“You may not worry about this kind of espionage, but I do.”
She winced. “Yes, I suppose you do. You've made a career out of it, haven't you?”
“The theft of high-tech information is the new ball game. It's replaced a lot of the old-fashioned political espionage. Several of the old players are involved.”
“What do you mean?”
“A lot of the pros who once stole and resold national security secrets have undergone career adjustments.” Stark said evenly. “They're working in two new fields, arms dealing and the international market for technological secrets. Do you know what that means?”
“Uh, not exactly.”
“It means,” Stark said, “that the game of industrial espionage is a lot more dangerous than it once was because the players are not amateurs.”
“Stark, if your aim is to scare me, you've succeeded. Please tell me what this is all about.”
“Someone on your staff is playing the game.”
“I don't believe it.”
“You'd better believe it. The thief used you as a cover to get at my computer.”
“That's crazy,” Desdemona whispered. “All you've got are a few scratches on the computer case and a handful of toothpicks. Even if you're right about someone trying to steal your hard disk, why suspect a member of my staff?”
“Because someone on your staff had opportunity and motive.”
“Now hold on just one minute here. There were a whole bunch of people in this house tonight. I'll bet a lot of them know more about computers than any of my employees.”
“It had to be someone who knew the layout of this house,” Stark said. “Most of my guests tonight had never been here before. They couldn't have known where my study is located, let alone anything about my security precautions.”
“Wait a second, what about Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson? I know they were at the other party. And so were the Blaunts.”
“Ferguson and Blaunt are old-style corporate types. Neither of them knows enough about computers to even contemplate stealing a hard disk.”
“Well, what about your friend, Dane McCallum?”
“What about him? He's a marketing and finance man, not a technical man. Furthermore, I saw him downstairs at the same time that I got the page. He couldn't have been up here because he couldn't have been in two places at once.”
“How about that guy with the little beard?” Desdemona was grasping at straws, and she knew it.
“Jessick?”
“Whatever. He's been here before. You said something about him being a software genius.”
“I saw him downstairs at about the same time I saw McCallum. Got any other suspects you'd care to run by me before we take a close look at your staff?”
Desdemona frantically tried to think of another approach. “None of my people knows anything about computers. They're all theater people, for heavens' sake. Except Vernon Tate. And he's an ice sculptor and a waiter. He's no hacker.”
“You're overlooking someone.”
“Who?” she demanded furiously.
“Your stepbrother.”
Desdemona stilled. She gazed wide-eyed at Stark. “No,” she whispered. “Not Tony.”
“Why not Tony?”
“He wouldn't do anything like that,” Desdemona said. “He wouldn't.”
“He knows something about computers. You told me yourself he put your business on-line. I understand he's installed business software for Kirsten, too.”
“Yes, but that doesn't make him a hacker or a thief.”
“No?” Stark's eyes gleamed in the shadows above the halogen lamp. “He's got a history, doesn't he, Desdemona?”
Desdemona stopped breathing for a heartbeat. “What are you talking about?”
“I'm talking about the fact that he was once under suspicion for embezzlement.”
“How do you know about that?”
Stark shrugged. “I did a quick background check on him the day after he turned up in your apartment.”
“You did what?”
“You heard me.”
She was stunned. “But you had no right to do that.”
“I'm a security expert, remember?”
“A computer security expert. You're not a private investigator. All right, all right, it's true that Tony was in some trouble a few years ago, but it was all cleared up.”
“You mean no one was able to prove anything so they dropped the embezzlement charges.”
“No charges were ever filed,” she hissed. “And no one actually accused him of embezzlement.”
“I believe the phrase was ‘mishandling of funds.’”
“He was young.” Desdemona flung out a hand. “He took some chances on a plan to finance a new theatrical production, and it all fell apart. It was a case of bad judgment, not a criminal act.”
“That depends on your point of view,” Stark said bluntly. “In my business, the disappearance of several thousand dollars looks like embezzlement.”
“Well, it would to you, wouldn't it? You take a suspicious view of everyone and everything. You don't even trust your own fiancées. You make them sign prenuptial agreements, for heaven's sake.”
“Leave my ex-fiancées out of this. They've got nothing to do with it.”
“Let's be logical about this.” Desdemona ignored Stark's derisively raised brows. “Tell me, how would Tony know that there was anything of value stored in your computer?”
“Are you serious? It wouldn't be difficult for anyone to find out that I do my initial development work at home on an isolated system. Hell, Jason and Kyle know that much. They even know something about ARCANE. They could have mentioned it to Macbeth, who, in turn, could have told Tony.”
“Good lord, now you're implicating my cousin and your own half brothers. Don't you trust anyone?”
“I'm not accusing any of them of criminal intent,” Stark said evenly. “I'm just pointing out one possible route by which Tony could have learned about ARCANE. There are others. A lot of your people have been in and out of this house. They know the layout. Tony could have learned about it from any of your staff.”
“But why would Tony want to steal your stupid project?” Desdemona raged.
“Two reasons,” Stark said coldly. “The first is that it's worth a great deal of money to certain parties, and Kyle mentioned that your stepbrother just happens to be looking for a bundle of cash to finance his play.”
“Every playwright who does a script wants money to finance his play. That doesn't mean he'd steal in order to get it staged. What's the second reason?”
“Revenge,” Stark said simply.
Desdemona's mouth fell open. “Revenge? Against whom?”
“Me.”
“But, why?”
“Because he wants you, and I've got you.”
Desdemona was speechless. “Of all the—”
Stark leaned forward and planted his big hands on the desk. “Listen to me, Desdemona. Because Tony is your stepbrother and because I have no actual proof that he made an attempt to steal ARCANE, I'm going to let this die here tonight.”
A tiny flicker of hope came to life in Desdemona. “You will?”
“Yes. But there will be no second chances. Tell Tony that, Desdemona. Tell him if I ever again have any reason to suspect that he's trying to steal from me, I'll nail him to the wall.”
“Stark, listen to me—”
“I can do it, Desdemona.”
She believed him. There was something very cold and hard and relentless in his face. This was not the man she thought she knew. This was not the man with whom she had fallen in love.
Desdemona took a step back. “I'm going to find Tony. I want to hear what he has to say.”
She whirled around and ran for the door. She raced downstairs and nearly collided with Vernon on the floor of the atrium. He reached out to steady her.
“Whoa. Take it easy, Miss Wainwright.” Vernon peered anxiously at her face. “Are you okay?”
/> “No. Where's Tony?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Excuse me, Vernon.” Desdemona freed herself and dashed into the kitchen.
Tony looked up from where he was repacking glassware when Desdemona burst into the kitchen. He frowned when he saw her expression. “What's wrong?”
She came to a halt in front of him. “Tony, tell me the truth. Were you in Stark's study earlier this evening?”
“Hell, no. Why would I go in there? It's locked, anyway, isn't it?”
“How did you know that?”
“Macbeth said one of Stark's brothers mentioned that it's got a special security code lock on the door.”
Bess, Augustus, and Juliet stopped what they were doing and gathered anxiously around Tony and Desdemona. Vernon walked into the kitchen and stood to one side with a helpless expression.
“What's going on?” Bess demanded.
“Stark claims that someone tried to steal the hard disk in his computer this evening.” Desdemona did not look away from Tony. “He thinks Tony is guilty.”
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Tony muttered. “And you believe him, don't you?”
“No, I think he's wrong,” Desdemona said fiercely. “And I want you to confirm it. Tell me you didn't try to steal that damned hard disk tonight, Tony.”
“I didn't try to steal anything from that bastard.” Tony glanced past her. His expression hardened. “I swear it, kid. But I can't prove it.”
“No, you can't,” Stark said from the kitchen doorway. “Just as I can't prove that you did try to steal it. But that won't stop me if you try anything like this again, Wainwright. I'll find a way to deal with you. Trust me.”
Tony stiffened. “Who are you going to believe, Desdemona? Your brother or this son-of-a-bitch?”
“I think Stark is mistaken,” Desdemona said desperately.
“Mistaken?” Tony smiled humorlessly. “I think he's lying. I think he's concocted this whole damn story just to turn you against me.”
“No,” Desdemona whispered. “That's not true. Why would he do such a thing?”
“To get me out of the picture.” Tony kept his gaze on Stark. “Don't you see? He knows that you and I have a special kind of relationship, and he can't stand knowing that. He's the possessive type.”
“That's not true,” Desdemona said.
“Sure it is,” Tony insisted softly. “He wants you all to himself. For a while. When he's through with you, he'll chuck you out fast enough, but in the meantime he doesn't want any competition. Isn't that the real truth, Stark?”
“Desdemona's right,” Stark said. “This isn't personal. It's business. Very big, very dangerous business. I'll give you some advice, Wainwright. If you're playing games with the international industrial espionage crowd, you're way out of your league.”
“I'm not playing games of any kind.” Tony switched his gaze back to Desdemona. “Is it going to work, Desdemona?”
“Is what going to work?”
“Is he going to succeed in turning you against me?”
“No one can do that, Tony. You're my brother.”
“Your stepbrother,” he corrected softly. He lifted a hand and touched the side of her face. “There's a difference, kid. And Stark knows it.”
He turned and walked out of the kitchen. Desdemona felt the tears well up in her eyes.
Bess, Augustus, and Juliet watched in shock as Tony went out the door. Vernon stood in the center of the kitchen clutching his half-melted ice sculpture in gloved hands. He glanced nervously from face to face, clearly unhappy at being caught in the middle of a family scene.
“Tony certainly knows how to make an exit,” Stark said laconically. “I'll give him that.”
The cutting edge of Stark's voice jerked Desdemona out of her momentary paralysis. She whirled around to face him. “It's a family talent. If you'll excuse us, we'll finish cleaning up, and then we'll all get out of here. Right Touch has a policy of leaving the client's home in the same condition it was in when we arrived.”
12
He should have known that she would make a scene, Stark thought the following morning. Desdemona was a Wainwright. Theater people. Everything had to be done with a melodramatic flair.
His intention had been to deliver a simple warning, but she had turned it into a confrontation worthy of a soap opera. It was his own fault, he decided. He had virtually accused Tony Wainwright of attempted theft, and in Desdemona's mind, an attack against anyone in her precious family was an attack against her.
He had made a serious miscalculation. He had put Desdemona in a position where she felt forced to choose between his version of events and her stepbrother's. He should have thought it out more clearly ahead of time. He should have realized that he could not expect Desdemona to trust him rather than one of the Wainwright clan.
The kitchen was empty. Stark went through the routine of making coffee and pouring cereal into a bowl with a sense of weary fatalism. The day matched his mood, somber and gray.
He had gone over the scene with Desdemona a hundred times during the night in an effort to figure out how he could have handled it without alienating her.
He had not found an answer.
Another relationship down the tubes. Although he was not standing alone at the altar this time, for some reason the kicked-in-the-gut sensation was a lot worse than it had been the day Pamela had failed to show for the wedding.
What the hell was wrong with him? he wondered as he poured milk on his cereal. He had known from the beginning that it was not a serious, long-term relationship. He'd only been to bed with Desdemona once. It wasn't as if he'd asked her to marry him. He had told himself that he would go with the flow this time.
The flow had turned into Niagara Falls, however, and he had just discovered that he was going over in a barrel.
What was he supposed to have done? Pretend that her beloved Tony had never tried to steal the hard disk?
“Morning, Sam.” Jason charged into the kitchen and grabbed the box of cereal that Stark had left on the counter. “You sure missed a good film last night.”
“Is that right?” Stark carried his bowl to the table and sat down.
Kyle appeared. “It was all about this android that everyone thinks is human. Only he's not. He's really a super computer with all sorts of weapons.”
“For some dippy reason he thinks he wants to be a real human being.” Jason made a face as he upended the cereal box and proceeded to dump a large portion of the contents into his bowl. “That was the only dumb part. Who'd want to be human if you could be an android?”
“Good question.” Stark munched cereal.
Kyle grabbed the cereal box from his brother. “The android's hand was actually a gun. And his eyes projected computerized heads-up displays of his targets the way computers do in the new fighter-bombers.”
“There were a lot of really neat special effects,” Jason said.
“Macbeth explained how some of 'em worked.” Kyle went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of orange juice. “But he said you could probably explain how the special effects were produced better than he could because they're computer-generated and you know all about computers.”
“He says theater people don't rely on gimmicks and computers the way the people who make movies do,” Jason added.
Kyle poured juice into a glass. “Macbeth says creating an illusion in a theater is an art form, not a technological trick.”
Stark raised his brows. “Are you sure Macbeth isn't slightly biased?”
“No, he's an expert,” Kyle assured him.
“I see.” Stark took another bite of cereal and finally noticed the unfamiliar taste. The stuff was as sweet as candy, but he was positive that he had not put any sugar on it.
“Macbeth says there's nothing like a live performance to capture the audience's emotions,” Jason explained. “He says people get much more involved with a live performance than they do with a filmed one.”
“He says live t
heater demands more from an audience,” Kyle said.
Stark contemplated the bleak memories of the live performance in which he had acted the previous night. “He may be right.” He cautiously tried another spoonful from his bowl. “Where did this cereal come from?”
“Macbeth took us to a store so that Jason and I could buy it and some other stuff,” Kyle explained.
“What other stuff?”
Kyle shrugged. “Some soda and peanut butter and potato chips.”
“A good assortment from the basic food groups?” Stark inquired.
“Yeah. Macbeth's taking us to the Limelight this morning. We're going to help him with some repairs on the stage.”
Stark stopped chewing as a thought struck him. “Hell.”
Jason looked up. “What's wrong?”
Stark wondered how to tell his brothers that Macbeth was unlikely to show up this morning. Desdemona would have gotten in touch with him by now and told him that the Wainwrights and the Starks were no longer on speaking terms.
Stark's next thought was that he would have to call his office and tell Maud that he wouldn't be in until he could arrange for a new sitter. The lid that covered the cauldron of chaos inside him had loosened sometime during the night. He was catching unpleasant glimpses of the contents.
“You okay, Sam?” Jason looked suddenly worried.
“Yeah, are you okay?” Kyle asked.
“I'm fine.” This wasn't Kyle and Jason's problem, Stark reminded himself. He glanced at the clock. It was almost seven-thirty. Macbeth always arrived promptly at seven-thirty. “Listen. there may be a change in plans today.”
“What kind of change?” Kyle asked.
“I'm not sure that Macbeth is going—” Stark broke off at the sound of Macbeth's Jeep in the drive.
“There he is now.” Jason jumped off his chair. “'Scuse me. I've gotta get my jacket.”
“Me, too.” Kyle made to follow his brother.
“Don't forget the dishes,” Stark said automatically.
Jason and Kyle grumbled, but they both rushed back to the table, scooped up their bowls and glasses, and deposited them in the dishwasher.
“Bye, Sam,” Jason yelled as he headed for the door.
“See you tonight,” Kyle called. “Are we going to send out for pizza again?”