Falcon had journeyed to Outerworld twice-—once to help Aster locate and rescue Romulus, and once as her guardian when she had returned to meet with Dr. Houston to complete the mission she and Romulus had begun. Both trips took place on the same day, and each had only taken a matter of hours. This time he would not have Aster to guide him or his behavior in that strange place, so he had no option but to familiarize himself with the country and its culture.
Aster. Would he ever be able to hear her name without recalling the private moments he had shared with her? Falcon would not have revealed it to Romulus, but he was certain that his current personal problem began during his encounter with Aster in Outerworld.
Separated from Romulus and deep in the throes of the mating fever that bound her to Romulus, Aster's emotions had suffocated Falcon. She had disproved the belief that only Noronians experienced the tormenting fever which two true soul mates experienced. Sexual release could temporarily cool the burning and desensitize the flesh, but only joining could cure the mating fever.
Falcon had not been able to use his powers to find Romulus until he had helped Aster alleviate her pain. By touching her mind, he had planted a very realistic, erotic fantasy which had relieved her sexual tension. But Falcon had found himself surprisingly captivated by the passionate hallucination she had experienced.
From time to time Falcon would discover that he possessed some new ability, and that had been one of those times. His own sexual desire had been awakened and it was becoming increasingly distracting, in spite of the mental control he exercised to suppress it. At least he had a complex assignment to occupy him for a while. Perhaps all he really needed was a sufficient diversion for him to get back to normal.
In order to fulfill this mission, he had to locate the missing ring and the female, Delphina. The only way he would find her, it seemed to him, was if she was already where he was going. At least he should recognize her. He knew she was almost as tall as he was, with a slender body, straight waist-length auburn hair, and bright green eyes. What little evidence they had suggested Gordon Underwood was the most likely starting point.
He picked up the dossier on Underwood. Aster had related some facts and hearsay about the man after it was determined that he had been behind Romulus's capture. Knowing that any small detail might help him locate and outsmart his adversary, and assuming Underwood still had the ring and the female, Falcon settled into his most comfortable chair to begin memorizing the contents of the first file.
Falcon studied the cover photo that accompanied the Time magazine article on Underwood. He was not only extraordinary in his accomplishments but in appearance as well. Although a large man at six foot four inches and 280 pounds, his massive shaven head still appeared oversized. It was implied that the large skull was necessary to accommodate his enormous brain. His features were sharp, his eyes narrowed as if in deep concentration.
The article noted that Underwood's parents had recognized his genius when he was a mere toddler, and with the help of a few special teachers, he soon surpassed all their expectations. He completed graduate school and obtained his first patent by the age of twenty in the young field of computer science. Besides his propensity for learning he seemed to be gifted with the Midas touch. He exhibited great foresight when investing his earnings, first in real estate and stocks and later in oil, with each venture being more profitable than the last.
There seemed to be continual speculation about his lack of interest in the opposite sex, because no one could give evidence of a close sexual relationship with any other human, male or female.
The journalist had written that the man seemed to be both selfless and selfish, a generous employer and a cruel taskmaster; a philanthropist who regularly made huge donations to various charities and nonprofit organizations and a ruthless egomaniac who allowed nothing to stop him from obtaining a desired goal.
One of his philanthropic enterprises, the Underwood Foundation, was established to offer support to groups, colleges, and agencies that focused on scientific achievements and space exploration. Through this foundation, Underwood kept his finger on the pulse of the future.
From their adventure, Falcon and Aster had surmised that the billionaire had a network of his own agents within the organizations he supported. Those well-paid individuals kept their antennae tuned to everything their superiors and coworkers did, then reported to Underwood when anything of interest occurred. At least that had been the circumstances regarding Walter Adams, Dr. Houston's devoted secretary at Palomar Observatory. Adams had revealed Romulus's presence to Underwood in repayment of some sort of debt. They were not able to uncover the exact circumstances since Adams had died suddenly of a heart attack.
The article then went on to report that the Underwood Foundation was located in an enormous complex beneath the desert in central Nevada. It was purported to be the size of a small city, with hundreds of people living and working there, but its existence was well guarded from prying eyes by an elaborate and sophisticated security system. Underwood had planned the development as a child, during the nuclear bomb scares of the fifties. The fortune he later amassed made the dream a reality.
Falcon could not verify how large the facility was since he and Aster had entered only one small room in the private hospital there, and had taken Romulus out with them in a matter of seconds. That time, however, Falcon had been tracking Romulus through the homing device implanted in his ear. Delphina had no such device as no one had expected her to leave Innerworld. Without the homing device and because of the size of the Nevada complex, searching for Delphina would be made more difficult because of the security system. The place was a veritable fortress.
Delphina's aura was unknown to Falcon so he could not hope to track her that way, either. He remembered that Underwood's aura radiated a very black presence, but he had never come close enough to the man to recognize the negative emanations through the thirty feet of sand and metal which covered the facility. No, even though he knew of the existence of the compound, Falcon could not easily begin his search in the desert.
When he had tracked Romulus to the foundation, Falcon had been able to rely on his ability to see events that occurred in a particular place during the previous twenty-four hours. But Delphina's trail was too cold for him to depend on that sense. He would have to track down Underwood the way an ungifted Outerworld detective would, or at least get to a location where the man had been very recently.
The article stated that Underwood had offices all over the world, but his headquarters were in San Francisco, California. To Falcon, that sounded like as good a place as any to begin. If Falcon was very fortunate, Underwood would be there when he arrived. If he was only moderately fortunate, he might sense where his prey actually was.
Falcon had been assured by Aster that his long hair with its multiple shades of blond would be considered quite normal in California. His eyes would not. Before leaving the Administration Building he had been fitted with special lenses which would mask his own spindle-shaped pupils with circular ones and dull the brightness in his irises. Unfortunately, the lenses also diminished his night vision because they shielded the reflective membrane in the back of his eyes, and his ability to see through lightweight materials was completely forsaken. Falcon rationalized if either of those talents were required, he would simply have to remove the lenses. His other extra-keen senses would have to make up for the deficiency.
For his journey he had been given an Innerworld ring which, among other things, he would use to tap into the transmigrator's computer to move from place to place, eliminating the need to depend on inferior Outerworld transportation, and the risks associated with such vehicles. Due to the ban on using the transmigrator unit, he would not be able to return to Innerworld until he had completed his assignment. Romulus had not liked the idea of Falcon using the transmigrator at all, because they could not be sure when the next accidental interference might occur. But there was no other way for him to get out of Innerworld since t
he tunnels were off limits until the missing ring was found.
Falcon reviewed the data regarding the identity he would be assuming, on the off chance he was forced to deal with someone in a position of authority. He was to be A. Falcon, an Interpol agent, originally from Wales. An Innerworld emissary employed in that agency had orders to enter a file on Falcon into their computers. His place of birth was meant to explain his pattern of speech. Apparently, there were so many accents and dialects in the United States that his clipped pronunciation would barely be noticed. Money had been supplied to him along with various pieces of identification.
One thing Falcon did not care for was the bag he needed to carry. Outerworld did not have supply stations that provided fresh, disposable clothing by making a verbal request, and Romulus assured him he would not enjoy the experience of shopping out there. He would have to take along clean clothing and grooming aids if he wished to be comfortable during his search.
It appeared that he had everything he needed with the exception of a working knowledge of Outerworld. He intended to spend the rest of that day and the next steeping himself in Americana. Then he would depart, ready or not.
Falcon allowed himself a moment to analyze something that he had set aside earlier. When Romulus relayed the facts of the ship's disaster, Falcon felt his friend's grief, but he himself was strangely affected by the news. Moisture accumulated in the corners of his eyes, and an unfamiliar tightening occurred in his stomach before he reestablished his usual firm control. Perhaps desire was not the only emotion simmering within him these days. He would have to maintain a very tight rein if he was to complete this job successfully. His personal problems would have to be put on hold.
Chapter Two
San Francisco, California
The great fault in women is to desire to be like men.—Joseph Marie, Comte de Maistre
"Well, if it isn't Lady Stephanie!'
"Ooh, Stephanie, we missed your pretty face so-o-o, my dear."
"Hey, Stephanie, we all have to attend a kung fu seminar this afternoon. I hear you're the instructor!"
She held back the usual retort and let their raucous shouts and laughter wash over her. She hated the prissy name she was given at birth, and these guys knew it. Her father had always called her Steve, and that was the only name she answered to, that or Barbanell, her ex-husband's surname.
If her coworkers did not like her, however, they would not tease her, so she let them get it out of their systems. After all, it was she who insisted that they treat her as an equal rather than their employer, or worse, a woman. It would never do to let them see they could get to her. Nose in the air, shoulders back, Steve marched past them to her office as if she was six feet five instead of twelve inches shorter. Her private office was the only concession she made to her position in the firm.
Stopping in the doorway, she turned and looked each of them in the eye—Harris, Pollock, and Wang: a black, a gay, and an Oriental. No one could say the Dokes-OHara Private Investigative Agency was not an equal opportunity employer. Out of respect for her father and disrespect for her ex-husband, she had not changed the agency's name after she inherited her father's half of the business. Steve batted her eyelashes and smiled innocently. "By the way, gentlemen, I'm replacing all three of you with superwomen just like me!"
Her low sultry voice remained another source of teasing, but at times like this she used it to her advantage. The men broke out in another round of laughter. The bad thing about her voice was that she never sounded very convincing when she meant to be. The last dirtbag who thought she did not mean what she said was still in the hospital. Of course, that was also part of what got her an unplanned week's vacation.
"Barbanell!" Lou Dokes's stern voice preceded him into the bullpen.
Steve smiled quickly at the gray-haired, big bear of a man, knowing he had little resistance to the familiar gesture. "Good morning, Lou. Glad to be back."
"My office," he said curtly, turning away before he gave in to the urge to return her smile.
Steve settled into the chair on the opposite side of his desk and waited for the lecture to begin. He had been too angry with her to deliver it in its entirety when he insisted she take a week off to unwind.
"You may be interested to hear that your latest victim has regained consciousness and has agreed not to press charges against you for assault if you will do the same. Now, if he can be persuaded not to sue the agency—"
"What?" Steve's voice went up an entire octave from the beginning to the end of the word. "That bastard pulled a knife on me!"
"And you had a gun. Why the hell didn't you just point the damned thing at him and say, 'Drop it, scumball! like anyone else would would have?" With a wave of his hand, he referred to the men sitting beyond the closed door of his office.
"I did."
"And?"
"He laughed and made a graphically explicit suggestion of how we could better spend our time together. Actually, I was considering the agency's public image, as you're always reminding me to. I figured disarming and subduing the subject was preferable to blowing his brains out."
"Disarming him? You undoubtedly accomplished that with your first highkick. I suppose you're going to tell me that subduing him required your administering a concussion, three broken ribs, a smashed kneecap, and an arm fractured in two places. And this has nothing to do with our precarious public image dammit!
"The man pulled a deadly weapon on you. If he refused to drop it, you could have shot him, according to the book. You have been preached at before about putting yourself at risk unnecessarily. When your father died, he left you his half of this agency because he believed you could take his place. I need a partner I can count on to stay alive until I get ready to retire. Hell, Steve, I've seen you pull the trigger when you had to and you're not squeamish about it. So it has to be that you get some kind of perverted pleasure out of beating a man senseless. Don't you dare smirk at me, girl!"
Steve worked the muscles of her face into a semblance of seriousness. Lou was the only person alive who could get away with talking to her like this without getting a taste of her temper in return. She respected and loved him as much as she had her father.
Her inheritance of the partnership did not alter the fact that Lou was technically her superior, but she managed to remind him of their lifelong acquaintance whenever she felt the need to soften him up. "C'mon, Uncle Lou. The guy was a real lowlife."
Lou's ears turned a bright shade of red. "When you are in this office, you address me as sir. What do you think your father would do to you if he knew about the kinds of scrapes his precious daughter gets herself into all the time?" Dokes shook his head slowly and let out a frustrated sigh.
Steve tried to look contrite and decided staring at her lap was as respectful as she could manage. Lou was wrong about her father, but only because he chose to raise the dead man to sainthood rather than remember him as he truly was. Actually it was her dad who had taught her how to cuss, and who had remained a maverick until the day he was killed.
He would not have been ashamed of her. She had turned out just the way he had raised her, to follow in his impressive footsteps as the meanest, son-of-a-bitchin' private investigator on the West Coast.
Dad had also taught her to keep quiet once Uncle Lou started reminiscing about the good old days, when the two men had begun their careers together in the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
One thing Steve could count on: once Lou got going about her father and some case they had worked on together, he dropped all pretense of lecturing her for her unprofessional behavior and other misdeeds. She only needed to listen with one ear; she had heard all the stories a hundred times. They had replaced the bedtime stories other kids heard when they got tucked in at night. And Steve cherished every one of them.
She had always been more than just Daddy's little girl; she had been his protegee. Her mother had been the calming influence between the two explosive tempers and had always taken equally
loving care of them and her quiet son.
Because her father told her it was necessary, Steve had kept her nose in her school books, and when the other little girls were learning ballet and tap, she was learning the disciplines of tae kwon do and jujitsu. By the time Lou and her father had left the Bureau to open their own agency, Steve had a B.S. in criminology and was headed for law school at Georgetown, because that was the way her old man had done it.
Occasionally she had felt a touch of envy for the pretty, popular sorority girls, but she had accepted the fact that she was a brainy Plain Jane, with her straight, short-cropped brown hair, dark hazel eyes, and freckles on her ordinary nose. At any rate she had been too busy studying and turning her firmly muscled body into a weapon to be bothered about a few silly school dances. The irony was that she almost fit in now that it was the style to have a hard body and a boy's haircut.
In her last year at Georgetown, Vinnie Barbanell had turned her quiet life around. Inexperienced as she was, he had easily dazzled her with his footwork and passionate kisses. Steve had been so overwhelmed that such a handsome young man wanted to marry her that she hadn't really listened to his reasons for choosing her. She had agreed to remain in Virginia with him and to put off her career until they started their family. Thank God she had retained enough sense to finish school before succumbing completely to his charm.
Though he had never admitted it, her father was terribly disappointed when she had not returned to San Francisco to take her place in the Dokes-O'Hara Agency. But Steve had never stopped trying to reassure him that all their plans were not forgotten, only postponed, until she gave Vinnie the family he wanted so badly. Her husband had promised they would move west in a few more years.
Steve had never had the chance to back up her promises and to set things right between her and her father. The man she had always considered invincible died in a car accident during a high-speed chase one month after her second child was born.
Topaz Dreams Page 2