“Son-of-a-bitch,” he breathed. “You goddamned son-of-a-bitch. I know what you're trying to do.”
“Do you?” Stark asked.
Desdemona realized she was still shaking. “Please,” she whispered. “No more. We have to talk.”
Tony turned on her. “Why did you bring him here, Desdemona? I told you that he was the one who's trying to set me up. How could you do this to me? I'm family. I trusted you.”
“I didn't bring him here.” Desdemona sank unsteadily into the nearest chair. She clasped her hands together to still the shivering in her fingers. “I have no idea how he—” She broke off as realization dawned. She looked at Stark. “You followed me, didn't you?”
“Yes.” Stark met her eyes.
“I knew it,” Tony howled. “You've probably had Desdemona under surveillance all along. You were just waiting for her to lead you to me. It's all part of your plot, isn't it?”
Desdemona threw up her hands in disgust. “For goodness' sake, Tony, calm down and listen to me. Stark is here because he was worried about me, aren't you, Stark?”
Stark stood like a chunk of granite in the middle of the tacky motel room. “You could say that.”
Desdemona smiled wryly. “I knew you sensed that something was wrong earlier when we said good night.”
“He sensed something was wrong?” Tony's voice rose in patent disbelief. “What are you talking about? He deliberately followed you tonight. He used you to get to me.”
“No, no, no, you've got it all mixed up, Tony.” Desdemona looked at him. “You asked me not to tell anyone where you were, so I didn't. But Stark and I have grown so close that one of us can tell when something is worrying the other. Isn't that right, Stark?”
“Sure,” Stark said derisively. “Mental telepathy.”
“In a way.” Desdemona smiled.
Tony glowered at Stark. “Telepathy? Give me a break.”
“It's true,” Desdemona assured him. “I didn't have to say anything at all this evening. Stark immediately sensed that there was a problem, and that I couldn't talk about it. He was probably very worried, weren't you, Stark?”
“Let's just say that I knew I'd never get to sleep tonight until I found out what was going on,” Stark muttered.
“There, you see, Tony?” Desdemona said. “It was perfectly natural for Stark to follow me here. I would have done the same if the situation had been reversed. You know how it is when you're in love.”
Stark stared at her with unblinking eyes. He said nothing.
Tony erupted in frustration and outrage. “In love? Desdemona, are you nuts? The guy's not in love with you. He wants to use you. Hell, he's been using you right from the start.”
“Tony, I know you're upset,” Desdemona said soothingly. “But you don't have to become a full-blown paranoid.”
“I'm pissed off, not upset.” Tony clenched his hands into fists. “And, yeah, maybe I am a little paranoid. Do you blame me for being worried that my sister thinks she's in love with a cold-blooded computer who passes for human?”
Desdemona lost her patience. She leaped to her feet to confront Tony. “That's enough. Do you hear me? I know you're scared, and I know you're feeling trapped, but that is no excuse for insulting the man I love.”
“He doesn't love you,” Tony said tightly. “He's got his own agenda here, and he's decided he can use you to secure it.”
“What agenda could he possibly have?” Desdemona retorted.
“Who knows?” Tony shot a furious glance at Stark. “This whole thing is beginning to feel like a conspiracy. Maybe Stark's involved in a high-tech deal with the wrong people. Maybe he's selling stuff he shouldn't be selling to foreign interests. And maybe he needs someone to take the fall.”
“An interesting theory,” Stark said. “I was working on a similar one, myself.”
“Yeah?” Tony narrowed his eyes.
“With you as the lead.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Desdemona said loudly. “None of this is true.”
Tony scowled at her. “How do you know? Look at the way he followed you here tonight. It was downright sneaky. A man who really loved you wouldn't have tailed you to see where you were going. It wouldn't have occurred to him that you would be going anywhere. He would have trusted you.”
Desdemona raised her chin. “Stark does trust me. I told you, he followed me tonight because he was worried about me, not because he was worried about me, not because he doesn't trust me. Now will you kindly shut up and sit down, Tony? We've got to talk this over rationally.”
Tony threw himself into a chair. “All right. You want to talk? Go ahead and talk. Let's hear what your android lover has to say for himself.”
Desdemona drew a deep breath and turned to Stark. “I'm sorry about this. Wainwright family arguments can get a little heated.”
“I noticed,” Stark said.
“And I'm sorry I couldn't tell you what was going on earlier this evening. Tony asked me not to tell a soul.” Desdemona smiled tremulously. “It was very clever of you to figure out that I had a problem on my hands.”
Stark looked at Tony. “What, exactly, is the nature of this problem?”
“Someone planted a gun in Tony's apartment while he was out of town,” Desdemona said. “We have a hunch it may be the thirty-eight that killed Vernon Tate.”
“You don't say,” Stark murmured.
Tony's lips thinned in fury.
“What did you do with the gun?” Stark asked.
“I took a ferry ride to Bainbridge a couple of hours ago,” Tony said in a low voice. “Halfway across Elliott Bay, I threw the gun overboard.”
“Did you get rid of any other useful evidence while you were at it?” Stark asked politely.
“Bastard.”
Desdemona ignored the byplay. “I think Tony's right about one thing. It's beginning to appear that someone may be trying to set him up for Vernon's murder. First, he's lured out of town so that it appears he's fled the scene of the crime. His absence also gave the killer a chance to hide the murder weapon in his apartment. Then that blackmail note appears on my computer.”
Tony looked up. “What blackmail note?”
“Remember that lost work file you helped me retrieve?” Desdemona asked.
“Yeah. What about it?”
“I thought it was just gibberish. But it turned out to be an encrypted blackmail note.”
“Says who?” Tony asked.
“Stark says so. He decoded it.”
“Is that a fact?” Tony gave Stark a belligerent glare. “Maybe he just invented it to suit his own purposes. If the original message was gibberish, how would you know if he faked a blackmail note from it?”
Desdemona raised her eyes briefly toward heaven. “Let's not start up with the gratuitous insults again. We've got more important things to do here. Now, then, pay attention, both of you. Stark, I'm very glad you followed me tonight. It will save a lot of time.”
Stark raised his brows. “Will it?”
“Of course.” Desdemona sat down again. “I was going to explain everything to you just as soon as I had talked to Tony, anyway.”
“Were you?” Stark asked in a dangerously even voice.
“Don't talk to her like that,” Tony snarled.
Desdemona frowned. “I know you're both still overloaded with testosterone because of the recent physical violence, but I would appreciate it if you would control the hormones for a while. I'm trying to move this meeting forward.”
“You call this a meeting?” Stark asked.
“For want of a better word.” Desdemona crossed her legs and eyed the two men. “Let's recap. We've got a weird situation here. Someone apparently hired Vernon Tate to steal ARCANE from Stark. Vernon made the attempt the night of the reception. He failed. The next thing we know, poor Vernon is dead, and there is a blackmail note aimed at his so-called client left on my computer.”
Tony's brows drew together. “Why was the note left on your co
mputer?”
“That's obvious,” Desdemona said. “Whoever left it wanted to make it appear that you were Vernon's client. The one who had paid him to steal ARCANE.”
“Shit,” Tony muttered. “And now the damned gun in my apartment. I knew it. A setup.”
“There's a simpler explanation.” Stark bestirred himself to walk the short distance to the nearest wall. He propped one shoulder against it. “It could be the truth.”
“Bastard,” Tony said.
Desdemona glowered at both of them. “I do not want to hear another unproductive word. Is that clear?”
Tony and Stark looked at her. Neither said anything.
“That's better.” Desdemona composed her thoughts. “Now, then, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, it's apparent that someone killed Vernon and then deliberately set out to make Tony look guilty. The killer was probably Vernon's mysterious client. Do we all agree so far?”
“It's a theory,” Tony said grudgingly. “But if we buy that, we have to ask why the so-called client bothered to kill Tate.”
Stark lifted one shoulder in a negligent movement. “It's possible that Tate actually had identified him and really was threatening to blackmail him.”
“On my computer?” Desdemona asked quickly.
Stark seemed reluctant to continue with the line of reasoning he had begun. Desdemona got the distinct impression that he wished he'd kept his mouth shut.
“Maybe the real blackmail note wasn't sent on your computer,” he said grudgingly. “It's possible that the client did get one from Vernon, but he probably received it the same way he got Tate's other communications. Via e-mail.”
Desdemona widened her eyes as she realized what that implied. “That means that the blackmail note we found was a phony left by the client after the murder in order to make Tony look guilty,” Desdemona concluded. “To provide a fake motive for him.”
“I said it's a possibility.” Stark shot Tony an irritated look. “A remote one.”
“Yeah. Real remote,” Tony agreed sarcastically. “If we rewrite the script so that you're the bad guy, the logic works even better.”
“Neither of you is the bad guy,” Desdemona said forcefully. “Now, let's continue. We have a real bad guy in this play. Someone we have not yet identified. We have to find him.”
“We?” Stark's brow rose. “That's what the cops are paid to do.”
Desdemona grimaced. “Don't be an idiot, Stark. We can't go to the cops at this juncture. They might jump to the wrong conclusions.”
“You mean they might decide that Tony was guilty?” Stark nodded solemnly. “True. They might. I hadn't thought of that.”
“The hell you hadn't,” Tony said.
“As I was saying,” Desdemona continued determinedly, “no one is going to the cops just yet. First we've got to try to find Vernon's real client.” She looked expectantly at Stark.
He gazed steadily back at her.
“Well?” Desdemona prompted.
“Well, what?” Stark asked.
“How do you plan to go about finding Vernon's real client?” Desdemona asked patiently. “The person who killed him?”
“Why are you looking at me?” Stark asked.
“Because you're the security expert,” Desdemona said patiently.
“Damn,” Stark said.
Desdemona smiled with relief. “I knew you'd agree to help.”
He was the security expert, all right. Stark was still berating himself for being an idiot as he followed Desdemona into the parking garage beneath her apartment building.
How the hell had he allowed Desdemona to manipulate him into helping that screwup brother of hers? he wondered for what must have been the thousandth time.
She had caused him to break his most cherished rule. He had stopped thinking and acting with the rational side of his brain. Instead, he had been sucked down into the chaos of emotion. Here in the sorcerer's cauldron, nothing was fixed in logic. Every move was treacherous and unpredictable.
His blood ran cold as he recalled Tony's attempt to persuade Desdemona that her lover was the real criminal mastermind behind a complex conspiracy.
It hadn't even struck Stark until now that, if one chose to shine a certain light on the subject, he could conceivably be made to look as guilty as Tony Wainwright.
Perhaps more so.
After all, Stark thought, chagrined, a disinterested observer could claim that he was the one who knew the major players involved in the world of illegal international technology deals.
He was also far more intimately acquainted with computers than Tony Wainwright was. Tony was good, but he was an amateur compared to Stark.
And there was another bit of damning evidence on hand, Stark reminded himself. He was the one who had hired Desdemona as a caterer and then seduced her, thereby setting the whole damned game in motion.
He was forced to acknowledge that Wainwright had a point. It was an inescapable fact that the attempted theft of ARCANE and the killing of Vernon Tate had taken place after Stark and Desdemona had formed a relationship. Viewed from that perspective, Stark thought, he was an excellent candidate for the role of the bad guy.
Jealousy was considered one of the classic motives for violence. Stark told himself that he wasn't the jealous type, but he wasn't certain anyone would believe it.
Thank God Desdemona had been no more interested in that scenario than she had been in the one that portrayed Tony as the villain.
Stark pulled into a slot, parked his car, and switched off the engine. He sat behind the wheel for a moment, watching Desdemona climb out of her Toyota. She waved at him over the roof of her car.
An eerie sensation washed over him as he gazed at her. His whole body tensed as though to do battle with some unseen threat.
Damn. He was perfectly capable of feeling jealousy.
The knowledge left him shaken. He finally opened the car door and got out.
“Do you have time for a cup of coffee?” Desdemona asked as he walked toward her through the silent garage.
Stark glanced at his watch. “I think so. Macbeth is with Kyle and Jason.”
Desdemona stopped in front of the elevator. “I meant what I said earlier. I'm very glad you followed me tonight. It saved me having to talk Tony into asking for your help. He can be awfully stubborn.”
Stark pressed the elevator call button. “He thinks I'm guilty. That I set him up because I'm jealous.”
“Don't worry about that. He was just firing from the hip, as usual. He's a little emotional at the moment.” The elevator doors opened. Desdemona stepped inside. “Can't blame him for being on edge. It does look as though someone is trying to set him up for murder, doesn't it?”
“Maybe.”
“Thank goodness he found that gun before the police did. I'll bet whoever is behind this planned to give the cops an anonymous tip about it.”
“Possible.”
Desdemona froze. Fear flashed in her eyes. “The police might be looking for Tony at this very moment.”
“You'll know if they're looking for him,” Stark said. “The first thing they'll do is ask you or someone else in the family where he is.”
“Good point. Well, since no one's been asked, we have to assume that Vernon's so-called client is lying low for a while.”
Stark could not think of anything to say to that. He put his arm around Desdemona. This time she relaxed against him. He relaxed a little, too.
They rode the elevator to the fifth floor in silence.
Desdemona led the way down the hall and opened the door of her apartment. “I'll make the coffee.”
Stark closed the door very deliberately. He had to tell her the truth, he thought. He had to get it out on the table. “Desdemona?”
She tossed him a smile over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“I didn't follow you tonight because I was worried about you or because I got some kind of telepathic communication. I followed you because I knew that you ha
d lied when you said Tony was not back in town.” Stark shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I figured you were trying to protect him.”
“I was.” She walked around the glass brick counter and went to work on the gleaming espresso machine. “And if you knew that I had lied, then you must have been on the same wavelength as me, because no one else in the family suspected it. It only goes to show how really close we are.”
“Damn it, Desdemona, I'm trying to explain something here.”
She glanced up with an inquiring expression. “What's that?”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated by his inability to make his point clear. “I don't know.”
She grinned. “Poor Stark. You're overintellectualizing this, you know.”
“I am?”
“Uh-huh. Relax. Things have been rather emotional for all of us lately. Try to stay focused on the problem of finding Vernon Tate's client.”
He blinked. “You're telling me to stay focused?”
“Right.” Steam hissed. “Here, have a nice hot cup of espresso. A jolt of caffeine should help settle your nerves.”
“I do not have a case of nerves. I have never had a case of nerves in my life.”
“Whatever.” She set the cup down on the counter.
Stark sat down on a stool and wrapped his hands around the tiny cup. “What happens if it turns out that Tony really is the killer, Desdemona?”
“He isn't.”
“Damn it, what if he is, and I'm the one who proves it?”
She stilled, her eyes suddenly troubled. “I don't know.”
“Will you hate me for uncovering the truth?” he made himself ask.
“Hate you?” She frowned. “Why would I hate you? Our relationship isn't based on whether or not Tony's guilty.”
“Isn't it?”
“Stark, you're not making any sense here. Tony is not guilty. But if, hypothetically speaking, he were guilty, it wouldn't change how I feel about you.”
“It's called shooting the messenger,” Stark said wearily. “Happens all the time.”
She sipped her espresso. “You're going to have to trust me on this, Stark.”
Stark's fingers tightened around the fragile cup. “Will you marry me?”