by Jayne Castle
“Until your venture into StarrTech?” He leaned back in the black steel-mesh chair, apparently satisfied with the results of his accusation.
Guinevere fought a short, violent battle for control and surprised herself by winning. “My venture into StarrTech was a different matter. A private matter.” She picked up the brandy, her grip so savage that it was a wonder the glass didn’t shatter. She forced herself to drink.
“There was something different about your contract with StarrTech?” Zac inquired benignly. “Something that set it apart from other short-term temporary assignments?”
“If you’re going to make an accusation, I’ll get a lawyer. If you’re not, then I don’t need one, do I? Either way, I don’t intend to say anything further on the subject of my business at StarrTech.”
Zac waited for a long moment, watching her. “I won’t be making any accusations to StarrTech management, Guinevere Jones, because I think you’re going to cooperate. Isn’t that right?”
She made herself inhale slowly, seeking a way to calm herself. “Blackmail.”
“Just as I promised.”
“Do you always make good on your promises?”
“Keeping my promises is one of the few things in which I still believe, Gwen.”
She focused on the massive yellow bookcase across the room. “What is it you want me to do in exchange for your silence?”
“I want you to go back into the computer services department at StarrTech, doing pretty much the same sort of clerical work you did the first time. But this time around you’re going to be my eyes and ears in the department. I need some answers, and you’re going to get them for me.”
She moved her head in a vague denial. “What about the Elf? How do I know he’ll keep quiet?”
“As I said, Russ is a friend of mine. He’ll do whatever I ask him to do in this matter.”
“Somehow I find it hard to imagine,” Guinevere said.
“What? That you’re being blackmailed?”
“No, that you and Russ Elfstrom are such close friends. You’re not a friendly type, Mr. Justis.”
“Russ and I go back a long way together.”
“How unfortunate for you. That’s just about the most depressing thing I’ve heard since the last time I talked to my sister’s shrink.”
Justis blinked owlishly, assimilating that information and trying to make sense of it. “What’s this got to do with your sister?”
“Never mind. Tell me what you want, Mr. Justis. And then go back to your pond.”
Chapter Two
“You’re making a mistake, Zac. I wouldn’t trust that woman to make brownies for a kindergarten bake sale, let alone be your inside man on this.”
“My inside woman,” Zac said mildly into the telephone. He leaned back in the used swivel desk chair that had been such a bargain six months ago when he’d spotted it on sale. At the time he’d been certain he could live with the squeak. Now he wasn’t so sure. It was becoming increasingly annoying. “Don’t worry about it, Russ. Everything’s under control. I know what I’m doing.” You had to sound confident. Image above all. He’d read that somewhere recently in one of those damn business journals he’d been forcing himself to peruse.
“I hope so. God knows she sure managed to slip one by me the first time she showed up in my department. The conniving little bitch.”
Guinevere’s success in outfoxing Russ Elfstrom even for a few months was something his friend was never going to be able to accept with any equanimity. Zac wondered why it bothered him to hear Russ call her a bitch, though. Theoretically he shouldn’t care one way or the other what kind of language Russ used regarding Guinevere. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was now Guinevere’s boss, Zac decided. Maybe one automatically felt some obligation to defend one’s employees. An interesting development and one he hadn’t expected.
Zac studied the bare walls of the tiny office suite he’d rented in the downtown high-rise. There was no view. The floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall opened onto the corridor. Across the hall there was another row of tiny office suites being rented by other small businesses.
The idea of condominium office space in a flashy glass and steel building was practical, allowing someone such as Zac to operate out of a much higher rent district than he’d normally be able to afford. Another brick in the wall that was his tiny but—he hoped—growing business image. The outside of the high-rise was as impressive to his clients as it was to the clients of the huge law firm that leased the entire top two floors of the building. But there was no getting around the fact that the tiny ten-by-ten room lacked something in the way of aesthetic appeal. Especially after you’d been in it a couple of hours. Fortunately in another forty-five minutes he’d be able to escape to lunch.
“Did she show up on time this morning?” Zac asked.
“Oh, sure. Along with a big sack of doughnuts for everyone. The staff went crazy. You’d think she was some long-lost member of the family instead of just a temporary clerk who’d been recalled.”
“That’s why I want her in there, Russ. She has a knack for blending in almost instantly. I watched her at work last night in a cocktail lounge. You’d have thought she’d been working there for years. The bartender was her good buddy by midnight, and the rest of the waitresses had included her in their gossip long before that. People like her. More important, from what you’ve told me, they talk to her. That’s why I can use her.” A tool. That’s how he should regard Guinevere Jones: as a useful tool.
Russ made an unpleasant noise, the comment of a man who had never enjoyed a lot of spontaneous confidences from others. “Just see that you use her, and not vice versa.”
“I’ll keep her in line.” For the sake of this lucrative contract with StarrTech he would learn to ride the tiger. Zac paused, aware of Russ inhaling deeply on a cigarette. Then he said earnestly, “I want to thank you again, pal, for recommending Free Enterprise Security to your management. Lord knows I need the clients. I just wish I knew more about computers.”
“I can handle the technical end of things for you. I’ve told you, don’t worry about that. It’s just the personnel side that gives me trouble. If I knew a way to get these damn programmers to talk, I’d be able to solve the whole problem on my own. But if I ask ’em a question, they look at me as if their brains had gone as blank as a dead computer screen. I’m management. Nobody gossips to management. I just don’t know if you can trust this Guinevere Jones to level with you, even if she does get some of the staff to confide in her or share the gossip.”
“She’ll do as she’s told,” Zac told him, wondering if crossing his fingers was unethical or demonstrated a lack of confidence. He did so anyway. Keeping Guinevere Jones on a leash was going to take some fast footwork. He didn’t try to kid himself on that score. “I’ve promised her silence on our end if she helps us out.”
“Well, I won’t go to Hampton Starr with the details of her little scam until you give the okay.”
“If she does what she’s supposed to do in this investigation, I’m never going to give the go-ahead to turn her over to your boss, Russ. I want to be sure you understand that. I’ve made a deal with her. Think of this as plea bargaining or something of that nature. I’m more or less blackmailing her into this, and I intend to make good on my end if she keeps her promise to help me.” There was more steel in his words than Zac had intended. He realized he’d meant what he said, and he wanted to be certain Russ understood.
Russ grumbled something that sounded uncomplimentary concerning the necessity of using thieves to catch thieves, but he didn’t argue further. “I hope you know what you’re doing. What cover are you going to use for hanging around Jones?”
“I’m posing as her current, uh, significant relationship. I believe that’s the correct modern phrase.�
� Guinevere had been disdainfully amused when he’d informed her of that plan.
“Her what? Oh, her lover.”
“Yeah. I’m picking her up in forty minutes for lunch. It should all look fairly normal to anyone who happens to notice.”
“I hope so. Management wants this matter resolved as soon as possible, as quietly as possible. Company image, you know. You’ve met Starr. You know how big he is on that sort of thing. I’ve got to run, Zac. We’re shorthanded lately. One of my prima donna programmers hasn’t seen fit to show up for work for more than a week. I’ll talk to you later. Remember, I want to be kept up-to-date on your investigation. I’m supposed to act as your liaison. I’ll keep Starr informed of progress. Just like old times, huh, Zac?”
“Just like old times.” Zac recradled the phone and sat gazing out the windowed wall that revealed only the hallway and the row of offices on the other side. A salesman hurried past in the corridor, nodding aloofly at Zac before disappearing into his own cubbyhole. Hell of a view, Zac told himself for the hundredth time. Intimate. Pastoral, even, if you counted the time he’d seen someone carry a poodle past. He wondered what sort of view Guinevere Jones had from her office down on First Avenue. One of these days he’d invite himself over and take a look. It was a cinch she would never get around to issuing the invitation first.
He glanced at the black quartz watch on his wrist and decided that he had to work only another half hour before he could leave to meet Guinevere for lunch. For some reason the thought gave him a shot of energy. He managed to fill out the entire application for a bank charge card for Free Enterprise Security before he left the office.
Promptly at noon Zac was waiting on the steps of the sleek high-rise on Second Avenue where StarrTech maintained its headquarters. He glanced toward the revolving glass doors just as Guinevere Jones came out of the lobby. The sense of anticipation he’d been feeling for the past hour turned into a flare of satisfaction as he watched her come toward him.
Today Gwen’s nicely rounded derriere was sheathed in a fashionable wool skirt that fitted better than the cocktail outfit had. On the negative side was the fact that it didn’t reveal quite as much, he noted with disappointment. She looked very professional, very businesslike in the suit and leather pumps. Only the huge red tote seemed slightly out of place. Her hair was in its neat, braided knot, and as she raised an umbrella against the faint Seattle mist, Zac decided that no, she wasn’t beautiful. She wasn’t even outstandingly attractive. Nice eyes, but lots of women had nice eyes. He liked the animation in her gaze, though. Even when she was projecting distinct antipathy, as she was now, she seemed very aware and very alive. Did she still see him as a frog?
A light rain suited the frog, Guinevere decided as she hurried across the damp plaza in front of the stylish high-rise. Zac’s dark hair was damp, and the shoulders of his dark tweed jacket were getting wet quickly. He waited, apparently oblivious of the weather, a solid, strong, monolithic shape in the middle of the grayed atmosphere. He nodded once as she walked toward him, and then he was stepping forward to take her arm in what probably appeared to others as an affectionate gesture. Only Guinevere was aware of the unnecessary strength in his fingers.
“Right on time,” Zac observed politely.
“I usually am when someone else is picking up the tab for lunch. Where are we going?”
“Are you a big eater?” he asked warily.
“When someone else is paying for my food, yes.” She smiled mockingly.
Zac sighed as he guided her across the street. “How about the place on the corner?”
“It’s a hamburger joint. I refuse to play stoolie over a hamburger. I place a higher value on my personal sense of integrity than that.”
“I see. Well, in that case, I guess I could go for the new oyster bar down on the wharf.”
“Try again. I hate raw oysters. Besides, they’re too cheap.”
He slanted her an assessing glance. “The Italian place on First?”
“Sounds great.”
“Try to keep the price tag on your integrity within reason, okay? I haven’t convinced the bank to give me a charge card for the business yet.”
“Really? How unfortunate. I got one two months ago. Perhaps the bank has learned about your rather unusual business practices. Blackmailing people into working for you might still be frowned upon in some circles.”
Twenty minutes later she had managed by dint of careful ordering to drive the price of her personal sense of integrity well over thirty-five dollars. The Frog watched in stoic horror as she munched her way through a spinach salad, tortellini in basil sauce, hot rolls, espresso, and a spectacular walnut tart. The sight seemed to affect Zac’s appetite, Guinevere noticed toward the end of the meal. He had barely touched the small pâté sandwich he’d ordered.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, trying to pretend concern.
“Not nearly as hungry as you are apparently.”
She grinned. “Be grateful. The only reason I didn’t order wine is that I think it makes a bad impression to come back from lunch with alcohol on one’s breath. The image, you know.”
“I’m well aware of the importance of maintaining the image.” Zac regarded the remains of her meal with a brooding expression. “I’m going to expect a fairly extensive report after all this.”
“Don’t hold your breath. I’ve been there only one morning. Spent most of the time finding out what’s happened to the others during the months since I last worked for StarrTech. Catching up on office gossip. Have to lay the groundwork, you know. Can’t rush this snitching business.”
“Is that how you see yourself? A snitch?”
“Snitch, informant, stool pigeon, spy, whistle-blower, tattletale, squealer—”
“All right, all right.” He held up a hand in disgust. “I get the picture. You don’t see yourself as a female James Bond.”
“Nothing that glamorous. I can tell you right off that my heart isn’t in this, in case you haven’t noticed. I’ve been drafted, remember? My personal feeling is that anyone who’s found a way to rip off StarrTech should be quietly applauded, not exposed.”
He looked at her with sudden thoughtfulness. “Why do you hate that company so much? Working there a few months ago was just another short-term contract for Camelot Services, wasn’t it? Why did you risk so much to try to take them for a measly ten thousand dollars? Cash flow problem?”
Guinevere didn’t look at him. She polished off the last of her walnut tart and then waved the fork significantly in the air. “Our deal last night did not require me to make a confession or provide any details of my relationship with StarrTech. You learned enough to blackmail me. Don’t expect me to add any more information voluntarily. God knows what you’d do with further gory details.”
“Are the further details that gory?”
“Forget it. I think I’ll have another cup of espresso.”
“There aren’t any free refills on the espresso.” He narrowed his eyes. “Only on the regular coffee. A second cup of the fancy stuff will cost five bucks.”
“Why do you think I ordered espresso?” She beckoned the waitress by raising the small coffee cup while Zac continued to eye the situation with brooding impatience. “Don’t worry,” Guinevere said blithely as the waitress took the cup and left the table, “I’ll get the tip.”
“Very generous of you.” He took another bite out of his sandwich. “Speaking of generosity, I understand you brought in a sack of doughnuts this morning?”
“Programmers and operators go crazy over doughnuts and junk food. I think their systems are evolutionarily designed for the stuff. Twinkies, cola, and chips are the staples of the diet, with doughnuts and assorted candy bars and ice cream providing other essential nutrients. Just think of it, Zac, the entire computer revolution is be
ing fueled by junk food. The interesting question, of course, is which came first. The revolution or the junk food? Hard to imagine one without the other. One of the great questions of human development.”
“Too bad you aren’t willing to dine on food from a machine. It would have cost a lot less than this place.” Morosely he shoved aside his plate and folded his arms on the table. “Okay, you’ve had your feast. Let me have my first report.”
“I’ve told you. There’s really nothing to report yet. Zac, I’ve been back only a few hours. I’m still catching up on news.”
“What news?”
“Well, Liz had her baby; a little girl. Jackson is still looking for another job and is beginning to get restless. Larry Hixon is back from vacation and feeling depressed—”
“Why?”
Guinevere shrugged. “Because his friend Cal hasn’t been in to work for almost a week. He took off while Larry was on vacation and hasn’t returned.”
“So why does that depress Hixon?”
She groaned. “Zac, they’re friends, and they’ve been working on a secret project.”
“Secret project!”
Guinevere laughed at his astounded expression. “Don’t get excited, Zac. Larry and Cal were secretly designing a computer game. Larry’s been anxious for Cal to get back to work so they can finish it. The idea is to sell it to a software firm that will market it to all the kids in the nation who have their own home computers. Larry and Cal have plans to retire early on the proceeds.”
“So why is it a secret?” Zac asked pointedly.
She explained painstakingly. “Because when they hired on at StarrTech, both Larry and Cal had to sign one of those cute little papers that say anything they invent on the job automatically becomes the property of StarrTech.”
“Standard employment forms.”
“Exactly. But neither Larry nor Cal has any intention of giving StarrTech rights to their new game. Why should they? StarrTech specializes in the manufacture and marketing of communication and test equipment, not children’s games. Relax, this is no earthshaking conspiracy. Furthermore,” Guinevere said coolly, “if you tell Elfstrom about the game, I will personally take pains to screw up your big investigation.”