Guinevere waited, saying nothing.
“It was in a dirty little hellhole of a place named Tallah.”
Guinevere thought of asking exactly where on the globe Tallah was and then decided she could check out the geography later. Something told her just to sit quietly and let Zac talk.
“Things had gone wrong. Very wrong. The U.S. firm I was supposed to be advising badly misplayed its hand. In its infinite widsom management had managed to mortally offend the honchos who ran the town. By the time I was sent in to consult on the problem, it was too late to do anything but try to get the U.S. personnel out of the area. I was able to get the firm’s people out on a chartered flight. But at the airport the soldiers showed up and started demanding that the plane not take off. I stalled the soldiers while the pilot got the plane off the ground. In the end I was the only foreigner the Tallah authorities had left to punish for the big insult.”
Silence hung again in the air, and Zac took another swallow of tequila. He hadn’t touched the potato chips, Guinevere noticed.
“I found myself in a filthy jail cell waiting for a kangaroo court to be convened. And then Russ Elfstrom walked through the door, waving a hefty bribe and a lot of phony authority. Our company’s head office had decided to try a quick grandstand play to get me out of jail rather than risk going through channels. Russ was the closest member of the firm who could be reached and coached on how to make the attempt. The soldiers weren’t sure what to do, but in the end they decided the bribe looked too good to turn down. Russ was smart enough to tell them that the only way they could collect the money was at the border, where he had someone standing by to pay off. We got to the border, and the commanding officer decided to take both the money and me back to Tallah. Russ found himself looking down the wrong end of the gun and started to come apart at the seams. This had been a rather different job for him. He usually got the more civilized assignments. But that close to freedom I wasn’t about to let that damned soldier take me back to Tallah.”
Again Zac stopped talking, gazing out the arched living room window. Finally Guinevere dared ask, “What happened, Zac?”
“I jumped the guy. And I got lucky. I got him before he could kill Russ. Russ and I worked together off and on after that. Our areas of expertise were different. He was the electronics ace, the one they called in to deal with computer security and alarm systems. I got the more primitive kind of work. But it was a long trip back from Tallah. Crossing the border was only the beginning. And after that there was always a kind of bond between us. He left the firm three years ago to come back to the States.”
When the silence descended again, it hung around awhile. Guinevere munched a few more potato chips while Zac worked on the tequila. She felt at a loss to know what to offer in the way of comfort. So she kept quiet.
The shadows lengthened in the living room. Outside, the sky was darkening early as rain moved in over Elliott Bay. Guinevere wondered if Zac had had anything at all to eat that day. He didn’t seem even remotely interested in the chips. His eyes were filled with ghosts the color of the rain clouds overhead. Finally, at five o’clock, she got to her feet.
“I think we should go out and get a bite to eat,” she announced.
Zac blinked, focusing on her as she stood assertively in front of him. “I’m not hungry.”
“Yes, you are.” She reached down and caught his hand. He rose reluctantly under the impetus and followed her tamely to the door where she found her jacket. “There’s a little place just around the corner where we can get some good pasta. Tequila has its uses, but there aren’t a lot of vitamins in it.”
Downstairs and down the street she orderd the cheese ravioli for both of them, and after it had arrived, she stared pointedly at Zac until he began to eat. Once he’d started, she was relieved to see, he kept going. When the check came, she automatically picked it up. That finally got his attention. He gave her a small, quirking smile.
“What gives?”
“This is your lucky night.” She paid the bill and took his arm to walk him back toward the apartment. At the door he came to a halt and looked down at her, frowning.
“I should probably go home,” he said.
“Yes,” Guinevere said. The rain had hit while they were at dinner, and its steady beat surrounded them as they stood under the shelter of the doorway.
“Gwen, I’m—well, thanks.”
“For dinner?”
He shook his head. “For everything. For listening this afternoon. For being patient while I worked it through.”
She smiled. “I thought maybe you were going to thank me for acting as your backup team last night.”
Something flickered in his gaze. “And almost getting yourself killed? Forget it. Be grateful you’re no longer working for me. Otherwise, I would have ignored all those management articles on how to criticize employees in a positive and constructive fashion.” He paused, considering the matter. “I probably should go ahead and tear a strip off you anyway. You scared the living hell out of me last night when I found out I hadn’t tackled Elfstrom after all.”
“You were expecting the Elf to show up?”
Zac nodded. “You and he were the only ones who knew I was heading for the warehouse at ten o’clock. I phoned him after I had put you into the car in front of Larry’s house.”
“I was afraid you might have notified him. At nine thirty I knew that Elfstrom was probably behind everything that had happened. There was no reason for Cal to have rewritten the game program leaving out the principal character unless that character was in a new role.”
“Behind the scenes, pulling strings.” Zac nodded again. “It didn’t make any sense that the real menace was Hampton Starr. He could have been ripping off his own company for some reason, and he does like intrigues, but frankly, the guy’s pure management.”
Guinevere chuckled. “Exactly. He doesn’t know a damn thing about computers. Besides, he enjoys his role as king of the empire. He prefers to rule in style. And he’s terribly conscious of the image. It wouldn’t have fitted the image for him to be running a black-market scam on the side.”
“Right. And Cal and Larry were too wrapped up in their plans to make a fortune by selling Elf Hunt. Besides, just as Starr is pure management, they were pure programmers. And they were young. They came straight out of college into StarrTech. The odds were against their having the kind of contacts it would take to sell those shipments of equipment.”
Guinevere went still. “And then there was me.”
“Yes. And then there was you.”
“Admit it, Zac. For a while you had your doubts about me. Did Elfstrom help plant them?”
“He worked on it.” Zac lifted his hand to rub his thumb along the line of her jaw. In the overhead light his eyes seemed to have regained their brooding quality again. “But I didn’t want it to be you, Gwen. Above all I didn’t want it to be you.”
“You put me through the third degree out at Larry’s house.”
He shook his head. “I barely touched you.”
“Are you kidding? I felt as if I’d been put through the wringer!” Then Guinevere tipped her head to one side, studying him. It occurred to her that she had gotten off lightly after all. A real inquisition conducted by this man would have been endless and brutal. She knew that with a certainty that sent a small shiver through her, and she took a moment to thank her lucky stars.
“I didn’t want it to be you, Gwen,” he repeated.
“But you didn’t want it to be your old friend either.”
“No, but in the end I knew it had to be Russ. Like you, I realized that there was a reason the game had been totally rearranged with the major character left out entirely. Cal had, in typical computer nerd fashion, left the clues in Elf Hunt as he uncovered them.”
“He probably wanted to make a grand announc
ement when he had everything pieced together. Cal would have enjoyed pulling the rug out from under the Elf. He disliked Elfstrom intensely. But Elfstrom moved in on him before he could finish the project.”
They absorbed the implications of that, and then Zac made another halfhearted effort to leave. “I owe you, Gwen. I’d still be flogging this case if it hadn’t been for your help. Shall I call you tomorrow with an update?”
“I’ll be at the office.”
He looked momentarily relieved, as though he’d been expecting her to tell him she didn’t want a call. “Okay.” He stepped back, his fingers falling reluctantly away from the side of her face.
Without giving herself time to think, Guinevere caught his hand. She took a deep breath. “I’m glad you didn’t want it to be me, Zac.”
“Gwen, I—”
She hushed him with her fingertips on his mouth. “Would you like to come back upstairs? Just nod if the answer’s yes.” She smiled tremulously.
Mutely he nodded. Mutely he followed her up the stairs. Inside the door of her apartment Guinevere put her arms around his neck. “I’m willing to try again.”
“To turn me into a prince?” The gray eyes gleamed.
“Yes.”
“Frogs are a bit slow at times,” he said warningly, folding his arms around her waist.
“Sometimes slow is exactly the right way to do things.” She lifted her face for his kiss.
***
Guinevere received two calls at the office the following afternoon. The first was from Larry Hixon. When she said his name with pleasure, Carla looked up expectantly from across the room, where she had several file drawers torn apart.
“Larry! You’re home from the hospital already?” Guinevere smiled.
“I had to get home. Had to finish Elf Hunt. You were right, Gwen. Guess what you find if you go out the second exit of the treasure chamber?”
“The elf?”
“Yup. He’s in there sitting at a computer console. The power behind the throne, I guess. He pulls all the strings in the game. Actually it’s a brilliant twist to the ending. I think I’ll keep it in the final version of Elf Hunt. I’m going to add a new character, though.”
“A frog?”
“How’d you guess? Is Carla there?”
“Yes, she’s here.” With a smile Guinevere handed the phone over to her sister, who took it eagerly.
Guinevere had bought a paper earlier, and she reread the brief article while Carla chatted with Larry. When Carla hung up eventually, Guinevere sighed and tossed the paper back down onto the desk. “I can’t believe it.”
Carla grinned. “You’re just mad because the reporter got your name wrong.”
“Miss Smith. Miss Smith.” Guinevere groaned.
“You know how it is. Smith, Jones, who can remember? There are so many Smiths and Joneses in the world.”
“You’re awfully philosophical about it,” Guinevere said.
“Frankly,” said Carla, “it might be for the best that your right name and Camelot Services didn’t get mentioned.”
“You’ve got a point. Actually anyone reading that article is going to come away with the distinct impression that Hampton Starr stopped the Elf single-handedly.”
Half an hour later the phone rang again.
“Gwen? It’s Zac. The bank just called. It’s approved a charge card for Free Enterprise Security, Incorporated.” Triumph echoed in his voice.
“Congratulations. You can take me to dinner to celebrate.”
“Uh, yeah. I could. But aren’t you supposed to offer to take me to dinner to celebrate?”
“No, Zac. That’s not the way it’s done. You’re the one who just got the card approved. Therefore, you’re the one who uses it to pay for the appropriate celebration. This sort of thing generally calls for champagne instead of cheap tequila, by the way. You have a lot to learn about running a small business.”
“I see. Well, in that case we’ll make it a genuine business dinner, so I won’t be questioned by my accountant when I charge it off as an expense.”
“A business dinner?” For the first time Guinevere felt wary.
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking. You know, there are times when it’s very useful to be able to put someone into a situation the way I had you in at StarrTech. I mean, with the cover of your firm as a background, you could go into all sorts of environments. Whoever questions a temporary clerk or secretary or receptionist? Especially one named Jones. I see a great potential for us working together in the future, Gwen. We can discuss it tonight over dinner.”
“Not a chance!” she shouted into the phone. “Zachariah Justis, you listen to me. Camelot Services is not about to get mixed up in any of your future investigations. Do you hear me? We will not—”
But Zac had already hung up.
* * *
Keep reading for a special excerpt from the next
Guinevere Jones novel by Jayne Castle
THE CHILLING DECEPTION
Available now from InterMix
* * *
Guinevere Jones discovered the gold-plated pistol in the men’s executive washroom on the third day of her employment at the Vandyke Development Company.
She went back to her desk in Edward Vandyke’s outer office and sat brooding about her find for several minutes before she picked up the high-tech stainless steel phone and dialed the number of Free Enterprise Security, Inc. Zachariah Justis’s response to the information about the gold pistol was predictable enough. Guinevere told herself she should have anticipated it.
“What the hell were you doing in the men’s executive washroom?” he said angrily.
“I’ll tell you at lunch.”
Offended by Zac’s failure to perceive the significance of the gun in the bathroom, Guinevere replaced the receiver crisply enough to make her listener wince on the other end of the line. The trouble with Justis was that he could be awfully one-track, a slow-moving freight train that, once started, was generally unstoppable.
Guinevere smiled fleetingly to herself as she fed paper into the electronic typewriter. She was looking forward to lunch even if she would have to spend fifteen minutes of the precious hour trying to explain what she had been doing in the executive washroom.
Half an hour later she transferred her calls to another secretary’s office, pulled the paper bag containing her new Nike sport shoes out of the bottom drawer of the desk, and picked up her purse. Vandyke had still not returned from his strategy session with his managers, but it was twelve-thirty, and he had told her to be sure to take her lunch hour on time. A very thoughtful employer.
After darting into the ladies’ room halfway down the hall, Guinevere slipped out of her elegant high-heeled gray pumps and quickly stepped into the Nikes. Instantly she felt capable of jogging from the Kingdome to the Space Needle. She breathed a pleased sigh of relief and satisfaction. True, the shoes didn’t particularly match the trim, skirted gray wool suit she was wearing, but that was, of course, the whole point.
Guinevere serenely joined several other women wearing suits and expensive sport shoes in the elevator and jauntily made her way to the Fifth Avenue entrance of the high-rise building. She spotted Zac’s solid, compact form before he noticed her approaching. The tiny secret smile she often got these days when she thought of Zac Justis curved the corner of her mouth. There was something fundamentally different about Zac, Guinevere reflected as she went toward him. Standing in the lobby of the business building, he seemed separate and removed from the polished males in suits and ties around him. He was wearing the uniform—a dark, well-tailored jacket and trousers, crisp white shirt, and subdued striped tie—but he didn’t blend into the herd. Perhaps, given the rough, unforgiving contours of his face and the remotely watchful quality of the ghost gray eyes, he never would truly fit in a
nywhere. Even his night-dark hair was different. It was razored short, not blown-dry. He was a man apart.
In that instant he turned his head and saw Guinevere, and the remoteness in his eyes disappeared. It was immediately replaced by a disconcertingly direct, possessive expression that Guinevere found strangely unsettling. She had been telling herself lately that she ought to discourage that look in his eyes, but she wasn’t at all sure how to go about doing it. And deep down she wasn’t certain she really wanted to destroy it anyway. It did something to her when Zac regarded her in that way, something quietly satisfying.
He stood waiting for her, his eyes flicking assessingly over her neatly coiled coffee brown hair, wide green eyes, and slender figure. She watched his gaze take in the chicly padded shoulders of her jacket, the nipped-in waist that didn’t succeed in creating an illusion of any more of a bustline than she actually had, and the gray skirt. She knew the very second he saw the new Nikes. Long dark lashes, the only softness in his hard face, descended in a slow blink. Then he raised his head to meet her faintly smiling gaze.
“Something morbid happen to your shoes?”
“Wearing sport shoes outside the office is very fashionable, Zac. It shows a concern for fitness, it’s practical for running up and down Seattle’s hills during one’s lunch hour, and it’s subtly, chicly amusing. Besides, they’ve been doing it in New York for a couple of years.”
“That’s no excuse. Everybody knows New Yorkers are weird.” He shoved on the revolving door, overcoming its inertia so that all Guinevere had to do was step between the glass panels and saunter out onto the sidewalk.
“You can be very useful to have around,” she told him blithely as she buttoned her red coat against the perpetual Seattle mist. The mid-December chill was unrelieved by any sunlight. The cloud cover today appeared to be eternal.
“You’re so good for my ego.” He took her arm and started her across the plaza toward the sidewalk. “Hungry?”
“Always.”
The Desperate Game: (InterMix) Page 18