A Blind Eye (19 page)

I walked around to the edge of the counter and through the door that separated her from the receiving area. “Well, maybe I could hang out here with you for a little while, and you could give me a tour.”

She perked up. “Okay.”

Wow. That was easy. I noticed a textbook open on her desk. “Were you studying?”

“Yeah. I go to Pacific School of Optometry.”

Jenny studied optometry? I guess it made sense—she worked in an eye clinic. But wow. An optometrist? I hadn't seen that coming. How does a girl who used the phrase
visual doctor
become an optometrist? I worried for her patients. “That's pretty cool.” I pictured the front door of her office: Dr. Jenny, VD. I coughed to cover my laugh.

“Thanks.”

I perched on the edge of her desk. “Why don't you show me around? Let me see what's in store for your future.”

“I don't know if I'm allowed.”

I rested a hand on the back of her shoulder. “Come on. I've never seen the inside of a vision repair center before. There's not a soul in sight. What could happen?”

“Well . . . okay.” She closed her book and opened a drawer, retrieving a set of keys. She waved a hand across the reception counter, encompassing a phone, the computer, a credit card machine, and other office essentials. “This is where we schedule appointments and answer the phone and stuff.” She pointed to a wall of shelves, where manila folders with color-coded tabs were stacked. “These are the patient files.”

At this rate, it would be time for dinner before she showed me anything useful. Maybe that was her goal. Take it slow and hope for a dinner date.

She gave me a tour of the copy machine, eye chart—where she giggled as she tested my vision: twenty/twenty—restroom, and break room, with a microwave, coffee machine, and full-size refrigerator. She opened the fridge and showed me the medicines stored there. And her lunch, which I told her she could eat if she was hungry. She refused.

There were two exam rooms on the main floor. They seemed pretty basic—filled with machines for vision screening and a big brown plastic-covered exam chair. She surprised me by knowing the names of all of the contraptions and showing me how they worked. Projectors, refractors, keratometers . . . I didn't have eye problems, so I'd never visited an optometrist.

On the counter of one of the exam rooms stood a large, plastic model of an eye. I asked a question I doubted Jenny could answer. “How does Dr. Wyden's eye repair surgery work? What exactly does she do?”

She opened the model to reveal the inside of the eye. “What happens is, some people, when they get old and stuff, their eyes go bad. See the retina—that's this part here”—she pointed to the curved rear area inside the eyeball—“receives the light coming in through the cornea. The retina processes the light and then sends it along to the brain on the optic nerve.” She touched the long plastic stem coming out the back of the eye.

Wow again. Between her explanations of the complicated equipment and her knowledge of the workings of the eye . . . I honestly hadn't thought she'd know all that. Maybe I'd judged her too quickly.

She smiled, clearly aware that I was impressed. “A lot of times, it's problems with the retina that cause people to lose their sight. So Dr. Wyden has developed a retinal implant. It's a tiny microchip that she puts just under the retina, and it gets the light signals and processes them, stimulating the working retinal tissue to do the same.”

“And then blind people can see?”

“They can see a little of shapes, and it's only black and white.”

I never would've guessed, based on our conversation the other day, that Jenny had any idea what Dr. Wyden did. “How do you know all of this?”

“We have to memorize all of it before we can work here. Even as a receptionist.”

That explained a lot. “Is Dr. Wyden doing this for her daughter?” I asked, trying to crack into the information that really interested me.

“The retinal implant can only help if someone's blindness is from retinal degeneration. Other stuff, like things with the optic nerve, she can't fix.” She put a hand on my shoulder, leaned up on her toes, and whispered, “But she's working on a new implant to help her daughter. It's a secret. I don't think I'm supposed to know. I heard people talking.” Her hand rested on my neck, and her mouth lingered near my ear.

I looked at her. She had bright, blue eyes alive with light. Windows. In them, I glimpsed a spark that said
I'm here, and I'm attracted to you
. Something I'd never seen in Scarlett's eyes, no matter how hard I'd searched.

I took a step back and cleared my throat.

She grinned, knowing she'd affected me. “Here, I'll show you where she puts the chips in.” Jenny led me to the stairs, and we climbed to the second floor. She took me into a room designed for surgery.

Instead of an operating table, Wyden had an enormous, super-deluxe exam chair. The metal base had a bulge, which I guessed enclosed a motor that ran the hydraulic functions. Various lights and machines were attached to its side, and under the patient's foot area was a built-in set of stainless-steel drawers.

Could this be the room where Scarlett had dreamed her death? Tiles covered the floor, instead of carpet like the rest of the clinic. That matched Scarlett's description.

Jenny took out her set of keys and unlocked a cupboard. “This is the microchip.” She showed me a small plastic box with a clear lid. Inside, a tiny black circle the size of a freckle lay on a piece of white cloth.

It was so small. How could that do anything? “That's it?”

“That's it. This is the sample she keeps here to show patients who are interested in the surgery.”

“Doesn't it need a battery or something?” I asked. “Where does it get its power?”

“It's, like, solar powered. From the light that enters the eye.”

Amazing. I never knew stuff like that existed. What would it be like to go from blind to seeing with just a tiny microchip? Too bad it couldn't work for Scarlett, but what about the new project for Dr. Wyden's daughter? Maybe she was developing a device to give sight to people born blind. People like her daughter. And Scarlett.

So why kidnap Scarlett? For a chance to see, wouldn't she come willingly? And her friend Katie, why take her too? Scarlett mentioned Katie had developed a gadget to help a deaf person hear—or at least an implant that helped Katie hear. Maybe she'd also worked on something for Scarlett. That could be a reason for kidnapping her.

The problem was, other than Scarlett's dream, I had no tangible proof that Wyden was behind Katie's kidnapping—or that Katie had actually been kidnapped at all. Parker had called London, but he'd never mentioned a word about Katie's disappearance. I needed to get into Dr. Wyden's files to find out what she knew about Katie and Scarlett in the first place.

I wandered out of the surgery room and pointed at a door with Dr. Wyden's name on it. “What's in there?”

“That's Dr. Wyden's office.”

I checked the door. Locked. “Can we go in?”

Jenny shook her head. “I don't have a key for that room.” She jangled her bundle of office keys.

There had to be something in this place that explained Scarlett's abduction and why Dr. Wyden wanted her. I guessed it was in that office. Dr. Wyden could have gotten a blind person from somewhere much closer than London. Why Scarlett?

I jiggled the door harder, and it rattled a bit like it was loose in the frame. “Jenny, stand back.” I lifted my foot and kicked the door, right by the knob. It flew open.

Jenny's face went white. “Why'd you do that? You're gonna get me fired.”

I checked the door jam and wedged the splintered piece of wood back in place. “Look.” I showed her my repair work. “No one will notice. It was already loose. And if you get fired, I can get you a job at my dad's law firm.” That was probably a lie. Especially since I'd just made a personal vow to never see him again. But if Jenny's income was her main concern, maybe that would help her feel better.

She looked confused and took a step back. “What are you doing here?”

She really was smarter than I'd given her credit for. And scared. I put my hands on the sides of her head. “Jenny, I need to find something. Someone's life depends on it.”

She gave me a questioning look.

“I'm serious. I didn't mean to scare you. But this is important. Can you help me?”

She tipped her head to the side, considering. I saw the same look come into her eyes as before, when she'd whispered in my ear. She'd help me, but a little incentive wouldn't hurt.

I figured, why not? If it might help Scarlett . . . I leaned down and kissed her. Just a quick one on the lips but good enough to make her suck in a quiet breath. I hated myself for doing it. Like I was some kind of gawky, adolescent James Bond toying with her feelings. Maybe Jay was right in his concern for my spiritual safety.

She half smiled and said, “Fine. But you owe me big time.”

“Whatever you want. You name it.”

Jenny thought for a second. “Dinner. At Andina's.”

She'd picked one of the most popular restaurants in Portland, where they served, of all things, Peruvian cuisine. Helping me ransack her boss's office for an experience in fine dining seemed like a fair trade. “Done.”

She relaxed a little. “Okay, what are we looking for?”

“Anything about what Dr. Wyden is working on for her daughter.” That had to be the connection.

Wyden kept her office tidy and impersonal. A few diplomas on the wall and a framed article about the retinal implant—looked like she'd won some kind of award for it. No photos on her desk. Unlike my father, who kept one of his son.

Jenny dug through the cupboards and drawers behind the desk. I sat down at the computer and switched it on. I'd already been at the clinic for more than an hour. How much longer did I have before someone showed up?

The computer needed a password. “What's the daughter's name?” I asked.

“Maggie.”

I typed it in. Wrong. If her computer was like mine, I had two more tries before the machine would lock up. I thought for a second and then tried
Margaret
. It worked.

I searched her files, looking for anything useful. Jenny finished with the drawers and leaned over my shoulder, watching the screen and breathing softly on my neck. I found a document titled
Shepherd Hill
.

I opened it. It was the minutes for a board meeting they'd had recently. A few months ago, before Scarlett and Katie had disappeared. I scrolled to the bottom and found a list of all of the members of the board. Dr. Anne Wyden was listed last.

That explained how she knew about Katie and Scarlett. But not why she wanted them.

I checked the e-mails, assuming anything of recent importance would be there. It all seemed like regular office stuff—solicitations from pharmaceutical vendors and insurance companies. She didn't have a lot on this computer, and I couldn't find anything helpful. She had files laden with medical language I didn't understand. And patient files. I checked for anything under Becket. There was nothing. She must keep her private stuff on a laptop or a jump drive.

I pulled open the desk drawers and rummaged through, looking for any kind of USB device.

I found a photograph. A picture of three people. All smiling with their arms around each other. Dr. Wyden. A girl about eight years old. And a man I'd seen before. Simon Lawrence.

I slammed the drawer shut. “Jenny, what's this?”

“That's a picture of Dr. Wyden's family.”

My stomach tightened. “Who is this man?”

“That's her husband. And her daughter, Maggie.”

Simon Lawrence was married to Dr. Anne Wyden.

I'd let Scarlett walk away with the person who'd kidnapped her. I'd smiled at him and shook his hand, like friends. I'd packed her suitcase and sent her away to be safe with him. She was probably already dead.

In that half second that I'd stared at the photo, everything clicked into place. No wonder Simon was kind enough to let Scarlett bunk in his flat. An easy victim, ready to grab when the moment was right. Who in London would miss a homeless blind girl?

I stood up, letting out a maniacal roar. In one giant motion, I swept everything from her desk. The computer flew off and gouged a hole in the drywall then shattered on the floor.

Jenny screamed and jumped back. “Are you crazy?”

“This is very important. Have you met this man?”

She nodded.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“This morning. With Dr. Wyden. She came in to say that with her husband in town, she was taking the day off and to cancel all her appointments. But she only had one.”

I should've left her on the highway. She would have been fine. Someone would have helped her. Even if I'd taken her suggestion the other morning to drop her off with Detective Parker, everything would've turned out fine. But I hadn't. I'd taken her in my car, tried to keep her safe, and then delivered her into the hands of death.

The front door to the clinic dinged.

“Someone's here,” Jenny whispered, looking with horror at the disaster on the floor of Dr. Wyden's office. She left the room and turned down the hallway, out of sight.

A moment later, she screamed. A piercing gunshot cut off her cry.

Jenny! Oh no! I'd stayed too long. They'd found my car sitting in plain view outside the clinic. I recognized Deepthroat's voice instantly as he cursed and yelled—something about trigger happy and not being paid to kill everyone. No doubt Connor had pulled the trigger.

Jenny moaned softly. From the office door, I could see her body lying at the top of the stairs, partially concealed by the wall. I figured I had one nanosecond to make a move before the men came up the stairs after me.