What She Doesn't See (15 page)

Personally, Alex preferred her orgasms the
old-fashioned way. Not that she was a prude or anything. She was
happy to try new techniques, as long as they didn’t involve a close
encounter with death. No matter how embarrassing the situation,
Alex had no choice but to bring in the police. From what she saw
she’d stake her reputation that the guy’s death was accidental, but
she wasn’t the official who could make that call.

She backed out of the room and closed the
door, removed her gloves and turned to face the dead man’s wife.
“Mrs. Bell, I’m sorry but the police will have to be called first.
This is an unattended death and to clean it up before they’ve had a
look would be breaking the law.”

Horror claimed the woman’s expression. “But I
don’t understand. He’s done this a hundred times and lived to laugh
about it. How could he be so stupid?”

The idea that she knew what her husband was
up to wasn’t as startling as the idea that his death didn’t appear
to be paramount just now.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Bell. I’m sure
you’re suffering from shock. Losing a spouse is particularly
shattering. Why don’t you—?”

“A spouse!” She looked even more mortified,
if that was possible. “He’s not my husband. He’s my brother! I
simply can’t have this getting out.”

Well, no wonder she was so pissed off. It was
bad enough when a spouse dragged his or her better half into an
ugly situation, but a brother should keep something like this to
himself.

As the woman said, the poor bastard had
probably done this hundreds of times without a glitch. Most likely
he’d gotten a little too confident about his skill at escaping
death. Maybe he’d added the knife to ensure the same rush. Like a
drug addict, he may have wanted to add another layer of danger.

“I tell you what,” Alex offered, “you sit
with me in the living room and I’ll call a detective friend of
mine. He’ll come over without all the fanfare and get the ball
rolling.”

“Thank you so much, Miss Jackson.”

Alex patted the woman’s arm. “Not a
problem.”

Why the hell did men not think about the
ramifications of their actions before they went totally stupid? And
who usually cleaned up the mess and faced the music afterward?
Women
.

Thank God she’d stayed single. Thank God her
mother hadn’t had any other children, she added as an
afterthought.

She didn’t have to worry about some guy doing
this to her.

Alex called Patton. He certainly didn’t owe
her any favors but she had a feeling he would come if she asked.
Damn, she missed Hitch.

She realized something about her interaction
with the male species. She liked men a lot. A whole lot. But her
favorite interactions with men were the ones that resulted in
friendship, no matter how they’d started out. Look at her friend
Cody at the morgue. They’d had a great physical thing going for a
while and stayed friends. That was good. Even Hitch. A pang of
regret ached through her. He had made a difference in her life, had
an impact. But anything more than the few dates they’d shared had
been beyond what she wanted. She was her own boss. She didn’t
answer to anyone.

What was so wrong with that?

That last thought prompted an image of Wyatt
Murphy. He was exactly the type who liked to be the boss, who liked
the power of having a woman answer to him.

Not her type at all.

Men like Murphy were good for one thing only:
an all-nighter—just once. Lots of hot, steamy sex for however many
hours he could hold out and then walk away. No strings, no
regrets.

Unless, of course, he proved to be a killer
as well as handsome.

After waiting with Janet Bell until Detective
Patton arrived, Alex went home. She couldn’t do the cleanup until
the police released the scene. It was after five o’clock and she
was spent.

Murphy, of course, followed her. She
conscientiously ignored him.

She peeled off her clothes, and then stood
very still for a moment. Janet Bell’s dead brother was just like
the other victims she’d encountered lately... alone. If his sister
hadn’t checked up on him, how long would it have been before anyone
missed him?

Did choosing to stay single mean she’d end up
that way? Discovered dead in the bathtub or in bed by some friend
or neighbor?

She suddenly wondered who had discovered
Hitch? Had he lain dead or dying in his car for hours before anyone
noticed?

Why was it that being alone suddenly felt so
lonesome?

Alex’s cell rang and she jerked at the
unexpected sound. She turned on the shower so the water would warm
up, and then grabbed her phone.

“Alex Jackson.”

“We have a problem, Alex Jackson.”

Her free hand struggling with the clasp of
her bra, Alex stilled. She didn’t recognize the voice but that
wasn’t what sent the chill through her. It was the innately cruel
tone that instantly made her understand this was not a former
customer calling to complain.

“Who is this?” She reached for a robe,
abruptly feeling exposed.

“A friend of Charlie Crane’s.”

She held the phone back from her ear to see
if a number registered on the caller ID display.
Blocked
number.

Resting the phone against her ear once more,
she cautiously resumed the conversation. “I’m afraid you’ll need to
call Detective Jimmy Patton of Miami Beach PD or the morgue for any
information regarding your late friend’s body.”

Silence.

Alex licked her lips and held her breath just
to make sure he didn’t pick up on any unsteadiness in her.

“It’s not the body I’m looking for, Miss
Jackson. I think you know that.”

She initiated a long, slow breath before
responding. “Any personal effects left behind can be obtained
from—”

“Miss Jackson, let’s not play games.”

“What do you want?” she demanded, allowing
him to hear the annoyance that flared. His irritating monotone was
getting on her nerves. Who the hell was this jerk? Obviously
someone who wanted the lens. Maybe one of Murphy’s cronies?

“You have something that belonged to Mr.
Crane,” he said with total confidence. “I must have it.”

“Look, buddy,” no way was she admitting a
damned thing, ”I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about and
I’m just about sick of you guys throwing your weight around.”

“Ah. You’ve met Mr. Murphy, I presume.”

Well, duh. “I’ve made his acquaintance.”

“Watch your back with Murphy, Miss Jackson.
He’s a very dangerous man. You wouldn’t like him if you knew all
the facts.”

“Who says I like him now?” She suddenly
wished she’d recorded the conversation. Why was it all this crazy
stuff happened when no one else was around to see or hear it?

“There are things you don’t know. Things you
don’t see.”

“You’re right there,” she snapped. “Like who
killed my friend.”

“Yes.”

She could almost see this jerk nodding his
head as if she were a slow learner under his tutelage.

“Detective Hitchcock. You want to know who
killed him.”

“Was it you?” Why beat around the bush?

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Mr. Murphy
about what happened to Detective Hitchcock. My only concern is the
device you have in your possession.”

She stood her ground. “I have no idea what
you’re talking about.”

“We need to discuss this matter, Miss
Jackson. It is of the utmost importance that I reclaim the item. I
will gladly tell you everything you want to know about Murphy and
the danger he represents to you if you’ll meet me
face-to-face.”

“Like I’m going to meet you.” Please, what
did he take her for?

“Name the place, Miss Jackson. The more
public the better. I will be happy to meet on your terms.”

Well now, that put a whole different spin on
things. If she could pick the time and place, she was all over it.
She had questions for this guy. She owed it to Hitch.

Aventura Mall, Biscayne Boulevard

Alex dressed for the occasion. White
low-slung slacks, white scooped blouse and matching summer jacket.
The powder-blue pointed-toe flats and matching leather belt were
her only concessions to color. The flats were her only allowance
for the fear. The lack of heels were better for running if
necessary, and the pointed toes were perfect for busting balls.
Whether this guy knew it or not, he was dealing with a woman fully
capable of meeting whatever challenge he tossed her way.

Not to mention, she had her own private
shadow. Murphy would be around here somewhere, watching to see what
she was up to.

While she waited near the fountain she
contemplated all she knew about Hitch’s death. Not that much. Only
that one phone call he’d made to her and what O’Neill had told her.
It didn’t take a degree in criminology to know the two things added
up to trouble. The whole idea of being in danger over that stupid
contact lens—or
device
—still felt surreal.

But Hitch was dead. Timothy O’Neill’s home
was a pile of rubble and his friend was dead. Whatever this was, it
was bad and it wasn’t going away.

Her main objective with this meeting was to
get a visual ID of this new character to the stage and to determine
if he was a good guy or a bad one. What she learned about him,
considering his opinion of Murphy, might help her come to more
accurate conclusions about both men.

Alex checked the time on her cell and
surveyed the crowd mingling around in the mall’s main thoroughfare.
Lots of people. She wasn’t afraid. He couldn’t touch her here
without being caught by mall security. One of the security guards
had offered to hang out near the fountain. They’d gone to high
school together. She’d asked him to senior prom when every girl
he’d asked had turned him down. Alex had always felt the need to
champion the underdog. Besides, going with a friend was a lot more
fun anyway. He was married now, but they were still friends.

A distinguished gentleman of about seventy
moved toward her, setting her nerves on edge. Charcoal suit, gray
hair, confident stride. Hands right where she could see them and
thankfully empty.

“Miss Jackson,” he acknowledged as he moved
up beside her at the fountain’s south side.

“Mr...?” She frowned dramatically. “I don’t
think I got your name.”

“My name is not important.”

Of course it wasn’t. Why hadn’t she thought
of that line? She’d heard it in at least three movies.

“Sorry, pal.” She backed away a step. “I
don’t talk to strangers.”

Urgency and no small amount of irritation
claimed his expression. “My name is Avery Chambers.”

“All right, Mr. Chambers.” She folded her
arms over her chest. “Let’s see some ID—preferably something that
tells me who you work for.”

“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible.”

What was it with the spook types? “Whoever
you are, I want to know what this whole thing is about.”

He smiled. She was certain it was meant to be
pleasant or charming but it wasn’t. “It’s about a technology war,
Miss Jackson. Our country is losing, save for a few very special
projects. The contact lens Crane was wearing is a prototype. If it
falls into the wrong hands...” He heaved a monumental breath.
“We’re already far behind on too many fronts.”

“Why was Crane wearing it?” If it was so top
secret and so important, what was a guy like Crane doing with it in
Miami?

“Crane was a test subject. A ghost living
among Miami’s citizens, overlooked and ignored. The type of
feedback he was to provide would have been invaluable to the
technology’s success. It is imperative that this unfortunate
incident not destroy the whole program.”

She had to admit that what he said made some
sense. “If Crane was so important to the program why would he kill
himself?” He had to know how important it was to protect the
device. Why jeopardize something so important?

“We believe he was murdered.”

Tension rippled through Alex. “Why didn’t the
murderer take the lens or whatever you call it?” He had to give her
more than that.

“We can only assume that he was unfamiliar
with the design we’d selected for Crane. The various venues of this
technology are a closely guarded secret. Evidently, when Crane
refused to give him what he wanted, well… you know what
happened.”

“What exactly is the technology?” Might as
well get all she could while he was talking.

“I’m sure you’re aware I can’t share that
information.” His smile was a bit more sincere this time. “If you
have the device, I must reclaim it. There is no reason for this to
burden you further. I’m certain you realize how dangerous this
could prove.”

She was relatively certain she’d just been
threatened.

“First, I’ll need the rest of the information
on Murphy you promised. You did say
everything
. Then we
can discuss where the lens might be.” No way was she admitting
anything until she felt convinced he was one of the good guys.

His eyes tapered with suspicion. “Are you
saying you don’t have the device?”

“If you’re not going to hold up your end of
this bargain,” she countered, “we have nothing else to
discuss.”

“You’re on the verge of making a very serious
mistake, Miss Jackson. I would suggest you do all within your power
to get the device back to me in a timely manner. You won’t find
anyone else who can protect you from Murphy.”

“What about Murphy?” He’d told her that
Murphy was not to be trusted. She wanted to know exactly who Murphy
was. “Are you telling me he’s an enemy of this country? That he’d
steal our technology to sell to someone else for his own benefit?”
Wouldn’t that make him a terrorist? And how do I know you’re not
after the same thing?”

The man’s eyes turned cold and hard with
impatience as his right hand slid into his jacket pocket. “Miss
Jackson, I have a weapon aimed at you right now. I don’t want to
have to use it, but believe me I won’t hesitate if the necessity
arises. Let’s take a walk so that we may discuss the subject
further without any interference.”