“Thanks, Carla. I mean it. Thanks very much.” The fervent gratitude in Guinevere’s voice was not faked.
“Honestly, you worry so much about Camelot Services,” Carla said plaintively just before she hung up the phone. “You’d think the business was your child or something.”
Or something. On a wave of relief Guinevere put down the phone and turned to Larry. “Thanks, Larry. That was a great idea.”
“You’re welcome. But I’m not sure it was my idea. It’ll be good for Carla, though.” He straightened away from the door. “Here comes the Elf. Stopped down at the water fountain to pop one of those little pills of his.”
Not only would working be good for Carla, but it was a darned sight cheaper than therapy, Guinevere added silently. She began to wonder how much longer she’d be forced to stay on the job at StarrTech. Zac was bound to realize before much longer that his stool pigeon wasn’t learning anything important. Surely there wasn’t much point in having her come back to StarrTech on Monday. Surely it was necessary for her only to finish out tomorrow, Friday, and then fade into the sunset.
Guinevere was astonished to realize that the thought of being free of Zac’s blackmail didn’t bring quite as much relief as she might have expected. That reminded her that he was going to pick her up after work. Unfortunately she wouldn’t be able to soak Free Enterprise Security for an expensive meal tonight. She had to go into the office and work on her accounts. Having Carla cover the phones was only a stopgap measure. A lot of other things were quietly beginning to rage out of control in Guinevere’s absence. She would probably have to spend the weekend in the offices of Camelot Services too.
The natural anxiety of an independent businessperson kept too long away from the shop fed on Guinevere’s nerves all afternoon. The tension was broken once by a call from her sister around three o’clock. When Guinevere first answered the phone, she really panicked, afraid Carla had changed her mind, after all, about minding the office.
“Carla? Where are you?”
“At your office, for Pete’s sake. Where did you think I was?”
“What’s wrong?” Visions of irate clients and confused temps danced wickedly in Guinevere’s head.
“Nothing’s wrong except for the fact that your files are a mess. I need some time cards for one of your employees. Where do you keep them?”
Guinevere unclenched her fingers around the phone. “Top right-hand drawer in the red table.”
“Okay, I’ve got them. You know you really ought to organize some of these files. They don’t make much sense.”
Carla hung up before Guinevere could explain that she had planned on getting the files reorganized in the near future.
By the time she was ready to leave StarrTech for the day, Guinevere could think of nothing else except getting to her office. She bade a hasty good night to Larry and Liz. Jackson had already sneaked out a half hour earlier after determining that Elfstrom would be tied up in a meeting for the rest of the afternoon.
She was hurrying through the StarrTech lobby, mentally outlining the things that had to be done at Camelot Services, when she nearly collided with Hampton Starr. He was striding briskly toward a silver gray Mercedes parked in the passenger loading zone at the curb, and it was obvious he and Guinevere both had been trying for the same revolving door.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, and then realized the identity of the man she had nearly run down. Tall, with a wealth of prematurely silvered hair that matched the Mercedes, Hampton Starr was an imposing member of the business elite. He wore the pin-striped power suit with aplomb, and his handsome features were tanned to the proper degree of a healthy glow. That tan spoke of tennis and yachting in the summer months and European skiing in the winter. He carried his handsome head with the attitude of a king striding through his kingdom, an image that was fairly close to the truth. Starr ran his company with royal flair. He could be paternalistic at times, harsh at others. He was capable of great charm and ruthless discipline. He owned StarrTech and assumed, therefore, that he owned everyone in it. Fortunately the company was big enough that the average employee didn’t come to his attention. For most he remained a regal figure to be viewed from afar.
Blue eyes that held all the arrogance and confidence in the world focused for a few seconds on Guinevere: the king encountering the dairymaid.
“In a hurry, miss?” The voice matched the rest of him, deep and resonant. “A hot date perhaps?” The blue gaze moved over her with swift assessment, apparently trying to determine whether she was the sort who had hot dates. He clearly expected her to be thrilled that he had condescended to crack a small joke with an employee.
Guinevere regarded him with cooling eyes. “Not nearly as hot as the one I’m sure you’ve got.” She swung around on her heel and pointedly walked off to use another revolving door. She didn’t look back.
Zac, who had been watching the near collision from a few steps away, hurried forward to catch up with Guinevere. “Hey,” he called softly as he managed to slip through the door and take a proprietary grip on her arm, “what was all that about?”
Her head came around quickly, her face set in a cold expression Zac had never seen on her before. “All what?”
“That little scene with Starr.” Zac moved his head to indicate the silver-haired man who was already sliding into the backseat of the chauffeured Mercedes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you give someone the cold shoulder before, except for the time or two you’ve tried it with me. What gives?”
“My, you’re an observant little investigator, aren’t you?”
“Frogs have very sharp eyes.”
Her mouth twisted briefly. “My opinion of Hampton Starr has nothing to do with your investigation. Forget it.”
Zac thought about telling her of his tendency to gnaw on bones and then decided not to bother her with the insight into his character. He would worry the problem in private until he had the answer. “What’s the rush?”
“I’m trying to get to the office. My real office. You know, the place where I try to make a living when I’m not being blackmailed.”
“Jesus, you are in a charming mood this afternoon, aren’t you?”
She came to a halt on the sidewalk, swinging around to confront him. “Look, Zac, I don’t have any news flashes for you. Absolutely nothing happened in StarrTech’s IT department today. Just as absolutely nothing happened yesterday and probably won’t tomorrow. All that’s being accomplished is a lot of inputting. StarrTech is getting a lot of free work out of me while I sit there and have anxiety attacks, thinking about my own business’s future. I’m bound to exhibit some resentment on occasion. Do you understand?”
He nodded, taking her arm again. “I understand. As a matter of fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about tonight.”
“Anxiety attacks?”
“I’m thinking of pulling you out of StarrTech, Gwen. You’ve been there several days now, and you haven’t even picked up a glimmer of a rumor. The only thing you learned was what everyone already knew.”
“The fact that Cal Bender still hasn’t shown up?”
Zac nodded. “You confirmed that his best friend and would-be business partner doesn’t seem to know where he is. That was an interesting bit of information. And of course, for what it’s worth, you did discover Cal’s remote connection to the inventory program that turned up the original discrepancies. But I get the feeling that’s all you’re going to learn.”
She glanced at him suspiciously. “Does this mean you’ve come to the brilliant conclusion that I may not be a female version of James Bond?”
“It means I’m coming to the conclusion that there may not be a lot to learn in StarrTech’s computer department. It was the logical place to start, especially since Russ was convinced that the missing shipments were being manipulated via the computer. But maybe i
t’s time to explore another angle.”
“What other angle?”
“Beats me.” He smiled down at her. “I’ve been having some quiet talks with the people who work on the loading docks at StarrTech’s warehouse. It’s my job to worry about that, though. Not yours.”
She gave him an assessing look. “I can see you making an impression at the loading docks.” She smiled briefly. “You’re being awfully generous and understanding this evening.” Her suspicion and surprise were plain.
“Basically I’m really a nice guy once you get to know me.”
“Says who?”
“I’m sure I could blackmail someone into saying it.” Zac hurried her across the street and down toward First Avenue. “I’ve been curious to see your office from the inside.”
“Why?”
“You’re really in a confrontational mood this evening, aren’t you? Maybe you need some food.”
“Does the termination of the blackmail mean the termination of my free meals?”
“I think Free Enterprise Security can spring for a farewell dinner,” he said.
“There’s a great place out on Lake Union. Specializes in lobster. And it has a very extensive wine list.”
“Are you serious?” He was going to miss her teasing, Zac realized. The thought made him restless.
“Unfortunately, no. I’ve got too much work to do tonight.”
“Don’t look so forlorn. I’ll pick up some fish and chips down at the wharf and bring it back to the office.”
She surprised both of them by saying, “Thank you,” very politely.
An hour and a half later Guinevere leaned back in her desk chair and stretched luxuriously. Across the small room Zac glanced up from the business management magazine he had been reading. He watched the copper-colored silk shirt pull tautly over her breasts. She had discarded the trim suit jacket she’d been wearing, and her coffee-colored hair was straggling free of its coil. She was pleasantly frayed at the edges, and she looked ready for a warm brandy and a warm bed. He visualized her in a pair of flannel pajamas, complete with booties, and then decided to forget the pajamas. Zac was aware of an intense, almost overwhelming desire to be the one to tuck her in.
The remains of the fish and chips dinner had long since been deposited in the trash can, and he had lounged for the remaining time on the couch Guinevere had reserved for visitors. He had his feet planted on the coffee table, and he’d found himself quite content to spend the evening browsing through the magazines that had been stacked on the table. Once or twice Guinevere had asked him why he was hanging around, and he’d told her he didn’t have anything better to do. It was the truth. He couldn’t think of a single thing he’d rather be doing.
“How’s it going?” He tossed the magazine down on the coffee table and folded his arms behind his head. His own jacket had been tossed over the back of the couch, and he’d loosened his tie before eating the fish.
“Not too bad, really.”
“You sound amazed.”
“It looks like my sister did a little work while she was here today. The time cards are ready, and the client schedules are all properly filled out.”
“Is that so astounding?” He smiled at her look of incomprehension.
“On one hand, no. Carla used to be an executive secretary. She knows what she’s doing in an office. But on the other hand, I never actually expected her to do more than cover the phones today.”
“She must have figured that as long as she had to sit here, she’d put the time to good use. Be grateful.”
“I am.” The words were fervently spoken. “What about you, Zac? You must be getting very bored. I really don’t need an escort home, you know.”
“I thought we could have a brandy on the way back to your place.” He kept the words casual, completely non-threatening. With any luck she wouldn’t see the hopefulness in him. Or sense the sexual tension.
Guinevere looked at him for a long time. “Are you really going to pull me out of StarrTech?”
He was annoyed at how easily she ignored his invitation for brandy. “I’ll let you know tomorrow. I have a meeting with Hampton Starr in the morning. After that I’ll make some plans. But, yes, I think I may set you free.”
“And the Elf? He’ll keep quiet?”
“You have my word.”
“I don’t see how you can be so damned sure of what he’ll do,” she said fretfully.
“He’s my friend,” Zac said simply.
“Someday,” she announced coolly, “I’d like to hear the story of that friendship.”
Zac felt the shiver of excitement and relief that went through him. It was the first time she had ever mentioned a future that even remotely involved him. “Someday,” he said very carefully, “I’ll tell you the story.” He got to his feet. “Ready to go home?”
“Yes.”
“About that brandy . . .”
She hesitated, reaching for her suit jacket. “I have some at home.”
He let out the breath he’d been holding and thought about the first night he’d met her. “I remember.” His hand closed aggressively around the doorknob, and he had to stop himself from slamming the door shut behind him too violently. The anticipation he felt was suddenly difficult to channel and control.
As she walked out onto the sidewalk beside him, Guinevere felt the strange tension that seemed to emanate from Zac’s solidly built body. It fed her own uneasy sense of being at a crossroads. This was ridiculous. The relationship, such as it had been, was about to conclude. It sounded as though Zac had decided she wasn’t going to be of much help in his investigation. This was the time to be slipping out of the Frog’s clutches, she told herself firmly. So why was she inviting him home for brandy?
They walked the few blocks down to her apartment building in Pioneer Square without saying much of anything. She would not have made the walk alone at night, but with Zac as an escort Guinevere felt oddly safe. In silence Guinevere turned the key in her lock and let Zac in behind her. She tried to think of something suitably flippant and casual to say as she turned on the lights and found the brandy.
“Well, here’s to my short stint as blackmail victim and undercover detective.” She handed him his glass and raised her own in mocking salute.
Zac sat down across from her and warmed his brandy by cupping his large hands around the glass. “The end of what might have been a brilliant career.”
“I doubt it.”
He smiled briefly. “Oh, I don’t know. You got a little rush out of that illegal entry the other night.”
“A rush? I was terrified!”
“The terror’s part of the rush, I think.” He sounded as though he were just now thinking it through in his head.
“Believe me, I’ve no wish to repeat the experience.” She shuddered delicately. “I’ll stick to the daily terrors of getting temps to the clients on time. That’s about all the excitement I can handle.”
“Is that right? Coming from someone who was willing to risk draining ten grand out of StarrTech’s benefits program, that’s rather amusing.”
Guinevere winced. “I suppose it must look a little as if I lack some scruples . . .”
“I didn’t say that. It looks as if you’ve got some nerve. Just like you had the nerve to follow me into Bender’s house the other evening. Here’s to your nerve, Guinevere Jones.” He took a deep swallow of the brandy and then set down his glass.
“Thanks. I think.” She watched him closely, unsure of what was going to happen next. The tension in the air was rapidly turning electric. “Good luck to you, Zac. I hope you find your white-collar criminal.”
“Sooner or later I will. Just another bone.” He didn’t take his eyes from hers. “But we’re not quite finished, you and I, Gwen.”
“No?”
“No. I said I’d make the decision tomorrow.”
She nodded once. “Yes.”
“That leaves us with tonight.”
“Yes.” Her fingers tightened fiercely around her brandy glass.
“Have you ever kissed a frog?”
“No. A few toads, I think, but no frogs.” She was going to spill the brandy if she didn’t set it down. Moving stiffly, she placed the glass on the table in front of her. The room seemed suddenly very close and crowded.
“Gwen . . .” But he didn’t finish the sentence. He was already on his feet and reaching down to pull her into his arms.
Guinevere said nothing. She couldn’t think of anything sufficiently brilliant or clever or witty. She flattened her palms on his shoulders, aware of the strength in him. He had his own unique, intriguing scent, she realized: warm; a little tangy, faintly musky with overtones of wool from his jacket. Not froglike at all. She lifted her face for his kiss before she could give herself all the reasons why she shouldn’t.
His mouth was heavy on hers, surprisingly so. She sensed the urgency and controlled demand in him and was vividly aware of the way it sparked her own desire. Guinevere’s fingertips sank into the nubby fabric of his jacket.
The large hands at her waist pulled her closer, testing her against strongly muscled thighs. Guinevere let her arms slip upward to circle his neck, and her mouth parted beneath the impact of his. The ribbon of tension and excitement she had been experiencing began to twist and turn around its own axis.
“Gwen, honey, you feel so good.” His voice was a dark mutter of sound in her ear as he freed her mouth to nuzzle the curve of her throat.
She felt his hands slide down to her hips and curve over her buttocks, where his fingers flexed gently. She sighed, her lips skimming the line of his jaw, and then slowly, reluctantly, she pulled away to look up at him. She saw the question that was part demand in his eyes and shook her head a little. She touched his mouth with a fingertip.
“I don’t think so. Not tonight. There are too many unknowns. Too many risks.” Her voice was only a whisper.
The Desperate Game: (InterMix) Page 8