The Desperate Game: (InterMix) (9 page)

Guinevere looked at him for a long time. “Are you really going to pull me out of StarrTech?”

He was annoyed at how easily she ignored his invitation for brandy. “I’ll let you know tomorrow. I have a meeting with Hampton Starr in the morning. After that I’ll make some plans. But, yes, I think I may set you free.”

“And the Elf? He’ll keep quiet?”

“You have my word.”

“I don’t see how you can be so damned sure of what he’ll do,” she said fretfully.

“He’s my friend,” Zac said simply.

“Someday,” she announced coolly, “I’d like to hear the story of that friendship.”

Zac felt the shiver of excitement and relief that went through him. It was the first time she had ever mentioned a future that even remotely involved him. “Someday,” he said very carefully, “I’ll tell you the story.” He got to his feet. “Ready to go home?”

“Yes.”

“About that brandy . . .”

She hesitated, reaching for her suit jacket. “I have some at home.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding and thought about the first night he’d met her. “I remember.” His hand closed aggressively around the doorknob, and he had to stop himself from slamming the door shut behind him too violently. The anticipation he felt was suddenly difficult to channel and control.

As she walked out onto the sidewalk beside him, Guinevere felt the strange tension that seemed to emanate from Zac’s solidly built body. It fed her own uneasy sense of being at a crossroads. This was ridiculous. The relationship, such as it had been, was about to conclude. It sounded as though Zac had decided she wasn’t going to be of much help in his investigation. This was the time to be slipping out of the Frog’s clutches, she told herself firmly. So why was she inviting him home for brandy?

They walked the few blocks down to her apartment building in Pioneer Square without saying much of anything. She would not have made the walk alone at night, but with Zac as an escort Guinevere felt oddly safe. In silence Guinevere turned the key in her lock and let Zac in behind her. She tried to think of something suitably flippant and casual to say as she turned on the lights and found the brandy.

“Well, here’s to my short stint as blackmail victim and undercover detective.” She handed him his glass and raised her own in mocking salute.

Zac sat down across from her and warmed his brandy by cupping his large hands around the glass. “The end of what might have been a brilliant career.”

“I doubt it.”

He smiled briefly. “Oh, I don’t know. You got a little rush out of that illegal entry the other night.”

“A rush? I was terrified!”

“The terror’s part of the rush, I think.” He sounded as though he were just now thinking it through in his head.

“Believe me, I’ve no wish to repeat the experience.” She shuddered delicately. “I’ll stick to the daily terrors of getting temps to the clients on time. That’s about all the excitement I can handle.”

“Is that right? Coming from someone who was willing to risk draining ten grand out of StarrTech’s benefits program, that’s rather amusing.”

Guinevere winced. “I suppose it must look a little as if I lack some scruples . . .”

“I didn’t say that. It looks as if you’ve got some nerve. Just like you had the nerve to follow me into Bender’s house the other evening. Here’s to your nerve, Guinevere Jones.” He took a deep swallow of the brandy and then set down his glass.

“Thanks. I think.” She watched him closely, unsure of what was going to happen next. The tension in the air was rapidly turning electric. “Good luck to you, Zac. I hope you find your white-collar criminal.”

“Sooner or later I will. Just another bone.” He didn’t take his eyes from hers. “But we’re not quite finished, you and I, Gwen.”

“No?”

“No. I said I’d make the decision tomorrow.”

She nodded once. “Yes.”

“That leaves us with tonight.”

“Yes.” Her fingers tightened fiercely around her brandy glass.

“Have you ever kissed a frog?”

“No. A few toads, I think, but no frogs.” She was going to spill the brandy if she didn’t set it down. Moving stiffly, she placed the glass on the table in front of her. The room seemed suddenly very close and crowded.

“Gwen . . .” But he didn’t finish the sentence. He was already on his feet and reaching down to pull her into his arms.

Guinevere said nothing. She couldn’t think of anything sufficiently brilliant or clever or witty. She flattened her palms on his shoulders, aware of the strength in him. He had his own unique, intriguing scent, she realized: warm; a little tangy, faintly musky with overtones of wool from his jacket. Not froglike at all. She lifted her face for his kiss before she could give herself all the reasons why she shouldn’t.

His mouth was heavy on hers, surprisingly so. She sensed the urgency and controlled demand in him and was vividly aware of the way it sparked her own desire. Guinevere’s fingertips sank into the nubby fabric of his jacket.

The large hands at her waist pulled her closer, testing her against strongly muscled thighs. Guinevere let her arms slip upward to circle his neck, and her mouth parted beneath the impact of his. The ribbon of tension and excitement she had been experiencing began to twist and turn around its own axis.

“Gwen, honey, you feel so good.” His voice was a dark mutter of sound in her ear as he freed her mouth to nuzzle the curve of her throat.

She felt his hands slide down to her hips and curve over her buttocks, where his fingers flexed gently. She sighed, her lips skimming the line of his jaw, and then slowly, reluctantly, she pulled away to look up at him. She saw the question that was part demand in his eyes and shook her head a little. She touched his mouth with a fingertip.

“I don’t think so. Not tonight. There are too many unknowns. Too many risks.” Her voice was only a whisper.

“But you’re a lady who has nerve. You know how to take risks.” He probed the base of her spine, kneading the sensitive area deliberately.

“I think I’ve taken my share lately.” She smiled tremulously. “Good night, Zac. It’s been interesting.”

“What’s been interesting?” He looked half resigned and wholly frustrated.

“Kissing a frog.”

“I guess I didn’t turn into a prince, huh?”

“It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t looking for a prince. Good night, Zac,” she said again.

“Good night, Gwen.” He stepped away from her and walked slowly toward the door. With his hand on the knob he turned and glanced back at her. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Lunch.”

“To tell me I’m free?”

His eyes narrowed. She thought he was on the verge of saying something, but obviously he thought better of it. The door closed behind him.

Guinevere stood very still in the center of the room, staring at the closed door and wondering at the conflicting sensations pouring over her like waves. It would have been so easy to have him stay. And so very risky. What on earth was she thinking of even to consider the prospect of an affair with Zachariah Justis?

The ringing of the telephone cut through her chaotic thoughts. Automatically she went to answer it. The voice on the other end of the line was that of Larry Hixon. He was doing an excellent imitation of a nerd in the midst of an anxiety attack.

“Gwen? Were there any other disks near the computer?” he demanded agitatedly.

“What do you mean?”

“The disk at Cal’s house. For Christ’s sake, what other disk would there be? I want to know if there were any other disks that had ‘Elf’ written on the label?”

“I don’t think so, Larry, but it was dark, and I was in a hurry. I may have overlooked something. Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m playing the game from scratch, just like I told you I was going to do, but it’s screwy, Gwen. Cal has really edited this version, and I can’t figure out why. We had already agreed on this part. We were satisfied with the basic strategy of the game. Gwen, he wouldn’t have done this without a reason. Something’s wrong. I mean really wrong. Either that or he’s going to change Elf Hunt and market it all by himself. He wouldn’t do that, would he, Gwen?”

“Cut you out? No, Larry,” she said quietly. “I don’t think he would do that. Can you tell me exactly what it is he’s done to the game?”

“You’ll have to see it for yourself. It’s hard to explain. He’s messed with it. For God’s sake, I can’t figure out why!”

A tiny flare of apprehension and excitement came to life in Guinevere’s stomach. She remembered what Zac had said about adrenaline rushes. This was crazy, totally illogical. But she couldn’t stop herself from saying the next few words.

“I’ll be right over, Larry. I’d like to see exactly what Cal’s done to your game.”

Chapter Five

Guinevere found the house in the Wallingford district without too much trouble. She had never been to Larry’s home before, but his directions over the phone had been given with a programmer’s flair for accuracy. As she parked her small Laser on the street in front, she was mildly surprised to see that Larry’s yard didn’t appear as overgrown and weed-invaded as Cal’s. But then Larry had always been the neater one at work.

It was hard to read the number on the front of the house because the porch light wasn’t on. Neither was any other light, Guinevere realized as she walked up the shadowed cement path. It reminded her of the dark solitude of Cal Bender’s house.

At the bottom porch step Guinevere came to a halt and frowned at the unlit structure ahead of her. It was nearly ten o’clock. Surely Larry would have some light on in the house. Granted, he might have forgotten to turn on the porch light or it might have burned out, but when you were expecting company, you had some illumination. Larry didn’t appear to have turned on so much as a bathroom or kitchen light.

She had been in a rush since leaving her apartment. It had taken time to dig the Laser out of the apartment garage. She drove it rarely in the city, and it took awhile to warm it up. But it hadn’t been more than half an hour since Larry had called. Why was everything looking so dark and abandoned?

A shot of chilled uncertainty went through Guinevere as she stood gazing up at the vacant porch. Memories of entering Cal Bender’s empty house returned along with the knowledge that this sort of thing was easier to handle when Zac was along.

Guinevere took a deep breath and administered a short, pithy lecture on the subject of logic and keeping one’s imagination under control. Then she boldly started up the wooden steps. Larry had called her only a short while ago. He must be inside.

The door swung open easily enough, and for the first time she saw light. It was the eerie glow of a computer screen in the corner, and it did nothing to reassure Guinevere. The small living room appeared to be empty. She groped for a light switch.

“Larry?” Her voice startled her by sounding unusually husky. She cleared her throat and called again. “Larry? Where are you?”

The overhead light revealed a reasonably neat version of a bachelor’s living room. Larry was definitely not as sloppy as his would-be business partner. Here the tons of computer magazines were filed in bookcases, and the Twinkie wrappers were deposited in or near the trash can. Guinevere didn’t even see any stray laundry lying on the worn hardwood floor.

There was no sign of Larry. The trickle of unease Guinevere was feeling metamorphosed into the first prickles of genuine fear. She was strongly tempted to back out the way she had entered, get in the Laser, and drive back to the safety of her own apartment. From there she could call Zac. Entering lonely, unlit houses was his idea of a hot evening, not hers.

But an innate sense of practicality sent her forward through the living room to peek into the darkened kitchen. It was a long drive back to her place, and after she’d roused Zac, she’d just have to turn right around and drive back out here. Besides, she told herself bracingly, what if Larry needed help? If something had happened to him, she shouldn’t waste time running around finding someone else to handle the details.

The overhead light in the kitchen, once she found it, flicked on to reveal another empty room. Empty of Larry, at least. What appeared to be a year’s supply of soft drinks was stacked along one wall, and there were dishes in the sink. The old-fashioned linoleum floor needed sweeping but wasn’t nearly as far gone as Cal’s kitchen floor.

The sense of emptiness was closing in on her, Guinevere discovered. It was becoming difficult to keep the fear from overwhelming the knowledge that she had to stick this out until she’d gone through the whole house.

It wasn’t easy to push open the bathroom door on her way down the hall, but she made herself do it. By now her fingers were trembling. It was a vast relief to find the bathroom quite empty. That left only the bedroom. Grimly she made her way to the door, called Larry’s name once more, and, when there was no answer, stepped into the room.

The sight of Larry’s body flopped across the middle of the bed brought a scream to Guinevere’s throat. In her sudden fear and panic the scream got locked behind her teeth and never emerged. Hand shaking in earnest now, she found the wall switch and held her breath as she turned on the light.

“Larry! Oh, my God, Larry!”

Part of her wanted only to turn and run. She never knew where she found the courage to go forward and touch Larry Hixon’s shoulder. Guinevere only knew in that moment that one couldn’t just run out the door in a situation such as this. One was obliged to assess the matter, determine whether or not any immediate help could be given. Then one called an ambulance and the police. One did what had to be done.

“Oh, dear God, Larry,” she whispered. His head was turned away from her. Beneath the fabric of the blue work shirt he was wearing his skin still felt warm. Perhaps he was alive.

Frantically trying to remember her first-aid lessons, Guinevere slid her fingers up to the pulse under his jaw. It beat strong beneath her touch. He
was
alive. And perhaps not so badly hurt either. Gently Guinevere began running her hands over him. Good pulse and he was breathing. She didn’t see any signs of blood soaking the bedding.

“What the hell?” Larry slapped halfheartedly at her hands and opened his eyes sleepily. “Jeez, Gwen. It’s you. Sorry about that. I just wanted to grab a quick nap before you got here. Guess I really conked out.” Stretching hugely, Larry sat up, yawned, and finally focused on her stricken face. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” she echoed, her tone almost a squeak. “What’s
wrong
? Good Lord, Larry, you just gave me the fright of my life. I thought something terrible had happened to you. The house was dark, there was no sign of anyone alive here, and that damned computer screen is just sitting out there glowing like a ghost out of a horror movie. What’s wrong? I nearly collapsed into hysterics, that’s what’s wrong!”

“Jesus, Gwen, calm down,” he said soothingly, getting to his feet. He yawned again and tucked his shirt into the waistband of his jeans. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

“Don’t ever do that to me again!”

He smiled wryly. “Yes, ma’am.”

The degree of her overreaction finally struck Guinevere, and she managed a weak smile of her own. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m just not used to this sort of thing yet.”

“Yet?”

“Never mind,” she said quickly. “Tell me what was bothering you so much that you had to call me up and traumatize me like this.”

Larry nodded, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “Oh, yeah. This way. I’ve got the game set up out in the living room. I was trying to play it before you got here. So damned frustrating, I finally gave up and tried for a nap instead.”

“Why is it frustrating? I thought you invented the thing. You of all people should be able to play it.” She followed him back down the hall to the living room and watched him insert disks into the two computer drives.

“I can get only so far and then the strategy goes screwy. Cal redid some of the crucial steps. He also reworked some of the graphics. But the biggest difference is that he switched the main character. Take a look.”

Guinevere pulled up a straight-back chair and sat down next to Larry. On the screen little figures appeared. Behind them a cleverly designed landscape popped into existence.

“The idea is to steal the treasure from the evil elf who lives in Desolation Cave,” Larry explained as he worked the keyboard the way a musician worked a piano. “There are all sorts of obstacles you have to overcome to find the treasure in the first place, and after you’ve discovered it, you have to escape the cave. This time the angry elf is behind you, springing all kinds of traps and sending monsters to stop you.”

“And Cal’s messed around with some of those traps and monsters? Made them act differently from your original plan?” Guinevere frowned intently at the screen as Larry made the small figure representing the player leave a castle and start toward the mountains.

“It’s not just that. He’s changed the elf character. Taken him out of the game entirely. The player is no longer trying to steal the treasure from the elf at all. It took me all day, but I finally figured out how to get into the heart of the cave. It should have been a snap because I did most of the work on that portion of the strategy, but Cal’s set up a whole new series of traps. At any rate I got to the treasure this way.”

He quickly manipulated the figure on the screen through a variety of lethal surprises until a graphic representation of a pile of gold and gems appeared.

“Now watch what happens.” Larry made his character scoop up as much treasure as he could handle and start back out of the cave. Instantly a wicked-looking figure appeared on the screen, calling down a hail of poisonous arrows.

“What are those arrows supposed to be?” Guinevere asked.

“Acid rain. It eats away the treasure the player has just found. Cal wanted to put in a few social comments.”

“I see.”

“But that’s not what’s weird. See the figure that’s supposed to be the guardian of the treasure?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not the original elf design. Take a look. We gave the elf a lot of Russ Elfstrom’s characteristics: bald head, beady eyes, stubby little fingers—”

“Never let it be said programmers aren’t people of imagination,” Guinevere observed.

“Yeah, well, that character on the screen is not the elf Cal and I worked so hard to create. Take a close look.”

“I see what you mean.” Guinevere leaned forward to study the screen. “Beautiful graphics, Larry. Looks just like professional arcade animation.”

“Thanks. But I didn’t do that figure. Cal must have done it.”

The figure pursuing the treasure hunter was not short or bald. Nor did he have stubby fingers. This character looked more like royalty. Tall, draped in robes with some sort of crown on its head, it was quite impressive.

“Okay, I admit it doesn’t bear any resemblance to Russ Elfstrom.” Guinevere tilted her head to one side and looked at Larry.

“The main characters in this little drama were drawn from real life. The treasure hunter is supposed to be a brilliant computer wizard—”

“Uh-huh. You or Cal serving as the model, I suppose?”

“Right. The evil elf was patterned on our illustrious department head. Liz shows up as a ghost lady who bars the way across a lake. Jackson is in here as a cyborg.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. He does have a kind of glassy-eyed look at times.”

Larry didn’t pay any attention to her comment. “If we assume that even though Cal changed a character, he would have kept to the basic premise of using StarrTech people as models . . .” Larry let the sentence trail off.

“Then that new character must be someone at StarrTech? Who would Cal use as a model for a king?”

“Who’s the king of StarrTech?” Larry asked simply.

“Oh, hell. Hampton Starr.”

Guinevere and Larry sat in silence, staring at the screen for a long time. Finally Guinevere asked, “Was Starr in the original version?”

“Yeah, but not in a very active role. He was the king of the castle. The one who sends the player out on the quest. I don’t get it, Gwen. I just don’t get it.” Larry slumped back in his chair. “Why mess around with a perfectly good set of characters and a brilliant playing strategy?”

“I don’t have the vaguest idea. But if we consider the fact that Cal’s been missing for several days and that he left this drastically altered game program behind . . .” And that Cal had been the one who designed the inventory control program that had turned up the missing equipment . . .

“It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“I wonder if it might make sense to an, uh, associate of mine,” Guinevere said slowly.

“Carla?”

“No. A frog.” Guinevere made her decision. It wasn’t much, but it was strange. “I know someone who likes to look into strange things. Would you mind if I discussed this with Zac Justis?”

“That guy you’ve been going to lunch with? No, not if he can keep his mouth shut. But why tell him?”

“It’s a long story, Larry. I’d rather not go into it at the moment.”

***

The working breakfast, as Zac had heard such meetings were called in business, had been an impressive affair. Hampton Starr had ordered a real power meal of steak and eggs, fried potatoes, and coffee. There was no sissy side of prunes or stewed figs. Zac had been forced to choose between equaling the macho breakfast or settling for a couple of poached eggs and toast. Not knowing which of them was going to pick up the tab had made the decision doubly difficult. He’d finally decided neither his stomach nor his pocketbook could handle steak for breakfast. When Hampton Starr had scooped up the check and announced that StarrTech was paying the way, Zac had had a fleeting wish that he’d gone ahead and ordered the steak. Opportunities such as that were rare. He realized how Guinevere must have felt when she was able to cadge a free meal off Free Enterprise Security, Inc.

But at least he had come away from the meeting with a better understanding of Starr. Russ had been right about the man. He did get a kick out of the corporate intrigue. Zac did his best to make his client feel as though he were masterminding a high-level counterespionage operation. He thought he succeeded to some extent. By the time he’d sawed through the steak Starr was looking pleased with himself. More important, he genially gave Zac the assurance that StarrTech had no plans to dispense with the services of Free Enterprise Security. Zac relaxed a little as he realized next month’s rent was safe.

After the meal Starr insisted on giving Zac a ride over to the high-rise that contained the office of Free Enterprise Security, Inc. Zac sat in the spacious backseat, enjoying the genuine leather upholstery and marveling over the built-in telephone. He wondered vaguely whether Free Enterprise would ever become successful enough to provide him with a Mercedes and a car phone. A brief image of himself sitting in the backseat of his own chauffeured car brought a fleeting, almost feral grin to his mouth. Then he realized that in the mental picture he wasn’t sitting back there alone. Guinevere Jones appeared to be sitting beside him.