Trust Me (37 page)

Tony grinned. For the first time in a long while the bitterness was gone from his eyes.

A
lthough he was prepared for the transformation, Stark did a double take when Tony walked into the international terminal shortly after midnight.

Outfitted in a blond wig, mustache, glasses, and a stylish silver-gray suit, Tony was a disturbingly familiar figure.

“I'll be damned,” Stark said quietly to Benedick, who was seated next to him in the airport lounge. “He's a dead ringer for McCallum.”

“Always said the boy had talent.” Benedick beamed proudly from behind the newspaper he was ostensibly reading.

“He's even got the walk down right. He moves the way McCallum moves.”

“A good actor does more with movement than he does with makeup.” Benedick made a show of turning the page. “You said this Kilburn fellow has met McCallum face-to-face?”

“We all worked at the Rosetta Institute, but Kilburn hasn't seen McCallum in person for over three years, and they weren't exactly close then. They saw each other occasionally in the hall, but that was it. The deal for ARCANE was done through the computers. With any luck, the mustache and dark glasses will distract Kilburn long enough for the exchange to be made.”

“No one expects someone to look exactly as he did after three years.” Benedick shrugged. “Like Tony said, piece of cake.”

Tony, laptop clutched in his hand, hovered near the news-stand. Stark thought that he displayed just the right degree of edginess for the occasion.

Ten minutes later, the gate opened to disgorge the passengers of an incoming flight. Kilburn, carrying a large briefcase, was among the first half-dozen people to get off the plane. Stark noted that he was apparently traveling first-class these days.

Kilburn had grown plumper over the years. Even the cut of his expensive suit could not contain his large belly. It strained the buttons of his shirt. His benign, cheerfully rounded face sagged around the jaw and spilled over his collar.

Kilburn swept the waiting area with a nervous, impatient glance. Then he paused to study the blond man in the silver-gray suit. Tony's back was deliberately turned toward the gate.

“He's spotted Tony,” Benedick murmured. “Looks like the fish is going to take your bait.”

Stark watched with satisfaction as Kilburn started toward the newsstand.

Tony did not turn around when Kilburn tapped him on the shoulder. He simply nodded and led the way toward a corner near the rest rooms. Kilburn followed, glancing uneasily over his shoulder.

There was no mistaking the exchange of the laptop computer for the briefcase. It was hurriedly done in the shadows. Kilburn opened the lid of the computer, bent over it, and tapped out some commands on the keyboard. Stark knew he was punching up ARCANE. Meanwhile, Tony opened the briefcase to display the contents. He glanced inside and nodded as if satisfied.

A done deal. Head still averted, Tony even shook Kilburn's hand.

The Federal agents, three men who had been posing as traveling businessmen, moved in.

At the last instant Kilburn realized what was happening. He stared wildly at the men closing in on him. Then he lashed out at Tony, who easily ducked the blow and stuck out a foot.

Kilburn stumbled over the obstacle and toppled heavily to the floor. A man in a nondescript suit crouched down to handcuff him.

It was over.

“Let's go.” Stark got to his feet.

Benedick put down his newspaper and rose. Together they walked over to the corner near the rest rooms to watch the denouement.

A small crowd also gathered to watch the proceedings.

Kilburn looked up at the ring of onlookers surrounding him and spotted Stark. His face contorted with fury.

“You bloody son of a bitch,” Kilburn said in a choked voice. “Everyone always said you were so damned smart. You goddamn
son of a bitch
.”

“Gotcha,” Stark said.

Twenty minutes later Stark leaned against the airport rest room wall, hooked a thumb in the waistband of his jeans, and watched as Tony removed the mustache, wig, and makeup.

“You handled that very well,” Stark said.

Benedick beamed. “That's my boy.”

Tony struggled to control a buoyant grin. He met Stark's eyes in the mirror. “Thanks.”

“Want a job?”

Tony blanked. “Job?”

“I'm thinking of expanding Stark Security Systems services to include some investigative personnel. I'll need a few good people who are computer literate and who can also go undercover to gather evidence on-site. Interested?”

Benedick's brows twitched in surprise. He eyed Stark but said nothing. He waited calmly for his son's answer.

“Yeah.” Tony spoke cautiously but his eyes were gleaming with excitement. “I might be interested.”

“Okay,” Stark said. “You're hired. Report to my secretary tomorrow morning. She'll arrange to get you on the payroll.”

“Just like that?”

“Why not? It's my company.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “This wouldn't, by any chance, be a sneaky way of making certain that I no longer have an excuse to mooch off Desdemona while I'm between acting engagements, would it?”

“Do you want the job or not?”

“Yeah.” Tony laughed as he ripped off the fake mustache. “I want the job.”

The following morning Augustus put down his latte cup with an air of grave deliberation and surveyed his audience.

“I am not altogether certain,” he intoned, “that I approve of this growing trend toward regular employment that has appeared among the younger generation of Wain-wrights.”

Desdemona, Celia, Bess, Juliet, and Kirsten, seated around two tables in the espresso bar, groaned in unison.

“For heaven's sake, dear.” Bess patted Augustus's arm in a reassuring manner. “It's just a day job. Tony will still be free to pursue his acting career.”

“But will he want to pursue it?” Augustus asked darkly. “That's what concerns me. All he can talk about is his new job as a computer spy.”

“He's a Wainwright,” Celia said calmly. “He'll never give up acting.”

“Actually, the position at Stark Security Systems is a sort of acting job when you think about it,” Kirsten pointed out. “Stark said he was very impressed by the way Tony performed last night at the airport.”

“And just think of the added financial stability it will bring to the family,” Celia said.

“There is that.” But Augustus clearly remained unconvinced.

“Tony seems very enthusiastic,” Bess said. “In fact, he seemed elated. Let's be honest here. We all know that for years he has been getting increasingly frustrated and unhappy. This morning when I talked to him he was a new man.”

Celia nodded. “That's just what Benedick said.”

“Can't deny that's important,” Augustus admitted. “I suppose it will be all right. Stark is about to become a member of the family, after all. It's not as though Tony has gone to work for an outsider.”

Desdemona couldn't stand it any longer. She grabbed a napkin and burst into tears.

Everyone turned toward her in astounded concern.

“What's wrong?” Celia asked anxiously.

“Bridal jitters,” Bess declared.

“No, it's not that.” Desdemona blotted her eyes. “Well, maybe it is in a way. I'm so worried about him, you see.”

“About Stark?” Bess asked.

“Just when I thought he was learning to trust other people,” Desdemona said, “this stupid mess with Dane McCallum had to happen.”

Juliet frowned. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Stark feels responsible for what occurred at the Limelight.” Desdemona looked up from her tear-soaked napkin. “He thinks that he made a terrible mistake when he trusted McCallum. And he believes that I almost paid the price for his failure in judgment.”

“Oh, dear,” Bess said.

Desdemona wadded up the napkin. “This incident with McCallum has convinced Stark that he was right not to trust people, not to take chances. In the future, he's going to be more emotionally cautious than ever.”

Kirsten's eyes widened. “Are you telling me that he doesn't even trust you now?”

“No, that's not it. The real problem is that he doesn't trust himself.”

“What do you mean?” Bess said.

Desdemona gazed at the crumpled napkin. “Don't you see? He won't really be free to love and let himself be loved until he learns to accept the fact that he has real human emotions and needs and that he can make mistakes.”

“Are you telling us that you've finally realized he may not make a proper Wainwright after all?” Henry demanded.

“I don't know.” Desdemona gazed morosely down into her half-finished latte. “For years people have told Stark that he's human computer. I think he's begun to believe it. Being a human computer is a nice, safe, invulnerable thing to be.”

Kirsten looked thoughtful. “I think I see where you're going with this.”

Desdemona gave her a shaky smile. “Poor Stark. He knows he's got a brain, and he knows that people respect him for it. But he doesn't want to admit that he's got emotions and feelings, too. Every time he's allowed those emotions and feelings to influence him, he's gotten burned.”

Kirsten raised her latte. “I imagine that, to his way of thinking, the McCallum incident is just one more example of the foolhardiness of allowing himself to trust.”

“Exactly,” Desdemona said. “He trusted McCallum, and look where it got him.”

“You're afraid that the McCallum situation undid all the work you've done to get Stark to become more human, aren't you?” Kirsten asked gently.

“Yes,” Desdemona gazed morosely out the window. “He's a work in progress. Sort of like an ice carving that's only partially completed. I can see the potential shape, but the outlines are still blurred and uneven.”

“And cold?” Celia inquired softly.

Desdemona recalled the frozen expression in Stark's eyes. She shivered. “Yes.”

Celia's eyes were shadowed with concern. “Be honest, dear. This is no time to make a mistake. Your future happiness is on the line. Are you having second thoughts about going through with the wedding?”

Bess scowled. “If you are, now is the time to get out.”

Desdemona looked into the worried faces of her family and knew that Bess spoke the truth. Realization struck her with the force of a blinding spotlight.

“Oh, my God,” Desdemona breathed in horror. “This must be what the other fiancées went through.”

Stark contemplated his future father-in-law. Benedick was posed near the office window, the embodiment of old-fashioned paternal concern. It would have been amusing if Stark had not been in such a foul mood and if he had not had a strong suspicion that Benedick was not acting.

“I won't deny that I've had a few doubts about you right from the beginning, son,” Benedick said deliberately. “Always felt that my daughter should marry someone who was more like her than you appeared to be.”

“Let me guess. You wanted Desdemona to marry someone with artistic sensibilities?” Stark asked very politely.

“Not necessarily.” Benedick gazed out over Elliott Bay. “My only concern was that she be happy. I thought she would be happiest with a man whose nature was more akin to her own. A man who would be at ease with a woman of strong emotions and warmth of feeling. A man who was capable of similar emotions and feelings.”

“Someone with the soul of a poet?” Stark suggested.

“Well put.” Benedick appeared pleased. “Well put indeed.”

Stark drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Someone who was from the theater world, perhaps?”

“I won't deny that I had assumed she would marry someone from our world. But I've decided that isn't necessary. I think you can make her happy.”

That startled Stark. “Do you?”

Benedick turned his head. He regarded Stark with a considering look. “I think you'll do very well for my daughter.”

Stark met his eyes. “I'm surprised to hear you say that after what happened at the Limelight.”

“Let me rephrase that. I think you'll do very well for Desdemona once you've gotten past feeling guilty for that incident.”

“Why shouldn't I feel responsible? I was responsible.”

Benedick's bushy brows jiggled up and down. “Do you think you're the only man on the face of the earth who ever failed to protect someone he loved?”

Stark knotted his hand into a fist. “No.”

“Then stop being so damned hard on yourself.” Benedick walked to a chair and sat down. “You're only human. Let it go, Stark. I'm not saying you'll ever be able to forget it, but you have to let it go. Otherwise it will eat you alive. And if you allow it to do that, it will ruin your chance of happiness with Desdemona.”

“This sounds personal.”

“It is. I know what you're going through.”

“Is that a fact?”

Benedick watched him from beneath half-lowered lids. “How do you think I felt when I failed to protect Desdemona from George Northstreet?”