The Desperate Game: (InterMix) (6 page)

“Why do you sound so suspicious?” Zac looked genuinely offended.

“Around you it comes naturally.”

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and bent his head a little against the faint mist. “How about a bowl of chowder down at one of the places on the waterfront?”

“No, thanks, I’d rather go home and wash my hair. I knew it all along.”

“Knew what?”

“That you weren’t really going to take me out to a nice dinner.”

“What’s wrong with clam chowder?” Zac demanded. He was already walking her toward the waterfront. “Add a few crackers, and it’s a meal in itself. Besides, we haven’t got time for a long, drawn-out dinner.”

“Why not?” Guinevere glanced at him in surprise.

“I’ve got plans for the evening.”

“Include me out.”

He took her arm as they crossed the railroad tracks and then Alaskan Way. “Don’t you want to come with me to take a look at Cal Bender’s house?”

“What?” In startled amazement Guinevere came to a halt on the sidewalk in front of one of the many shops that lined the waterfront piers. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“Partly because the only thing you’ve been able to find out while doing your Mata Hari routine is that no one knows why Bender hasn’t been in to work and partly because I’m just naturally curious. Also, I admit I’m getting a little restless, and checking out Bender’s house is at least a start. Gives me something to do.”

“Sounds to me like a perfect example of the devil finding work for idle hands. Listen, whatever is going on at StarrTech, you can take my word for it that Cal wouldn’t be involved. His whole goal in life is to strike it big with that software game he and Larry are designing.”

“Come on, the best chowder place is on the next pier.”

“Are you serious?”

“About the chowder or about having a look at Bender’s place?” He sounded dryly patient.

“About the, uh, search. What if he’s there? Zac, you can’t just go into a person’s home and—and start looking through his closets.”

“No? People do it all the time.”

“Not legally.”

“No, not legally. You want large or small?”

“If we’re talking prison sentences, I choose none of the above!”

“Calm down,” Zac said. “I’m talking about chowder. Do you want the large or small size?”

“Small. I’ve lost my appetite.”

“That’s the best news I’ve had all week.” Zac released her arm and went over to the sidewalk counter to place the order.

Guinevere watched him collect and pay for the Styrofoam cups of chowder. She wondered what on earth she was going to do now. It had never occurred to her that she would get this involved in Zac’s investigation. Now that the possibility had been thrust upon her she was uneasily aware that she wasn’t as averse to the idea as she ought to be. A strange curiosity was beginning to nibble at her.

Perhaps it was the natural result of being caught up in the situation. The questions Zac was trying to answer, after all, constituted the reasons he had blackmailed her in the first place. She was bound to be curious about them, and it was definitely in her best interests that the answers be found. When Zac had solved his riddles, she would be free.

“Do you have any logical reason to think that Cal Bender’s somehow involved in this mess?” She accepted her cupful of chowder along with the plastic spoon as Zac headed toward an open-air seating area. The half-enclosed space was filled with benches and tables and warmed by overhead heaters. Even though it was rapidly getting dark, sea gulls still wheeled and soared hopefully as they waited for the odd french fry or bit of fried fish. Sea gulls are not fussy eaters.

“No.”

She eyed him warily. “I’m not sure that’s sufficient grounds for searching his house.”

“The first thing you learn in my line of work, Gwen, is that there seldom are sufficient grounds for doing things like this. If you had sufficient grounds, you wouldn’t need to go hunting in the first place. You’d already have enough answers to work with.”

“I can see there are several subtle nuances to be picked up on the job. Are you good at your line of work, Zac?”

“I’ll find out when I file my income taxes at the end of the year.”

“The bottom line.” Guinevere sipped the hot chowder, aware of a sudden sensation of comradeship. She didn’t like it and banished it at once. She knew she shouldn’t allow herself to be drawn into the trap of feeling as though she had something in common with this man. “What did you do before you went into business for yourself here in Seattle, Zac?”

He slid her a curious glance. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “Maybe it’s just natural to want to know something about a man who’s blackmailing you.”

“I see your point.” He opened several packets of crackers, pulverized them in one large hand, and dumped the remains into his soup. “I worked overseas a lot. The Middle East and Asia mostly.”

“Doing what?”

“I was employed by a large firm that specialized in providing advice for U.S. companies doing business in other countries. Hotels, construction firms, outfits like that. My business cards said I was a consultant.”

In spite of her best intentions, Guinevere’s curiosity grew. “What kind of consulting did you do?”

Zac concentrated on his soup. “I was supposed to analyze and assess security needs. Make recommendations. That kind of thing.”

“Why aren’t you still doing it?”

“Got tired of all the traveling. And I guess I got tired of working for someone else.” He turned on her before she could formulate another question. “What about you, Gwen? What did you do before you set up Camelot Services?”

“You mean you don’t know? Your investigation of me must have been somewhat limited.”

“I didn’t have time to do a thorough job,” he said patiently. “I just found out what I had to know before I contacted you. I know you have one sister, your credit rating is good, and Camelot Services has been in business only a year. What did you do before that?”

“This and that.” She could be succinct and laconic too.

“Gwen, I’m trying to make friendly, interested, comradely conversation. I know I’m not all that good at it, but the least you could do is encourage me. God knows you encourage everyone else to chat up a storm with you! Why not me?”

The harshness in his words jolted her. Thoughtfully Guinevere scooped up the last clam in her chowder, wishing she could read minds. Right now she’d give a great deal to find out what was going on in Zachariah Justis’s brain. Something told her there was a lot she didn’t know about her blackmailer. Perhaps far too much.

“Don’t you think it would be best if we kept our, uh, association on a business level?” she asked politely.

He watched her in silence for a moment, eyes brooding and speculative. “When you’ve finished playing with your soup, we can leave.”

Grimacing, Guinevere got to her feet and tossed her styrofoam cup into the nearest trash container. A sea gull that had been waiting with grave patience for the remains of the soup turned hostile as he watched the cup disappear beyond beak reach. With an angry rush of wings he hopped onto the railing and squawked his displeasure.

“She’s not her usual friendly self tonight,” Zac told the bird. “Here, have a bite. I know what you’re going through.” He tossed the bird a small piece of cracker. The sea gull grabbed it expertly out of the air and appeared somewhat mollified. Zac moved forward to take Guinevere’s arm. “My car is parked across the street. Let’s go.”

“I was told never to accept rides with strangers.”

“Sometimes you have to take a few chances in life. If you didn’t believe that, you would never have opened your own business. You’d have stuck with your safe nine-to-five job with its group medical policy, company picnics, and retirement benefits.”

She swung her head around sharply. “I thought you said you didn’t know what I did before I opened Camelot Services!”

“I don’t. I just assumed that like a lot of other people, you probably had a standard sort of job,” he told her placatingly as they crossed the street and headed toward a parking lot. “What was it?”

She sighed, telling herself there wasn’t much point in trying to hide totally unimportant information that he could find out easily enough if he tried. “I worked in an insurance firm. Before that I worked for a real estate development company. Prior to that I did time in a department store. Then there was the stint in microwave oven sales. Shall I go on?”

Zac smiled fleetingly. “I get the picture. Your résumé must look like a telephone directory. Couldn’t hold a job?”

“I prefer to think of my past as a time spent gaining experience in a wide variety of fields,” she informed him. “Very useful in my present profession. I can fake my way through almost any kind of job, and I can teach my employees to do the same. Most of the time all a client wants is a body sitting at a desk and looking efficient. That’s easy enough to do for a short period of time.”

“It looked to me as if you were genuinely working the other evening at the restaurant.” Zac passed by a steel gray Porsche and a candy red Ferrari in the parking lot. He halted beside a dull cream-colored Buick that appeared to be about three years old.

“Sometimes duty calls.” She scanned the unassuming Buick. “This is your car?”

“Afraid so. What were you expecting?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, sliding into the front seat. It was the truth, she realized. She was still piecing together a composite picture of Zachariah Justis. “It might have made my first lesson in illegal entry more exciting if I’d been driven to the scene of the crime in something like that red Ferrari, though.”

“The budget of Free Enterprise Security does not yet run to red Ferraris.” He slammed his car door more heavily than was strictly necessary and turned the key in the ignition. “What’s wrong?” He glanced narrowly at her as she slid farther into her corner of the car.

“Nothing. Just fastening my seat belt.” The truth was she was feeling very crowded again. The front seat of the Buick was reasonably spacious, but Justis had a way of filling up available space. Guinevere made a small production out of the seat belt ritual. By the time she was finished Zac was pulling out onto the street and heading up the steep hills toward the interstate on ramp.

Darkness had settled completely over the city, and the lights in the downtown high-rises gleamed warmly through the persistent mist. The streets had emptied of the day crowd, and the first night denizens were beginning to make their appearances. The Buick’s windshield wipers worked with stolid efficiency. A good night to be abroad with a frog, Guinevere decided wryly.

“What happens if we get caught, Zac?”

“We won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

Zac checked over his shoulder before easing the Buick onto the interstate. “I wouldn’t take you with me if I thought there was a chance we’d get caught.”

“Thoughtful of you.”

“I try. Relax, Gwen. The worst that can happen is Bender will walk in on us, and in that case I’m counting on you to explain the whole thing to him.”

She whirled in the seat, staring at his profile. “Me! Are you crazy? You’re taking me along to keep you out of trouble?”

“You’re good at communicating with people,” he pointed out.

She slumped in disgust. “I should have known. You’re using me. That’s what you’ve been doing from the beginning.”

The line of his jaw tensed, but he kept his gaze on the traffic as he headed north. “I prefer to think of it as a case of your communication skills complementing my analytical talents.”

“Bullshit.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Is that an opinion or an assessment?”

“That’s a sample of my communication skills.”

Cal Bender’s rented house was a small, aging structure of weathered wood set off by itself on an overgrown lot in the northeast section of the city. There was still a fair amount of vacant property this far away from the center of Seattle, and when she got a look at the rather decrepit structure, Guinevere assumed Cal must have gotten the place cheap.

“Typical hacker,” she said with a faint sense of affection. “Puts his money into hardware, white socks, and junk food. Are you sure no one can see the Buick from the road?”

“I’m sure.” Zac closed the car door. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Good. Follow me.”

“I’ve never believed in blind faith.” She skipped a little to keep up with him as he headed around to the back of the house. Large, untrimmed bushes competed with weeds for control of the front yard of Cal’s home. They also provided a lot of shadows. Guinevere tried to take advantage of the limited cover.

“What in hell are you doing?” Zac asked as he stopped and turned to look back at her impatiently.

“I’m trying to keep out of sight!”

“Watch where you step, you little idiot!” He reached out and yanked her off course. “Stay on the grass. You’ll leave tracks if you get into that mud.”

“Oh.” Chagrined, Guinevere glanced down at the dark patch of ground she had been about to cross. In the dim night light it looked at first like a stretch of dry terrain. Then she saw the film of moisture. “Look, Zac, this really isn’t my forte. Maybe I should wait in the car.”

“No. I want you with me.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing! I’m going to be more of a handicap than a help.”

“Hush, Gwen. Consider it part of my blackmail demands.” He had reached the rear of the cottage. A torn screen door hung limply on its hinges and squeaked when Zac opened it.

“Now what?” Guinevere eyed the wooden door behind the screen. “Is this where you show me your fancy breaking and entering technique?”

“Yeah.” He held out a hand. “Got a credit card?”

“Are you kidding? You’re not going to use my credit card for illegal purposes!”

“Gwen, I haven’t got one of my own. I told you I’ve just applied to the bank. You said you’d already gotten yours.”

Irritated, Guinevere leaned forward and put her hand on the doorknob. “You know what? Cal is very forgetful about everything except his computer projects.” She twisted the knob, and it turned readily in her hand. “Just the type to forget to lock the back door.” The door swung inward with a small sound of protest.