Blind Witness (2 page)

“No, my computer!”
The cry came almost before the cup tipped. Without hesitation her hand came down on the desk in an effort to keep the spill from the computer then it pulled back as the hot liquid burned. At the same time Laslow stood, the other secretary moved to the desk with a towel which mysteriously appeared in her hand. Pushing past the burly man, the woman dropped the towel over the spill.

“It’s all right, Rachelle. I have it.” Carefully, the older woman caught the younger woman’s wrist turning her hand over. “You burned yourself.”

“Did the computer get wet?” The soft voice almost pleaded for assurance, and for the first time, Britton realized the beautiful blue eyes, in the turned-up face, didn’t see him or anything else.

“No, it’s all right,” the woman assured. “But, you should go run some cold water over your arm.”

“Yes.” She stood, took an uncertain step toward the door before she stopped. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be just a minute.” Again her steps were hesitant as she moved forward, giving time for the others in the room to move out of her way.

“I’ll help you,” Britton offered as he stepped to the side of the doorway.

“It’s not necessary. I can manage.” Her hand came out to touch the doorframe following it around into the hall.

Britton watched her move down the hall with more confidence, stopping just in front of the drinking fountain. She wrapped her arms in front on her.

He moved to her. “Here, let me help.”

She jerked when his fingers closed on her wrist, but instead of releasing her, he moved her hand under the stream of water.

Her tiny gasp drew his eyes to her face. Though she was tall, she barely reached past his chin.

If he leaned forward he could press his lips to her forehead.
“It doesn’t seem too bad,” Britton said, shaking aside the strange thought.

“No, it’ll be fine, it just stung a little. I’m usually a lot more careful than this, and never let anything near my computer that might spill.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Britton reassured.

She removed her hand from the water, tilting her head away. “I’d just got in and Lois told me about the bomb yesterday, then Mr.
Laslow came in and startled me. Gruff people tend to do that because I can’t see it coming, and now Mr. Clairbourne is in there. He must think I’m totally incompetent, but I’m not. I really can do my job.”

“I’m sure you can, but maybe I should introduce myself. I’m Britton
Clairbourne.”

Her head shot up, her eyes searching as if to see him. Her breathing turned rapid. He’d startled her.

“You don’t sound like I thought you would. You’re younger, less gruff.” The words seemed to slip from her.

“I’m thirty-four; will be thirty five next month. And, as for being gruff, after yesterday I should be able to give an ogre a run for his money.” Britton couldn’t keep the first smile in two days from creeping across his face.

“Oh,” the groan was almost silent but it made his smile deepen. “I didn’t mean to sound, I mean that … I knew you weren’t old, it’s just … I knew you weren’t mean, I mean you okayed my working after the accident, but.” She finally stopped to take a deep breath. “You just didn’t sound like I thought you would.”

“How did you think I’d sound?” His curiosity forced him to ask.

Her brow crinkled slightly. “Hard, forceful, dominant, demanding.” She dipped her head then jerked as he touched a finger under her chin, tilting her face back up.

“And how do I sound?”

Every emotion showed on her face, stunned, shy, hesitant, and an almost visible compulsion to answer that seemed to leave her breathless. “Strong, but smooth, warm, like rich mahogany.” Her words sent more pleasure through him than they probably should have, but when she swallowed and whispered. “Sexy.” Britt lost his own breath. He didn’t stop her when she tilted her head away off his finger, wondering for a moment who was shocked more by the last revelation.

“Mr.
Clairbourne, I can’t get anything to come up on her computer.” Laslow’s gruff voice came down the hall, shattering the silence that had fallen.

The call!
He pulled back. She didn’t resist when his hand cupped her elbow heading her down the hall.

Britton watched as she slid past
Laslow into her seat, as certain as if she could see him. Her fingers reached instinctively for the headset, sliding it into place, then touched the keyboard, settling into position. She took a small breath before her fingers set to work moving over the keys with confidence.

Her fingers stalled. Her brow wrinkled as she concentrated on the headset. With a slight shake of her head, her fingers once more flew over the keys. This time, as her brow wrinkled, her teeth caught her bottom lip. Frustration showed in every expression.

“It’s not coming out right. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Laslow’s
grunt brought out a whispered. “I’m sorry.” The tremor in her voice pulled Britton from the wall where he’d leaned while he watched her. When his hand settled on her shoulder, he felt her muscles tighten. With a will of their own, his fingers squeezed in reassurance, though he felt frustration at the loss of their only lead.

“You can’t find the recording at all?”
Laslow’s words made her jump.

“It’s here. Or at least part of it is. It’s …” She chewed her bottom lip fi
ghting her obvious nervousness.

Laslow
tended to have that effect on people, and though he was good at his job, Britt just wished he would ease up on her.

“Only part of it’s here.”

“You erased it,” Laslow snapped in disgust.

“No!” she said defensively. “I don’t understand this, it has never happened on any other message.”

“Why don’t you play it for us?” Britton cut off his security chief before he could snap at the young woman again, squeezing his hand down.

“Yes, sir.”
Her voice trembled. Pushing the speaker button, she again typed in the command. In the next second, her voice came over the speaker followed by a familiar electronic whine, then her voice again. By the fourth time fear was unmistakable in her tone. Britt also noticed she didn’t seem overwhelmed as she tried to reason and keep whoever it was talking, trying to gain more information. If only they could hear the other part of the conversation.

A string of curses burst from
Laslow carrying Britton’s sentiment exactly.

“That’s it, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong. I just can’t seem to get what was said to me. It’s never done that to me before.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t, and you have nothing to be sorry about. What’s happening to the recording isn’t your fault. You couldn’t record his conversation because he scrambled it,” Britton informed grimly.

“But I could understand him.” She turned his direction.

“You’re supposed to. You shouldn’t have heard anything unusual, but any recording or tracing of the line is quite impossible.”

“I’m not responsible.”

He knew she was voicing a concern. “No, if anyone is, I am. I designed the scrambler. Whoever it is has access to Clairbourne classified technology, and is using it against me.” A heavy silence hung in the air as Britt exchanged looks with his security officer. Clairbourne Industries was well known in the security and electronic world, and something like this would be hard to cover up and didn’t speak well for the company.

“Miss.”
For the first time he realized he didn’t know her name.

“Harris,”
Laslow supplied.

“Miss Harris.” Britt squatted down beside her chair. Reaching out, he took her hands in his. A jolt of awareness hit him. Her hands were delicate, with long thin fingers that trembled in his hands. The knowledge that the large stunning eyes held no sight added to the gentle image he longed to shield, but he needed her. She was his only link. “Do you think you could remember any of the conversation, what was said or anything else you could pick up that might help?”

She nodded without hesitation. “I’ll never forget that voice.”

“Good, let’s start with that. You described me, now describe him.”

“He was a baritone. The voice was cold, hard; sharp in the delivery. Sometimes it was like he was forcing the words out, though he was rambling.” A shudder vibrated through her body as if chilled. She released his hands, sank back in the chair and wrapped her arms around her waist, as if holding herself together. “You could hear the hate in his voice. I knew he wasn’t lying. He’s going to try to hurt you.”

The tear that formed in her eye shocked him. The words were spoken as if she truly cared. He swallowed deeply. Laying his hand over her arms, he gave another reassuring squeeze.

“Very good, now can you remember what he said?”

“Yes, but you have the transcript?” Puzzlement showed on her face.

“Transcript?” Britton echoed her puzzlement.

“Yes, I make a transcript of the entire conversation of every call as it goes on then send the message up from there. The transcripts are in case the person receiving wants to read all that was said. The messages are just recorded in case I make an error or miss something. It’s a precaution mainly.”

“So you have a copy of all that was said?”

Instead of answering his question directly, her fingers once again moved over the keys with assuredness. At the same time the computer screen filled with the script, the printer came to life. “The phone transcripts are kept in the computer for two weeks unless requested to be transferred to a file. Otherwise they’re cleared,” she informed, using her job to push back the tumult he observed moments earlier. As the printer stopped, she reached up taking the two pieces of paper and handed them to him.

His heart chilled as he read the first few lines on the conversation. “Can you run me three more copies of this then have the file transferred to my personal file?”

She nodded her fingers once more on the move. He was amazed watching her do it without sight of what was happening under her fingers or on the screen.

“What would you like it filed under, so you can recall it?”

“
Clairbourne, threat.”

“Angel Voice.”

Rachelle fingers froze. Her chest tightened. Since Mr. Clairbourne and the security chief had left the office three days before, she had been trying to convince herself it was over, that it was an isolated case that would never happen again. But no matter how much she had tried, deep down inside she knew it wasn’t. Now the harsh voice over the phone testified to the fact.

“Who is this, please?” Even as she asked the question she knew who it was. She would have known even if he hadn’t called her Angel Voice. She shuddered.

“Thank you for giving Clairbourne my message. I’m sorry he came to see you. You shouldn’t have to be around him, but I won’t let him hurt you. But he has to be punished.”

“Please, you have to stop this.” Rachelle cut him off.

“I can’t. He has to know pain, deep inside. He has to feel what it’s like to have everything ripped away. Agony, before he dies.”

“Why?” Rachelle felt tears slide down her cheeks. Her trembling fingers continued to move over the keyboard.

“Because he has to pay.” The voice roared through the head set.

“But someone could get hurt.”

“Then that’s what they get for being around Clairbourne. But don’t worry.” The voice softened. “You’ll be all right. I’ll love you. I’ll take care of you. You’re my angel. You must not go to the warehouses. Promise? Promise!” The voice repeated harshly when Rachelle first failed to answer.

“Yes, I promise.” The words trembled out.

“Don’t be frightened, my Angel Voice. I’ll take care of you. I’ll love you. But Clairbourne dies.”

Rachelle sat still, as the silence filled the air. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there before she felt Lois’ arm around her shoulder.

“There, there sweetheart, it’s all right. I called security, they’re on the way.”

****

Rachelle Harris looked pale when Britton stepped into the message center. As he drew closer, he could see the evidence of dried tears on her cheek. He was shocked by the overwhelming urge of wanting to punch the wall, via the face of the beast that put the fear and sorrow in her eyes, eyes that might not see, but mirrored her innermost emotions.

Since he had met her three days before, he had learned a lot about Rachelle Harris. In the past year, she had known enough pain. She didn’t need this. Her file had told of a bright, intelligent young woman who had started to work for
Clairbourne while in college. Even after she graduated, she had continued to take classes in the evening to move up to an executive secretary. She worked hard, and her advancements showed her progressing to her goal until nine months earlier, when there was a notation of absence due to a car accident. Then dated nearly two months ago was another notation of return to work and listed under disabilities was
blind
.

Seeing her sitting there trembling made Britton ache to shield her from what was happening. Unfortunately, she was caught in it again.

“Laslow?” He kept his questioning tone soft, the tension within him at bay, not wanting to upset Rachelle Harris any more.

“Another call, same jamming equipment; no trace, no recording.”

Britton, unable to help himself, laid his hand on the slender shoulder of the woman in front of the computer. He felt the tremors within her as he tightened his hold. He had realized the first day it wasn’t normal for him to touch his employees as he had done, and now again his hands found their way to her almost unconsciously.

“Can you print me a copy of the transcript then send it to my file?”

She nodded but didn’t speak as her fingers moved over the keyboard. His fingers lingered on her shoulders before he gave her a pat and moved them. He picked up the printout, reading over it. “I want security at each of the warehouses, and the buildings cleared. See about getting hold of the police for some dogs to sniff out explosives.”

“We’re talking about five holding bays and three warehouses?”

“I’m aware of that, so get on it. I’m heading out to the warehouses.”

“Mr.
Clairbourne.” As he turned to leave with Laslow, his soft-spoken name called him back.

The gentle face, like before, was void of all make-up except for a soft shade of off-red lipstick which made her lips look full and kissable. Her face was turned up to him, urging him to want to do just that − kiss her.

“Will you-” Her words faltered.

Coming forward, he crouched in front of her taking her hands in his. “Don’t worry, it will be all right.” The words came out followed by the prayer that they would be true.

****

“It’s all clear, Mr.
Clairbourne. They just finished the sweep. It’s clean. You can let your people back in.”

Britton shoved his hands back through his hair in frustration. His first instinct was to ask if they were certain, but he knew they’d been thorough. They had combed the buildings with dogs. There was no trace of a bomb. It was the same at all the warehouses, but it did nothing to alleviate the uneasy feeling within him.

“Thank you, Captain.” He shook the man’s hand. There’d still be forms to fill out and other paper work, but he would handle that later.

“Okay, Michael, you can get them back to work.” Britt watched silently as the last police car pulled away, then moved through the huge open doors of the docking bay.

Steepling his index fingers together, he tapped them to his lips as he looked over the warehouse. It still didn’t feel right. There were too many places to hide a bomb from the massive metal shelves stacked with crates to the high girded ceiling. He didn’t like it. The thought of his workers being in danger, or the thought of someone after what he had worked so hard to build. And he especially didn’t like the thought of being toyed with. There was no doubt that was what the lunatic was doing. Britt cut back the urge to curse.

Above, the overhead crane rumbled to life, swinging along the girders forty feet in the air, before lowering to snag a waiting crate. It was funny how in just a matter of minutes, everything seemed back to normal.

“Mr. Clairbourne.” Laslow’s gravelly voice sounded behind him. He turned to the man and waited for the security chief to approach.

“I just left docking bay four. Everything’s cleared there. Since it was the location of the first attack, they checked it close, not even a dust ball. Talking to the captain, so far they’ve found nothing helpful. The bomb was basic. It could have been made by anyone with a little know how
and the Internet. Not much chance to trace, but they’re staying on it. As for today’s threat,” Laslow paused. “It’s likely he just wants to see us squirm.”

Behind them, there was a sharp grinding sound. Britt turned with
Laslow, eyes going to the ceiling. The first pop echoed through the building, followed closely by the second, giving everyone in the area just enough time to dive for cover as the last crack came, and the crate swinging overhead plunged forty feet to the concrete floor.

Silence and dust settled, as the men in the bay began to move.

“Is everyone all right?” Michael, the foreman, rushed out of the office.

“Yeah,” Britton’s confirmation was echoed by five other men. Everyone moved to the crushed debris that a moment earlier had been state of the art electronic equipment.

****

Rachelle knew she was foolish. She should never have waited around to hear what happened. Now, she’d missed both of the buses she normally took. Which meant neither Harold nor Mr. Jenkins would be there to call to her, so she would know the right bus. Worse, she really didn’t find out anything except there was an incident at one of the warehouses, but it was hush, hush, because of the police investigation.

She finally learned no one had been injured. That was what was important. She could go home knowing that, trying not to single out the fact she knew Mr. Clairbourne was all right. It wasn’t that he was more important to her than any of the others. It was just, she knew him, and she liked the way he treated her. Not like she was helpless or even incompetent at doing her job. It made her feel good. That was all it was. That’s what made her anxious about him, appreciation.

Rachelle heard a bus coming but when it didn’t slow down until the next stop, she stepped back under the canopy of the waiting area. She listened to several groups of people walking down the sidewalk, and shifted nervously. This was the hardest thing for her, waiting when she couldn’t see what was around her. She wondered if she ever would get used to it, or the inkling of fear that something was going to happen.

She heard the car brake sharply. It pulled to the curb in front of her and she took another step back. The door opened. Rachelle could barely hear the man’s voice offering to give her a ride over the roar of a large truck passing and the other bus leaving.

“No, thank you.” She pulled back further and bumped into the bench.

“I promise you, it’s no trouble.” This time she heard the voice clearly, without the street interference. “In fact, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Mr.
Clairbourne?” Rachelle asked timidly.

“Sorry, I should have introduced myself.” He had come around the car and was directly in front of her now, standing close.

“The truck passed, it made too much noise to recognize your voice.”

“Of course, can I offer you that ride now?”

“It’s not necessary. My bus should be here anytime.” Rachelle shifted, embarrassed.

“Yes, well, it isn’t any trouble, and as I said, I really would like to speak with you. I swung by the answering center on my way out. The room was empty. I obviously just missed you. Please, let me give you a ride.” He reached out and took her hand. She didn’t pull back, instead let him draw her forward.

“Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?” She wished she could see his expression.

“Not at all.”
He opened the door and held it while she settled in before closing it and going around to the driver’s side.

The rich smell of new leather surrounded her with an added musky smell she was beginning to associate with Britton
Clairbourne. It was a pleasant smell, not overpowering. She wasn’t good at identifying men’s colognes, but whatever it was, she liked it. Trying to get her mind off the direction her thoughts were going, she fumbled with her seatbelt, getting it done up about the same time he settled in the seat beside her.

“All set?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Great, you’ll have to give me your address.”

She recited it.

“You’re right on my way. I only live about five minutes from there.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, I have an apartment in The Heritage.”

Rachelle knew the area where a group of charming old buildings that had been renovated into upscale apartments. She often admired the architecture of them before she lost her sight. “I heard they did a nice job on their remodeling. I always thought they were beautiful buildings.”

“Yes, Steve did a wonderful job on them. Then again, his wife Cassie is a stickler for details.”

“You’re friends.”

“I’ve known Steve for years. He and Cassie met while he was doing the renovating. It’s quite a story. I’ll tell you sometime, but right now we have our own psycho to deal with.”

****

Britt cursed
himself for bringing up the trouble when Rachelle tensed in the seat beside him.

“You said you wanted to talk to me,” Rachelle asked in a soft voice.

“How about we talk over something to eat?” He tried to make the suggestion sound casual.

“That’s not necessary.” Her head tilted away. The shy action caught his attention.

“I know it’s not necessary. I just thought it would be nice.”

“I should be getting home,” Rachelle came back, her shyness still visible.

“Of course, I should have realized you had plans. I’m sorry to keep you.” He felt bereft at the thought she had a boyfriend.

“Oh, no, that’s not it.” Her correction came fast. “It’s … I hate to take up your valuable time.”

“Don’t worry about it. If you don’t have anything planned why don’t you join me?”

“I, I haven’t been to restaurants much since my accident.”

“Then it sounds like the perfect time.”

“You don’t understand. I might embarrass you.”

“You could never embarrass me.”

“A lot of people feel uncomfortable being around people with disabilities.”

“I don’t.”

****

Rachelle realized what he said was the truth. He never treated her any different. “I’m trying to give you an out here.”

“I don’t want an out. I want to go to dinner with you.”

She fell silent. “I still don’t feel very comfortable going to restaurants yet.”

“This from a woman who handles a computer better than I could ever dream of.”

“That’s familiar territory.” She shrugged it off.

“How fast do you type?”

“Approximately a hundred and ten words per minute. That usually isn’t necessary in most conversations though.”