth only because she managed to turn her head.

  When she shut the door behind his substantial ass and exhaled heavily, laughter erupted from the kitchen. Her eyes narrowed on the two boys who were making such cheerful fun of her. The grip on her frustration evaporated.

  She aimed for the man with the bigger mouth, hurtling a fastball of tulips. The bouquet hit Dominic square in the chest, an explosion of yellow and red petals cascaded down the front of his shirt and billowed upwards to land in his tawny brown hair.

  Rather than the usual sniff-sniffing, John hiccupped, gasping in whoops. He slid off the counter, holding his sides.

  Dominic glared—or tried to. Colorful bits of tulip spilled off him as he shook with glee.

  “Wh-wh-who was that?” John asked, catching his breath.

  Willa bent and started to pick up broken flowers. “My boss.”

  “Well, clearly your boss, Farley,” Dominic hooted, “believes he’s above the Lab’s policy on sexual harassm
ent.”

  “Yeah, Queenie, that man would walk over a sea of fire to have you.”

  “Or a puddle of fire at least,” Dominic agreed, nodding.

  “Shut up.”

  “Only you. Shit like this only happens to you, Willa.” Still sniggering, Dominic climbed off the stool. He grabbed her cell and walked through the confetti of petals spread across the pale carpet. He began to laugh again. “Here,” he said, grasping her elbow, hauling her to her feet. “Your sister called. And you have a flat tire.”

  “I have a flat tire?” she asked, paying no attention to the cell phone thrust beneath her nose. “I have another flat tire?”

  “You want me to fix it for you, or are you going to ask John for help?”

  John rushed forward across the foliage debris. “You’re a real pal to sort out the tire for her! Great to see you, thanks for dropping by, glad you two sorted out your differences. Be sure to give Lesley my love, etcetera, etcetera.” He opened the door and flashed his friend a broad smile that vanished half a second after it appeared. “Bye.”

  Laughing loudly, Dominic shoved the phone into Willa’s hand and turned to leave.

  “Hang on. So, Saturday night?” John said.

  Dominic squinted slightly, perplexed. “Saturday night?”

  “What, am I not invited to the dinner your wife is making at my house?”

  The tension around Dominic’s bright blue eyes had been eased by laughter, but Willa saw the tightness return. The muscles along his jawline undulated as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. “Six-thirty,” he said through a carefully controlled grimace.

  She smiled at John as she took Dominic’s arm. “I’ll show him where the jack is and be right back,” she said. As she walked her old friend downstairs she told him about Chandra and wiped the scrunched-up, molar-grinding apprehension right off his big face.

  11

  Agent Adams had gone a little heavy with the cologne. The office space smelled like bakery with a heady overtone of frankincense, musk, and the Cheetos he’d munched on half an hour earlier.

  Willa stirred up the anomalous mix of fragrances as she shuffled pages to re-check numbers, numbers she’d remember for a long time, not just because of the patterns of vivid color they formed in her mind, but because they held the possible key to Dominic’s ongoing freedom.

  She had nothing against Chandra. Regardless of his saying he preferred seeing her after his Sunday evening astronomy lecture at the library, she’d dropped by his office this morning, just to ‘touch base’. The visit had garnered no significant information—nothing new about the man had been divulged. He’d greeted her with a smile and then remained as haughty and superficial as she remembered. He’d always been polite and respectful when they’d worked together, despite how he’d grown up in a different culture—one that meant he had certain ideas about women, especially when it came to his wife, four daughters and their traditional roles. As a result, his old-world patriarchal point of view translated into how he dealt with females on a professional level as well. He was unfaithful to his wife, had had numerous affairs with various women at the Lab, including Jackie, and thought that was his right as a man. Beneath the polite, respectful surface, Himesh Chandra believed that, like his own virtuous wife, his colleague Willa Heston should have stayed at home to cook and raise sons.

  With a touch of evil glee, Willa smiled down at the papers in her hand. Marital infidelity wasn’t a crime. On the surface, Chandra seemed to be a reasonably modest man who lived for his son, yet hidden behind a PhD in Molecular Physics, the modesty, and chauvinism was the mind of a man skilled in ‘tax mitigation’. While Adams was the taxation whiz—the one with the forensic accounting background—Willa knew enough to understand the difference between tax evasion—when one didn’t pay the required income tax—and tax avoidance—finding loopholes in the tax system to pay less tax legally. Chandra had used tax rules to his own advantage, reducing the amount of tax that he had to pay by using means that were within the law. Setting up a foundation in his son’s name was perfectly legal, but close scrutiny showed a number of flaws. Big ones.

  “What’s that song?” Adams asked.

  “What song?”

  “The one you were just singing? I’ve heard it before.”

  “I wasn’t singing.”

  “Yes, you were.” Agent Mitchell appeared at the edge of the table. He had a cellophane-wrapped basket in his arms. The huge yellow ribbon on the handle brushed his chin. “The Monkees’ ‘I’m a Believer,’, and this, I believe,” he said, setting the wicker package on the table, “is for you.”

  ”Me?” Adams looked surprised. He licked his lips hungrily as he gazed through the plastic wrap. “Someone sent me a muffin basket?”

  “No, Jerry. It’s for Agent Heston. There’s a card.” He pulled a small envelope from the cellophane and handed it to Willa.

  They’d done nothing. They hadn’t even kissed again. After Dominic had changed her flat tire and gone home, she and John discussed why she had so little time, how she’d stepped into the fellowship at the last minute, and why this week was especially harried as a result. They’d arranged to meet for, of all things, grocery shopping later today, and he’d left, saying he understood and was happy with whatever time she could give him. When she’d finally fallen asleep, she’d had sex dreams about him all night long.

  Okay, so John had struck out with the lilies; the muffins were a better choice. Willa opened the envelope and withdrew a pale yellow card with a typed note.

  Sweets for the sweet.

  The laser printing on the white card was the same as the one that came with the lilies and was from the same local florist-gift shop, but there was one difference. This time there was a name beneath the message. As she read it, her stomach did an instant flip—and not the good kind.

  “Love, Donald?” Mitchell said over her shoulder. “I thought the guy’s name was John.”

  Adams poked the plastic. “What guy?”

  “Agent Heston met a local guy, a cop.”

  “Are you dating a cop, Agent Heston?” Adams turned the basket to look at the other side.

  “Are we here to discuss my personal life or investigate Chandra’s tax records?”

  “You heard Special Agent Heston, Jerry.” Mitchell pulled out a chair and sat, picking up a pile of papers to straighten. “So who’s Donald?” he tamped down unruly edges of paper and said softly, just loud enough for her to hear.

  Willa squinted at him sideways. “Farley.”

  “Donald Farley? The Lab’s Interim Director?”

  “Farley sent you muffins?” Adams leaned over to look at the basket again. “Man, he knows his muffins. They look really good. I love blueberry.”

  “Aw, geeze,” Willa muttered between her teeth. “Not again.”

  A laugh rumbled in Mitchell’s throat. “Not again? This isn’t the first delivery?”

  Willa crumpled the card in one hand as she rubbed her face with the other.

  “Uh, Agent Heston, if you want to share these muffins, I’d be happy to get you some more coffee.”

  Fingers laced behind his head, Mitchell leaned back in his seat. His jacket was off. Sweat had stained the armpits of his pale blue shirt a darker shade, but there was no way Willa was going to tell him that. She and Tom had had a few amusing conversations in the past. They’d cracked jokes about SAC Oscar sounding like a cross between Gomer Pyle and Jethro from The Beverley Hillbillies, they’d exchanged some good natured ribbing and kidded around, but this time wasn’t going to be a tit-for-tat battle of quips, especially with the kid in the room. She liked Tom Mitchell, but somebody had to maintain professionalism.

  Unfortunately Mitchell had other ideas. “So what else did he have delivered?”

  “Looks like there’s blueberry, maybe banana nut and, raspberry or cranberry.” Adams poked at the wrapping. “Man, if I were you I would so be greasin’ on these bites. Blueberries are fine!”

  Willa glanced at Mitche
ll and shoved the basket towards Adams. “Here. Eat them.”

  “Yo, Snoop-Jerry, go score us some coffee. Agent Heston needs to catch me up on her take on Chandra.”

  Adams was out of the room before Mitchell had reached the end of his sentence.

  “All right.” Willa exhaled. “Last night he brought me tulips. Okay? So I’m inclined to agree with your assessment. It looks like Chandra’s done some creative accounting.”

  “Flowers and muffins. Hmm. I’d say someone wants to be your beau.” Mitchell grinned. “Oh, but you don’t look pleased. What should have he sent instead, a box of chocolates? Or do you have a weakness for baubles and trinkets?”

  “This is so not funny.” Willa threw the crumpled card on the tabletop.

  “From where I’m sitting it is.”

  She rolled her head back for a moment. “Okay, you’re right. It is funny. Farley pinched my ass the other day, and last night, before Donald left, he tried to stick his tongue in my mouth.”

  Mitchell chuckled and tipped his chair back. Can’t say I blame him. “No kidding?”

  “He also asked me to his place for lunch. I know we’re not exactly working together, but he’s indirectly part of the investigation, and his behavior is inappropriate.”

  “Clearly he doesn’t see it that way. The muffins mean he’s not taking no for an answer.”

  After a groan, she said, “How about I pretend I never got them? If I let Agent Adams eat them all, can I claim I never got them?”

  Mitchell studied her. “Would you ever make an exception?”

  “An exception for what? Eating one of the muffins?”

  “No, would you bend the rules to date someone you work with?”

  “You mean would I actually go out with Farley?”

  Mitchell chuckled again. “I mean would you go out with anyone you work with?”