The Eyes Of Derek Archer. Vickie York
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hand thrust inside the pocket of his ample trousers. His sigh of relief was audible when she turned toward the elevator.
Archer was waiting for her outside, leaning against the building’s red brick facade. Like her, he was dressed in a business suit. But unlike her, in his crimson tie and Gucci loafers, he looked more cosmopolitan. Susan couldn’t help noticing that every woman glanced their way.
“Brian’s box is in this bank,” she said, starting up the street toward Parkade, the tiered parking garage where they’d left his car.
He swung into step beside her, and she found herself highly conscious of the springy, athletic movement of his stride.
“That’s what I figured when you took so long,” he said. “Did they let you look inside?” He appeared as eager to find out what was in the box as she was.
“No. I need a court order. The bank manager said my lawyer should be able to get one quickly.” When they passed under a covered second-story sidewalk, part of a system permitting inside access to eleven blocks of downtown stores, his hip brushed hers. Susan could hardly believe the way her pulses leaped with excitement at his brief touch.
Take it easy, Lieutenant, she warned herself, fighting the warmth coursing through her. Wouldn’t he delight in knowing she heated up like a bonfire when he touched her?
“Where’s your lawyer’s office?” he asked, not seeming to notice her flushed face.
“On Broadway,” she replied without glancing toward him. “Across the river near the courthouse. You can drop me off there, and I’ll take a cab home.”
The irritated look he gave her made her sorry she’d suggested the taxi. “I’ll wait in the car,” he said. “When you’re finished, we can decide where to go from there.”
SUSAN STILL COULDN’T figure out what Archer wanted from her. But she was even more positive that he wanted something—more than helping her settle an insurance claim. The suspicion gave her an antsy, anxious feeling, like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
During the few minutes she sat in the plush waiting room while her lawyer finished a telephone call, she ran the possibilities over again in her mind. And, as always, she discarded every angle almost as soon as it occurred to her.
The most logical one—that he was a con artist out to swindle her—didn’t add up, now that she knew he was a legitimate insurance agent. And the notion that he might be helping her because he liked her seemed absurd. Men like Archer didn’t do favors for people because he liked them. Settling back in the comfortable chair provided by the attorney, she shrugged off the disquieting notion that she’d only seen a small part of him, that he kept most of himself carefully hidden.
When her lawyer escorted her into a small conference area, the first thing Susan did was peer out the picture window overlooking the parking lot. There sat Archer’s blue rental sedan. He stood beside it, leaning casually against the closed door. His unselfconscious grace made her think of a resting panther—dangerous even when relaxed.
While she watched, two women sauntered up to him from the nearby sidewalk. During the conversation that followed, he shook his head a few times, then pointed toward a bridge leading across the river. Susan sighed with relief when they walked away. How could one man evoke so many different feelings? she wondered. From tenderness, to suspicion, to plain old jealousy.
“Susan?” She became aware of her lawyer, speaking her name. “Our receptionist said you needed a court order.”
In a few words Susan told the attorney about the safe-deposit box and her encounter with the bank manager. But while she talked, all her busy mind could think about was Archer and why he’d offered to help her.
Why not ask him? If he had something to hide, he probably wouldn’t tell her. Still, wasn’t it worth a try? By the time the lawyer had assured Susan she’d have the court order in the next few days—maybe as early as tomorrow afternoon—she had made up her mind to ask him.
When she returned to the parking lot, Archer was waiting inside the car. He got out when he saw her coming.
“That didn’t take long,” he said. “Was the bank manager right about the forty-eight hours?” Opening the passenger door, he helped her inside.
“Yes. We’ll have the court order in the next couple of days. Now all I need is a few hours off from my new job.”
He started the engine. She didn’t miss the satisfied smile on his face.
“Before we do anything more, there’s something we need to get straightened out,” she said, keeping her voice deceptively calm. Might as well get this over with right now, she thought.
Switching the engine off, he turned toward her and leaned back against the door. “So let’s have it. What do we need to get straightened out?”
There was a wary watchfulness in his expression that made Susan wish she’d never brought this up. He focused his cold blue eyes on her, and she backed away from him on the car seat, even as she reminded herself she was the boss here, not him.
“Before we go any further with our investigation,” she said slowly, “I want to know the real reason you offered to help me.” Hardly breathing, she tried to detect any change in his expression that might clue her in as to his thoughts. But nothing changed. His brow remained furrowed, his mouth drawn down.
Then he drew in his breath and drawled an answer in his rich baritone voice. “So you spotted the lie I told you yesterday. For your information, I don’t give a tinker’s damn about what happens to you, lady.”
Too shocked to speak, Susan stared wordlessly at him.
“There’s only one reason I’d take on a two-bit job like this,” he continued abruptly. “For the money, of course. I expect to be paid for my services.”
He gazed at her with a bland half smile. “You look surprised. Why else would I offer to work for you?”
“Why I…I don’t know.” The words came out a broken whisper.
It was obvious to Archer that, finally, she believed him. What irony. She wouldn’t believe the noble half truth he’d told her yesterday: that he’d been shafted and didn’t want to see the same thing happen to her. But she was perfectly willing to accept a crass financial motive for his good deed.
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