The phone had been ringing all morning. For some reason that she was unable to fathom, the fact that there had been a murder on the premises had done nothing to hurt business. If anything, the publicity seemed to have helped.
“Don't misunderstand,” Celia said quickly. “Benedick and I like Stark very much. It's just that he's so different from the kind of men you've always dated.”
“All three of them?”
“I'm sure there must have been more than three, dear.”
Desdemona chuckled. “Maybe so. But if Stark seems different than the others, it's probably because I managed to find him all by myself, without any assistance from Juliet and Bess.”
“You know they were only trying to help.”
Desdemona put her arm around her mother's shoulders and hugged her briefly. “Don't sweat it, Mom. Everything's going to be all right. I know what I'm doing.”
“Are you sure? Tony doesn't think he's right for you,” Celia said.
“You know how big brothers are. Tony doesn't think any man is good enough for me.”
“Juliet and Bess happen to agree with him in this instance. Even Henry has a few doubts. They're worried that Stark isn't really your type. They think he's cold.”
“Now that's just where they're wrong. Trust me, Stark is anything but cold.” Desdemona picked up a stack of stainless steel bowls and carried them toward the sink. “He just isn't quite as demonstrative or as flamboyant as everyone else in the family. Don't forget, he lacks formal stage training.”
“But Kirsten says he doesn't show his emotions at all.”
“That's not true. He shows plenty of emotion. He's just very subtle about it.” Desdemona set the bowls down with a clatter.
“Why have all those other women he's tried to marry left him standing at the altar?” Celia demanded. “There must be a reason, dear.”
“There was.” Desdemona reached up to take a cookbook down from a high shelf. “They didn't understand him. They chickened out when he asked them to sign a prenuptial agreement.”
“A prenuptial agreement.” Celia was aghast. “How awful. How unchivalrous. How dreadful. No wonder they backed out. They realized that he didn't love them.”
“Mom…”
Celia was suddenly suspicious. “Has he asked you to sign one?”
“Not yet.” Desdemona opened the cookbook. “I think he's a little nervous because of his previous experiences. This time around he'll probably wait until the very last minute.”
“Why?”
“Because he'll tell himself that he has to be more crafty this time. He's already screwed up with two previous fiancées, remember. I expect that he'll spring the prenuptial agreement on me just as I'm ready to walk down the aisle. That way I won't have time to bolt. Or so he'll think.”
Celia looked stricken. “Desdemona, you can't be serious about this. Why on earth would you marry someone so cold-blooded?”
“Because he's not cold-blooded at all,” Desdemona said patiently.
“But you've just said that he'll want you to sign a prenuptial agreement.”
“Yes, but he won't mean it, if you see what I mean.”
Celia stared at her. “How on earth do you know that? Darling, I can't let you make the same kind of mistake I made with George Northstreet. Please, listen to me.”
“Relax, Mom. Whatever else he is, I guarantee you that Stark is no George Northstreet waiting to go crazy.”
“Tony says he's a computer inside a human body.”
“Stark is no android. Look at the evidence.”
“What evidence?” Celia demanded.
“Well, for starters, Stark took in two stepbrothers he'd never even met because he understood what their parents' divorce was doing to them.”
“Yes, I know. Bess told me the whole tale. I admit that it was very kind of him to take Jason and Kyle for the summer.”
“Stark wasn't being kind. That's the whole point,” Desdemona said. “Stark doesn't think in those terms. He wasn't being consciously charitable. He just did it because it seemed like the right thing to do. That's the way he does things.”
Celia looked thoughtful. “He took them in because Jason and Kyle were family, didn't he?”
“I don't think he analyzed it in those terms, either. He doesn't have a lot of experience interacting with relatives. Intellectually speaking, he's a little suspicious of family ties. He thinks family members are not above using and manipulating each other.”
“Then why did he take Jason and Kyle?”
Desdemona grinned triumphantly. “Because his instincts are sound.”
“You're going to marry him just because you think his instincts are good? What if you're wrong?”
Desdemona looked up from a recipe for olive- and cheese-topped focaccia. “Take it easy, Mom. Everything's under control here.”
“Desdemona, I want you to be absolutely honest with me. Do you think Stark really loves you?”
“I think he will learn to love me,” Desdemona said carefully.
“Good God. He hasn't even told you that he loves you?”
“He will. Eventually.” Desdemona mentally crossed her fingers. “He's really quite bright. A very fast learner.”
“Oh, darling,” Celia sighed. “Why couldn't you have fallen in love with that nice Ian Ivers?”
“Coffee?” Tony set a mug down on the desk.
“Thanks.” Stark didn't look up from the computer. The buried patterns were very clear now.
Jason, seated next to his brother, elbows propped on the desk, gave Tony a brief glance. “Stark says we're almost there. He says he can feel it.”
“Shush,” Kyle whispered. “He's trying to concentrate.”
Tony dropped into a chair and sipped coffee. Together with Jason and Kyle, he watched intently as Stark punched in more commands.
A string of letters and symbols appeared.
“Hell, that's another e-mail address.” Tony was on his feet. He leaned across the desk to get a better look.
“Let me see, let me see.” Kyle crowded closer. Jason was right behind him.
“That's the anonymous client's real e-mail address?” Jason asked eagerly.
“ARCANE says it is.” Stark contemplated the string of characters that had materialized.
[email protected] “But it still has the word anon in it,” Jason pointed out. “Doesn't that mean it's still just an anonymous address?”
“The client's name is still a secret,” Tony explained. “But now we have a location, don't we, Stark?”
“Yes, we do.”
“The sss.com part of the address is the place where the client's computer is located?” Jason asked.
“Yes.” Stark said.
Kyle frowned intently. “How do we find out where sss.com is?”
“No problem,” Stark said.
Tony glanced at him. “You know that address?”
“It's a Stark Security Systems e-mail address.”
“Shit,” Tony said.
“My sentiments exactly.” Stark took off his glasses, closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
At seven o'clock that night Desdemona's doorbell rang. She punched the intercom button.
“Hello?”
“It's me,” Stark said.
Relief rushed through her. “Thank goodness. I've been wondering what the heck was happening. Do you realize that I haven't heard from you since last night?”
“If you'll let—”
“And where's Tony? Is he with you?”
“No. At least not right now. Desdemona, open the—”
“Well, where is he?”
“If you'll let me into the building—”
“The least you could have done was call occasionally to let me know what was happening. When you get right down to it, we're supposed to be business associates, remember?”
“I remember,” Stark said. “Desdemona, if you'll open the damned door I'll come upstairs and tell you ever
ything. It's raining out here.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Desdemona pressed the button that unlatched the downstairs door.
When she heard the click that indicated Stark had entered the building she raced to her apartment door, opened it, and leaned out into the hall to watch for the elevator.
After what seemed like forever, it opened. Stark, looking weary, unshaven, and more rumpled than usual, got out. He walked toward her with a grimly intent look.
Desdemona forgot all about her annoyance at being left in the dark for ages. She rushed into his arms without a word.
He caught her close. One of the pens in his plastic pocket protector rammed into her cheek. She ignored it.
“What's wrong?” she mumbled into his corduroy jacket. “What did you learn?”
“ARCANE traced the anonymous address to Stark Security Systems.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Let's go inside.” Stark draped a heavy arm around her shoulders. “I'll tell you what I know.”
“Where's Tony?”
“He's at my place with Jason and Kyle. They've ordered take-out. I needed a break so I decided to take a couple of hours off to see you. I have to think, Desdemona.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No.” Stark ran a hand over the rough stubble of his beard. “Tony, Jason, and Kyle ordered pizza. I just couldn't face it.”
“I'll whip up some pasta primavera.” Desdemona ducked out from under his arm and closed the door. “Have a seat.”
He shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it aside, and settled on a counter stool. He folded his arms in front of him.
Desdemona opened the refrigerator. “I take it you have no way of knowing who Mr. Anonymous is at Stark Security?”
“No. It could be any one of my employees. Hell, even my secretary has her own computer. She knows how to send and receive e-mail just as well as I do. It could even be a janitor who's found a way to access one of the computers at night.”
“Good grief.”
“And the list of possible suspects doesn't end there,” Stark said. “It could be someone outside the company. Someone who found a way into one of my computers through a modem hookup.”
Desdemona stared at him in astonishment. “You mean it could be anyone who was smart enough to get through your security from some other computer outside the building?”
“Yes. There's enough money in this kind of thing to tempt anyone who was already leaning in the wrong direction,” Stark said.
“How are you going to track down the villain of the piece?”
“An hour ago I set a trap.”
Desdemona put a pan of water on the stove. “What kind of trap?”
“I sent a message to Mr. Anonymous at Stark Security.”
Desdemona started to slice mushrooms. “What kind of message?”
“I posed as another mercenary who wanted to take over the contract that Tate failed to fulfill. I offered to do it at a discount rate. If I can get a response, I'll be able to nail him.”
Desdemona stopped slicing mushrooms. “Stark, that sounds dangerous.”
“I've got to lure Tate's client out into the open. To do that I need to make contact.”
A shiver went through her. “I don't like this.”
“Neither do I.” Stark smiled wryly. “But look on the bright side. I'm finally convinced that good old Tony wasn't Tate's client.”
Desdemona wrinkled her nose. “I told you so.”
“Yes, you did, didn't you?” Stark glanced at his watch.
“In a hurry?”
“I was just wondering if I'd have time to seduce you after dinner.”
“I can have this pasta on the table in ten minutes,” Desdemona said demurely.
“Good.” The weary look vanished from Stark's eyes. “I can eat it in eight.”
It took determination and fortitude, but he got her all the way to the bed before he succumbed to the relentless tide of physical desire.
Forty-five minutes later, Stark savored the delicious ripples of Desdemona's impending release. Her whole body clutched at him, drawing him irresistibly, inevitably toward the glittering storm.
“Stark. Stark.”
Braced on his elbows above her, he looked down, captivated, as always, by the sight of her face in the moment of climax. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. Her skin glowed with a damp sheen. Her nails bit deeply in his shoulder.
She was impossibly beautiful, impossibly sensual, a creature of magic. And she was going to marry him.
He groaned as he felt her tighten around him. He held himself back with an effort of will, wanting to delay his own release until he had experienced hers to the fullest.
At last it was over.
He began to move within her again.
“No.” Desdemona kissed his throat. She opened her eyes and pushed against his shoulders. “My turn.”
“What?”
“Hush. Let me do this.” She pushed harder.
He hesitated. He was poised on the brink and the last thing he wanted to do was withdraw from her tight, moist body, even for a few seconds.
But he sensed her determination and found it deeply erotic. Reluctantly he allowed himself to be rolled onto his back. Desdemona came down on top of him. She fitted herself to him. Her eyes were brilliant in the shadows. Her body was still so hot that he wondered why it didn't set fire to his blood.
She rode him with a sweet, wild energy that took his breath.
He glimpsed the patterns at the border between chaos and complexity, and once more, just for an instant, he comprehended them.
“Stark?” Desdemona spoke from the other side of the shoji screen where she was dressing.
“Yes?” Stark picked up the shirt he had left midway between the kitchen and the bedroom area. He glanced toward the shoji screen. Desdemona's nude body was clearly silhouetted against the opaque white barrier.
“You said Vernon Tate's client received his e-mail communications through one of the computers at your company.”
“Looks that way.”
“And you said that theoretically it could be someone outside your company. Someone who's cracked your security system.”
“Yes.” He studied the lush curve of her hips as she bent over the bed.
“He'd have to be good to do that, wouldn't he?”
“Yes. But there's no such thing as a perfectly secure system once you're hooked up to a modem or involved in a computer network. All of Stark Security machines have vulnerable spots. That's why I do serious development and design work at home on a completely isolated computer.”
“I was just wondering,” Desdemona said, “do you have any enemies?”
Stark watched the sexy shadow of her figure as she moved about behind the opaque white screen. She raised her arms over her head for a moment. The action tilted her delicately curved breasts in a provocative manner. He was aware of a deep, satiated sensation thrumming through his body. And of the hunger that lay beneath it.
“I could probably name one or two if I tried.” He buttoned his shirt. “Why?”
“I'm not sure. I just had a strange feeling.” Desdemona appeared from behind the screen. She looked up from the task of tying the sash of her kimono robe. Her eyes were huge with concern.
“Is this another example of the famed Wainwright intuition?” Stark asked, amused.
“Maybe. There's something very intimate about this situation, if you know what I mean.”
Wistfully he eyed her little bare toes. Damn, but he hated to leave here tonight. “I know what you mean.”
She frowned. “I'm talking about the person behind the attempted theft of ARCANE. Stark, whoever hired Vernon Tate and then killed him knows a lot, not just about you, but about me. About us. Don't you see?”
Stark's fingers stilled on the last button of his shirt. “You think that whoever is behind this was the one who sent Vernon Tate to Right Touch to pose as an ice carver?”
“Yes. And that perso
n also knew enough to realize that he could set Tony up to take the fall if things went sour. He had to know that Tony was into computers and that he was sort of a…well, you know.”
“A screwup. Right. But that still leaves a lot of possibilities,” Stark said quietly. “Down to and including my secretary.”
“I suppose so.”
“You're saying it's not my enemies I need to worry about. It's my friends.”
“Maybe it's my friends we need to check out,” Desdemona said softly. “Some of them know as much about computers as your secretary. All of them could have known about my relationship with you and also that I needed a new ice carver. And there's no getting around the fact that one or two are desperate for cash at the moment.”
Stark buckled his belt. “You're thinking about Ian?”
Desdemona gave him an unhappy look. “Well, the thought did cross my mind.”
“Forget it,” Stark said. “It's not Ian Ivers.”
“You're sure?”
“I'm sure. I've got my own kind of intuition.”
20
Late the following afternoon Juliet stuck her head around the door of Desdemona's office. “Everyone else has gone for the day. Floors are mopped, counters are clean, and I'm off to rehearsal.”
“Right. Thanks.” Desdemona, immersed in the proposal for a wedding reception, did not look up. “Don't forget the charity luncheon tomorrow.”
“I won't.”
Desdemona studied the list of menu items she was considering. “You know, this reception literally cries out for ice sculptures. I wonder if that man, Larry Easenly, who did those carvings for Vernon Tate would be interested in a commission.”
“Personally, I don't care if I never see another ice sculpture,” Juliet said. “Every time I look at one I'm going to think of Vernon and this whole mess.”
“So am I.” Desdemona put down her pen and leaned back in her chair. “I'll be glad when it's over.”
“All of us will be glad when—” Juliet broke off. “What's that sound?”
A tiny, muffled beep-beep-beep reverberated shrilly from some unseen location.
Desdemona glanced speculatively at her jacket, which was hanging on a hook. “I do believe that is the sound of my new, handy-dandy, state-of-the-art, personal digital assistant.”