Eyes (13 page)

Doug sighed. His family was gone now, and he missed them. He'd lost his mother first, when he was a boy, of a heart defect no one had known she had. Then his grandparents had died while Doug was still in high school, and his father had passed away three years ago. Doug had sold the Lake family ranch when he'd gone back to Texas for his father's funeral. A former ranch hand had bought it. Although Doug knew he'd be welcome to visit, seeing his old boyhood home, newly renovated, didn't appeal to him. He had his memories, and trimming the Christmas tree with all the old ornaments made him feel as if his family were all out there somewhere, pleased that he was keeping some of the Lake family traditions alive.

The branches of the blue spruce were starting to thaw and spread slightly, so Doug got up to walk around the tree. There didn't seem to be any bare spots. He'd made a good choice. The mistletoe, hanging over the doorway, caught Doug's eye, and he smiled as he imagined a beautiful woman walking through his door, a woman who would welcome his kisses and come in to help him trim the Christmas tree.

If he could share the season with any woman in the world, who would she be? Doug sat down and thought about famous actresses, beautiful models, and former girlfriends, but none of their faces stayed in his mind. The woman he wanted had hair the color of morning sunlight, eyes so blue you could drink in their color like a cool, refreshing swallow of water, and the perfectly shaped legs you might find on a runway model. Her smile was pure joy, and he knew her lips would be soft and sweet like the petals of an exotic flower. She would fit into his arms as if they'd been created for each other, laugh at his jokes even if they weren't funny, and cry with him when he was feeling sad. Her face was always there, hovering at the very back of his mind. No other woman could erase her image. The one he wanted with him was Jill.

CHAPTER 15

They were sitting in the back room at the Lamplighter, and they'd talked throughout dinner. Since only one other booth was occupied, it was almost as if they had the room to themselves.

“Take a look at this. It's one of my favorites.” Willy handed Cherie his Swiss Army Knife. He'd just finished telling her about his knife collection, and she'd seemed very interested.

“Why do you need all these blades?'

She stared down at the knife in fascination, and Willy laughed. “They're not all blades. Most of them are tools for survival. There's a pair of scissors, a bottle opener, screwdrivers, a file, and a magnifying glass. There's even silverware. See the fork and the spoon?”

“This is incredible!” She looked up with a smile. “How many things are there?”

“A hundred and eighteen. You can do anything with this knife, from field dressing a deer to building a temporary shelter in the woods.”

“You really seem to love knives, Willy.”

She reached out to touch his hand, and Willy began to feel slightly uncomfortable. Of course he was flattered by her interest, but she was staring at him with such intensity it was almost spooky. He couldn't help feeling that she must know him from somewhere, but he'd thought about it all during dinner and he just couldn't place her. Who was she? A former client? Someone he'd met at a convention or a party? It seemed impossible that he could forget such a beautiful woman.

“You look uncomfortable. What's the matter, Willy?”

God, she was perceptive! Willy shivered under her intense gaze. “Well . . . I was just wondering if I know you from someplace.”

“Not really.” Her laugh was like quicksilver, dissolving into beads that skittered away. “You don't know me, Willy . . . but you have something that used to belong to me.”

Willy raised his eyebrows. “I do? What's that?”

“Your kidney.”

“My . . . kidney?” Willy made a conscious effort to stay calm. What the hell was she talking about?

“You had a kidney transplant, didn't you?”

Willy nodded. “Yeah, but . . . that came from a donor. A dead donor. There's no way my kidney belonged to you.”

“Oh, but it did.” She laughed again, a light carefree kind of laugh. “You see, Willy, your kidney came from the man I love, the man I was going to marry.”

Willy swallowed hard. He was beginning to understand. “Okay. I get it. And believe me, I'm sorry about your boyfriend. But . . . what does that have to do with me?”

“I need something from you, Willy.” Her voice was low and intimate, and she leaned forward to touch his hand again. “It's something that only you can give me.”

He resisted the urge to pull away. Was she some kind of fruitcake? “Uh . . . well . . . sure! It must have been rough for you, losing your boyfriend and all. If there's any way I can help—”

“I just knew you'd say that!” She smiled and closed her fingers around his hand. “It's very sad, Willy. I was pregnant when Alan died. When they told me about his accident, I lost the baby.”

Willy nodded. He'd always been a sucker for a sad story, and he felt really bad for her. “That must have been awful for you, Cherie. I'm really sorry.”

“Thanks, Willy.” She gave him a sad little smile. “Losing the baby was horrible, but that's not all. While I was in the hospital, Alan's parents closed up the condo and they took all his things. Now I don't have anything of Alan's to remember him by.”

Willy shook his head. “The bastards! Can't you call 'em and ask for a picture or something?”

“They won't speak to me. They didn't want Alan to marry me in the first place. But you have something of Alan's. You have his kidney.”

“Hey . . . wait a second.” A chill ran down Willy's back. Was she a nutcase who wanted her boyfriend's kidney back?

He must have looked scared, because she started to laugh. “Relax, Willy. I know what you're thinking, but this isn't a scene from a horror movie. Alan wanted to donate his organs, and I'm glad you have his kidney.”

“That's a relief !” Willy laughed, too. “For a second there I was beginning to get nervous. But . . . you said you want something from me. What is it?”

“I want a baby.”

The expression on her face was soft and pretty, but beads of sweat popped out on Willy's forehead. What the hell was she talking about? “You want . . . a baby?”

“I want your baby. Make me pregnant, Willy.”

Willy knew he was staring at her, but he couldn't seem to help it. Normally, he would have killed for the chance to get a woman like Cherie in the sack, but this was weird!

“Just think about it, Willy. You have Alan's genes in your body. He's alive, and he's a part of you. If I have your baby, it'll be like having a part of Alan back with me again.”

She was still holding his hand, and Willy jerked away. “Hey, Cherie. You're kidding me . . . right?”

“No. I'm very serious. You'll make me pregnant, won't you Willy?”

Willy shivered. The expression in her eyes was so determined, it scared him. He swallowed once, then shook his head. “No way. Look, Cherie, I can understand why you're so upset. What you've been through is enough to drive anybody a little bit crazy. But you're on the wrong track here.”

“You won't make me pregnant?”

Her voice was a little too loud, and Willy put his finger to his lips. “Keep it down, Cherie. I told you before, you're talking crazy. Why don't you go home and get a good night's rest? Things'll look better in the morning.”

“Let me get this straight, Willy. You're refusing to make me pregnant?”

Her voice was softer, but it scared Willy all the same. Even more frightening was the way she was handling his Swiss Army Knife. She kept pulling out the biggest, sharpest blade and then flipping it back, over and over.

“Answer me, Willy.” She looked up from the table and met his eyes. Her stare was cold, chilling.

Willy swallowed again and reached for his knife, but she pulled it back, out of his reach. He knew he had to be firm with her. She was really flipped out. Humoring her wouldn't do any good. “No, Cherie. I won't make you pregnant. You're crazy. What you need is some professional help.”

“I'm crazy?” Her eyes began to smolder. “You're the one who's crazy, Willy. Alan promised me that you'd cooperate. He said he'd make you understand!”

Willy began to frown. “Alan? But you told me Alan was dead.”

“He's inside you, Willy. Listen to him. He'll tell you what he wants you to do.”

Willy shivered, though the restaurant was warm. She was getting crazier and crazier. Was she on some kind of drug? “Get this straight, Cherie. I'm not going to sleep with you, I'm not going to get you pregnant, and I'm not going to listen to somebody that's dead. You must have had a little too much of something—drugs, booze, whatever. Why don't you head on home and sleep it off?”

“You don't understand, Willy.” She reached out for his hand again. “Please . . . you just have to do it! It's the only way I can keep Alan alive!”

“No way.” Willy shook his head. She looked ready to cry, but he hardened his heart. She was crazy, and he had to get rid of her. She could make all sorts of trouble for him if she followed him around, begging him to get her pregnant. “Go home, Cherie. There's got to be a law against this kind of thing. You're harassing me, and you'd better get out of here right now or . . . I'll just have to call the cops!”

“You're a nasty man, Willy Rossini! You don't deserve to have a part of Alan!”

She slid out of the booth so quickly, she knocked over his cup of coffee. Willy mopped up the mess with a napkin and breathed a sigh of relief as he watched her go out the door. That was the last he'd see of her, thank God!

But she still had his Swiss Army Knife! He frowned. It was one of his favorites, but he guessed it was a small price to pay to get rid of her. He could always order another from one of his catalogs.

But what would she do with his knife? She was crazy and now she was armed. Should he call the cops and tell them that there was a crazy woman out there somewhere, wandering the streets with his knife?

Willy thought about it for a moment and then rejected the idea. She hadn't actually done anything illegal, and if he reported her to the police, he'd have to tell them the whole crazy story. His boss was bound to hear about it. They'd joke about it at the dealership for the next twenty years. It would be smarter to keep this to himself. He'd just tell his boss he'd given her the brochures and she'd promised to contact him when she was ready to buy.

The waitress stopped by his booth and smiled. “Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes. Thanks a lot.” Willy handed her a tip and stood up. He was thinking about Cherie as he paid the cashier and headed out the door. Did he actually have her boyfriend's kidney? The doctor had told him the donor's name was confidential, so he had no way of knowing whether that part of her story was true. It could be a figment of her imagination, and she could be out there right now, trying her story out on another guy.

But she had known about his transplant. Willy shivered as he zipped up his parka and stepped out into the cold. She must have asked questions about him because she'd even found out where he worked. Did she know his home address? Would she knock on his door and try to force her way in?

It was dark as he headed across the parking lot, and he shivered slightly. He wasn't exactly afraid, but it gave him a very uneasy feeling to walk past the rows of deserted, snow-covered cars. He felt naked without his knife, and he wondered if he should start carrying some kind of weapon. She was crazy. And she was angry with him. It was impossible to guess what she might do.

His car was parked in the back row. Willy's hands were shaking slightly as he unlocked the driver's door. He glanced around carefully as he slid in behind the wheel, checking the backseat to make sure that she wasn't hiding there. Nothing was moving in the parking lot, but Willy didn't relax until he'd slammed his door and locked it. Was she out there somewhere, watching him start his car and turn on his headlights?

Willy backed carefully out of the parking spot and drove toward the exit. Just as he turned onto the street, a dreadful possibility occurred to him. She'd told him he didn't deserve to have her boyfriend's kidney. Was she crazy enough to try to kill him to get it back?

* * *

She'd watched him as he'd come out of the restaurant and scurried across the parking lot. He had moved very fast and he'd glanced around constantly, his eyes searching the dark shadows. His behavior had given Connie a feeling of satisfaction. At least she'd managed to make him nervous. But Willy Rossini deserved a lot worse than a few sleepless nights.

It wasn't that he'd refused her. Connie had prepared herself to cope with that. But when he'd called her crazy and had threatened to call the police, she had known that she had no choice but to act. She wasn't afraid of the police. She'd done nothing wrong. But if Willy managed to convince them that she was crazy, they might lock her up and stop her from contacting the other candidates on the transplant list.

Connie stared down at the knife she still clutched in her hand. She wasn't a violent person, but there was no other alternative. She had to silence Willy before he could tell anyone else what had happened in the back room at the Lamplighter. She'd used a fake name as a precaution, but he could describe her. He could also describe the car she was driving, and someone at the dealership might even remember her license plate. Alan was depending on her. She couldn't take chances. That meant Willy Rossini had to die.

She put her car in gear and followed as Willy drove out of the parking lot. She'd made a dreadful mistake by telling him about Alan's kidney. Alan had assured her that Willy would understand, but he hadn't.

“I'm sorry.” Connie shook her head sadly. “I tried to do things your way, Alan, but it didn't work. People just don't understand us, honey. They think we're crazy, so we can't make this kind of mistake again.”

At least this was a good area for what she had to do. Connie glanced around and smiled as she saw that most of the factories were closed for the night. If she remembered correctly, there was a perfect street for it about three blocks up. When she forced him to turn right, he'd be stuck at the dead end with nothing but deserted warehouses around him.

Connie stepped on the accelerator and pulled up behind him. He couldn't see her. The interior of her car was dark, and her headlights were practically blinding him. All she had to do was stay right on his bumper and make him so nervous, he'd turn onto the dead end to get away from the driver that was following him too closely.

* * *

“Jesus!” Willy swore softly as he noticed the headlights behind him. The driver was right on his tail, and the streets were icy. Willy tried to speed up, but the other driver kept pace with him. The lunatic couldn't pass. This was a two-lane road, and there was a solid line of oncoming traffic.

“Okay, mister. Go ahead and kill yourself. I'll just get out of your way.” There was a street coming up, and Willy turned on his signal. He was going pretty fast, but he didn't dare slow down or the guy might hit him from behind. It was probably some idiot from Florida or California—where they didn't have snow. Minnesota drivers knew how treacherous icy roads could be.

The street was only a few feet away. Willy gripped the wheel tightly, and made a skidding turn, fishtailing to a stop at the side of the street. Mr. Lunatic could drive on his merry way and kill someone else on the road.