The Eyes Of Derek Archer. Vickie York
Читать онлайн книгу.
a husband-killer to sound. Yes, she might have done it, he decided, eyeing her tempting mouth with its full lower lip. Incredibly, his suspicion made her seem even more attractive, perhaps because it gave them something in common. They were quite a pair: the convicted killer and the grieving widow who might have murdered her husband. For a moment he let himself picture the two of them locked in a lusty embrace, his hands warm on her full breasts.
“It’s an accidental death or dismemberment policy for fifty thousand dollars,” he said, reluctantly letting the fantasy go. He hadn’t had a woman in months and knew the feelings were normal. But why at such an inappropriate time?
He handed her the packet of insurance papers he’d had printed, and she leafed through them.
“Industrial Indemnity doesn’t sound like the name of an insurance company that handles this type of policy,” she commented, without looking up from the page in front of her. Her lashes, several shades darker than her gold-blond hair, shadowed her high cheekbones.
He shrugged. “Our company’s been in business for more than sixty years. We started out with heavy industries where accidents were a big problem. Then, twenty years ago, we began accepting individuals. Your husband said he wanted a sound accident policy that would cover him in war or other violence connected with the military service. Industrial Indemnity is one of the few companies to offer that type of coverage.”
She skimmed through the policy. “Yes, I see the limits here in paragraph 4B.”
The waiter appeared. Susan ordered a cup of tea instead of a cocktail. Too bad. Archer had hoped to loosen her up with a few drinks.
“My husband was murdered, you know,” she said after their beverages had been served and they’d given the waiter their lunch orders. As she spoke, lines appeared on her smooth forehead, giving her a vulnerable look that made him doubt his suspicion. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure she’d killed her husband.
“Yes, I know,” he returned. “I checked to find out how he died right after I talked to you.”
She eyed him quizzically. “Then you must have gone to the newspaper office right after you called from the hotel this morning. The libary’s not open that early.”
Archer almost said yes, he’d gotten the details of Wade’s death from the Chronicle files. But something in the expectant way she was sitting, leaning toward him with her back straight and her beautiful brown eyes slightly narrowed, alerted him. Did she have a friend on the Chronicle staff ready to deny he’d been there?
He shook his head. “No, I had our research people in San Francisco look into your husband’s death.”
“And you called them from the hotel this morning?” Her musical voice held a rasp of excitement.
He adopted a tone of irascible patience. “Yes, of course. Where else would I call from?”
When Archer saw the look of triumph on her face, he knew he’d made a mistake. But what was it?
HE’D BETTER HAVE a darn good explanation, Susan thought, watching the play of emotions on his rugged, square-cut face. Why did he have to look so darn sexy? From the swath of dark curly hair falling on his forehead, to his thick brows and firm chin, he struck a vibrant chord within her. And his intense, purple-blue eyes—set wide apart above an aquiline nose—seemed omniscient, almost as if he could see into her mind.
Planning her attack, she took a bite of her fish. He couldn’t have called San Francisco from the hotel. He wasn’t even here yet at seven o’clock this morning.
“Mr. Archer,” she began quietly.
His tight expression relaxed into a smile, but the wary look in his eyes remained.
“You can forget about the formalities,” he said with a smile that set her pulses racing. “My friends call me Archer.”
She took a deep breath and shook her head. “We’re not friends, Mr. Archer. Not while you’re playing games with me.”
His smile vanished. He seemed speechless in his surprise. As their eyes met, a shock ran through her. Brows lowered and nostrils flared, he gave her a threatening glare that burned into her brain. For a frightening moment, she thought he might slap her.
“What are you talking about, Mrs. Wade?” His usually smooth voice grated harshly.
“About your lies this morning on the phone.” She stared at him. Even as she watched, his expression veered from anger to confusion. He seemed honestly bewildered by her accusation.
“What lies?” Menace remained in his eyes, but a ghost of a smile touched his lips.
“You said you called me from the hotel this morning,” she said, her face burning. “When I checked, the desk clerk told me you weren’t here. You obviously called from somewhere else. I want to know where—and why you lied about it.”
She waited while he took a bite of steak. When he met her eyes, the menace was gone, but there was a deadly coldness hidden behind his direct gaze. What had he expected her to accuse him of?
“When someone in your family dies violently, it’s a terrible shock.” His sympathetic tone was not matched in his iridescent blue eyes. “No wonder you see suspicious characters lurking behind every bush.”
Again, he hadn’t answered her question. Her doubts about him refused to go away. What clever line was he giving her now?
“What are you getting at?”
He leaned toward her, a determined look on his face. “As soon as we finish eating, we’ll go to the lobby. The clerk will tell you I signed in at eight-thirty this morning, about an hour after I talked to you on the lobby phone.”
“Why did you call me before you registered?”
His brows drew forward in a frown. “Because at least fifteen people were in line to check out. If I’d waited, I might not have caught you at home, so I used the pay phone. After I talked to you, I called our research people and had some coffee. Then I registered.”
Susan could hardly believe there could be such a simple explanation. But, surprisingly, she found herself relieved that he had one. Drawn to him, she wanted to see him again. If he was a legitimate insurance agent, she knew she would.
“I’m sorry, Archer.” She eliminated the formalities to let him know she meant what she was saying. “You’re right. I’ve become paranoid since Brian was killed. He wasn’t robbed, so police know that wasn’t the motive. And the one man who might have seen the killer has vanished into thin air.”
Archer settled back in his chair. “If this possible witness disappeared, how did the police find out about him?”
Susan opened her black leather service bag, pulled out a newspaper clipping and handed it to him. “Here’s a picture of the eyewitness and a story about what happened.”
While Archer read the accompanying article, Susan studied his face. The frown lines were back between his eyes. He scowled as he read. But no matter how formidable he looked, he was still the most fascinating man she’d met in a long time.
What would have happened if she and Archer had met last year, before she married Brian? she wondered, and then gave herself a quick mental kick. Archer was the last thing she needed right now. Behind his sexy eyes was a menacing coldness that frightened her. To clear her mind, she forced herself to concentrate on a window across the room. Outside in the sun, bare branches starting to bud were silhouetted against an azure sky.
He folded the clipping and returned it to her. “Are you sure this man with his back to the camera is your husband?”
“Positive. Nobody but Brian had hair that curled that way around his ears.”
Archer leaned toward her, resting his arms on the edge of the table. “Tell me honestly, Susan. Who do you think killed your husband?”
“Don Albright, the man who murdered Brian’s