Tropical Storm by Melissa Good

Chapter One

THE ALARM BURRED softly, nudging the somnolent figure sprawled over the waterbed toward wakefulness. One long arm reached over and slapped the snooze bar, then moved back to its resting place, even though the pre-dawn gloom reflected off pale eyes that were already open, and gazing at the dull white of the ceiling.

Tiny clicks and hisses of the ice machine in the kitchen and the soft hum of the central air cycling were the only sounds that stirred the darkness, save for the soft breathing of the occupant of the bed. Finally, that breathing expanded into a sigh, and the waveless mattress rustled as the tall figure rolled up out of bed, and padded across polished teak wood floors into a pale salmon, marble-floored bathroom. The light flicked on, causing an audible groan, then the water ran in the marble sink, splashing loudly as it hit warm skin.

The reluctant riser finished wiping off the excess water with a soft towel, then faced its reflection. “Morning.” Pale blue eyes set in an angular, high-cheekboned face looked back, framed in dark, shoulder-length hair that just now was lying in disordered layers above a high, strong forehead. The voice was a warm contralto, slightly hoarse from sleep, and the lips that formed the word quirked into an ironic smile as they got no answer.

The light from the bathroom streamed across the wooden floor, guiding the tall woman’s way as she moved through the bedroom and into the living room beyond. She stepped barefoot across the soft Berber rugs scattered over the warm ceramic tiles and ended up in the kitchen.

Another flick and the recessed lighting came on, bringing the rich blue and white room to life, gleaming dully off the royal blue tile countertops and the rippled surface of the white appliances. Only the refrigerator was out of scheme—it was stainless steel, as befitted its commercial origins.

On the countertop, next to a sleek coffee machine and a well-used blender, was a computer terminal, dark except for a blinking box in the lower right corner. “On,” she told it. “Mail.”

“Mail,” it obediently responded. “Dar Roberts, six messages, two urgent.”

“Read.” She yawned, and moved to the coffee machine, punching the On button and watching as the slow stream of water impacted the grounds she’d prepared the night before. In the background, the computer patiently read her messages.


2 Melissa Good Urgent

Sent by: John Dierhdoh

Subject: Associated Synergenics

Time: 4:32 AM.

Hey, Dar, the Associated Synergenics deal went

through. They passed diligence late last night, so we need to get a pirate squad in there. Lucky for me it’s in your neck of the woods. Let me know how the raping and pillaging goes, all right?

John D.

“Mmm.” Dar turned around, and leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not bad...not bad. Next.”

Urgent

Sent by: Lou Draefus

Subject: Preliminary Budgets

Time: 2:53 AM.

Dar—

The preliminary budgets are in. We’re counting on

your talents to make them fit. Call me when you get in the office.

Duks.

“Damn.” Dar sighed. “Dukky, you know I hate budgets. Just give me a damn number, and I’ll fit it in. Don’t make me argue all morning over how many pencils to allocate to the damn SBU.”

“Do you wish to send reply?” the computer inquired, having caught her preprogrammed keyword “Dukky.”

Dar checked the transcript of what it had just recorded. “Send.”

“Thank you,” the computer replied. “Next message…” It continued, going over more ordinary matters while she grabbed a bowl and poured cereal into it, then opened the refrigerator and held the bowl under a milk dispenser, listening to the pleasant crackle as the liquid infiltrated between the dry flakes. She applied a spoon to her breakfast and leaned back against the counter again as the messages finished playing. “Only six. Not bad.”

The computer chimed. “Incoming meeting request: Video, Alastair M.”

Dar silently cursed under her breath, then sighed. “Go.” A light popped on the small egg-shaped camera on the top of the monitor, and a picture window opened up on the screen, displaying a cherubic, round-faced man in his mid-fifties, dressed immaculately in gray pinstripe with a dark blue tie perfectly knotted around his thick neck. His hands were folded on the mahogany desk in front of him. When his eyes shifted to his own screen and saw her, a smile edged onto his fatherly features.

“Now that’s the way I like to start my morning. Dar Roberts in her underwear,” the Chairman of the Board chortled.

Dar continued to eat, merely giving him a look. “You just broke EEOC, Alastair. We’re gonna have to do something about you someday.” It was a Tropical Storm 3

joke and they both knew it. EEOC was strictly adhered to in the company, up to a certain level. Once employees got beyond that, they became “one of the boys” and were expected to develop a thick skin along with it. Dar, as a corporate vice president, was beyond that level, and so had to put up with remarks about her looks from the upper echelon all the time. Fortunately, she considered, at least they’re compliments. She’d heard the cruel remarks directed towards a few of the other senior women execs, especially Ellen Evans in Finance, who was battling a weight problem among other things.

Alastair chuckled. “You can do anything you like to me, sweetheart, anytime. Just call Bea and have her schedule you up here, all right?”

The tall, dark-haired woman crossed her legs. “Careful, Alastair. At your age, you gotta watch your heart. I don’t think you could handle me.” This kind of verbal sparring was something she frequently enjoyed with the CEO, and she suspected he did as well.

The chairman grinned. “Don’t you worry, I’ll have a Viagra milkshake beforehand.” Then he cleared his throat. “All right, enough fun, though I’m enjoying both the view and the conversation. That Associated deal.” Now his hazel eyes went serious, almost predatory. “I need it in at fifty percent, Dar.”

Dar stopped chewing for a minute, and stared at him. “Fifty? Do you want to also continue to do business, or just scrap them?”

The company acquired accounts by offering to outsource their business at a lesser cost. When they took over, it was up to Dar, and other execs at her level, to scour the resources they took over and find a way to meet that cost, the usual method being to cut staff, which was always the biggest expense in the IT field. Ten to twenty percent was their average cost reduction, though Dar was famous for pushing the line, and had achieved thirty-five percent in her last two accounts. “If it’s scrap, I’ll just turn it over to Duk’s folks, and forget about it,” she said, “ I’m not going to waste my time counting pennies out there.”

Alastair shook his gray head. “I need it, Dar. We’ve got the stockholders meeting coming up in two months, and I have to post third quarter before that. With the budget the way it is, and that fiasco with United Telecom, either you give me Associated at fifty percent, or we’re not going to show double-digit growth, and you know what that means.” He gave her a smile. “C’mon, I know you can do it. And when you do, I’ve got a little surprise for you.”

Dar sighed. “No more surprises, Alastair, huh? The last time you almost killed me when you made me drive that damn Lincoln down here.”

“Tch tch...grumpy this morning, aren’t we?” The CEO laughed. “No. It’s better than that, I promise.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dar promised grudgingly.

“Atta girl. You know, Dar, you set such a good example for everyone else.” Alastair leaned back and regarded her. “What a poster child you are—

beautiful, healthy, crunching on your granola there.”

Dar glanced up at the blue cereal box, with the lurid tiger waving a spoon at her, and smiled. “Oh yeah.”

“You have to come out to Houston one of these days and teach my wife some of your tricks.”

“I hate Houston, Alastair,” Dar commented, finishing up her bowl and 4 Melissa Good setting it into the stainless steel sink, then turning and grabbing a cup for her coffee.

The CEO grinned. “I’ll forgive you for saying that, just for that nice view, Dar,” he teased, “One of the perks of my job, I tell ya.”

Dar lifted her cup and gave him a wry look. “Nice seeing you too, Alastair.”

“Fifty percent, Dar,” the older man stated with a wave. “See ya.” The screen went dark.

“End meeting.” She sighed and watched the computer close the session down. “Happy Monday,” she muttered, as she took her cup and opened the sliding glass door that led out to her second-story balcony. The wind was coming in from the east, blowing back her hair and pressing her T-shirt against her body. She set her cup down on the small stone table and went to the railing, leaning on it and looking out over the rock-filled jetty to the endless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.

The air was full of salt and thick with moisture, and she breathed it in, letting the familiarity soothe her as she listened to the rhythmic sound of the surf against the coral rocks that made up the base of the island on which she lived. In the east, the horizon displayed a gray, cloud-studded line over the still darkened sea, and it was so quiet she could hear the soft clanging of boat tie downs from the nearby marina. A gull swooped overhead, its feathers whipping the thick air as it soared along the coral, searching for food.

Dar reached behind her and picked up her mug, curling her hands around the ceramic surface and taking a sip of the flavored, pungent beverage.

She enjoyed the peace of early morning, and if she didn’t turn her head to see the long Miami Beach skyline rising to her left, she could imagine she was out in the Caribbean somewhere, viewing the sunrise.

Her condominium was a split-level townhouse, sharing a cluster with four other residents here on the outer eastern shore of the small island. The outer walls were reinforced steel and concrete, neatly designed and landscaped to simulate quaint adobe, but meeting current hurricane codes as was mandatory in Dade County.

That meant low, sloping roofs and all-concrete block construction, and a challenge for high-class architects to make buildings look less like bunkers, but Dar had spent one Category Five hurricane in the place, and she was glad to skip on the glamour in trade for having the walls stay put around her.

Fisher Island was an exclusive community, offering large oceanfront residences for those who could afford to pay unbelievable prices for them. Dar was thankful that she had inherited hers. She had seen the price tags for them, and found it hard to believe someone would spend five million dollars for what amounted to an apartment. Even a really, really nice apartment, with five bedrooms and three bathrooms, and a gorgeous kitchen, which she seldom used.

She could afford it. Being the VP Ops of the largest computer services company in the world garnered her a very healthy paycheck, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Thanks, Aunt May.” She toasted her departed, much-beloved aunt with her coffee. May Roberts had been something of a sensation in the family, Tropical Storm 5

marrying four men and burying them all, all the while adding to her considerable bank balance. She’d bought the condo as an investment and occasionally rented it out, but had willed it to her niece on her death, correctly figuring it was better for Dar to live here than in “that horrible Grove.”

The little place among the jasmine and ficus was far more Dar’s style: a studio, with a hot plate and huge bay windows, and worn real wood floors that had fifty years of dogs’ nail marks in them. She’d been able to walk to the waterside and wander through the area’s sometimes oddball residents and not feel out of place in her hiking sandals and cutoffs.

No one had to know she was a corporate big shot. She liked it that way.

Dar studied the horizon. She could have rented this place out when May died, and kept living where she was, but it had occurred vaguely to her that she might want to have a party someday and the condo had a lot more space for that.Plus the view from the porch of the Atlantic to the horizon was priceless.

After several years of residing in the middle of the eclectic artists’

community to the south, the change had taken some getting used to, but Dar had finally decided she liked the island. It was accessible only by car ferry.

She could get away from the city there and spend some time in quiet solitude without fights, and crime, or even noisy neighbors. Five million dollar apartments had thick walls.

The maintenance fees were outrageous, and accounted for all the island’s amenities, but they were less than the rent she’d been paying in the Grove, so it had worked out for her in the end. She found herself enjoying a lifestyle she’d never considered attempting, and even had fun watching the upper crust socialites who populated the island at their strange social rituals.

The sun turned the horizon coral pink, and before her eyes, the sea slowly moved from inky black, to fluttered dark gray, to a deep, rich green. The offshore current was lightly choppy, breaking the surface up into ripples, and she took a breath of the sea air with a sense of pleasure.

Its ever-changing, elemental nature had always appealed to her, and she often spent her early mornings in the peace of its uneven rhythm before she went on with her problem-filled, hectic days.

“Well, time to get moving.” She finished her coffee, then slipped inside the glass doors, moving from the warm humidity to chill air conditioning with a tiny shiver. The tile floor was cool against her bare feet, and she went quickly to the walk-in closet, shedding her T-shirt and exchanging it for her workout gear, which consisted of a pair of running shorts and a snug sports top.

She pulled her hair back and put a band around it, then sat down to put on her shoes, tugging the laces and tying them with efficient fingers. “I don’t think your wife would like my fitness secrets, Alastair,” she remarked to herself wryly. “They involve sweat, and lots of it.”

With a sigh, she stood and walked over to the small closet just inside the alcove where the stairs came up. She ducked inside to pull out a set of wrist and ankle weights, which she fastened into place carefully. Then she slipped down the stairs and unlocked the front door, locking it behind her as she emerged onto the small porch outside the condo. A dozen stairs led down to 6 Melissa Good the underground parking. She dodged underneath, ending up on the path that meandered down towards the water.

The island was about a mile across and roughly round in shape. She made it her habit to circle it four times, rain or shine, even in the wicked downpours subtropical Miami sometimes provided. With a sigh, she began to jog and headed off around the path.

It paralleled the Atlantic, at first, going on in front of clusters of condos much like the one her own was in. The architecture was mellow Mediterranean, with barrel tile roofs and adobe-style walls, and the buildings seemed to blend in to the surroundings. The landscaping, rich with salt-tolerant bushes, was neatly kept and perfectly trimmed, and she could see where beds of winter flowers were being planted to give a bit of variety to the scene.

Artificial variety. Winter had little meaning here, the one or two months of relief from the tropical heat and constant thunderstorms rarely providing more than a day or two of mild sweater weather. Seasons didn’t truly exist.

Once past the condos, she was moving in front of the beach club, with its rustic-style restaurant, and the small, if pristine, white sand beach that bordered it. Chaise lounges were already set up, the beach boys sweeping sand off their surfaces; the workers waved a familiar hello to her as she passed.

Then up onto the coral deck and past the old mansion, once owned by the Vanderbilts, which housed the main restaurant and club bar, its coral-surfaced saltwater pool glinting in the dawn light. Peacocks wandered over the pool deck and ruffled at her as she passed, letting out an occasional startled cry which split the air at odd intervals.

More condos next, then the triple-slipped marina, at this time of year crowded with boats bobbing gently on the waves. Some were sailboats, their sails furled under cover, and some were large motor yachts, ships really, which had multiple decks edged out in polished mahogany.

The back side of the island wasn’t so glamorous, since it faced the long series of piers that made up the Port of Miami, where trade from all over the Caribbean and South America docked long barges and cargo ships, and the towering rows of unloaders clanked gently in the breeze, as yet inactive.

That led around to the side, which faced Government Cut, the main shipping channel into the Port, where the car ferries had to cross to get to the terminal on McArthur Causeway. It was also the main entrance for all the cruise ships, and as Dar rounded the corner, she found herself passing Sovereign of the Seas on its way into port, its green glass windows reflecting the dawn light back at her. A few early risers on deck waved at her, but she kept her eyes forward and didn’t acknowledge them.

It was all familiar, all part of her routine. By the time she hit her fourth lap, the sun was peeking over the horizon, painting the sky in peaches and cream as the clouds hung over the ocean, and the humidity was rising as well, drenching her in sweat.

Dar slowed as she ended up where she started, and as she halted and paced slowly around to cool off, a boy with curly blond hair skimmed up in a golf cart, the words Beach Club blazoned on its fiberglass front. “Morning, Tropical Storm 7

Carlos,” she said between breaths.

“Morning, Ms. Roberts.” The boy hopped out, straightening his white linen short-sleeved shirt neatly, and lifting a gently steaming cup from a tray on the front seat. “Here you go.”

Dar gave him a half grin and took the cup of café con leche. “How do you manage to time this just right?”

The boy smiled. “Not me, ma’am, it’s you. Like clockwork—six-forty-five, here you are.” He paused. “Unless it’s raining, of course, and then it’s six fifty-five.”

She laughed and took a sip of the beverage. “Mm...lots of sugar and cream. Just how I like it,” she complimented the server, who sketched a quick bow in response. “Thanks.” Dar started up the stairs as he turned and scooted back into his cart. Turning the vehicle deftly, he zipped back up the path.

Carlos was a pre-med student, working his way through one of the local colleges by waiting at the Beach Club during the early hours and going to afternoon classes. He was a friendly kid, local, as most of the day servers were, and Dar liked him a lot. He took extra effort to find out things his regular customers—and Dar certainly was that—liked and gave it to them, no questions asked.

She finished the coffee as she padded around the condo, pulling out clothes and starting the shower running. Fifteen minutes later, she was drying her hair and pulling on the tailored gray skirt suit and black blouse she’d chosen to wear, buttoning the cuffs and laying the top button open to expose the thin golden chain holding up a tiny teddy bear, her only jewelry save the diamond studs perched inconspicuously in her ears. Company dress code: no danglies.

Dar gave her reflection a once-over, running her fingers through her neatly cut and feathered hair to settle it, then adding the barest touch of makeup. Her skin was already sun-darkened, a legacy of a lifetime in the subtropics, and she hated the mess of putting on and taking off the stuff, so it was a bit of gloss, a hint of eye shadow, and that was that. No one ever notices anyway, she wryly admitted.

Not these days, anyway. Dar could look back with not quite fondness over a time when she’d played that game in the office and gotten stung by it, but now she took pains to keep everyone at a distance, more fitting in any case to her executive status.

Look, but don’t think about touching. Dar met her own gaze and acknowledged the sardonic expression with a wry twist of her lips.

Her most striking features were her pale blue eyes although most people expected hazel or brown to match her coloring. Some people suspected she used colored contacts, others openly speculated about her having Irish or Danish somewhere in a Hispanic ancestry.

Dar wished they’d find something more interesting to speculate on, but everything was fair game in office gossip. She sighed and picked up her briefcase, slung it over her shoulder, then headed for her car.

She waited until they’d loaded the Lexus LX470 onto the ferry before she dialed the office, leaning back in the leather seat and waiting for her secretary to answer.


8 Melissa Good

“Dar Roberts’ office, how may I help you?” Maria’s precise, Castilian-accented voice issued from the cellular speakerphone mounted in the dash.

“Morning, Maria,” Dar responded, watching the waves of Government Cut splash over the low deck of the ferry.

Ay! Good morning, good morning,” the middle-aged woman replied.

Dios mío, Dar, half of the earth is here looking for you already. Did something happen this weekend?”

“Associated Synergenics happened,” the tall woman explained. “The boys in Houston have their rocks in an uproar.”

“Tch… ay, no wonder.” Maria rustled some papers. “I have three folders with tons of things in them, and a stack of phone messages for you.”

“Great.” Dar sighed. “Schedule me out this afternoon to Synergenics, and call a staff meeting of the prelim account team for ten AM, all right?” That would toss her schedule out the fourteenth floor window her office was on.

“This is a hot one; Alastair is sitting on it.”

Ayeyiyi!” Maria made some quick notes. “You had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.” Her voice held a gently chiding tone.

“Cancel it,” Dar replied, getting the expected silence in return. “Can’t help it, Maria. A checkup can wait a few days, this can’t.” The headaches that had prompted the appointment had tapered off during the weekend anyway, and with any luck, it would stay that way for a while. “Don’t worry, I took it easy this weekend. I feel great.”

“I’ll call that secretarita of your doctor’s and get another appointment,”

Maria replied stubbornly.

Dar relented. “All right, gotta go. I need to call Mark.”

“Oy.” Even through the phone, Dar could sense her assistant’s rolled eyeballs. “You tell him, okay for me, Dar—no more little pink rabbits on my screen, all right?”

The tall executive stifled a chuckle. “All right. Talk to you in a bit.” She disconnected and dialed another number, watching idly as the ferry nestled into its dock. The phone rang twice, then a gruff voice answered. “Yeah?”

“Good morning, Mark.”

“Who in… Oh, uh, yeah. Right…Monday morning. Who else would be calling me at seven thirty? Hi, Dar.”

“I need Synergenics, Mark.” Dar released her parking brake and eased the Lexus up the metal gangplank, as the dockers washed the car down with fresh water to remove the salt spray from the ocean. “Now.”

“Aw…for chrissake, Dar, it was closed last friggin’ night!”

“I have a meeting there this afternoon, and I need the info, Mark. Get in there and get it, no whining,” she crisply told the manager of Information Services. “They have a bullshit system; it shouldn’t take you more than fifteen minutes to get in, if your reputation is up to it.”

Mark Polenti had been, in his younger years, both a hacker and a cracker.

That is, he raided computer systems and cracked security codes in devices such as long distance boxes. Now, he served as part of Dar’s advance team, which went in and got information on an acquisition, information that the new account usually didn’t want Dar to have. Things like personnel reports, workman’s compensation claims, insurance statistics…things she needed to Tropical Storm 9

base her slice-and-dice decisions on.

Only good, low-maintenance people would be candidates for transitioning, and that kind of information was usually kept back. For good reason. But Dar’s job was to incorporate the new account into the infrastructure as economically as possible, thereby making the account as profitable as possible. It was a simple formula, and relied on her ability to shift work from the new company to existing agencies within the corporation, thereby rendering the newcomers superfluous. They never saw it that way, though. They viewed her swooping in as a shark circling defenseless fish, and tried to hide in any nook and cranny they could to escape her teeth.

They never did.

She had the ability to strip resources to the bone and trim down an operation with a lightning speed that had gained her a justifiable reputation for savage, precise decisions. It was what had landed her the VP position, and what kept her as Alastair’s favorite girl, the one he handed the tough ones to.

She’d never let him down, and had no intention of starting with this one, especially since Synergenics was local. Their offices were right off Kendall Drive, and she could get to them without having to send the team on ahead by air. “Get going, Mark. I need the prelims by the time I hit the office.”

“Where are you?” The MIS chief queried, a rapid-fire clicking transmitting through along with his voice.

“McArthur, about to pass Star Island.”

A definite smug tone floated through the airwaves. “Tch tch tch…you’re slowing down, Dar. I’m in. I got the database. Which printer you want it at?”

Dar chuckled. “Mark the Shark…you are something else. AdminP2 will be fine.”

“Okay, sending. Man, this security is bullshit. No wonder these losers got inhaled.” The mutter was interspersed with clicking. “Oh well, no wonder…Novell. Oh, man, and unsecured gateways. Jesus, Dar, they don’t even have a frigging firewall!”

“Pathetic,” Dar agreed. “Who’s responsible for this mess?”

More ticking and then Mark said, “A…well, I’m assuming here, ’cause you never know, but a lady by the name of Kerry Stuart,” He continued,

“Hmm…hmm, hmm. …Hmm. …Ah. …Yep, bingo assumption. Ooo…hmm.

Hey, Dar, she’s cute.”

Dar rolled her eyes and sighed. “Can it, Mark.”

“Mmm-mmm, nice. Blonde hair, pretty green eyes. Jesus, she’s just a friggin’ kid. Twenty-six, not married, nothing on her medical side. Oh wait, heh…she had a pregnancy test just after Christmas last year. Negative.”

“Mark…”

“All right, all right. IT degree from Michigan State. She’s from somewhere up there in the boonies. Last job was for Edutech as their regional co-ord up in that neck of the woods. Oh hey, her father’s Senator Stuart.”

“Hmm…yeah?” Dar inquired, as she turned onto Brickell Avenue and headed south towards the high rise that housed the company. “He’s been courting the Troy office for some contribs. I remember hearing Lou complaining about it.” She directed the Lexus into the parking lot and up to the security gate, nodding to the guard as he opened it for her. “All right, can 10 Melissa Good you give me a folder on her, too?”

A chuckle sounded from the phone. “Do seagulls crap on your windshield? I’ll be nice and add a color picture to it.”

“Not necessary, Mark,” the executive warned. “That’s more your line.”

“Who said I was doing it for you?” The MIS chief chortled. “Bye.”

Dar chuckled softly as she turned into a spot and shut the car off, grabbing her briefcase, then taking a quick look in the rearview mirror before she got out and locked the car. “Another day, another gutting,” she commented to a passing cat, who gave her a look and dashed off.

“THEY’RE GONNA FIRE all of us,” Charles stated, for the sixth time in five minutes. “My cousin worked for Allied when they took over, so forget it.

We’re toast.” He was sitting on the small desk in his cubicle, his headset dangling around his neck and a Styrofoam cup in his hand.

“You don’t know that,” Elaine protested, glancing at her phone pad, which showed several lights blinking. “Who knows, maybe it’ll be better.

Maybe we can get pencils now,” she jiggled a small barrel on her desk, full of writing implements, “instead of having to go steal them from banks.”

The large room was more than usually noisy, most of the staff being occupied in talking about the merger, which was being referred to as a hostile takeover. Associated Synergenics was a company of about two hundred employees, dedicated to providing software and hardware solutions to the hospitality industry.

They had a core of programmers and engineers who designed systems for restaurants and hotels to manage their points of sale, their accounting, and other areas where computers were used for record keeping and analysis. Of course, they also had a group of support staff to answer questions, and a small department of hardware technicians, who installed the equipment and went out to provide service on it.

They were local, in the tri-county area of Dade, Broward, and Palm Beach, which provided enough customers to result in a slowly growing business. Everyone had been very optimistic about this year, especially after they’d landed a huge contract with Publix supermarkets, the major grocery retailer in the state of Florida. Now this.

Everyone was upset. It was like all their hard work was going to be swallowed up by this monolithic company who didn’t care about them, and certainly didn’t care about the customers they’d been so careful to attract and retain. It didn’t seem fair, really.

Charles sucked down the contents of his cup, then sat down with a grunt and put on his headset. “Guess I’d better at least pretend to work. Where the hell is everyone, anyway?”

Lana, a tall, thin brunette who sat on the other side of his cube, looked up.

“Big meeting. The brass called all of them up there about an hour ago. I guess to give them the bad news.” Her eyes focused on something. “Uh oh, here they come.”

They all turned as the doors to the front of the support center opened, and a group of managers filed in, ranging from the support manager, Ray, to Tropical Storm 11

the lead programmer, Susan. All of them looked grim. The last one in was Kerry Stuart, who leaned back against the closed door for a minute before she straightened her shoulders and nodded for everyone to move on ahead of her.

At twenty-six, Kerry looked hardly old enough to be a junior manager.

She was about average height and had a slender build, with lightly tanned skin that contrasted with her blonde hair and green eyes. Her face held a stamp of youthful innocence that belied a certain intensity in her eyes, and she often surprised people both with her insightful knowledge of the business and her skill at handling conflict.

Right now she carefully got up onto the printer table at the end of the huge room and held up a hand. Since everyone there was looking at her anyway, it achieved its intended effect, and calls went on hold immediately.

“Okay, folks, listen up.” She had a clear voice, but she was shaking a little, and they could all see it.

Silence fell, she paused as one of the programmers loped up to her and handed her a small microphone. “Does this w—oh, I guess it does.” Kerry cleared her throat, her voice suddenly magnified. Heads of other curious employees popped out of the offices surrounding the large central area.

“Okay, I’m sure you all know by now that as of last night, we were officially bought out.” She paused and took a breath. “Some of the people who belong to the company that bought us are going to be around here starting this afternoon, and I think we all know that we’re going to see some changes.”

A low murmur rose, and Kerry put a hand up to still it. “I don’t know what kind of changes, or what they’re going to do, or what this really means for any of us; we’ll just have to wait and see. What I’m going to ask you to do is just go on and do your jobs; take care of our customers. Let’s not overreact until we know what’s really going on.”

“Get your résumé ready,” a voice uttered in a disgusted tone.

“Bet they find some way not to give us benefits for six months,” came another. “If they bother to keep anyone.”

“All right, come on, people, let’s just wait to see what happens,” Kerry stated again. “That’s all I have. If someone from them comes in here, be nice, answer what they ask, and just keep it cool.” She handed the microphone to the programmer and gingerly got off the table, smiling at Ray, who held her elbow to prevent her from falling off. “Thanks.”

She moved on towards the end of the big room, passing through the small labyrinth of offices until she reached her own, buried in the back corner. Most of the managers trailed her there, obviously wanting a private word with her, but she put up a hand as she entered her sanctum. “Give me a few minutes, guys, okay? Go get some coffee, or check your e-mail or something.”

“Call my headhunter.” Susan snorted, shaking her silvered chestnut head. The short, stocky programmer stalked over to her tiny office, piled to the ceiling with printouts.

Kerry watched them disperse before she entered her own office and circled the desk, sitting down in her chair and putting her head in her hands.

“Jesus.” What a mess. And it had all been going so good, too. With a sigh, she leaned back, letting her hands fall on her denim-covered thighs, the fabric reminding her of yet one more change they’d have to face—dress codes, as 12 Melissa Good Robert Mayabera had warned her when he’d met with her that morning.

“I didn’t think we’d done that badly,” she’d said in shock when Robert told her the news. “I thought it was just rumors.”

The company founder, a short, pugnacious Cuban immigrant, had laid his immaculate hands on his desk. “Chica, you did nothing wrong, okay?” His brown eyes had been a little sad. “It came down to money, that’s all. They made me an offer, like you say in the movies, I cannot refuse it.” He’d lifted a hand. “I’ve got six kids, all getting to the age where I have to now do quinces, and cars, and college. I love the company, but the buyout, my friend, the buyout makes me able to do right by my family.”

“No, Robert, I don’t…” Kerry had sighed. “I don’t blame you. I just…we were like a family ourselves, here.”

“Chica, I know.” Robert had gotten up and crossed around his desk, hitching up his trousers to perch on the arm of her chair, and put a hand on her shoulder. “I tell them how great you are, every chance. You did a fantastic job with everything, really turned it around here the last year, all that. I give them an opportunity to see that.”

“I don’t care about me,” the young director had stated quietly. “Robert, these people work really hard. I don’t think those guys are going to care about that. I think they’re just going to come in here and tear us apart.”

“Hey, come on now, let’s wait for the boat to sink before we start thinking of drowning, okay?” He patted her cheek. “Let me see that tough Michigan State warrior thing. What is it, a Trojan?”

Kerry smiled a little at that. “A Spartan.”

“What kind of a mascot is that for a college? It’s ridiculous.” He was trying to cheer her up with an old argument.

“Better than an alligator,” she replied dutifully, his alma mater having been University of Florida, in Gainesville. Then she sighed and stood. “Okay. I’d better go tell the staff. I’m sure they heard already, though.”

And, they had, Kerry thought, as she played with a cup on her desk, glancing around her little office. It wasn’t much—a few file cabinets, one plant in each corner which she took obsessive care over, a picture of Michigan in winter on one wall, and her wraparound desk with its recessed computer well.It was hers, though, earned by dogged determination and her own skills, not bought by her father or given to her as a favor. She was proud of that, and proud of being in charge of this diverse group of people, even if they were sometimes infuriating, and the programmers could never meet their deadlines, and she had to keep nagging the supervisors to keep their answer times down.

She’d felt like she was accomplishing something, especially when they’d won the new contract and the reps from Publix had told Robert it was mostly because they felt so comfortable dealing with her.

Wow. That had felt great. She’d gone out with a few friends that night and celebrated, for the first time in a few months, at Dave and Busters, and had ended up winning enough tickets to get herself a huge stuffed panda bear.

Now, she was just one of the hundred thousand employees in the new Tropical Storm 13

company. Nothing special. In fact, they’d probably laugh at her credentials, or find something in her performance they didn’t like and take her out of her position. And then what? Daddy was only letting her stay down here because she could show him her growing career, pointing to her steadily increasing responsibilities. A slip in that, and he’d call her home.

She took a breath and rubbed her eyes. “Come on now, think positive,”

she reminded herself. “Isn’t that what you just told everyone out there?”

The phone rang, and she pushed the speakerphone button. “Kerry here.”

“Ker, it’s Alex.” That was Alejandro Cruz, their MIS chief. “I’ve got some puta on the phone demanding I give access.”

Kerry closed her eyes. “Don’t tell me what that meant, okay?” she pleaded. “If it’s someone from them, just give them access; they probably can get it anyway. We don’t want to start off being obstructionists.”

Jefa, okay, I give them mail server transfer, and got a postbox dial ingoing, and I set up an admin account for them. What else?”

“That should keep them busy for a while.” Kerry sighed. “I’ll try to get some ground rules set when whoever it is that’s coming here after lunch arrives. Maybe they’ll be reasonable.”

Mierda.” Alex snorted.

“Don’t tell me what that is either, okay?” The director exhaled. “But in Michigan we’d say, ‘this sucks.’ ”

She spent the next few hours putting things in order, studying the latest statistics their reporting system had generated, and clearing her inbox. She had her head bent over the last performance review when a light knock came at the door. She looked up, to see Ray Rameriez standing there, holding up a Coke in one hand. “Oh, hi.”

“Lunch?” The tall, lanky technical supervisor raised a dark, inquiring eyebrow. “I hear they have picadillo in the café.”

Kerry made a face. “Ew.” She put her task down and stretched, working a kink out of her back. “Two years, and you’d think I’d be used to that stuff by now, but every time I eat it, I go right to sleep under my desk.” She fiddled with a pencil. “Besides, I’m not really hungry.”

“C’mon, c’mon, don’t let them get you down, Kerrisita. Come, I’ll get you some flan, I know you like that,” Ray coaxed, waggling his brows invitingly.

She smiled, but shook her head. “No thanks. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

She opened her drawer and pulled out a bag of miniature carrots. “Besides, I brought.”

“You’ll grow floppy ears one of these fine days.” Ray laughed. “You and your little carrotas.” He sighed. “You sure?”

She nodded. “Yes. Go on; get out of here for a while. I’ll probably need you when those guys show up.”

He lifted a hand, then let it drop in surrender. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised, then ducked out the door.

Kerry gazed pensively at the door, then sighed, and tossed her pencil down, bending her eyes towards her evaluation again and propping her head up on one hand. What’s the use anyway? The evaluations won’t be worth anything to the newcomers.

A soft knock interrupted her again. “Look, Ray, I told you…” She glanced 14 Melissa Good up, slightly annoyed, then stopped.

There was a stranger in her doorway. A tall, golden-skinned woman with midnight dark hair looked back at her, the lean body arranged against her doorway in a posture of confident arrogance. Kerry blinked, looked again, and was captured by the bluest, clearest eyes she’d ever seen. They drilled right through her with a blast of cool intensity, and a strange, almost haunting glimpse of something familiar. “Um…sorry. I thought you were someone else,” she managed weakly, getting to her feet.

The woman pushed off the doorframe and entered, putting a thick leather briefcase down on her visitor’s chair and extending a hand. “Dar Roberts.”

The voice was low, pleasant, and seemed to rumble in her ears. As she moved to take the woman’s hand, a soft scent of musky perfume mixed with leather reached her. “Kerry Stuart.” She took the taller woman’s hand and gripped it, feeling the strength in it as the woman returned the squeeze. “Are you, um…” She hesitated. “I mean, you’re from the new headquarters, right?

I’m sorry. I must seem kind of daft to you. I wasn’t expecting anyone until after lunch.”

Dar studied her quietly for a moment. “Yes, I am. I suppose my lunch doesn’t quite match yours,” she answered coolly. “Sorry.”

“Oh, right,” Kerry answered awkwardly. “Well, that’s okay, because I-I finished lunch already myself…but my staff is still out. What…I mean, can I get you some coffee, or something?”

“No thanks, I’m on a tight schedule,” the tall woman answered briskly.

“Let’s just get started; it won’t take long.” She motioned to the desk. “Sit down.” Dar watched the younger woman step back around her desk and seat herself, laying her forearms on the surface and looking back at her with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.

She’d briefly studied the picture Mark had so kindly provided, but the static personnel print gave no hint of the gentle presence the woman projected, or the clear steadiness of her eyes, whose color uncannily matched the ocean Dar saw out her window every sunny morning. There was also something familiar about her that Dar couldn’t quite put her finger on. No time for that, though. She sat down in the visitor’s chair. “You know why I’m here, right?”

Kerry’s fingers twisted a piece of binding tie. “I know you people are taking over. They really didn’t tell us much about what was going to happen, no.”

Dar cursed silently, making a mental note to send a mail ripping a new butt hole for whomever was on the account team for this cluster. “They were supp—” She put a hand out. “I’m not going to play games or beat around the bush. Bottom line is, what we purchased was your business.”

The blonde woman took a breath. “Okay…but what does that mean. We report to different people, or you want things done differently? I have reports…”

A hand silenced her. “It means we’re interested in the services you’re providing, not in how you provide them, or who does it,” she replied firmly.

“There’s nothing you do here we can’t do better, and cheaper, which is the whole point.”

Kerry stared at her. “What are you saying?” she asked softly. “You’re Tropical Storm 15

saying you don’t need us, is that it?”

Cool, blue eyes met hers. “Yes.”

“You can’t just come in here and fire everyone! We’ve been doing this for years; you can’t replace us just like that,” the director protested.

“Yes, I can,” Dar replied. “It’s what we do.” She gestured towards the door. “I have a programming group in Huntingdon, a support group just west of the airport that can take your calls, and a hardware installers division—all who already work for me.” She stood, and walked around the back of her chair, leaning against it. “Your people are inefficient: they take two sick days apiece every three weeks; half of them are late every day; your programmers haven’t met a deadline in two years; and you’ve had eighteen workman’s comp claims in the last four months.”

Kerry just looked at the surface of her desk and concentrated on breathing. Her chest hurt from the sudden, unexpected attack, and she realized she had no answer for the charges. She knew they were true, but it was a good staff. They were good people, just a little lazy sometimes, like everyone was. Her eyes traveled up to the hawk-like profile watching her, and she felt a quiet despair. Not everyone, not anymore. “I guess John was right,”

she finally said in quiet defeat.

Dar eyed her, slightly disconcerted. The usual reaction to her speech was anger, indignant protests, not…this. “Right about what?”

Those sea-toned eyes lifted. “You are here just to rape us.”

The executive flinched visibly. “That’s not an appropriate way to refer to it.” Kerry shrugged. “What are you going to do, fire me?” She took a breath.

“Is there something else I can do for you, Ms. Roberts? You seem to have all the information you need,” she studied the clip in her hands, “and…I’ve got a lot of paperwork I need to get started on, I guess.” She tried, but couldn’t keep the hint of hoarseness from entering her voice. Though she could feel Dar hovering, she refused to look up, unwilling to give the older woman the satisfaction of seeing the depth of her pain.

Dar felt a sudden twinge of shame. She could see the anguished tension in the slim shoulders across from her, and she bowed her head for a moment, feeling a sense of confusion very alien to her. She’d done this a dozen times already this year alone. “Look…”

“They’re not really that awful,” Kerry said softly. “Our customers like us.

We do a good job. I don’t…see why we need to be thrown away like garbage.”

She still kept her gaze on her hands. “What kind of people are you?”

“Look.” Dar found herself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “It’s a business. There’s nothing personal, understand?” The blonde head moved in a nod, then the manager looked up, her face closed, and wary, green eyes darkened with a quiet anger. “You have a week. I need a list of your senior people, so we can arrange sessions with them to start going over exactly what you do, and when and how you do it.”

Kerry swallowed. “You’re saying you want us to train the people who are going to take our jobs away.”

Dar looked quietly at her. “Yes.”

The anger dissolved into something else, and Kerry clenched her jaw.


16 Melissa Good

“All right,” she got out, her fingers clenching on the pencil that had been sitting on her desk. “I’ll see what I can arrange.” Arrange to get every damn one of them out of here before they can tell anyone anything, that is.

“You want to tell me to go to hell.” Dar remarked. “Don’t you?”

Kerry licked her lower lip. “No, ma’am, I don’t. I wasn’t raised that way.”

Dar sat down in the chair again and leaned forward, tilting her head to gaze into Kerry’s lowered face. “Sure you do,” she disagreed. “I did…when we were assimilated.” Green eyes slowly rose to meet hers.

“These are people, whose livelihoods you’re about to take away from them. It’s not funny.”

“And any one of them would gladly wave you goodbye, if the guy down the street offered a buck more an hour,” Dar replied. “This is a business, Ms.

Stuart. It’s not a charity.”

Kerry’s chin lifted. “Your people won’t be able to do half the job mine do,” she stated flatly. “So when you lose all these accounts, I’ll be there laughing, Ms…Roberts. Because you know what? Your people probably aren’t any better workers than mine are unless you employ robots just like you.”

Well, now. Dar leaned back, studying her. She hadn’t had this kind of challenge in a long, long time. Most of her accounts were fresh-faced MIS

majors who scurried around and tried to get on her good side, just long enough to realize she didn’t have one. One of her side tasks, besides stripping companies, was finding new talent for the corporation. Sometimes, she reflected, I find potential in the weirdest places. “That’s not a way to win friends and influence people, Ms. Stuart.”

Kerry gazed steadily at her. “Good thing for me I don’t need to do either in this case, I guess,” she said. “I noticed you didn’t deny my statement. Does that mean you agree with me?”

Well, well, well. Dar let the silence lengthen, watching the faint flare of Kerry’s nostrils as she too waited. “All right,” she said, “tell you what.” Her eyes caught the shift in Kerry’s expression, a wariness reshaping the slim planes of her face. “I can do this for half the budget you’re currently doing it with. Come up with a plan to do it for that, in a week, and I’ll look at it.”

Kerry’s jaw dropped. “Fifty percent? That’s impossible!”

Dar shrugged. “Your choice. See, we can leverage out the costs because we use less overhead per account. If we’ve got someone who needs support, for instance, we just add them to the current load over at the MTC, and we don’t have to pay for rent, a phone switch, the consoles, desks, all that crap again.” She smiled. “You can’t do that.” Will she take the bait? Dar watched the muscles bunch in her jaw, not sure which way she wanted Kerry to jump.

“No, but that means…” Kerry stopped and exhaled. People would have to go. It was the biggest cost factor, she knew. Looking at the closed, chill face across from her, she knew this damn iceberg woman knew it too. But maybe she could save some of them. It was worth a try. “All right. You’ll be hearing from me,” she said, her voice quietly icy.

Well, she hates me. Dar sighed. One among many. “Fine. You can send it over in e-mail; you should be added to our post office by now.” She lifted her cell phone and dialed a single code, holding it to her ear until she heard a gruff voice on the other end. “Mark, you all done?”


Tropical Storm 17

A short laugh came through the phone. “Lock, stock, barrels, monkeys, hair dryers, and their accountant’s latest lunch list,” he advised her. “Mail’s up, servers locked down. Anything else I can do for you today?”

“Thanks.” Dar folded the phone up. “You’re up on mail. Tell your people not to make any administrative changes to your servers, and you can expect a team here tomorrow to start going over procedures.”

Kerry folded her hands over her desk. “How did you know all that about our personnel statistics?”

Pale blue eyes lanced into her. “We broke into your server database this morning and extracted it.” Dar smiled. “Your security sucks. You might want to start your review there.” She felt a sense of quiet triumph, which faded as Kerry returned her look with one of stony dislike. “Nothing personal.”

“No.” The blonde stated quietly. “I can see that.” She stood. “Would you like to look around?”

The last thing Dar needed was the nickel tour. She reminded herself she had six or seven conference calls to take care of back at the office, so she was very surprised when she heard her voice answering “Sure.”

Kerry just nodded and stepped around the desk, running a hand through her pale hair and pushing it back off her face. She was wearing a pair of fairly snug jeans and a short-sleeved white lace shirt that displayed an outdoor tan, which tightened against her body as she took a deep breath. “All right, follow me.”

She circled the desk and brushed by Dar as she headed for the door to the office. The dark-haired woman caught a hint of clean soap and the faintest hint of apricot as she belatedly stood and headed after Kerry. Well, well, well, indeed.

IT HAD, DAR later mused, been a very hostile afternoon. She’d gotten the feeling that word had spread quickly, since they’d only made it to the programmers’ nests before she was starting to get those dagger-in-the-eye looks from the inmates. She half expected her car to be keyed by the time they finished up, but apparently no one had figured out which one it was. Not surprising, since an LX470 sport utility truck was hardly what they expected a VP Ops to be driving.

The head programmer had possibilities, she conceded, if you could dig her out of her shell long enough to talk code with her, which Dar had. The support and IS managers were useless, and listening to the calls as she passed through, seemingly oblivious, had allowed her to catch at least two individuals telling customers complete lies, and two others using the opportunity to make social arrangements. Stuart had heard that last one, Dar realized, as she’d seen the look of dismay in the woman’s startlingly open face. Kerry Stuart. Dar leaned back against the leather and allowed herself the luxury of a few minutes of quiet thought. The kid isn’t stupid, and she’s gutsy…but damn, is she an innocent. She really wasn’t ready for this, but all in all, handled the shock pretty well, considering.

What Dar couldn’t get out of her mind was that nagging sense of 18 Melissa Good familiarity. Do we shop in the same place or something? Not likely. Kerry lived in Kendall, just past the Turnpike in one of the mazes of suburban rental clusters frequented by white-collar workers in the area. Maybe she comes down to the beach a lot? Not that Dar spent a whole lot of time on South Beach, but she did get down there from time to time, and would stroll along the boardwalk.

She gave up, knowing it would come to her eventually. Her watch meeped softly, and she glanced down, surprised to see how late it was. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, then tapped her console-mounted cell phone. A moment later it was answered by Maria’s singsong voice.

“Hello, Maria.”

“Dar, where are you?” her secretary answered in a lowered voice.

“In my car, on the way back from Associated. Why?” the executive replied, a touch puzzled. “You knew where I was.”

“Stay away. Stay far, far away. ¡ Dios mío! A man, he backed a truck into the facilities room downstairs, and took out all the controls for the air conditioning,” Maria replied with a groan. “It must be like an oven in here, Dar. My head is roasting.”

The executive winced. “Oh boy.” She considered. “Did they down the servers, at least?” she asked, then she slapped herself on the head. “What am I thinking? Maria, get out of there before you pass out.”

Ay, I have my little fan, but it is like I am cooking…turning crispy,” the secretary told her. “Thank you very much. I will pack up my things and be on my way.”

“Any ETA for restore?” Dar asked with a sigh, as she got off onto State Road 836, which would take her cross-town to the office. “You should have called me.”

“No, no. They’re arguing who is to blame; that is first.” Maria sounded disgusted, unusual for the Spanish woman.

“All right. Call in first tomorrow, Maria. I don’t want you coming in if it’s still out, it’ll only get worse,” Dar decided as she rubbed her temples. “Get out of there.”

“I don’t care what anyone says, Dar, you are an angel,” Maria replied warmly. “They can all kiss my…how you call them? Grits.”

That got a smile from the executive. “Thanks, Maria. Nice to hear that after getting out of Associated. They don’t much like me right now.” Her mind conjured up the parting look she’d gotten from Kerry, which had been as full of disgust as any she’d had the misfortune of getting in a while. Normally, she could have cared less, but that kid… “Anyway, good night, Maria.”

“Good night, Dar. Drive carefully, please,” the secretary reminded her.

“There are crazies out there.”

Dar smiled quietly. It was nice, sometimes, to have someone be concerned about you, even if they were doing it as part of their job. “I will.”

She disconnected, and settled back to negotiate the traffic, putting on a New Age CD and rubbing her neck to try and relieve the nagging soreness that had developed during her drive.

That kid… Dar rested her head against the back of the seat. Ah well. She exhaled. The blonde would probably have a better offer by tomorrow, and leave as big as mess as she could for Dar to clean up.


Tropical Storm 19

Happened every time.

AFTER WATCHING HER unwelcome guest leave, Kerry walked back into her office and closed the door. She stood silently in the middle of the floor for a minute, then looked around. Pale blue carpet, light gray walls, wood grain desk—it wasn’t elegant, given what she’d grown up with, but...

Damn it!

“I worked so hard for this,” she whispered, sitting down in her visitor’s chair. “Damn it! This isn’t fair.” She let her head sink into her hands, bracing her elbows on the chair arms.

There was a soft sound as the door opened behind her. “Ker?”

“Yeah,” she replied, not bothering to move.

An arm slipped around her shoulders, and she looked up to see Ray’s concerned face. “Jefa, don’t let it get to you like that. Blow her off, the big bitch.” He clucked at her, rubbing her neck. “What a scary person. I think she’s related to Cruella DeWhatever from that doggy movie.”

A tiny laugh escaped from Kerry. “Ray, John was right. They want to get rid of all of us.” She looked up at him. “She’s giving me a chance to come up with a plan. If I can cut the budget in half, she’ll consider it, and maybe some folks will get to keep their jobs.“ A faint shake of her head signaled her discouragement. “There’s just no way.”

Ray put his hands on his hips. “She’s giving you a chance to do that?” he repeated, his voice surprised. “That’s like…unheard of, from what I understand. How did you manage to get her to do that?” He lowered his tone.

“Kerry, from what I was just hearing that big bitch just comes in and,” he snapped his fingers, “we all go bye-bye.”

Kerry paused and thought. “Is it?” Her brow creased. “I don’t know. I just…I guess I wasn’t very nice to her. You’d think that would make her mad, but it didn’t. Matter of fact, I think she kind of liked it.” She made a wry face at him.

He snorted. “Oh yes. She seems that type,” he remarked snidely. “I see the leather and the whip cracking around that one, you bet.”

The director sighed. “I don’t know if I can come up with anything,” she admitted. “But I’ll give it a try, Ray. Try to save as many people as I can.” She gave him a tight smile. “But I think you better give Mona at Alternative Resources a call. Tell her we might have some prospects for her staff pool.”

Mañana.” Ray patted her on the shoulder. “Come on. We’re going down to Fat Tuesdays and doing the happy hour. Come with us.”

A knock sounded on her door. “Ms. Stuart?”

They looked up. “Come on in, Anita.” Kerry watched the short, slim accounting clerk bustle over, her arms filled with fanfold printouts. “That the stuff?”

“The budget, yes, and payroll, accounts payable and receivables,” the woman replied, setting them on her desk. “Anything else you need right now?” She pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up and sniffed. “I have to reload the line printer if you do.”

“No. Thanks, that’ll keep me busy for a while.” Kerry smiled at her 20 Melissa Good wearily. “Go on, Ray. Let me get started on this stuff.”

The tall man blinked at her. “You can’t do this all night. Why don’t you just get a fresh thing going in the morning?”

“Go on, get out of here,” Kerry repeated, rising and going to her desk, where she started pulling the various reports apart. It was going to be a long, long night, she could see that. “Wait. Ray, can you get me a paper box?” No sense in sitting here and doing the initial review. “Might as well make myself miserable in my own apartment.”

“Kerry…”

“Shoo,” the blonde woman said. “Sooner I get started, sooner we know how bad it’s going to be.”

THE CAR FERRY was very quiet as Dar sat on it in solitary splendor, her car placed neatly in the center of the deck as the vehicle bobbed over the waves towards the island. The wind was blowing into her face, so the sound of the engines was muted, and she rested her pounding head against the door as the black waters slipped under the keel.

She was hot and exhausted, and more than a little fed up, having spent the preceding ten hours in a high-rise building with no air conditioning, doing what she could to get things fixed. Which was considerable, granted, and when she’d finally browbeaten a contractor into obtaining a replacement panel and installing it at midnight, the few people left in the building had cheered and clapped for her.

All three of them: two cleaners and the security guard, their uniforms sticking to them and drenched with sweat. Just like she was. She’d sent the rest of the staff home, and stayed there, propping the fourteenth floor emergency doors open to get a hint of a humid breeze in the place. Calls to the building managers, to her own facilities department, to infrastructure because the security panel links had been blown…all yielded no results, so she’d finally called the building contractors, and gotten the owner on the phone at ten PM.

Thank god they only had a five-year contract, and it was up for renewal.

That had been enough threat leverage to get him off his ass and get a part out, along with five grumbling technicians. Her glare behind them had done the rest, and by one AM, a low shudder passed through the building as the huge roof units hummed to life.

Now it was two AM, and she was finally going home. Business would go on as usual tomorrow, with no interruptions, and that was the important thing, since they couldn’t run the huge server cascades unless the air was on.

She’d left a note on her desk to find out about a backup air unit for the computer room, for the next time.

She also started coming up with answers as to why there was a this time.

Infrastructure was her responsibility and she’d dropped the ball on this one.

Damn it.

She sighed and closed her eyes, letting the air conditioning in the Lexus hit her full blast. Another problem solved, and she was fairly sure not one person would thank her for it tomorrow. Save maybe the cleaning ladies, who Tropical Storm 21

had timidly appeared at her office door while she was hollering at the contractor, bearing a pitcher of cold, home-brewed ice tea and a plastic cup. It was the only thing that had made her smile all night.

With a gentle clank, the ferry docked, and she waited for the deck hands to remove the chocks around her wheels before she shifted the car into drive and carefully eased it up the sloping ramp and onto the island. A few minutes later she was tucking the Lexus into its spot under the condo, then pulling herself up the stairs and through the door, her fingers tapping in the code all by themselves, the beeps sounding startlingly loud in the quiet of the early morning.

It was just as quiet inside. Dar dropped her briefcase in her office and trudged into her bedroom, the cool blue of the walls blissfully soothing to her tired eyes. She put her jacket back onto its hanger and kicked off her shoes, then unzipped her skirt and stepped out of the garment. As she unbuttoned and removed her shirt, she could feel the tension of the day between her shoulder blades, and she took a moment to lean against the wall and let the cool surface leech some of the residual warmth from her skin.

Hell of a day. Dar pushed away from the wall and went into the bathroom, reaching in to start the water running in the large, circular glass shower. The scent of the chlorinated water was comfortingly familiar, and she slipped out of her underwear and under the warm spray with a heartfelt sigh.

A kaleidoscope of images flickered through her mind’s eye as she stood under the shower, turning up the heat a little as the stiff muscles in her neck grudgingly began to relax under the pounding. She could taste the faint hint of tea on the back of her tongue, and a remembered scent of apricot tickled her senses as she thought about her long night and the unexpected challenges of the day.

After her shower, she was exhausted but not sleepy, so she threw on a pair of old cotton shorts and a T-shirt, and trudged into the kitchen. Its counters were bare, but she ignored them and retrieved a large mug from the cabinet, filling it with milk and adding a spoonful of honey before she put it in the microwave to heat. The machine hummed, and she sat down on the stool nearby to wait, hooking her feet into the rungs and propping her head up on her hand as she leaned against the counter.

The air conditioning cycled on, loud in the otherwise silent condo. Then a soft chime sounded. Dar gave the computer on the counter a glance, and her brow furrowed as she saw the blinking box in the corner. “Thought I cleaned my inbox out before I left the office. Mail?”

“Mail, Dar Roberts, one,” the terminal answered, connected via its ISDN

link directly to the office.

“Read.” Dar crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, waiting for the microwave bell to ring.

Sent by: Kerry Stuart, Time: 1:20 AM

“Well, well.” Dar muttered softly to herself. “What do you know?” She saw the length. “Don’t read.”

The bell went off, but Dar remained near the screen, reading the long, detailed message with interest. It started off with “I need some details 22 Melissa Good clarified.” And ended with “Please forward this information as soon as possible due to the deadline you imposed.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Instead of being upset, Dar smiled. The questions were literate, and though a touch on the naïve side, intelligent and thoughtful.

Just like that kid is, I guess. She pulled her stool up next to the computer, retrieving her warm milk and sipping on it as she composed a detailed reply.

“That’ll have to do her…at least for now,” the tall woman commented, as she paused with her mouse over the Send button. She studied the message, then added a single line to the bottom, and her initials. A click, and it was gone. She took her milk and wandered into the living room, dropping down onto the soft leather couch that faced the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Her view was of the Atlantic at night, black waters bisected by a silver lance of moonlight, and the tiny, colored lights of the sea buoys. On the horizon, a cruise ship was gliding silently past, a patch of sparkle against the darkness, and briefly, Dar wished she was on it.

KERRY STIFLED A yawn as she checked her front door lock, a habit before going to bed. Her apartment looked like a paper mill had attacked her.

Stacks of white sheets lay everywhere, but she was moderately satisfied with her first night’s work. Not that she’d gotten anywhere, but at least she knew what questions to start asking. To prove it, she’d shot off a list of ten of them to Cruella, her pet name for the overbearing and obnoxious Dar Roberts.

“Nice surprise for her in the morning, huh?” she commented to the panda, who was sitting with his arms outstretched on the second of two stuffed chairs in the small living room. The rest of the space was taken up by a cloth couch, a small table that seated four people, two large bookcases overflowing with books, and a small desk that held her computer. The room was bright and cheerful. Pastel fabrics and Indian-style throw rugs brought in a touch of color, and the walls were hung with scenes of her subtropical surroundings. Her favorite, a sunset over Key West, was above the TV stand, and was flanked by two small embroideries: a dolphin her aunt had made her and a teddy bear from an old friend of her mother’s.

“Oh…heck.” She sighed, remembering she’d forgotten to send mail to the staff regarding the visits by procedures people the next day. She walked over and flipped on her PC again, flopping down in her desk chair and pulling one leg up under her as she waited for it to boot. After her desktop was presented, she went into mail, composed a quick note to the staff, telling them to cooperate nicely with the people coming in, and told the system to send the mail.

It dialed up and connected to their office mail server, and she watched as the message transferred, then blinked in surprise as the system indicated it was downloading a message. “What idiot is up at this time of the morning, sending mail?” she wondered. The message finished downloading, and popped into her inbox.

Sent by: Dar Roberts

Subject: re: Your Questions

Time: 2:55 AM


Tropical Storm 23

“Oh. That idiot,” she muttered, hesitating before she clicked on the message, surprised at the nervousness she felt. “Well, that explains things. It’s obvious she’s an alien who never sleeps, and who has a port in her head she plugs things into,” she decided, then took a breath and opened the mail. She read through the sections, noting that the executive hadn’t bothered responding to the admittedly snarky comments in her note. “Well, okay. I think she’s wrong there, but…” She found another item. “Oh! I hadn’t thought of that.”

Dar’s writing was strong and to the point; she could almost hear the words coming from the older woman, and surprisingly, they were lacking the condescension she’d half expected. Her final point answered, she let her eyes drop to the sign-off and blinked. “What?” She read it again.

Corporate policy states that all personnel achieve a reasonable amount of sleep in every twenty-four hour period. Please adhere to the regulations from now on.

DR

“What’s that supposed to mean? What is she, some kind of lunatic? She gives me a crazy deadline of one stupid week to do something in, then says to make sure I sleep?” Kerry let out a vexed sigh, then set up a reply and cut most of the message out, except the header and the last line. “Okay, Ms. Wise Guy Alien from Mars, take that.” She highlighted the time on Dar’s header and made it boldface, then dropped down below the executive’s last line and typed in a comment. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With a smirk, she sent the message, then turned off her monitor and trudged over to the lamp, shutting it off and heading into her bedroom. It featured a neatly made double-sized bed covered with a striped comforter in southwestern colors against one wall under the small window, a five-drawer dresser against one wall, and a long, three-drawer dresser with a half-height mirror, all in white wood. The carpet was a pale blue pile, and she wriggled her toes into its softness with a contented sigh as she crossed the floor, then climbed into bed and got under the covers.

She could see the stars from there, and she watched them twinkle, trying to dispel the awful feeling of doom that had sat on her chest since Dar’s visit.

For her people, sure, she felt horrible, and hoped she could help them. But for herself… She glanced around the neat bedroom and swallowed, remembering how good she’d felt when she finally got things just how she wanted them, and how proud she was of how nice everything looked. She liked it here. Her neighbors were nice and the complex was friendly; there was a mall close by for shopping; and she even had a little grill on the porch for when a few friends came over and barbecued.

It was so nice to be out on her own. No one questioned if she stayed up late or stayed out. No one questioned how she dressed, or who she talked to.

She was…very happy here.

Now this.

Part of her hated the corporation. Part of her also wanted to hate Dar Roberts, who applied the corporation’s polices with such obvious relish. They felt large, impersonal, and scornful of anything she might try to do. And yet…


24 Melissa Good Kerry sighed. It was obvious Dar was smart; she had an air about her that made Kerry believe she didn’t get crossed much, and when she did, the results were unpredictable. But on the tour, she’d asked some very sharp questions, and those incredible blue eyes hadn’t missed much.

Whoa. Incredible? What am I thinking here? Kerry firmly closed her own eyes, and pulled the blanket up around her chin. The only thing incredible about Dar Roberts is her incredible arrogance. So there.


Загрузка...