The Eyes Of Derek Archer. Vickie York
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released to you since you’re his widow.”
“Will a bank release the contents? Just like that?” She sounded doubtful.
“I don’t know,” Archer lied, “but it won’t hurt to try.” He knew damned well no bank would release the contents of a safe-deposit box to anybody but a cosigner—not even a widow—without a court order. But as soon as she agreed to let him help her, she was well on her way to accepting his offer to act as her private investigator. And, if Archer played his cards right, that meant more opportunities to pump her for information and play her off against the other witnesses.
On the other end of the line, Susan warned herself to go slow. Impressed as she was with Archer—especially now that he’d been proved right about the safe-deposit box—she didn’t want to do anything impulsive.
But she dismissed the thought as being paranoid again.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll talk to Major Savage and arrange for tomorrow afternoon off. We can go to the banks then.”
“Bring along some ID, your marriage license and a copy of the death certificate.” Though his voice was solemn, Susan heard a trace of elation. Her heart gave a momentary leap, and she hugged her satin robe more tightly around herself—as if a snug robe were a coat of armor to shut out her confused feelings.
After she’d hung up, Susan shook her head, annoyed with herself. Archer wasn’t interested in her. He simply wanted to locate the missing insurance policy to prove Brian had it so she wouldn’t think he was a fraud.
His proposal to act as her private investigator was harder to figure out, she thought, drumming her fingers on the table by the phone. He didn’t impress her as a man who offered his time without a good reason. Somehow, his explanation that he wanted to help her because he’d been betrayed himself didn’t ring true. Was there something else behind his offer? For that matter, was he really an insurance agent? With her special training, she should have checked straight off.
She picked up the phone again and dialed the telephone number written on the insurance forms he’d given her. Though it was after nine at night, maybe someone was in the office to handle claims. If not, voice mail might give her some information about the company, and she could call back tomorrow.
A woman answered. “Industrial Indemnity.”
Mildly surprised at getting a person instead of an answering machine, Susan asked for Mr. Derek Archer.
“Mr. Archer will be out of town until next week. If you’ll leave your number, I’ll have him call you tomorrow.”
“You mean next week? When he gets back?” Susan felt her resistance slipping. The more she probed, the more it appeared that Archer was exactly who he said he was.
“No, ma’am. I mean tomorrow.” The woman’s voice turned patronizing. “He phones in for his messages every day. If you’ll leave your number, I guarantee he’ll return your call.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Susan said. She’d found out what she wanted to know. Derek Archer really was an agent working for the Industrial Indemnity Insurance Company.
THE CHAIR IN FRONT of Major Savage’s desk squeaked when Susan leaned forward. Crossing her ankles primly beneath her, she resisted her urge to squirm in the chair like some ten-year-old called into the principal’s office. A drop of sweat ran down her back, cold against her skin.
The major’s hooded, hawklike eyes surveyed her from across his desk. “Of course you can take this afternoon off if you need it, Susan.”
Her heart plummeted. Something must be wrong. Major Savage called people by their first names only when he felt sorry for them.
“Thank you, sir.” She started to get up.
“Before you go, there’s something we need to talk about.” He motioned her back to her chair.
Sinking down, she leaned toward him.
“I’m sorry to have to do this, Susan,” he began slowly, “but now that you’re under investigation by the police, I’m going to have to transfer you out of the intelligence office.”
Mortified, she lowered her head. “Because of my top secret clearance?”
He nodded. “I’m sure you understand why we can’t leave you there.”
“Of course.” Was that squeaky little voice hers? “I’ll help out with some of your unclassified work in the orderly room.”
His hooded eyes studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “Sergeant Philips doesn’t need any help in the orderly room.”
Heat rose in Susan’s cheeks. “Then, what?” she stammered.
He leaned back. The movement made him seem even shorter. Susan straightened to see him better.
“Colonel Tinnerman took a shine to you when he met you yesterday. He can use some help in the security police shop—he’s got some unclassified research he needs done.” His expression softened. “Quite frankly, Susan, you’ll probably be better off there than in the orderly room. If you stayed around the squadron, there’d be questions….”
“I understand,” she said, not understanding at all. There would be just as many questions if she left and wasn’t around to defend herself. Worst of all, she’d no longer have an excuse to snoop around the C-130s and talk to the air and ground crews right after the planes landed. Without that access, her covert mission was wiped out. She’d failed at Operation Macula, her first big assignment.
“Colonel Tinnerman’s on your side, Susan,” the major went on. “Maybe he can give you some helpful advice and counsel.”
“I appreciate that, sir.” All she wanted now was to escape the major’s forced sympathy and get to a phone. Her Pentagon controller had said not to call unless the matter was urgent. Getting fired from her job certainly qualified, since it meant her investigation was finished.
Opposite her, Major Savage cleared his throat. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please ask.”
She hesitated, then plunged. “There is one thing. If I could have a couple of days off before I report into Colonel…”
The major began shaking his head before she finished speaking. “I’m sorry, Susan, but Colonel Tinnerman wants you to start on his research project tomorrow morning.”
Before she could get up, the major came around his desk, his hand extended. “Thanks for your good work in the squadron, Lieutenant.”
Susan took his hand. It felt hot, dry, bony—like a claw. “When I get this mess straightened out, maybe I’ll be back.”
“Of course you will.” His smile seemed phony.
Lifting her arm in a quick salute, Susan didn’t smile back.
“WE’LL HAVE YOU reassigned immediately.” The well-modulated voice on the telephone was carefully neutral, revealing no emotion.
“You can’t do that.” Susan kept her irritation under control, her voice as neutral as the man’s she was talking to. “I just told you the police consider me a suspect in my husband’s murder. They don’t want me to leave the local area.”
In the silence that followed, the growl of an eighteen-wheeler shifting into low gear filled the air. She slid the door to the phone booth closed to block out the street noise.
“Did you do it?” the voice asked.
Heat flamed her face. How could her Pentagon controller ask a question like that? “No, of course not.” She didn’t let her humiliation show in her voice.
“Your husband might have been one of the men we’re looking for,” her controller reminded her. “Your job for us makes you appear even more guilty.” There was a subtle warning in his words. “It’s more important than ever that you