Zinnia (31 page)

He forced his new problems to the side of his attention when he spotted Orrin Chastain sitting alone in a booth. The older man's shoulders were hunched. A scotch-tini sat on the table in front of him.

Nick crossed the heavily carpeted room to join Orrin. The day was winding down and the club bar was beginning to fill with expensively suited members.

The Founders' Club catered to the business and political elite of New Seattle. The heavy, dark, Later Expansion Period decor provided the discreet ambience needed by those who made the kind of decisions that affected the politics and economy of the entire city-state.

As he walked through the room Nick could hear snippets of muffled conversations. They involved a wide variety of topics, but he knew that at the core of each lay the subject of money. It always came down to money, he reflected.

“Hello, Uncle Orrin.”

Orrin looked up, startled, when Nick came to a halt beside the table. Belatedly he squared his shoulders. “What in five hells are you doing here?”

“I want to talk to you.” Nick slid into the booth on the side opposite Orrin. “I have a question to ask you.”

“How did you get into this club?” Orrin cast a disgruntled glance toward the entrance. “It's supposed to be private. Members only.”

Nick smiled humorlessly. “I got in the same way everyone else in here did. I bought my way in.”

Orrin's jaw clenched. “I don't believe it.”

“Want to see my membership card?”

“Goddamn it, I've got a business meeting here in a few minutes.”

“How are the talks with your new potential investor going?”

“I have no intention of discussing the future of Chastain, Inc. with you.”

Nick shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the gold cuff link he had found in Wilkes's workshop. “Mind telling me where you lost this?”

Orrin's brows jerked in surprise. “That's mine. I've been looking for it. Where the hell did you find it?”

“It was just lying around.”

“Give it to me.” Orrin held out his hand in an imperious manner. “That is one of my Chastain cuff links. I thought I was going to have to commission a duplicate to replace that one.”

Nick closed his fingers around the cuff link. “What happened to my father's set?”

Orrin's face turned an unpleasant shade of purple. “That is none of your concern. The tradition affects only the legitimate branch of the family. Give me that cuff link. It belongs to me. If you don't hand it over, you're no better than a thief.”

“I want to know where you lost it.”

“I have no idea,” Orrin exploded in muffled tones. “I simply noticed that it was missing a few days ago. I'd like to know how you came across it.”

“I found it in the house of a man named Alfred Wilkes.” Nick watched Orrin's face carefully but there was no flicker of recognition.

“I don't know anyone named Wilkes. Hand it over at once.”

Nick slowly uncurled his fingers. He rose to his feet and dropped the cuff link into Orrin's palm. “Thanks, Uncle. As usual, you've been very helpful. I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening.”

Orrin's eyes widened in outrage. “What do you mean?”

“Don't tell me you've forgotten the annual Founders' Club ball?”

“You're going to attend the charity ball?” Orrin looked shocked. “But it's … it's a club affair.”

“And as I told you, I'm now a member.” Nick smiled thinly. “Brace yourself, Orrin, my side of the Chastain clan is going legit. In another few years no one will even remember that there was a bastard in the family tree. It's amazing how easy it is to rewrite history. If you have the money, that is.”

“You can't just buy your way into respectable circles,” Orrin sputtered.

“Watch me.”

“Why, you … you—”

Nick ignored him. He started toward the door without a backward glance. He had gone two strides when he saw Duncan Luttrell enter the bar. There was something about the way Luttrell briefly surveyed the crowd that enabled Nick to make several small connections in one portion of the matrix.

He paused, considering the matter briefly. Then he turned and walked back to the booth were Orrin sat.

“Thought you'd left,” Orrin muttered.

“A word of advice, Uncle.”

“I don't want your damned advice.”

Nick indicated the scotch-tini sitting on the table. “If you're going to do a deal with Luttrell, lay off the alcohol before you start negotiating.”

“Now what in blazes are you talking about?”

“Luttrell may look and sound like a nice guy who just happened to get lucky in the computer business, but he didn't build SynIce into the company it is by being a good-natured pushover. He's smart. Very, very smart. And he's nobody's fool.”

“Luttrell is a good businessman, I'll grant you that.” Orrin's gaze narrowed. “He is also a gentleman, unlike some people I could mention. Take your so-called advice and get out of here.”

“Whatever you say, Uncle.” Nick turned and started back toward the door. He did not know why he had even bothered to issue the warning. Zinnia would no doubt have some silly explanation involving his so-called family values.

Duncan smiled politely when he made to pass Nick. His eyes held cool speculation. “You're Nick Chastain, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“We've never met personally, although I've been into your casino once or twice. An interesting business you've got there.”

“Thanks. It's made me rich.”

Duncan looked briefly amused by the tasteless answer. “We seem to be hearing and seeing a lot of you lately in the tabloids. I thought you liked privacy.”

“I do,” Nick said. “But sometimes one has to make sacrifices in order to get what one wants.”

“Very true. I understand you're a new member here.”

“That's right.” Nick wondered if Duncan would make a crack about the club's declining standards.

“You're seeing a friend of mine, I believe,” Duncan said instead. “Zinnia Spring.”

Nick was stunned by the rush of fierce protectiveness and possessiveness that slammed through him. He fought down an almost irresistible urge to shove Duncan up against the nearest wall and tell him how things really were between himself and Zinnia.
I'm not just seeing her, I'm having an affair with her, you son of a spider-frog. Stay away from her. I don't want you touching her.

Somehow he managed to keep his expression calm and controlled. “Zinnia and I are very close.”

“Look, I'll level with you here, Chastain. She's a very nice lady and she's been through a lot. I wouldn't want to see her hurt.”

“Zinnia and I understand each other.” Nick walked away before Duncan could give him the rest of the lecture. He had enough problems on his hands. He did not want to add a sense of guilt to the matrix.

“The financial aspect? I don't understand, Miss Spring. I thought I mentioned that the University of New Portland funded the Third Expedition.”

Newton DeForest's voice was as cheerful as ever on the other end of the line. Zinnia had a vision of him manicuring the tentacles of one of his grotesque plants while he spoke with her.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “But I'm wondering about the university's source of funds. A major expedition costs a lot. Was the Third underwritten by a wealthy donor or a corporation?”

“I see what you mean.” DeForest sounded thoughtful. “There was very likely corporate money involved. After all, business has a lot to gain from successful exploration trips. Companies often finance expeditions. But any materials on that subject were no doubt destroyed when the records storage facility burned some thirty-four years ago. The aliens are very clever,
you know. Very thorough when it comes to covering their tracks.”

“Do you think you might have anything in your personal files? The ones you said you kept in the family crypt?”

“Doubt it,” Newton said. “Didn't bother much with the financial side of the story. I've always found money a rather dull subject. The aliens don't use money, you know. They've evolved beyond the need for cash.”

“How convenient for them,” Zinnia muttered. “Professor, I hate to put you to any more trouble, but would you mind very much just taking a look through your old files? Anything that dealt with the funding of the Third Expedition would be of great interest to me.”

“Very well. But don't get your hopes up, Miss Spring. Even if I did find the name of a company that contributed funds for the project, what good would the information do you?”

“I don't know,” Zinnia admitted.

She hung up the phone and sat thinking for a long time.

The larger and more complicated the mystery became, the more confusing it was. Or, as Nick would say, the more the elements in the matrix threatened to shift and realign themselves in meaningless patterns.

And the most disturbing factor of all was her relationship with the master of the matrix.

* * * * * * * * * *

Duncan smiled at Zinnia as he took her into his arms on the crowded dance floor. “You look lovely tonight. I'm only sorry it was Chastain who brought you. At least he let me have one dance.”

Zinnia chuckled. They both knew Nick had not given his permission. He had been talking with a business acquaintance when Duncan had appeared at her side and asked for the dance. She had accepted without a second's hesitation even though she had been aware of Nick's frown of disapproval when he saw her take the floor with Duncan.

Start as you mean to go on, she told herself. If she was going to have an affair with an off-the-chart matrix, she had to get the rules straight at the very beginning. And the first rule was that Nick could not make all the rules. He could not control everything and everyone. He would drive them both crazy if he tried.

Zinnia was mildly surprised to discover that she was enjoying herself tonight. It had been a long time since she had last danced. The Founders' Club ball
room was a glittering scene. The jelly-ice chandeliers cast a warm romantic glow over the well-dressed crowd. Through the windows she could see the lights of the city sparkling below on the dark carpet of the night.

She had panicked briefly when she had found herself faced with the problem of coming up with an appropriate dress but Gracie Proud, Clementine's permanent partner, had come to the rescue. Gracie knew fashion almost as well as she knew the focus business. She had sent Zinnia to one of her favorite boutiques.

The long, elegantly simple slip of a dress that Zinnia had discovered in the shop was the color of rare fire crystal. She had stored the memory of the appreciative gleam that had appeared in Nick's eyes when he saw her in it away in her heart. In the years ahead she knew that she would take it out from time to time to cherish it.

“I read in the papers that your recent expansion has given you the platform you need to launch the new generation of SynIce software,” she said. “Congratulations. You pulled it off.”

“The media blitz is scheduled to start next month.” Duncan's mouth tilted wryly. “I'm surprised you even noticed the news about SynIce. Your relationship with Chastain seems to occupy most of the front page these days.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Only in the tabloids. And only because a certain Cedric Dexter has apparently decided to use Nick as a means of establishing a reputation as a sleazeoid photographer.”

“Seems to be working. From what I can tell,
Synsation
sales are skyrocketing.”

“How would you know?”

Duncan grinned. “Are you kidding? I'm one of the first in line to get my copy every morning.”

Zinnia blushed. “I'd like to strangle Dexter.”

Duncan's smile faded. “It's serious, isn't it? This thing with Chastain?”

“Yes.”

“I guess there's not much point in warning you off him again, is there?”

“No.”

“Be careful, Zinnia.”

“It may be too late for that, too.” She smiled. “But don't worry about me, Duncan. I know what I'm doing.”

“And you don't give a damn about the gossip.” He shook his head slightly. “I should hire you into an executive position at SynIce. You've got more guts than all of my managers put together.”

Nick stood in the shadows of a large potted fern-tree and sipped a glass of champagne while he watched Duncan and Zinnia finish their dance. He was brooding again. He couldn't help it. The sensation of wrongness was a whisper of dread that touched all of his senses this evening, including those that functioned on the metaphysical plane.

The confusing part was that he could no longer sort out the legitimate sensory input that his psychically honed instincts were picking up from the rush of tangled sensations that he felt toward Zinnia.

He wanted to protect her from Luttrell, but logic told him there was no cause for concern. After all, she had been seeing Luttrell off and on for a month and a half before he had even met her. If she had been interested in the president of SynIce, she would have done something about it earlier. If there was one thing Zinnia was good at, he reminded himself, it was taking action to achieve her goals.

So why did the sight of her in Luttrell's arms make every single one of his muscles tighten as if in response to a threat? He did not understand the
matrix here. This emotional stuff clogged up his thinking processes.

“Good evening, Nicholas.”

Only one person in the whole world called him Nicholas. Nick steeled himself and turned to see Orrin's wife, Ella, standing at his shoulder.

“Hello, Aunt Ella.”

He knew the greeting would annoy her. Like her husband, Ella hated to be reminded that he had a blood-relationship with the family. She was a small too-thin woman whose once-lovely features had become sharp and tightly drawn over the years. Nick was almost certain that her pinched look was the result of a restless dissatisfaction that ate away constantly at her insides.