by Ann Macela
“Hello?” Daria sounded disgruntled.
“Hey, it’s me. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, I’m just paying bills. You know how I hate to do that. What’s up?”
“Will you be home tomorrow? I need to ask a favor.” He tried to keep his voice utterly flat.
“Sure. I don’t start my next job for two weeks. What can I do?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.” He wasn’t going to get into it over the phone.
“Okay, Mr. Mysterious. Say, how are things with Francie?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“That bad, huh?”
Sometimes he swore Daria could read his mind, but he still wasn’t going to tell her anything now. “Ten o’clock all right?”
“Fine. Come tell me everything.”
They exchanged good-byes. Clay hung up the phone and stared at it for a long moment. Should he call Francie to let her know Brenner had taken the bait and would be arrested tomorrow? No, better not. He’d given his word.
Instead he called Herb and told him what had happened. “Great work,” Greenwood said. “I wish I could be there when they arrest the bastard. I’ll alert Legal.”
“Thank your computer operators for me. The fake database they created worked fine.”
“Will do. I hope Francie comes in tomorrow so we can celebrate.”
“You hope she comes in?”
“Yeah. She called in sick today. Left me a message in the middle of the night. She sounded awful, but she looked like she was coming down with a cold on Monday.”
An interesting bit of news, Clay thought. Either the game or the SMI had done her in, and he knew which one he’d put his money on.
“Anyway,” Herb continued, “why don’t you come by next week and we’ll talk about increasing protection on the system. If a jerk like Brenner can get through, our defenses aren’t worth squat.”
Clay discussed the Brazos system with Herb for a while, then said good-bye.
After hanging up the phone, Clay looked around his kitchen. It was only nine o’clock, too early for bed, even if he had had only four or five hours of sleep the night before. Not to mention he was still keyed up from playing crook with Brenner. So he went back to the computer, started up a complicated sword and sorcery game, and took some pleasure in chopping off the heads of goblins, ogres, vampires, and other assorted monsters.
He pretended they were all Walt.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Clay arrived at Daria’s the next morning at ten.
“Don’t tell me,” he said when she opened her mouth as soon as she saw him. “I look like shit. Neither you nor Bent told me the imperative was so vicious.”
“It was pretty hard on Bent, but he gave in pretty fast,” she said as she led the way to the kitchen. She waved Clay to a seat at the table and, after pouring them both some coffee, sat down beside him. “All right, what’s going on?”
As he tried to decide where to start, Clay took a swallow of his coffee and looked around the large kitchen, so reminiscent of his mother’s at the farm. White cabinets, maple butcher-block counters, and herbs growing in pots in the windowsills combined to create a feeling of warmth and home. Then Lolita walked in, jumped into his lap, curled up, and started purring. He sighed. Even the cat thought he needed commiseration. Might as well lay it all out for Daria.
“I blew it, big time,” he said. He told her everything, how he’d been certain once he had Francie at a computer, she’d have no choice but to believe him about magic and soul mates. Then how he’d tried to force Francie to talk to him by means of the game, and exactly how Francie had won. “And the worst part was she used the damned imperative to beat me. I thought the lousy thing was supposed to be on my side!”
Daria chuckled, then put her hand on his. “Oh, Clay, I’m sorry for laughing, but I wish I could have seen that game. What’s your plan now?”
“I gave her my word I wouldn’t call or come by or e-mail. I’d leave her totally alone. I said if she wanted to see me, she had to make the first move.” He rubbed a hand across his chest, right over the pain. “But that woman is so stubborn, I don’t know if she’ll give in to the imperative and come to me. She was so adamant about magic not existing, she might not be able to take her words back, to admit she was wrong. I don’t know if her pride or her embarrassment is stronger.”
“It sounds to me like your light ball wasn’t nearly enough. She needs some real demonstrations, something more ‘tangible,’ as it were, something more mundane, less esoteric than computer programs. Some proof she can’t refute or deny.” Daria tapped her fingers on the table while she thought for a moment. “This may be splitting hairs, but while you can’t see her, you didn’t promise anything about any of your family staying away. What if Glori and I pay her a visit? Glori could do her bit with plants and maybe some healing—Francie’s bound to have a raging headache by this time. Both of us can also cast illusion spells. Glori does a nice black panther, and my dragon is quite spectacular, or so I’m told.”
“That’s what I hoped you’d suggest,” Clay said, slumping in his chair in relief. He knew he’d pay for this where Gloriana was concerned. She positively reveled in teasing him for every perceived fault he possessed. But he knew he’d get revenge. Just wait until Glori found her soul mate.
Then he had another thought. “I hope she’ll see you.”
“Oh, she’ll see us all right, one way or the other.” Daria smiled the way she did when she was plotting something against him. “As I think of it, I’m getting a little angry. Who is this woman to refuse my brother? Don’t worry, Glori and I will make her listen. By the time we’re finished with her, she’ll be a believer.”
Clay winced. “Uh, just don’t get carried away. I do want her talking to me, you know.”
“I have a spell, sort of an I-am-someone-you-must-absolutely-talk-to bewitchment that should do the ‘trick’—so to speak. That will get us in the door, and if it doesn’t, I’m sure we’ll think of another ploy.”
Clay stared at her for a moment, playing scenarios in his mind. “I don’t know. She hates deception of any kind, I do know that. I’ve told her you can’t cast a spell on anybody except yourself, but I don’t know if she even heard me or if she believes it.”
He shook his head in frustration. “Here we are at that paradox again. If she doesn’t believe in magic, then she doesn’t believe you can throw a spell of any kind, but if she agrees magic does or might exist, then she could be afraid you have spelled her. Either way, she could think you were trying to deceive her, and she could refuse to see you.”
“All right, we’ll play it by ear. You know . . .” she paused, then continued with a grin, “we can’t forget our biggest ally here, the soul-mate imperative itself.”
Clay returned her grin, feeling better for the first time in days. “You’re right, and that’s the conclusion I came to. The old SMI must be giving her grief. It’s certainly taking a toll on me. She has to want the pain to end, and it’s a good reason to talk to you.”
“I’ll call Glori tonight and ask her to come for the weekend. We’ll try to see Francie on Saturday.” Daria rose and went to the counter. She picked up the pad and pen by the phone and brought them to Clay. “Write down Francie’s address and phone number for me. I’ll do a little reconnaissance today or tomorrow.”
He wrote down the requested information and described Francie’s apartment. “Her parking spot is to the right. She drives a silver Honda,” he said. “Her boss told me she stayed home yesterday, but I don’t know if she’s still there.”
“Probably not. If she’s anything like you, and we know she is, she’ll be at work today, just as you would. I’m sure she’s as much a workaholic as you are.”
“Hey, when I have a job to do, I do it,” he protested.
“Exactly.” She studied him for a moment, then asked, “How are you in all this, Clay? You’re my brother, and I worry about you. How do you feel about the imperative
? About Francie?”
“I’m okay,” he shrugged, then knew from Daria’s skeptical expression he’d better elaborate. “I had some doubts at first, fought against it, but nothing like what you did. Like Bent said, men and women are different. The more I was around her, the more I wanted her. The more it felt ‘right’ when we were together. Before I knew it, I was thinking in terms of forever. Having seen you and Bent go through the experience gave me some warning about what to expect, but the reality was a hell of a lot stronger than I thought it would be.”
He rubbed his aching middle and grimaced. “If Francie doesn’t give in soon, the SMI is going to be the death of me.”
“Don’t worry,” Daria consoled him. “According to Mother, the imperative’s never killed anyone.”
“Yet.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Thursday evening Francie arrived home in what was becoming an incurable state of exhaustion. She was really going to have to see her doctor soon. Now she seemed to have not only an ulcer, but probably mononucleosis or chronic fatigue syndrome. Or was she just turning into a hypochondriac? She had no sooner changed into comfortable, soft, baggy sweats and tied her hair back with a big clip than the doorbell rang.
Was it Clay? Her heart leaped and landed running. Oh, great. Now a heart attack, too.
But when she looked out the peephole and saw only Tamara, she relaxed—until she realized her friend should still be at the shop. Tamara looked angry. Had she heard about Kevin?
“Oh, damn,” Francie muttered under her breath. She didn’t know if she had the strength to deal with the Kevin problem, but it was on her now. She opened the door.
“Hi, Tamara. Come on in.” She stood back while Tamara, hands clenched at her sides, stalked over the threshold and into the living room.
The redhead turned to face her as Francie closed the door. “The police came by to see me today. They arrested Kevin this morning.” Tamara’s tone was distinctly flat, a signal she was definitely angry.
“I know. I heard at work,” Francie said softly. She came around the sofa, but remained standing.
“Lieutenant Childress told me Kevin had been caught hacking into your company’s computer system and wanted to know if he had ever mentioned to me his doing anything like that.” Tamara plopped down on a chair. “Of course, I told Childress Kevin had never said a word about it to me.”
“Of course. I know you would never be a party to dishonesty of any kind.” Francie sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa cushion. Was Tamara angry with her, or just Kevin?
“I couldn’t believe it at first,” Tamara continued, shaking her fists in the air. “How could Kevin do such a thing? I had no idea he was proficient enough to hack, no idea at all he would try such an idiotic idea on Brazos. Childress said Kevin even hacked from your computer here!” She slumped farther back in the chair, crossed her arms over her chest, then sat up straight. “You said you knew Kevin was arrested. Did the police come to see you, too?”
“Well, actually . . .” Here it comes, Francie thought, she had to tell her all about it.
Tamara evidently jumped to the proper conclusion because her eyes locked on Francie’s. “Wait just a minute. Of course, the police came to see you. They knew all along what Kevin was up to, didn’t they? Childress said something about their laying a trap for him. You were helping them, weren’t you? You and Clay. It was all a setup—you and Clay, having Kevin and me over for dinner, all the rest of it. You knew all along what a loser and a crook and a thoroughly dishonest bastard Kevin is!”
She stared at Francie for a long moment, then said in a sad, harsh voice, “Oh, my God. You knew what was going on. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Yes,” Francie said, speaking in as calm a tone as she could muster. “I knew. I knew from the beginning.” She leaned forward, stretched out a hand, palm up. “But, Tamara, I couldn’t tell you. I wanted to, from the start, but Clay had to get close to Kevin, and I knew you would have thrown Kevin out the minute you found out what he was doing, and that would have ruined our plan.” She let her hand fall into her lap. “Kevin tried hacking into Brazos first from my computer.”
“But how did he get in?” Tamara’s expression showed her shock.
“He must have copied your key to my apartment because he came while neither of us was at home. First he tried to use my dial-up capabilities to get into our sales records, but he didn’t know my password. Then he tried a hacking program he found on the Internet. He actually entered into our files, but he couldn’t find what he wanted.
“Clay consults for Brazos, and when Kevin was making one of his forays, Clay traced Kevin back to my machine. Clay and my boss had me followed and spotted Kevin here on my machine while we were at the book club. If it hadn’t been for Clay, Kevin might have framed me for his hacking, claimed I gave him permission to use my computer, and he might have included you in the scheme because you had my key.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” Tamara repeated. “At least give me a clue? Instead of letting me go ahead seeing him, having a relationship . . .” her voice turned distinctly cynical, “. . . with all that word implies. Didn’t you of all people trust me?”
“Of course, I trust you, Tamara, but you know yourself you don’t lie well. Remember those times in college when you tried to lie about your age? You can’t even tell one of your customers a dress looks good on them when it doesn’t.
“We had to give Kevin the idea Clay would be open to something illegal like hacking and then give him the opportunity to bribe Clay to actually do it. If you broke up with Kevin suddenly and inexplicably before they met over here, Clay had no introduction to him that didn’t look phony. The cops wouldn’t have had real hard proof, and we wouldn’t have known what Kevin was after or if he was working with someone in his company. Now we have incontrovertible evidence against him. It’s thanks largely to you that we do.”
“Yeah, right. Then why do I feel dirty all over?”
“I’m sorry, Tamara. If it’s any consolation, I do, too. Can you forgive me?”
“I don’t know, Francie. Probably.” She paused, scrubbed her forehead with her fingers. “You’re right. I can’t lie worth a damn.”
She scrubbed some more, then took her hands away from her face and looked at Francie. “Yes, all right, definitely. I can stay mad at everybody but you. I forgive you. We’ve been friends too long to let someone like Kevin come between us.”
She gave Francie a wavery smile, and Francie returned it as relief washed over her. She hadn’t lost Tamara. She could weather this storm.
Tamara slumped back in the chair. “I’m just so angry at him right now. I feel betrayed on some deep level I haven’t figured out yet. Just the thought of having had Kevin’s hands on me is revolting. I know, I know,” she said with a rueful shake of her head before Francie could interrupt, “the son of a bitch used both of us.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a huge sigh. “I guess I should be happy I broke up with him before he could call me to bail him out of jail.”
“See, there is a silver lining here.”
With a blank look, Tamara stared off into the distance, then started chuckling. The chuckle turned into laughter. “Can you see me bailing the klutz out of jail? Putting up my very hard-earned money for a man like that, who uses me and my best friend in such an idiotic scheme? I can’t even imagine traipsing into the jail, or the court, or wherever, money clutched in my hot little hand to bail out my sweetie, like in one of the TV cop and lawyer shows. The picture boggles my mind.” She made a little mincing, prissy motion with her hand and her body and started laughing in earnest. “Which of my outfits do you think is suitable for jailhouse visits?”
“Oh, the hot pink with the stripes, certainly.” Francie joined in the relieving laughter. If Tamara could joke about the situation, everything between them would be all right. When they both sobered, she said, “I was scared to death for you, Tamara, that he would try to involve you in his scheme. I was so happy
when you broke up with him.”
“Yes, me, too. What did I ever see in the guy?”
“Well, he was a good dancer.” That remark set them off again.
When they stopped giggling, Tamara looked Francie up and down, as if she had not paid any attention to her before. “This mess really got to you, didn’t it? Are you all right? You look exhausted.”
“I’m all right. The strain, the worry, dealing with . . .” She made a motion to wave it all away. “But it’s over with now. Brazos will see that Kevin is prosecuted, and neither of us has to see him again, although I may be called to testify.”
“What about Clay? You can’t tell me your reaction was all playacting on your part, Francie. I know you too well. Are you going to see him again?”
A sharp stab in the solar plexus reminded Francie of the emptiness around her heart, but she covered up her reactive jerk by pulling her legs up and hugging them. “I honestly don’t know. We just didn’t suit, didn’t fit, couldn’t agree on some basic levels at the end. It’s probably better this way, to find out before getting in too deep.” She listened to the facile explanation, the dishonesty in her words and wondered if Tamara heard them.
The redhead gave her a shrewd look that took in her shapeless clothes, the drab colors, the big eyeglasses, and her careless hairdo, and Francie was certain her friend saw right through her.
“He served one good purpose, though,” Tamara said. “He got you out of those awful clothes and out of this apartment. Now, you’re right back in them. You have to promise me something. Promise me you’ll ditch your old wardrobe and start wearing real clothes again.” She shook her head at Francie. “Don’t give me that mulish look, woman. You know you’ve been enjoying the new clothes, and I’ll bet everybody has been complimenting you, right?”
“Well . . .” Francie fidgeted, but knew Tamara wouldn’t let her return to her shell.
“And you have to promise me . . .” she crossed her heart, “. . . if a nice guy asks you out, you’ll go.”
