Trust Me

  The majority of birthday party celebrants exchanged blank glances.

  Augustus was frankly baffled. “What the devil is it?”

  “It's a PDA X-1000,” Desdemona said. Lovingly, she stroked the tiny little antennalike thing on the side of the strange machine.

  “What's a PDA X-1000?” Bess demanded.

  “What does it do?” Juliet asked.

  Desdemona pretended not to hear the questions because she had absolutely no idea what a PDA X-1000 was, let alone what it did.

  Tony unwittingly came to the rescue. “PDA stands for personal digital assistant.” He leaned forward with grudging interest. “It's a very small computer that Desdemona can carry in her pocket or purse.”

  “A computer?” Henry frowned. “But it doesn't have any keys.”

  “You don't need keys,” Tony explained. He took the gadget from Desdemona and examined it closely. “You write text directly on the screen with this little pen that's attached to it.”

  “Sam programmed it specially for Desdemona,” Jason said proudly. “It will do all sorts of things just for her.”

  Desdemona removed the PDA from Tony's hand and looked at Stark. “You programmed it just for me?”

  “Yes,” Stark said.

  “How thoughtful. What special things will it do?”

  Stark took the small computer from her. “You can send and receive e-mail, for one thing. As Jason said, it's a wireless model. You don't need to hook up to a telephone jack or a computer.”

  “I've always wanted to be able to send e-mail,” Desdemona said.

  Tony glared at her. “I installed an e-mail package on your office computer. You've never used it.”

  “My office computer is too big to carry around with me,” Desdemona pointed out.

  Tony smoldered. Everyone ignored him. They were too busy watching Stark demonstrate the PDA.

  “You can use a PDA to make notes when you're on a jobsite,” Stark explained. “Or to do estimates and cost calculations. It's got a graphics package, too, so you can sketch a buffet layout.”

  “That's wonderful,” Desdemona said.

  “It translates your handwriting into typewritten characters on the display.” Stark handed her the pen. “Here, try it.”

  Desdemona gingerly took the tiny computer from him and concentrated intently on learning how to use it. Jason, Kyle, and the Wainwrights gathered around her.

  “Can I try it out?” Henry asked.

  Macbeth inched his chair closer to Desdemona. “Let me give it a whirl.”

  “No one but Desdemona should use it,” Stark said, his gaze on Desdemona as she bent intently over the PDA. “It's a very personal kind of computer. It will learn her handwriting and her work habits. The more she uses it, the more efficient it will become. After a while it will be almost attuned to her.”

  “I've been wanting a pet of some kind,” Desdemona said happily.

  Several days later, Desdemona, garbed in a white apron and a hair net, stood at the center island in Stark's kitchen and issued orders in the manner of a general preparing for battle.

  “Juliet, don't forget the chilled asparagus spears and the lemon sauce. Aunt Bess, have you got the cheese tray ready?”

  “All set,” Bess said. “Goat, sheep, and cow.”

  “Where're Henry and Vernon?” Desdemona glanced out the window into the drive that wound behind the garden. “They should be here with the van by now.”

  “Relax, dear,” Aunt Bess said. “They'll be here by curtain time.”

  Juliet removed the tray of asparagus spears from the refrigerator. “Where do you want these, Desdemona?”

  Desdemona took her PDA out of her apron pocket and checked the placement chart she had sketched on it. “The table behind the sofa in the living room.”

  “Got it.” Juliet started toward the kitchen door.

  Stark emerged from the hall and stepped straight into her path. He was dressed in an expensive dark suit, a brilliant white shirt, and a silk tie. “How is everything going in here?”

  “Everything is just fine,” Desdemona assured him. “We're on schedule, so don't get nervous. I don't have time to soothe a case of stage fright.”

  “I'm not nervous.” He sounded disgusted.

  “I'm delighted to hear that.”

  “But I'll be glad when this is over,” Stark muttered. “I'd rather have gone to that science fiction film with Macbeth and Jason and Kyle. Does this tie look straight?”

  Desdemona glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, it looks perfectly straight. Go on out to the living room and read a magazine or something. We've got another half hour before the guests start to arrive.”

  Stark frowned. “I'll wait upstairs in my study.”

  “Whatever. Just get out of here. Let us pros do our job.”

  “Are you sure there isn't something I should be doing?”

  “I'm sure.”

  With a last, uncertain glance around the busy kitchen, Stark reluctantly withdrew.

  Bess chuckled as he disappeared. “You'd think he was about to open on Broadway.”

  “In a lot of ways this reception is just as crucial to him. This is a major event. Some of his most important clients will be here.” Desdemona heard a knock at the kitchen door. “That must be Henry and Vernon. Thank goodness.”

  She hurried over to the door and opened it. “I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you two.” She broke off as she saw who was standing next to Vernon. “Tony. What are you doing here? I didn't schedule you for this evening.”

  Desdemona had prudently decided to avoid using Tony on any of the events that Right Touch handled for Stark Security Systems. It was clear that both men were unaccountably irritated by the mere sight of each other. There was tension in the air whenever Stark and Tony were in the same room. The night of her birthday party neither had spoken directly to the other, although both had been superficially polite.

  “Sorry, kid.” Tony smiled derisively over the top of a carton of wineglasses. “Henry got held up at rehearsal. Don't worry, I'll try to keep out of Stark's sight. Wouldn't want to upset Super Client.”

  Desdemona stifled a groan. “Try not to do that, will you? He's already nervous enough about this evening.” There was no getting around the fact that Stark would not be pleased to see Tony here, but it couldn't be helped.

  “Where do you want these glasses?” Tony asked.

  “Put them on the counter and unpack them for me.” Desdemona looked at Vernon. “Where are the ice sculptures?”

  “In the van. Thought I'd find out where you want them placed before I unload them.”

  Desdemona consulted her computer sketch again and then slipped the PDA back into the pocket of her apron. “Follow me and I'll show you. Aunt Bess, did you find the toothpicks?”

  “Got them right here.” Bess held up a small carton. “Tony can help me insert them into the shrimp.”

  “Sure,” Tony said.

  Stark reappeared in the doorway. “Desdemona, what about the sparkling water supply? Have we got enough?” He broke off abruptly when he caught sight of Tony. His gaze hardened. “What are you doing here?”

  “I'm working for Desdemona, just like everyone else,” Tony said in a voice laced with swaggering challenge. “Got a problem with that?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, that's too damn bad, isn't it?”

  Desdemona moved quickly to forestall trouble. “Stark, Henry's been delayed. Tony is filling in for him. Don't worry about the sparkling water. We've got enough to float a battleship.”

  Three hours later Stark had forgotten all about his earlier anxiety over the sparkling water. He had even managed to ignore Tony's presence in the kitchen. The reception was a flawless performance. Once again Desdemona had magically transformed him into a social success.

  He had a house full of happy clients. Their spouses and companions seemed to be enjoying themselves. A pleasant hubbub of conversation rose above the Mozart concerto th
at played discreetly in the background.

  People exclaimed over the food. The ice sculpture on the center buffet table sparkled. Augustus, aristocratic in black and white formal attire, was doing a fine job of entertaining everyone who stepped up to the bar for wine or seltzer. From the snippets of conversation Stark had overheard, he gathered that Desdemona's uncle was regaling people with tales of his past experiences in the theater.

  Desdemona had saved his social hide once again, Stark thought. Knowing that gave him the confidence to move among his guests with some degree of ease. He recalled Desdemona's advice on how to answer questions. Few people wanted extended, in-depth answers, she had said.

  The trick was to sound knowledgeable but not pedantic.

  “…Most of the concepts are derived from information theory,” he said in response to an inquiry about the nature of complexity. He stopped himself before he could launch into a more detailed explanation. “But I won't bore you with a long discussion of it tonight. Tell you what, my staff has prepared some short papers on how the new concepts are being applied to computer security. I'll have some sent to your office….”

  “…Encryption is one of the obvious applications of complexity, but there are others. Some of the most interesting will be in medicine and meteorology.” Easy smile. Share the intellectual humor here. “You know how unpredictable the weather is. Talk about a complex structure….”

  To Stark's surprise, he actually got a chuckle from that one.

  “…The term information highway is just a catchphrase to describe the linking of a lot of the major computer networks which already exist.” Pause to look thoughtfully concerned. “There are some serious implications for business as well as government, of course. Privacy and security issues involved, you know…”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Stark caught Desdemona's approving smile. He turned his head as she brushed past him on her way back to the kitchen.

  “How am I doing?” he asked softly.

  “You're doing great. A natural. You should have gone on the stage. Break a leg.” She hurried away.

  Stark studied the way in which her sleek black dress skimmed her shapely hips. She was definitely the most interesting woman in the room. No, he thought, conscious of the pleasant throb in his lower body, make that the sexiest woman in the room.

  It was good to have her here, he realized. Not only because she made this social stuff fly, but because he did not feel so alone in this crowd.

  Alone. The word reverberated in his mind with stunning force. It was not a word that he used very often, because it made him think of true chaos.

  He had often told himself that the word did not really apply to him. He was a solitary man, not a lonely man. There was a difference. A man of his nature functioned best in solitude.

  He heard a droning sound nearby. He realized that he had just been asked a question by the spouse of one of his newest clients. He played back the last few seconds of his mental tape and caught the gist of it.

  The woman had asked him a question about networks overseas.

  “Yes, there are huge computer networks established in other countries,” he said politely. “Users in the United States can access them just as easily as they do the networks here in our own country.” He paused to assume what he hoped was a visionary executive expression. “When it comes to computers, there are no borders. Protecting proprietary or government-sensitive information is only going to become increasingly difficult in the years ahead. Good security is the key.”

  In other words, he added silently, your husband is going to need Stark Security Systems.

  He was definitely getting the hang of this, Stark told himself as he joined another cluster of guests. Socializing was difficult, but it was not impossible.

  A few minutes later, the tiny vibration from the pager attached to his belt jerked him out of his newfound complacency. He came to an abrupt halt in the middle of a discussion of encoding techniques.

  “Excuse me,” he said to the manager of a software company. “I'm being paged. I'll be right back.”

  She gave him a curious look. “Of course.”

  Stark started through the crowd. He caught a glimpse of Dane on the other side of the room and briefly considered letting him know what had happened.

  But there was no time.

  Desdemona gave him a quizzical smile as he went past. “Is something wrong?” she asked in a low voice.

  “I'm just going to check on something in my study.”

  “Oh. I thought you might have been overwhelmed by your own success as a host. This thing turned into a real crush, didn't it?”

  “Yes.” Stark brushed past her.

  He stepped out of the living room into the atrium foyer. There was no one around. He took the stairs two at a time to the second level of the house.

  When he reached the upper landing he turned and went down the hall to the closed door to his study. He was relieved to see that it was still locked. Perhaps the pager had been triggered by an alarm malfunction. He punched in the security code that opened the door.

  The lights came on as he stepped over the threshold. The study was empty.

  For a few seconds Stark stood in the doorway, searching for some sign of an intruder. Then he walked across the room to where the computer was bolted to the steel frame of the desk.

  At first he could see nothing wrong. But when he angled the halogen lamp so that the strong light fell directly on the back panel of the computer case, he saw the scratch marks around the key lock.

  Someone had tried to use a metal tool to get inside the computer case.

  “Damn.”

  Whoever it was must have realized that an alarm had been set off. He had fled, closing the door behind him, before Stark had made it to the top of the stairs.

  Stark had passed no one on the stairs, which meant that the intruder might still be somewhere on the second floor.

  He went out of the study and methodically checked his bedroom and the one Jason and Kyle used.

  Empty. As were the baths and closets.

  The door that opened onto the deck was closed. Stark opened it and stepped cautiously out into the balmy night. There was no one about.

  The only explanation was that the intruder had waited in the shadows of the upper hall or inside a bedroom until Stark had gone into the study. He had then either slipped back down the stairs while Stark was occupied with investigating the scratches on the computer case or gone out onto the deck. From the deck, the intruder could have gone down the outside stairs and reentered the house through the kitchen door.

  All of the door and window alarms were off for the evening because of the presence of so many people in the house.

  Stark went back into the study and looked at the computer case again. Those shiny little scratches told their story all too clearly. Someone had tried to open the case and steal the hard disk that contained ARCANE.

  Stark realized that he had a whole house full of suspects.

  “Shit.”

  He took another, closer look around the study.

  He was just about to leave when he spotted the tip of a toothpick sticking out from under the desk.

  He went down on one knee and discovered a half dozen more toothpicks scattered about on the carpet. The intruder had obviously dropped them when he had fled the scene in panic.

  A deep cold filled Stark's gut as he rose to his feet. He looked at the handful of toothpicks he held.

  The list of suspects had suddenly been shortened.

  Two hours later Desdemona watched uneasily as Stark tossed a handful of toothpicks down onto his desk. The little sticks bounced and skittered on the glass surface.

  “It had to be one of your people, Desdemona. No one else here tonight would have had a reason to carry a bunch of toothpicks around in his or her pocket.”

  Desdemona stared at the toothpicks. “I don't understand.” She was baffled, not only by the toothpicks but by the change that had come over Stark.


  The last of his guests had departed a few minutes earlier. As soon as the car's taillights had disappeared down the drive, he had asked her to follow him upstairs. The icy cold emanating from him sent a frisson of alarm along all her nerve endings.

  She realized that there had been only one other occasion when she had glimpsed him in this dark and dangerous mood. That had been the night Tony had greeted them at the door of her apartment dressed in the Exotica Erotica regalia.

  Something was terribly wrong. Desdemona wiped her damp palms on her apron. Her stomach clenched.

  “What don't you understand?” Stark watched her with a grim patience that was frightening in its intensity.

  “Let me get this straight.” She took a breath. “You think someone tried to steal your computer tonight?”

  “Not the computer. That's not worth more than a couple thousand at most on the secondary market, and there would have been no way to get it out of the house undetected.”

  “Then what—?”

  “The thief was after the hard disk inside. That's where the valuable stuff is stored. Any idiot knows that.”

  Desdemona swallowed. “You mean he was after your new project? The one you call ARCANE?”

  “Yes, Desdemona. That's exactly what I mean. Whoever it was knew that there was no other way to get it except by stealing the entire hard disk. I keep this computer completely isolated. No modem is ever used with it. It's not linked to any network system. That means that no one can get into it through another computer.”

  “But why would anyone want to steal your special project? You told me it was locked in code.”

  “Given enough time, a very good hacker can break any code. Even one of mine.”

  She frowned. “But what would he do with ARCANE once he'd figured out how to break the code?”

  “Sell it.”

  “To whom?”

  “Any one of a number of foreign corporations or governments. It's called industrial espionage, Desdemona. Don't pretend you haven't heard of it.”

  “Well, of course I've heard of it, but it isn't something I worry about on a day-to-day basis,” she retorted. “If someone really wants to steal my tapenade recipe, he's welcome to it.”