Trust Me (32 page)

“You call this a meeting?” Stark asked.

“For want of a better word.” Desdemona crossed her legs and eyed the two men. “Let's recap. We've got a weird situation here. Someone apparently hired Vernon Tate to steal ARCANE from Stark. Vernon made the attempt the night of the reception. He failed. The next thing we know, poor Vernon is dead, and there is a blackmail note aimed at his so-called client left on my computer.”

Tony's brows drew together. “Why was the note left on your computer?”

“That's obvious,” Desdemona said. “Whoever left it wanted to make it appear that you were Vernon's client. The one who had paid him to steal ARCANE.”

“Shit,” Tony muttered. “And now the damned gun in my apartment. I knew it. A setup.”

“There's a simpler explanation.” Stark bestirred himself to walk the short distance to the nearest wall. He propped one shoulder against it. “It could be the truth.”

“Bastard,” Tony said.

Desdemona glowered at both of them. “I do not want to hear another unproductive word. Is that clear?”

Tony and Stark looked at her. Neither said anything.

“That's better.” Desdemona composed her thoughts. “Now, then, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, it's apparent that someone killed Vernon and then deliberately set out to make Tony look guilty. The killer was probably Vernon's mysterious client. Do we all agree so far?”

“It's a theory,” Tony said grudgingly. “But if we buy that, we have to ask why the so-called client bothered to kill Tate.”

Stark lifted one shoulder in a negligent movement. “It's possible that Tate actually had identified him and really was threatening to blackmail him.”

“On my computer?” Desdemona asked quickly.

Stark seemed reluctant to continue with the line of reasoning he had begun. Desdemona got the distinct impression that he wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

“Maybe the real blackmail note wasn't sent on your computer,” he said grudgingly. “It's possible that the client did get one from Vernon, but he probably received it the same way he got Tate's other communications. Via e-mail.”

Desdemona widened her eyes as she realized what that implied. “That means that the blackmail note we found was a phony left by the client
after
the murder in order to make Tony look guilty,” Desdemona concluded. “To provide a fake motive for him.”

“I said it's a possibility.” Stark shot Tony an irritated look. “A remote one.”

“Yeah. Real remote,” Tony agreed sarcastically. “If we rewrite the script so that you're the bad guy, the logic works even better.”

“Neither of you is the bad guy,” Desdemona said forcefully. “Now, let's continue. We have a real bad guy in this play. Someone we have not yet identified. We have to find him.”

“We?” Stark's brow rose. “That's what the cops are paid to do.”

Desdemona grimaced. “Don't be an idiot, Stark. We can't go to the cops at this juncture. They might jump to the wrong conclusions.”

“You mean they might decide that Tony was guilty?” Stark nodded solemnly. “True. They might. I hadn't thought of that.”

“The hell you hadn't,” Tony said.

“As I was saying,” Desdemona continued determinedly, “no one is going to the cops just yet. First we've got to try to find Vernon's real client.” She looked expectantly at Stark.

He gazed steadily back at her.

“Well?” Desdemona prompted.

“Well, what?” Stark asked.

“How do you plan to go about finding Vernon's real client?” Desdemona asked patiently. “The person who killed him?”

“Why are you looking at me?” Stark asked.

“Because you're the security expert,” Desdemona said patiently.

“Damn,” Stark said.

Desdemona smiled with relief. “I knew you'd agree to help.”

He was the security expert, all right. Stark was still berating himself for being an idiot as he followed Desdemona into the parking garage beneath her apartment building.

How the hell had he allowed Desdemona to manipulate him into helping that screwup brother of hers
? he wondered for what must have been the thousandth time.

She had caused him to break his most cherished rule. He had stopped thinking and acting with the rational side of his brain. Instead, he had been sucked down into the chaos of emotion. Here in the sorcerer's cauldron, nothing was fixed in logic. Every move was treacherous and unpredictable.

His blood ran cold as he recalled Tony's attempt to persuade Desdemona that her lover was the real criminal mastermind behind a complex conspiracy.

It hadn't even struck Stark until now that, if one chose to shine a certain light on the subject, he could conceivably be made to look as guilty as Tony Wainwright.

Perhaps more so.

After all, Stark thought, chagrined, a disinterested observer could claim that he was the one who knew the major players involved in the world of illegal international technology deals.

He was also far more intimately acquainted with computers than Tony Wainwright was. Tony was good, but he was an amateur compared to Stark.

And there was another bit of damning evidence on hand, Stark reminded himself. He was the one who had hired Desdemona as a caterer and then seduced her, thereby setting the whole damned game in motion.

He was forced to acknowledge that Wainwright had a point. It was an inescapable fact that the attempted theft of ARCANE and the killing of Vernon Tate had taken place
after
Stark and Desdemona had formed a relationship. Viewed from that perspective, Stark thought, he was an excellent candidate for the role of the bad guy.

Jealousy was considered one of the classic motives for violence. Stark told himself that he wasn't the jealous type, but he wasn't certain anyone would believe it.

Thank God Desdemona had been no more interested in that scenario than she had been in the one that portrayed Tony as the villain.

Stark pulled into a slot, parked his car, and switched off the engine. He sat behind the wheel for a moment, watching Desdemona climb out of her Toyota. She waved at him over the roof of her car.

An eerie sensation washed over him as he gazed at her. His whole body tensed as though to do battle with some unseen threat.

Damn. He was perfectly capable of feeling jealousy.

The knowledge left him shaken. He finally opened the car door and got out.

“Do you have time for a cup of coffee?” Desdemona asked as he walked toward her through the silent garage.

Stark glanced at his watch. “I think so. Macbeth is with Kyle and Jason.”

Desdemona stopped in front of the elevator. “I meant what I said earlier. I'm very glad you followed me tonight. It saved me having to talk Tony into asking for your help. He can be awfully stubborn.”

Stark pressed the elevator call button. “He thinks I'm guilty. That I set him up because I'm jealous.”

“Don't worry about that. He was just firing from the hip, as usual. He's a little emotional at the moment.” The elevator doors opened. Desdemona stepped inside. “Can't blame him for being on edge. It does look as though someone is trying to set him up for murder, doesn't it?”

“Maybe.”

“Thank goodness he found that gun before the police did. I'll bet whoever is behind this planned to give the cops an anonymous tip about it.”

“Possible.”

Desdemona froze. Fear flashed in her eyes. “The police might be looking for Tony at this very moment.”

“You'll know if they're looking for him,” Stark said. “The first thing they'll do is ask you or someone else in the family where he is.”

“Good point. Well, since no one's been asked, we have to assume that Vernon's so-called client is lying low for a while.”

Stark could not think of anything to say to that. He put his arm around Desdemona. This time she relaxed against him. He relaxed a little, too.

They rode the elevator to the fifth floor in silence.

Desdemona led the way down the hall and opened the door of her apartment. “I'll make the coffee.”

Stark closed the door very deliberately. He had to tell her the truth, he thought. He had to get it out on the table. “Desdemona?”

She tossed him a smile over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“I didn't follow you tonight because I was worried about you or because I got some kind of telepathic communication. I followed you because I knew that you had lied when you said Tony was not back in town.” Stark shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I figured you were trying to protect him.”

“I was.” She walked around the glass brick counter and went to work on the gleaming espresso machine. “And if you knew that I had lied, then you must have been on the same wavelength as me, because no one else in the family suspected it. It only goes to show how really close we are.”

“Damn it, Desdemona, I'm trying to explain something here.”

She glanced up with an inquiring expression. “What's that?”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated by his inability to make his point clear. “I don't know.”

She grinned. “Poor Stark. You're overintellectualizing this, you know.”

“I am?”

“Uh-huh. Relax. Things have been rather emotional for all of us lately. Try to stay focused on the problem of finding Vernon Tate's client.”

He blinked. “
You're
telling
me
to stay focused?”

“Right.” Steam hissed. “Here, have a nice hot cup of espresso. A jolt of caffeine should help settle your nerves.”

“I do not have a case of nerves. I have never had a case of nerves in my life.”

“Whatever.” She set the cup down on the counter.

Stark sat down on a stool and wrapped his hands around the tiny cup. “What happens if it turns out that Tony really is the killer, Desdemona?”

“He isn't.”

“Damn it, what if he is, and I'm the one who proves it?”

She stilled, her eyes suddenly troubled. “I don't know.”

“Will you hate me for uncovering the truth?” he made himself ask.

“Hate you?” She frowned. “Why would I hate you? Our relationship isn't based on whether or not Tony's guilty.”

“Isn't it?”

“Stark, you're not making any sense here. Tony is not guilty. But if, hypothetically speaking, he were guilty, it wouldn't change how I feel about you.”

“It's called shooting the messenger,” Stark said wearily. “Happens all the time.”

She sipped her espresso. “You're going to have to trust me on this, Stark.”

Stark's fingers tightened around the fragile cup. “Will you marry me?”

Several drops of coffee spilled from her cup. Desdemona did not seem to notice. She stared at him. “Why?”

“Why? What kind of thing is that to say?” Stark was suddenly angry. “This is a simple yes or no quiz, not an essay question. All I want is a straightforward answer.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what? Yes or no? Will you marry me?”

“Calm down, I said okay, didn't I?”

He watched her from beneath half-lowered lashes. “You will?”

She gave him a strangely wistful smile. “If you're sure you want to marry me, I'll marry you.”

Relief soared inside him. He fought the lightheaded sensation it created, afraid that if he abandoned himself to it he might do something stupid such as bounce off the walls and ceiling.

He had to keep himself focused.

Desdemona had just said that she would marry him, but she could easily change her mind. God knew he'd been through that scene often enough. The espresso cup in his hand rattled against its saucer. He let go of it quickly.

“I'm sure.” Stark forced his voice to stay even. He seized the tiny cup again and swallowed the espresso in a single gulp. Then he glanced at his watch. “It's getting late. I'd better be on my way.”

“Hold it right there.” Desdemona narrowed her gaze into a severe glare. “Is that all you have to say?”

He gave her a blank look. “What?”

“I have just consented to marry you,” she reminded him a little too sweetly. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that warrant a few excited words? An exclamation of joy? Perhaps even a small sonnet?”

He felt himself turn a dark red. “I'm sorry,” he said stiffly. “I don't do sonnets.”

“I won't change my mind, you know.”

He smiled humorlessly as he got off the stool. “No?”

“No. Look, I know you're an old hand at proposals and weddings and such, but this is all new to me. This is the first time I have ever accepted a marriage proposal. Now, I realize beginners always have a few stars in their eyes, but I really did expect something more than what I'm getting here.”

“I see,” Stark said cautiously. “What, exactly, did you expect?”

“Well, for starters, I had envisioned a more momentous scene.” Desdemona waved a hand in the air. “Perhaps some roses and champagne. You're supposed to be on your knees, of course. There should be moonlight, I think, and maybe some small show of elated emotion from you.”