Tropical Storm - DK1

by Melissa Good

  older woman had simply ignored her comments as though she hadn’t made them.

  No, that wasn’t true. That last time she’d said Dar wasn’t a friend of hers, she had answered, agreeing with that. It has almost been… Kerry drew her denim-covered knee up and circled it with one arm, and sighed. She didn’t know what it had almost been, but now she was feeling a little bad about being so rude. She wasn’t usually like that, and she had no idea what about Dar Roberts brought it out in her.

  She turned to her screen, where a dozen or so more questions and clarifications were typed, and reviewed them. She’d left out the snide comments this time, since she’d gotten such reasonable answers the last time.

  Now she hesitantly typed a final line on the bottom, then hit the Send key, doing so quickly before she could change her mind.

  There. Not much of an apology, but… After all, she was the one being screwed over here, her and the rest of her staff. Dar Roberts could just like it or not, she really didn’t care one way or the other. Right?

  Chapter

  Three

  “RIGHT THIS WAY, Ms. Roberts.” The concierge gave her a sketchy half bow and indicated that she follow him. They entered the elevator, and he pressed the button for the top floor, where the hotel maintained business suites for traveling executives. “Have you come far?” he inquired politely.

  Dar tore her attention from the steadily creeping floor numbers. “Miami.”

  She shifted her shoulders inside her brown leather jacket. “It’s a little cooler here.”

  The man chuckled and held the door open as they reached the correct floor. “That it is.”

  Dar suffered his inane comments for a few more minutes as he put down her small bag, then she gave him a tip and kicked him out. As the door closed behind him, she glanced around and exhaled. Not bad, really. The suite contained a bedroom with a large king-sized bed, a sitting room with a decent-sized TV, a cluster of chairs for guests, and a fully equipped desk with pens, pencils, a dataline hookup, and an electrical outlet conveniently at waist level. She wandered over to the desk and set down her laptop case, then flipped curiously through the room service menu. The Hyatt usually featured fairly decent food, and this one had a Mexican-themed restaurant downstairs, along with the usual coffee shop and bar. “So far, so good,” Dar commented to the empty room as she paged through the rest of the hotel directory. Ah. She tapped the plastic with one finger. Health club, pool, movie, dinner.

  That decided, she pulled open her bag and took out a pair of shorts, sneakers, and a cut-off sweatshirt, then flipped on the TV, checking out the movie selections. She chuckled. “Oh ho, The Rock. This is definitely looking up.”

  A few minutes later, she’d changed and was back by the desk, lifting the phone and dialing room service. She scanned the menu as she waited for an answer. “Combination appetizer, steak fajitas, flan, and a coffee milkshake, please.”

  “Yes ma’am,” the voice answered, after a period of scribbling noises.

  “Can I have that at nine thirty, please?” Dar requested, glancing at her watch. An hour and a half should be enough to get through a decent workout and a quick swim. It would also allow her to shrug off her traveling fatigue and probably put her in a better frame of mind than when she’d left Miami.

  Anything would be an improvement over that. The rest of the morning and all of the afternoon until her flight left had been taken up with staff meetings, Tropical Storm 33

  both with her own department and with her peers. It had not been a pleasant experience, and by the time she’d fought her way through Miami International Airport and onto her flight, she’d been about at the edge of her temper.

  Fortunately, the flight had been quiet, a commuter with no children and quick service. Dar had relaxed in her first class seat and accepted a single glass of white wine, sipping it slowly as she watched the sun slide below the horizon. The first stars were just coming out as she landed at Washington National, and she’d felt herself unwind a little, knowing she had at least a whole evening before she had to rain on Peter’s parade.

  An evening she didn’t intend to waste. Dar found the gym with little trouble, pushing the door open and getting the expected silence from within.

  Hotels provided the workout space as an amenity, but she knew from long experience that most business travelers preferred to relax in other ways, most having to do with consuming alcohol and watching sports in the bar.

  Dar preferred the solitude of the machines, and she attacked the small, but fairly well-equipped circuit with stolid purpose, setting the weights and performing the reps according to a long-established routine. It was a good workout, and she even surprised herself with a twenty-pound advance on her arm curls which left her shoulders burning. After an hour, she returned the last machine to its resting position and stood, wiping her face off with the small towel she’d tucked into he waistband.

  Satisfied, she wandered over to the scale and stepped on it, pushing the weights over with a curious finger. “Mmm,” she mused, considering a surprising five-pound drop. “Maybe I’ll have two coffee milkshakes.” A rakish grin faced her in the mirror as she stepped off the scale, remembering the office Christmas party last year when a drunken contest had started to guess her weight.

  No one came close to the actual hundred and sixty pounds. Most guessed twenty or so less, though she wasn’t sure if it was the fact that most of it was muscle, and therefore was denser than they thought, or if they were just trying not to piss her off by guessing too high.

  “B, with an egg roll,” she informed her reflection, then she grabbed her towel and headed for the pool. Thirty minutes later, she was padding back to her room, the towel draped over her shoulders and her workout clothes tucked under one arm. She’d figured the hotel was mostly empty, and her one-piece bathing suit was not exactly an attention-getter; it seemed a reasonable conclusion until she got to the elevator.

  Already waiting for the elevator were four guys who looked like lumberjacks. Dar sighed inwardly, as she bore the appreciative stares. They were medium height, Midwestern types, wearing buffalo plaid shirts and Dockers, most of them clean-shaven, but obviously a little drunk. They stared.

  Dar stared back, leaning against the wall with an air of total nonchalance.

  “Hey baby, wanna come party in our room?” the redhead finally asked, with a smirk.

  “No,” the tall executive replied as she slipped past them into the elevator.

  She knew it was a mistake moments later when they followed her, standing between her and the door, which slid closed with a thump. Her heart 34 Melissa Good rate increased and she watched them carefully, shifting her balance so it was over the balls of her feet, putting on her most no-nonsense look.

  The tallest of them, a bearded man about six feet tall, moved in. “Y’know, ya shouldn’t tease people like that.” He leered at her. “Pretty thing like you.

  And then you go and tell us off. That’s not nice.”

  Dar let the anger build and waited. “I was just using the amenities of the hotel. That’s not against the law,” she warned him, softly. She felt the jerk as the elevator stopped, and realized the man furthest from her had stopped it between floors. She dropped her clothing quietly onto the floor and let her hands curl into fists. “Don’t be stupid, boys.”

  A hand reached for her neck, and the first man closed in, his alcoholic breath blasting her as he pushed her back against the wall.

  She grabbed his hand and twisted, then nailed him in the nose with an elbow that caused blood to spurt all over both of them. A savage side kick slammed the second man against the opposite wall, and then she was by the door, ducking under the arm of the third and shoving him headfirst against the railing that lined the elevator car.

  The fourth man was eye to eye with her and she snarled at him, grabbing the front of his shirt and lifting as she pushed backwards, throwing him back and away from her. Her hand slammed down on the elevator control, and the car lurch
ed into action. They all stared at her, confused and hurting.

  She arched her neck and stared back at them, then grabbed the nearest one and plucked his hotel room key from his pocket, folding her fingers around it. “I want to make sure I know who I’m going to report to the police.”

  “W-we…” the tall man wiped his nose, staring at the blood in bewilderment, “didn’t mean nothing.”

  “You meant to take out your horny fantasies on some poor, helpless woman,” Dar spat. “You picked a bad choice of victims this time.”

  The elevator stopped on her floor, and she crossed briefly to the other side of the car, watching the men scramble away from her. She snorted as she picked up her workout clothes, then exited into the carpeted hallway, letting the door slide shut behind her.

  Then she slowly let out a shaky breath and lifted a trembling hand to her eyes. She waited a minute to make sure her legs weren’t going to collapse, then headed toward her room, getting the door open and slipping inside with a sense of utter relief. She sat down in the nearest chair and let her head rest against the back of it, staring up at the white popcorn ceiling until her heart rate began to resemble something more normal. “Bastards.”

  She got up and ran her fingers through her dark hair, then walked to the desk and pulled out her laptop, plugging it into power and the phone line as she picked up the regular phone and dialed with her free hand. A moment later the front desk clerk picked up. “This is Dar Roberts in 1430. I was just attacked on the elevator by four drunken idiots from room…” She paused and glanced at the key in her hand. “Room 209. I want their names.”

  There was dead silence for a moment, then, “My god! I’ll call the police.”

  The girl’s voice was clearly shaken.

  “No,” Dar spoke slowly and clearly, “I don’t want you to do that; I want you to give me their names, and the company they work for.”

  Tropical Storm 35

  It took about twenty minutes and two front desk managers, but she got what she wanted. In the middle of it, dinner showed up. She motioned for the tall, slim blonde who delivered it to put the tray down on the table near the bed, and waved the girl over for her signature. A brief glance at the bill, then she scribbled her name, with the appropriate tip on the bottom. “Thanks.”

  The girl’s eyes wandered over her appreciatively. “Anytime.” She smiled, then turned to leave.

  Dar’s brow lifted, and a speculative smile crossed her lips, then she sighed as the night manager got back on the phone. First things first. “Thank you.” She took down the men’s names and the corporation who was paying for them to stay there. It caused another smile to appear, this one not pleasant.

  “But ma’am, are you sure you don’t want us to call the police?” the man protested. “I mean, surely they should be thrown out of here, at least.

  “No, no,” Dar objected. “I’ll take care of it. You just leave them alone.”

  “Ms. Roberts, are you sure?” The manager sounded worried.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” came the quietly confident reply. “Thank you.” Dar hung up, then noticed the room service waitress was still at the door.

  “Sorry to eavesdrop.” The girl didn’t look sorry at all. “But are you talking about those creeps on the second floor?” She leaned against the door and regarded Dar. “The four guys who look like overaged football players?”

  Dar nodded. “Probably, why?”

  A shake of her blonde head. “No one’ll go up there except for the older guys from the kitchen. They keep grabbing anything that’s capable of wearing a skirt.”

  The executive smiled quietly. “Oh really?” She had booted her laptop and watched it connect to the system in Miami. She started a terminal session and logged into the corporate database, sending a rapid query and drumming her fingers until it came back. She nodded, then picked up the phone and dialed, aware of the hazel eyes watching her with interest. On the fourth ring, it was picked up. “Gary Sanrichon?”

  “That’s me. Who is this?” The voice sounded puzzled.

  “Dar Roberts.” No introduction, no company name. She suspected it wouldn’t be needed.

  “Oh! Uh…” Sanrichon sounded startled. “My god, it’s… What can I do for you, Ms. Roberts?”

  She read off the names of her attackers. “They yours?”

  “Salesmen, yes,” Sanrichon replied warily. “Why?”

  “They’re drunk and attacking women here in the Hyatt in DC,” Dar replied. “You could do me a favor and make them gone. Now.” She paused and waited, hearing mostly breathing on the other end of the phone. Her peripheral vision caught the room service attendant listening avidly, and she stifled a smile.

  After an obviously shocked silence, he said, “I’ll take care of it.”

  Sanrichon’s words were hard and clipped. “Don’t you worry, Ms. Roberts. I’ll take care of that right now for you.”

  “Thanks.” The executive smiled contentedly. “ ’Night.” She hung up the phone and glanced at the girl, who was watching her with wide eyes. “Too bad for them they work for a subsidiary of ours, huh?” Dar commented, as she 36 Melissa Good watched the laptop download mail, then wandered over to the tray and picked up her milkshake, sucking at it with a satisfied slurp. She lifted her eyes and looked up under dark lashes at the girl. “What’s your name?”

  “Sherry,” the blonde replied softly. “What’s going to happen to those guys?”

  Dar shrugged. “Don’t worry about them. They’ll be out of your hair by the morning; I can guarantee that.” She peeked under the domed lid of one of the dishes and captured a jalapeno popper, biting into it and chewing with pleasure. “Maybe they’ll learn a lesson.”

  “Maybe.” The girl replied. “I’ll…be back to get that tray later on.” She motioned toward it.

  Dar lifted ice blue eyes to hers and smiled. “Sounds good to me.” She watched the girl swallow hard, then slip out, not without a backward glance at her; Dar chuckled wryly as the door closed. “Oh Dar, you seducer of children. That was awful.” She sighed, then got out of her still-damp bathing suit, hanging the thin black fabric over the shower bar in the bathroom to dry.

  Her cotton T-shirt felt good after the dampness, and she sprawled out onto the bed, pulling the tray closer and examining its contents, then flicking on the TV and setting it for the movie. She was about to start it when her laptop chimed; she scowled at it. “I know I have mail. I always have mail. I even had mail after the goddamn servers were downed for eight hours, and it was three AM.” The laptop chimed again, and she sighed, then slid off the bed and padded over to it, grabbing the machine and taking it back with her to the bed after disconnecting the phone line.

  She settled back down on the dark blue comforter, and peered at the mail list. “BS, BS, BS, corporate newsletter. Oh, like I need to read that. BS, Dukky, BS... Ah.” She clicked on the seventh message down, from fairly early that morning.

  Sent by: Kerry Stuart

  Subject: Clarification

  Time: 10:32 AM

  Ms. Roberts—

  There are some additional items that I need

  clarification on. Firstly, regarding the support issue.

  If you were to take over the support of these products, you would need to add several skill sets to your existing support center.

  These would include hardware support for the POSIX

  backends, the thermal slip printers, and the touch screens, none of which duplicates existing support environments you currently have. The training on these items is extensive and ongoing. Your cost center would have to include budget for this training, where we already possess the skill sets.

  Likewise, your programming group is concentrated in TPF, and our code is written in C, with a good number of assembler modules custom designed for the service sector.

  You do not have programmers qualified in this, and would Tropical Storm 37

  have to acquire ours or provide extensive training to bring your own staff up to
speed. Our clients require frequent patches and updates as their environments change, and they are dependent on us to be able to rapidly react to the changing food service world.

  Therefore, I believe it is in your best interests to retain the services of the existing groups employed by Associated. My proposal regarding your budgetary demands will be directed accordingly.

  Please indicate if you feel this reasoning is

  incorrect.

  K. Stuart

  I apologize for my tone and manner this morning—but you can imagine how disturbing the actions of your procedure team was.

  Dar munched another popper and took a sip of her milkshake, a smile tugging at her lips . Kerry had obviously put her access to their corporate systems to good use, and she had made some very valid points. “Good girl, Kerry.” She paused, remembering the woman’s hostile response at having her first name used and some of her good mood evaporated.

  Why the hell should I care? The logical answer was, of course, that she shouldn’t, but for some reason she found herself intrigued by Kerry Stuart’s potential, and her intelligence, and she really didn’t want to be the damn woman’s enemy.

  She sighed. Trouble was, Kerry didn’t seem to have a mutual admiration for her. In fact, Dar was hard pressed to recall being spoken to with that much venom by someone she’d just met in quite a while.

  Hmm. Dar drummed her fingers on the laptop keyboard. Their first meeting had been a disaster. Maybe…well, that last line indicates she was at least willing to listen. Perhaps I could mend fences just a little. She stuffed a laden nacho into her mouth, then started a reply.

  KERRY ABSENTLY MUNCHED on a slice of lukewarm pizza as she paged through yet another spreadsheet. She’d been at it for hours, since she’d gotten home, and she realized she was about ready for a break when the screen started to go fuzzy on her.

  Coincidentally, a knock rapped on her door at the same time. She stood, hissing as her back protested its tenure in the same position, and limped to the door, peeking through the security hole before pulling it open. “Hey, Colleen.” She smiled at the short redhead who bounded inside. Colleen McPherson was the first neighbor she’d met after she moved into the complex, and they’d remained close friends ever since.