Trust Me

  Several drops of coffee spilled from her cup. Desdemona did not seem to notice. She stared at him. “Why?”

  “Why? What kind of thing is that to say?” Stark was suddenly angry. “This is a simple yes or no quiz, not an essay question. All I want is a straightforward answer.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what? Yes or no? Will you marry me?”

  “Calm down, I said okay, didn't I?”

  He watched her from beneath half-lowered lashes. “You will?”

  She gave him a strangely wistful smile. “If you're sure you want to marry me, I'll marry you.”

  Relief soared inside him. He fought the lightheaded sensation it created, afraid that if he abandoned himself to it he might do something stupid such as bounce off the walls and ceiling.

  He had to keep himself focused.

  Desdemona had just said that she would marry him, but she could easily change her mind. God knew he'd been through that scene often enough. The espresso cup in his hand rattled against its saucer. He let go of it quickly.

  “I'm sure.” Stark forced his voice to stay even. He seized the tiny cup again and swallowed the espresso in a single gulp. Then he glanced at his watch. “It's getting late. I'd better be on my way.”

  “Hold it right there.” Desdemona narrowed her gaze into a severe glare. “Is that all you have to say?”

  He gave her a blank look. “What?”

  “I have just consented to marry you,” she reminded him a little too sweetly. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that warrant a few excited words? An exclamation of joy? Perhaps even a small sonnet?”

  He felt himself turn a dark red. “I'm sorry,” he said stiffly. “I don't do sonnets.”

  “I won't change my mind, you know.”

  He smiled humorlessly as he got off the stool. “No?”

  “No. Look, I know you're an old hand at proposals and weddings and such, but this is all new to me. This is the first time I have ever accepted a marriage proposal. Now, I realize beginners always have a few stars in their eyes, but I really did expect something more than what I'm getting here.”

  “I see,” Stark said cautiously. “What, exactly, did you expect?”

  “Well, for starters, I had envisioned a more momentous scene.” Desdemona waved a hand in the air. “Perhaps some roses and champagne. You're supposed to be on your knees, of course. There should be moonlight, I think, and maybe some small show of elated emotion from you.”

  “I may have had experience, but I'm not very good at this,” Stark said.

  “Hah. You're scared, aren't you? You're thinking about your past two spectacular failures, and you're as edgy as an actor on opening night. Admit it.”

  He rounded the edge of the counter and cradled her face in his hands. He looked down into her wonderful eyes. “I suppose I could ensure that you show up at the altar by hiring you to do the catering for our wedding reception.”

  “I am not going to cater my own wedding.”

  “I was afraid of that. I guess I'll have to take your word that you'll show, won't I?”

  “Have a little faith, Stark. Trust me.” She gave him a misty smile. “Just as I'm going to trust you.”

  He could not think of anything to say to that so he kissed her.

  She put down her espresso cup and kissed him back. He felt her arms circle his waist. The scent of her body filled his head.

  He relaxed when he heard her soft sigh. She melted against him, warm and sweet and welcoming. He might not always know what to say to Desdemona, he thought, but when he had her in his arms, he could communicate with her just fine.

  19

  Dane lounged back in his chair and contemplated Stark with an amused expression. “I can't believe you're going to try it a third time.”

  Stark looked up from the spreadsheet he had been studying. Reluctantly he switched mental gears. “What?”

  “I said, I can't believe you've asked Desdemona to marry you. It's only been a couple of months since your last wedding. Are you sure you're ready to rent another tux?”

  “I don't have to rent one,” Stark said. “Pamela insisted I buy one for the last wedding, remember? I wore it to the charity ball. No reason I can't use it again.”

  “I know, I know.” Dane grinned as he held up both hands. “I was just making a little joke.”

  “Very funny.” Stark refocused his attention on the spreadsheet. “What the hell is this? It looks like Lancaster pulled these projections for the first year's sales of ARCANE right out of thin air.”

  “I was afraid of this,” Dane murmured.

  “Well, why didn't you stop him?” Stark picked up a red felt pen and drew a precise, straight line through a whole row of figures. “How many times have I told everyone that I want conservative cost and sales estimates.”

  “Lancaster is a glass-half-full kind of guy. A natural optimist.”

  “Optimistic financial officers are dangerous. I feel much more secure when I know I'm looking at worst case scenarios.”

  “I'll tell him to rework the numbers.”

  “Do that. Tell him if he needs help getting into a gloomy mood, I'm sure I can find a way to put him into one.”

  “As it happens, I wasn't talking about Lancaster when I said I was afraid of this,” Dane said. “I was talking about your engagement.”

  “What about it?” Stark frowned at another row of numbers.

  “I can't believe that you've asked a woman like Desdemona Wainwright to marry you.”

  Stark glanced up with a frown. “You're losing me here, McCallum. What, exactly, are you trying to say?”

  A knowing smile flickered around the corners of Dane's mouth. “I'm just wondering if you've finally taken the big fall.”

  “The big fall?”

  “Are you in love with Desdemona Wainwright?”

  “McCallum, for a smart man, you occasionally ask some really stupid questions.” Stark lined out another row of figures.

  “I know. But, then, you were always the brains of the outfit, not me. I'm just along for the ride.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” Dane said, “that Stark Security Systems is your creation. You're the key to its success. Without you, this company is nothing.”

  “No business this size hinges entirely on one individual.” Stark went back to the numbers.

  “You're wrong. Everywhere you go, you're the star of the show,” Dane said softly. “It was that way at the Institute, and it's that way here. How does it feel to always be number one?”

  Stark ignored the question. He was too concerned about the next row of blue-sky numbers.

  At eleven o'clock that evening Tony paced Stark's study with the restless, prowling stride of a caged cat. “I shouldn't have let you talk me into coming here. This is dumb. For all I know it's a trap.”

  “If I had wanted to trap you,” Stark said, “I would have stood back and let nature take its course. The evidence against you has been mounting very nicely right from the start. It's only a matter of time before it comes to the attention of the cops.”

  Tony gave him a scathing glance. “With a little help from you?”

  “That's the nifty part. I wouldn't even have to exert myself. You've got a natural talent for shooting yourself in the foot.”

  Tony's eyes narrowed. “Everyone says you're so damned smart, but you know what I think?”

  “I haven't got a clue.”

  “I think you're a dangerous son-of-a-bitch who likes to use people.”

  “You're entitled to your opinion.” Stark entered another command. ARCANE slithered through another layer of complexity, searching for patterns.

  “Damn right I'm entitled.” Tony walked over to stand behind him. “What, exactly, are you trying to do here?”

  “I'm using ARCANE to study the anonymous server's files. I'm searching for the code that links the anonymous e-mail addresses with the users' real addresses.”

  Tony l
eaned closer to study the screen. “You think you can crack the code and find the real e-mail address of Tate's client?”

  “Maybe. With a little help from ARCANE.”

  Tony frowned. “Where the hell is this anonymous server located anyway?”

  “I don't know. Could be anywhere. Europe. Some island in the Caribbean. Southern California. Whoever set it up seems to be operating a clearinghouse service for hacker mercenaries like Vernon Tate. All the contacts between clients and mercenaries are made anonymously. Delivery of the stolen goods is probably handled through an equally anonymous shipping service.”

  “Are you going to blow the whistle on the operation after this is all over?”

  “Yes.”

  Tony was silent for a moment. “Is this the kind of work your company does?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sort of interesting.”

  “Yes, it is,” Stark said. “Now will you shut up and sit down? You're making it hard to concentrate.”

  “All right, already.” Tony went back across the room and threw himself into a chair. “Why did you ask me to come here tonight?”

  “Because your neck is on the block, and Desdemona will be upset if someone swings the axe.”

  “It could just as easily be your neck.”

  “Yeah, but it's not, is it? Whoever is behind this planted the gun in your apartment and went out of his way to make you look guilty, not me.”

  “I still think there's a real good possibility that you're the one who's setting me up,” Tony grumbled.

  Stark glanced at him. “I'll make a deal with you,” he said slowly. “If you'll leave off the melodrama for the next couple of hours and try some logical thinking instead of playacting, I'll stop taking every opportunity to point out just how guilty you look.”

  Tony scowled. “Why would you want to help me?”

  “I told you, I'm doing this for Desdemona, not you.”

  Tony flexed his hands. “I don't know what the hell she sees in you.”

  “You know what they say, love is blind.” Stark was ridiculously pleased by that thought.

  “Yeah, well, she never had any trouble with her eyesight before you came along. In fact, she lived like a nun.”

  “A cloistered existence, would you say?”

  “Yeah. Exactly. I can't figure it out.” Tony slammed the arm of his chair with his palm. “You're all wrong for her. It's so damn obvious. Why can't she see that?”

  Stark gave up trying to work. He swung around in his chair and studied Tony's sullen expression. “Why don't you try facing reality, Wainwright? She was bound to fall for someone, someday.”

  “Why did it have to be you?”

  “You know what I think? I think you'd be acting like this regardless of whom she decided to marry. Did you really believe that you could keep her locked away in cold storage forever?”

  “I'm not trying to keep her in cold storage.” Tony propelled himself back out of the chair and stalked to the window. “I'm just trying to protect her.”

  “She's not a little girl anymore.”

  “I know that, but she's so damn sweet and kind, and I don't want anything to happen to her.” Tony whirled around, his eyes glittering with violent emotion. “Don't you understand? I'm her brother. I've always taken care of her. I saved her life once.”

  “So I've been told,” Stark said very quietly. “That's one of the reasons I'm trying to help you now. I owe you that much.”

  “You don't owe me a damn thing, you bastard. I don't want your gratitude. I want you to leave Desdemona alone.”

  “I can't do that.”

  “You're no good for her, don't you see? She needs someone from the Wainwright world. The theater world. Someone who understands her. Someone who can talk her language. Someone who will fit in with the family.”

  “Someone like you?”

  Tony looked blank. “Me? And Desdemona? Are you crazy? I'm her brother.”

  “Stepbrother.”

  Tony shrugged. “I've always been her big brother as far as she and I are concerned. The guy who saved her life. But I can't stand by and watch her throw herself away on some jerk who won't appreciate her.”

  “What makes you think I don't appreciate her?”

  “How could you?” Tony gave him a look of patent disgust. “There's no poetry in your soul, man.”

  “Maybe Desdemona sees a little deeper than you do.”

  “Bullshit. There's nothing more to see. Are you going to tell me that behind your nerd pack beats the heart of a creative, sensitive artist? That you're wired with emotions instead of microchips? Don't waste your breath.”

  Stark sat unmoving. “You're not trying to protect her, are you? Just the opposite. You need her to protect you from the truth.”

  Tony's mouth thinned. “What truth?”

  “The truth of your own failures. Look at your track record, Wainwright. You're a failed actor, a failed theater financial manager—”

  Tony looked as though he'd taken a body blow. “You know about that?”

  “I know that you were implicated in an embezzlement case, yes.”

  “I didn't embezzle a damn cent.”

  Stark paid no attention to the hot defense. “Most recently you're a failed soap opera star. The only thing you ever did right was save Desdemona's life. And that's why you can't let her go, isn't it?”

  Tony stared at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You need her, don't you? You need her around so that you can have some tangible proof that you're not a total and complete screwup. You did do something right once upon a time, and she's the only evidence you've got of that momentous occasion.”

  Tony froze. “I did save her life, damn you.”

  “Yes. You did. And she's been paying you back ever since, hasn't she?”

  “You don't understand. How could you? You're not part of the family.”

  “Maybe that's why I do understand. The whole thing is very clear when you're on the outside looking in.” Stark turned back to the computer.

  Silence descended on the study. Stark was grateful.

  After a while Tony spoke from the chair. “She made me a hero.”

  Stark ignored him. He eased ARCANE deeper into the anonymous server's secret passages.

  “A real hero,” Tony whispered. “I didn't just act the part, you know. I did the job. I saved her from that crazy bastard. He was going to kill her.”

  Stark hesitated. “What exactly did happen when Desdemona was five?”

  “Celia's ex-husband, George Northstreet, came after her and Desdemona. Northstreet had been getting worse for some time, they said. He was completely over the edge by then. He must have stalked them for days before he made his move. He grabbed Desdemona first.”

  Stark did not move. “Where?”

  “He took her right out of the parking lot in front of a small dinner theater.” Tony gazed out the window, everything in him focused on the past. “I was there with her, teaching her to ride a bike. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on her while the family rehearsed a musical inside. I guess Northstreet thought that I wasn't much of a threat. He ignored me and stuffed Desdemona in the trunk of his car.”

  “The claustrophobia,” Stark said to himself.

  “Yeah, that's where it comes from. Northstreet drove off with Desdemona. I yelled for help, but no one heard me. I figured that by the time I went into the theater, got everyone's attention, and told them what was happening, Northstreet would be long gone.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I knew the route Northstreet would have to take to get onto the main cross street. I jumped on my bike and cut across a couple of backyards and a playing field. I came out at a busy intersection just as Northstreet was slowing for the light.”

  “And?” Stark prompted when Tony fell silent.

  “I rode my bike straight into his path and fell off right in front of his car.” Tony smiled wryly. “I created a huge scene at the
intersection. Gave the best performance of my life. Kid on bicycle struck by car. Traffic came to a standstill. Everyone got out to see what was happening. Someone went into a nearby store and called for an ambulance.”

  “Nice going,” Stark said with grudging approval. “Quick thinking for a kid. For anyone, in fact.”

  “Once I had an audience, I miraculously recovered, ran around to the trunk of the car, and pounded on it. Desdemona screamed from inside. Everyone at the scene demanded that Northstreet open the trunk. Finally a cop arrived, and we got Desdemona out of the trunk. Ultimately Northstreet was arrested. He later shot himself.”

  “And you were a hero.”

  “Yeah,” Tony said. “Desdemona made me a hero.”

  “Desdemona didn't make you a hero that day,” Stark said. “No one can turn a man into a hero, just as no one can turn him into a coward. A man has to do either one all by himself.”

  Tony looked at him, frowning. “What does that mean?”

  “The day you saved Desdemona's life,” Stark said patiently, “you turned yourself into a hero.”

  There was another long silence.

  “I never thought about it quite like that,” Tony said eventually.

  “That's your whole problem in life, Wainwright. You don't think much. You just emote. Come over here and take a look at this.”

  “What have you got?”

  “ARCANE has identified the pattern beneath the encryption program.”

  Tony walked back across the study to stare down at the computer screen. “Are you serious?”

  “Trust me, Wainwright, ninety-nine times out of a hundred you can bet the bank that I'm serious.”

  “What about the one time when you're not?”

  “I'm asleep.”

  The following morning Celia fixed Desdemona with gentle, troubled eyes. “You're going to marry him? Oh, Desdemona, I was afraid of this. Are you absolutely certain he's the man for you?”

  “Yes.” Desdemona surveyed the gleaming interior of Right Touch. Everything was back to normal, and she had a busy week ahead. Among other things, there was an engagement party to plan. Her own. She intended to go first-class all the way.