FOR YOUR EYES ONLY
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Valerie Beaufort—Val had never wanted any part of the millions her father’s company generated. Now she was stuck with the money and all that went along with it, including a private bodyguard. And someone who had murder on their mind.
Grey Sellers—The ex-CIA agent had left the agency and the External Security Team because of a mistake that had resulted in a good man’s death. He never again wanted to be in a position where someone else’s life depended on him. But now he was falling in love with the woman he had been charged with protecting.
Billy Clemens—Clemens would become the majority owner of Av-Tech Aeronautics if something happened to Valerie. With the millions involved, wasn’t that a good enough motive for murder?
Porter Johnson—Porter had known Valerie all her life and had treated her like a daughter when she had lost her own father. Could he really be involved in what was going on?
Harper Springfield—Another of her father’s partners, Harp had as much to gain by Valerie’s death as any of the others.
Emory Hunter—Did Emory’s soft Southern accent and courtly manner hide a murderer?
Autry Carmichael—The head of Av-Tech security formed his own theory of what was going on out at Valerie’s ranch as soon as he discovered Grey Sellers was a man without a past.
Constance Beaufort—Connie, Valerie’s stepmother, had been virtually cut out of her late husband’s will. Could she be angry enough to kill?
For all the girls who post in my folder
(and for all you lurkers, too).
You are the best!
This one’s for you!
Contents
Prologue
A hell of a way to acquire a few hundred million dollars, Valerie Beaufort thought, looking down on her father’s flower-draped coffin. And she would have given all of it, of course, not to be standing here. They were his millions. Money she had never wanted. And didn’t want any part of now.
“If there’s anything we can do, Valerie, dear,” Porter Johnson said, taking her hand and patting it gently, “you let us know. You know Betsy and I love you like our own daughters.”
Porter’s touch brought Val out of her heartsick reverie and made her realize that the brief graveside service was over. The people who had gathered around the final resting place of Charles Valentine Beaufort were already beginning to stream back to their cars, parked haphazardly along the edges of the vast cemetery.
She supposed she should have listened to whatever the minister had had to say about her father, but she didn’t really need any eulogy to remind her of how he had lived his life. Or of how much she had loved him.
“There wasn’t a better man in this world than Charlie Beaufort,” Johnson said softly. “I never had a better friend.”
Touched by the quiet sincerity in his voice, Valerie leaned forward to press her lips against his cheek. His skin was as soft as old velvet, crepey with age. But then, Porter was even older than her father.
Actually, she remembered, he was the oldest of that small group of men who had founded Av-Tech Aeronautics. They had had no way of knowing then what an industry giant the tiny company they had started on a shoestring after the Korean war would become. Maybe if they had, things would have been different.
“So sorry about your daddy, honey,” Emory Hunter said, as soon as Porter and his wife moved away. Emory patted her cheek, just as he had when she was a little girl. “Charlie was a real good man. Maybe the best I’ve ever known. That should be a consolation to you, just like the size of this crowd should be.”
He indicated the hundreds of people scattered across the sweep of green lawn, centered by the tent they had set up over her father’s grave. They hadn’t lowered the casket yet. Maybe they didn’t do that until everyone was gone. She wasn’t really up on funeral etiquette, which was a good thing, she guessed.
“It is a consolation,” she agreed, finding a smile for another of her father’s partners, men she had literally known all her life. “And it helps to know he had friends like you.”
“You call me in a few days, and we’ll talk some about your old man. I know stories I bet he never told you. Probably didn’t want you to know what a hell-raiser he really was,” Emory said, laughing before his expression sobered. “It’s good to talk about folks after they’re gone. Healthy to remember the good times. It keeps them alive for us a little longer.”
Hunter had never lost his Southern accent, despite the number of years he had lived in Colorado. Since he was now in his late sixties, Val didn’t suppose he ever would.
“I will,” she said, smiling at him. “I’ll call, I promise. And thank you, Emory. Your friendship meant a lot to Dad.”
He
