"How do you intend to do that in the next twelve hours?" she asked.
"Old-fashioned paperwork," he replied, resignation coloring his voice. "I have the personnel files for all the employees, and I had my company run background checks. If someone just brings me a table, I can get started."
Kama wanted those files. She tamped down her frustration and worked to make her own voice even. "You're dead on your feet. Why don't you have a meal, and then get some rest? I'll start through the files, and if I find anything interesting, I can wake you."
McTavish gazed at her for what seemed an eternity. His eyes looked right through her façade to the devious, scheming corporate spy beneath, she was sure of it. She fought to keep her breathing slow and regular like she'd trained to do. He wouldn't spook her with anymore of those near-psychic blasts of insight. She was prepared this time.
The boyish grin split his face, and charm oozed from his very pores. "I appreciate your offer, but I pledged my help to the miners, even if takes all night."
"Then at least let me help you. Divide and conquer, you know." She smiled, hoping it didn't look as phony as it felt.
"I can help, too, Uncle Rafe. What are we looking for? Arrest records and stuff?"
A gentle tapping rang against the door to the infirmary. Kama went to open it, her hand slipping into the pocket with the stunner. Miss Patty hovered outside, pushing the trolley, which was laden down with covered platters and tableware. The smell of fresh baked bread wafted on the air. Speak of the devil. With some trepidation, she beckoned the woman in.
Miss Patty gave McTavish a smile broad enough to crack her pancake makeup and stopped the trolley beside his cot. "Mr. McTavish, I must apologize for the reception you've had. The medic mentioned that you aren't eating very well and asked if I could fix you something special. I know that prepackaged station food is appalling, so I brought you something I hope you'll find more palatable."
His eyes lit up. He inhaled long and hard, vacuuming up the scent of the bread. "Miss Hertzog, your dedication to your company is an inspiration to us all."
"Oh, please, Mr. McTavish, everyone calls me Miss Patty."
The assistant produced two white linen napkins from the pocket of the frilly apron she wore, handed one to Greg, then tucked the other into the collar of McTavish's t-shirt, smoothing it against his chest while she looked into his eyes. He gazed back, smiling like a fool, and struggled to sit straighter.
"Thank you, Miss Patty. Please, call me Rafe. I'm sorry we don't have a proper table. I've asked for one, but sadly, it hasn't arrived." He waved imperiously at his nephew. "Greg, there's a conference room just down the hall. Maybe you could bring some chairs for the ladies?"
Showing enthusiasm equal to his uncle's, the boy scurried from the room. The old woman turned to Kama.
"I'm sorry Ms. Bhatia, I only brought enough for the men, but maybe you want to run to the dining hall while I'm looking after things here?" She began lifting covers on the platters.
Kama seethed. No way would she leave Miss Patty alone to have a confidential chat with this rich playboy. He had the kind of deep pockets to pay well for Oasis' secret, should the woman possess it. And she might be a killer, too. McTavish wasn't in any condition to defend himself from an attack.
"Don't worry about little ol' me. I have a protein bar in my pack." She opened her duffel and scrounged. No protein bars.
"You've brought a veritable feast," McTavish observed. "I'm sure we'll have enough to share."
His radiant smile overwhelmed Miss Patty's scowl. The woman responded by bringing him a spoon and a small bowl of red liquid. Greg banged through the door with two chairs.
"I've brought two kinds of salad dressing," the woman said. "You can decide which you'd prefer."
Salad? Sure enough, on the trolley, a large bowl of greens topped by some kind of protein cubes, tomato slices, and pepper rings rested beside a platter of warm, fragrant French rolls, a carafe of a thick pinkish liquid, and a covered plate. Her stomach seized as the image of the bloated corpse floated across her mind.
Miss Patty spooned up a dab of the liquid and held it before his mouth. "This one's a strawberry vinaigrette."
He opened for her, like an infant being fed by his mother, and she inserted the spoon, a sly smile on her face, her eyes gazing into his. A drop of the dressing slipped down his chin. She dabbed it off with the napkin. His brows drew together, and he hummed his pleasure before smiling back. Kama stared, opened mouthed, at the woman's not-so-subtle seduction techniques. What was she after?
Bowls were swapped, and the sampling ritual repeated with something the woman claimed was buttermilk dressing. McTavish moaned like he experienced an orgasm, and Miss Patty glowed.
Kama ground her teeth. Wasn't he laying it on a little thick? Sure the woman would be more cooperative if she thought she'd made a friend, but really! That Miss Patty couldn't see through his exaggerated charm insulted women everywhere.
Greg hung over her shoulder, oblivious to his uncle, eyes only for the spread on the trolley. Unable to resist, the boy grabbed a plate and reached for the salad bowl.
"Greg, manners," warned McTavish. "Miss Patty, you'll join us, won't you?"
"Oh, no, I had my dinner hours ago. This is just for you." She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes.
McTavish beamed at the woman, and then gestured for Kama to help herself.
She gagged and covered it with a cough.
"I'm, uh, kind of on a diet." She hadn't seen any wheat growing in hydroponics, had she? "I'll just have one of these rolls. They smell fantastic."
The old assistant glared at her with disapproval. "You really need a more balanced meal to stay healthy. I'm sure they'll have something you'd like in the dining hall."
Kama snatched a roll and backpedaled from the trolley, "I had something earlier."
"So that's where you were all that time," the boy said, reproach in his expression.
McTavish's hungry gaze swiveled from the repast to her like a compass to a lodestone. But the pull of the food seemed too much for him, and he turned his attention back.
Miss Patty buttered two rolls, put them on a plate next to a heaping mound of salad awash in the buttermilk dressing, and handed it to him. He dug in with gusto, making mewling sounds as he forked it down.
"Nothing like real, fresh-baked bread," he said, gesturing with a half-eaten roll. "Yours?"
Miss Patty lifted her brows. "Why yes, I make them the old-fashioned way, from scratch. I'm surprised you could tell."
"Uncle Rafe's a gourmet cook," said Greg, spewing crumbs.
Well, if he's used to eating raw oysters and dead snails, maybe he won't mind where the nitrogen came from to grow the salad. Kama's whole body twitched as she thought about how much Levine's decomposing body looked like a slug.
"And what a delightful salad. I thought hydroponics mostly produced protein bases, and algae for oxygen replenishment," he said. He'd turned the charm up at least a hundred megawatts. Kama expected Miss Patty to ignite any minute.
"We started growing our own vegetables because it costs so much to get them delivered. I look after them between shifts, because I enjoy cooking and have a bit of a green thumb. It's messy, though—I'm always getting that awful red hydroponic fluid on my clothes, but it washes right out." She looked at Kama's stained coveralls and giggled, although Kama couldn't imagine why, then hitched herself up to sit on the edge of McTavish's cot.
"Where did you learn to cook?" he asked, staring with rapture into the old woman's face.
Kama dragged her eyes from the nauseating spectacle and feigned interest in the filmies that papered the wall. She whistled a little tune, trying to drown the sounds of the crisp lettuce and peppers snapping between his teeth. Would Levine's bones still snap, or had they turned spongy by now? No, she wouldn't think about it.
"Oh, I'm self-taught mostly. My mother passed away when I was quite young, and I had to cook for my father. I used to help him run his busine
ss," she said.
"Really. You're a woman of many talents," he said, placing one hand on top of hers where it rested on the covers. "I imagine you brought great comfort to Mr. Levine."
Miss Patty jerked, the smile freezing on her face, and Kama covered a snicker. Had he meant to imply she was sleeping with her boss? He'd been doing so well, using the same psychological ploys that he'd used on the miners in the storage bay meeting. A few more gaffes like that and he'd get nothing from the woman.
"As assistant to the manager, I always felt it was my job to see that Mr. Levine had decent food to eat. How could he do his job if he didn't get proper nutrition?"
"I hope Mr. Levine realized what a gem you are, Miss Patty. I couldn't get along for a day without Barb, my executive assistant. Why, she practically runs my company. It's always the assistants who do the really important work—making sure monthly reports get done on time, collating production numbers, making sure the employees get their vacation days."
Kama wondered if Barb was a figment of his imagination. No, she was probably some hot babe in a tight skirt and low-cut blouse who sat at a desk in his outer office buffing her nails. Corporate types always seemed to keep a squeeze handy around the office. It disgusted her.
Miss Patty fluttered like a moth in torchlight. "Mr. Levine used to write the monthly reports. I only converted the daily totals to monthly figures, and then he'd take it from there. My duties are more along the lines of supply chain. You know, keeping track of provisions, notifying Mr. Levine if we're low on anything. That kind of thing." Then as though she'd downplayed her contribution too much, she added, "Of course, I did all those other things when I worked in my father's business. My father was disabled, and I shouldered responsibility for much of the business operations."
"Why, you are a wonder, Miss Patty. Did he suffer from ice flu complications?" he asked.
"No, he was injured in an explosion at a construction site. He owned a demolitions company and passed away just before the flu hit." She heaved a sigh and made cow eyes at him.
"You must have been a great help when the miners decided to buy the station," Kama interjected. "Since you'd know about contracts and whatnot."
McTavish swiveled her direction, as though he'd forgotten her. She batted her eyelashes at him, and he blinked, surprised, which gave her an idea. Maybe she could throw him off his game sufficiently that he wouldn't wheedle a confession from Miss Patty.
"What kind of a question is that?" the assistant asked, her voice shrill.
"Kama just meant that with your experience running a business, you must have been an invaluable advisor," McTavish soothed, drawing the woman's attention back to him. "I'm sure Mr. Levine tricked you the same as he tricked the men. He had quite the knack for juggling the books."
Kama glared at him, but he didn't notice, still engrossed with the remains of his salad. Miss Patty went to the trolley and poured nectar into a glass, which she gave to McTavish before perching again on the edge of his bed, hip to hip with him. Greg, who'd inhaled his salad and rolls, fetched nectar for himself and Kama. She took a cautious sip. It tasted heavenly, like thick peach lemonade.
McTavish took a swig of his drink, and more moaning sounds issued from him. "Lovely, Miss Patty, just lovely."
The woman lifted the corner of his napkin and wiped a skiff of lemonade from his upper lip. He grinned, placed a friendly hand on her shoulder, and she leaned closer.
Kama growled to herself. This had to stop. She couldn't risk Miss Patty spilling the beans. She casually reached for her zipper and slipped it down several inches. Let's see McTavish stay on track now.
"It's warm in here, isn't it?" she said, trailing a hand slowly down her throat and onto her exposed chest. McTavish glanced her way, then did a double-take. She arched her back and put a hand on her thigh, while drawing in a deep breath that lifted her breasts against the fabric of her coveralls. His eyes widened infinitesimally, and a knowing little smile played around his mouth.
"You know, I'm not very familiar with the station or the mining business," he said, returning his attention to Miss Patty and infuriating Kama. "Your help could be just what we need to figure out this mess. Mr. Goldman and I would certainly appreciate your advice."
"Yes, but would they follow it if you bothered to give it?" Kama said, switching tactics. "You know these corporate types. They think they know everything."
Miss Patty drew back and put a hand to her mouth. "Mr. Goldman? I heard a rumor that he won't allow anyone to return to work. Is that true?"
"Well," he replied, fumbling for words, "he's, uh, working on some insurance requirements that need to be in place before work starts again."
Ah, ha! Another little glitch in his patter. Kama considered her next move with growing enthusiasm. This could be fun.
Worry caused a cascade of creases in the old woman's forehead. "The men say he intends to fire everyone. Does he?"
"Men always get so macho over incidents like this," Kama commented. "He'll have to fire everyone to save face."
Miss Patty half-turned toward her, mouth open, and Kama mentally credited herself with a point. But McTavish was quick. He took the woman's hand in his. He had a sweet, puppy-dog look on his face, nearly irresistible even for a hardened liar and manipulator like Kama.
"Don't worry yourself unnecessarily. Mr. Goldman's a smart businessman. He'll want the station to operate efficiently through the transition in ownership, so, no, I don't think he has any intention of firing anyone."
The woman nearly swooned. Kama felt Miss Patty slipping through her fingers. He could charm a hungry lioness into rolling on its back for him. She prepared another salvo.
"I wouldn't be so sure, Miss Patty. You know how untrustworthy powerful men can be," she said, putting heart-felt concern in her words. When he looked her way, she reached up and pulled the band from her hair, then tossed her head to shake it loose. Her thick hair tumbled around her shoulders. His hand fell from Miss Patty's, and he rubbed it along his thigh.
"I don't have a lot of options, do I?" the assistant whined, alternately looking from one to the other with a frown while they ignored her. "I can't afford to be unemployed, and it wouldn't be easy to find another position."
Miss Patty touched his hand, and his eyes tracked back to her. "I can't very well ask Mr. Levine for a job recommendation, now can I? Would you help me, Mr. McTavish? You've been so wonderful about volunteering to help the men."
He sipped his drink and licked nectar from his lips, his gaze sneaking over to Kama before settling on the assistant. "You know how grateful Mr. Goldman and I would be for any help you could give us, don't you, Miss Patty?"
"Have you met Mr. Goldman?" Kama asked, carefully modulating the disbelief in her voice. "He doesn't seem like a very appreciative boss. He sounds a bit like mine. 'Kama do this, Kama watch that, Kama wait here.'"
Kama lifted an eyebrow and gave him a haughty look. He smothered a laugh. Yes, he knew who she was talking about, and he'd taken it as a joke. Joke my ass. She crossed one leg over the other and pumped her foot up and down, considering her next move. He ran a hand through his hair and flashed his own cheeky smile her direction. The room seemed warmer, and she sipped her drink, trying to cool off while he struggled with his composure.
"I met him just for a moment when he first boarded," Miss Patty replied. "He didn't seem very friendly."
Too late, McTavish jerked his head around to the assistant and seemed unable to recover his train of thought. A finger traced around the rim of his glass.
"I've worked these kinds of cases before," he said, and cleared his throat, his brows drawing down in concentration. "A highly placed supervisor abuses his privileges, his relationship with those he manages, and when he's caught in an act of fraud, those beneath him are afraid to come forward, concerned that they'll become embroiled in his crimes."
Color drained from Miss Patty's cheeks. He didn't seem to notice, his gaze roaming back to Kama, who responded by smiling swee
tly. He rattled on, like he delivered a well-rehearsed lecture to a group of students at a police academy.
"In complicated cases like this one, the employees who assist the investigation are granted immunity from prosecution. Law enforcement is more focused on landing the big fish and not on those who may have inadvertently helped the criminal."
"Is that right?" Kama rose, determined to wrest the last vestiges of control from him. She could taste her victory, and it was sweet. She set her glass on the trolley and stood next to a trembling Miss Patty. She lifted her chin, threw her shoulders back, and rested a hand on one hip. "Because by all the news accounts I've seen, whistleblowers are treated quite badly."
It must be a trick of the light. His eyes were larger and sparkled, and his color seemed markedly improved. Such beautiful eyes. He hadn't realized his defeat yet. That must be why he looked so pleased.
Miss Patty slid off the bed, unnoticed, taking his empty dishes with her. The ridiculous napkin looked like a bib on a small child, and he was no kid. His muscular torso stretched the fabric of his t-shirt, which arrowed down to a slender waist and flat stomach. No, not a kid at all.
Kama slid the napkin off his chest, her fingertips brushing against him. He plucked it out of her hand and wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth, that queer little smile playing across his lips again. She breathed a little faster.
"Mr. Levine was always a wonderful manager to work for. So kind and caring with everyone." The old woman's voice climbed in pitch. She clattered the dishes against the trolley. "I don’t know anything at all about any fraud."
A flicker of worry crossed his face a moment later, and he glanced the woman's direction, puzzled, like he'd missed something.
"Wow, Miss Patty," Greg said. "That looks great! What is it?"
"It's molten lava cake." The assistant handed a plate with a small, rounded chocolate mass on it to the boy. "I'm afraid I only prepared two."
Chocolate. Kama's lips parted as Miss Patty passed the second cake by her and into McTavish's hands. No, she had a job to do. Now wasn't the time to be distracted by food. Her stomach rumbled. Traitor.
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