Title: Genteel Obsession

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Original

Pairing: None

Status: WIP

Sequel/Series:

Archive: WWOMB, all others ask, give me a credit, and post my email address for feedback.

Criticism: Yes.

Feedback: Yes. poet_77665@yahoo.com

My private forum at fanfiction.net is http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?fanaction=userforum&RoomID=1762
Web pages: Scribe Scribbles at http://www.geocities.com/poet_77665 for original prose, poetry and madness, and fanfiction. The Poetic Site, for my X Files Krycek/Mulder Poetic slash series. http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver
Most of my work can also be found at http://www.fanfiction.net under the name Scribe.

Disclaimer: None. :) These are all my original characters.

Summary:

Author's Notes:

Warning: Politically incorrect attitudes toward women (well, he's twisted, okay?), and stalking issues.

Rating: Overall series, NC-17

Chapter One: Prologue

I like the ones who can disappear, even while you're looking at them. Butterflies, I mean. And the others.

Yes, yes, I know that most collectors favor the showier varieties. They are lured by the jewel tones and opalescent shimmer. And yes, the monarchs are impressive, with their red orange and stark black color scheme, and broad wingspan. And the blues can go from sapphire to the gentlest powder. And the greens can range from emerald to almost yellow...

Those last are more attractive to me, because they can blend in more. The jade green can flit almost unseen through the tangle of a jungle. Hunter green can crouch in summer grass. The green-yellow-yellow-green-almost-gold can flit through the autumn leaves of the aspen tree, blending even as they move. Their fluttering becomes a part of the shifting, dancing leaves, and it’s hard to tell that there’s something alive there. But I always know.

It's been like this since my boyhood. It's a hobby, I suppose. But it's taken a different direction from the typical run of obsession. I've never been thrilled by the cataloging, the meticulous naming and preparing and presenting and displaying that seems to consume most lepidopterists.

Yes, I have my displays. Under glass, and on cork boards. Neatly pinned, stretched out in fragile perfection. My walls hold blazes of blue and red and purple and black and yellow and green...Not so much green. Because that is so natural.

I had a visitor ask me once. He'd heard that there were butterflies and moths that had the most amazing protective coloring. Insects that could resemble a dead leaf, or a living one. A twig at rest. Shadows in grass. Yes, I'd agreed, there were those. So why didn’t I display them?

I showed him the large terrariums, the lidded glass tanks, lined with vegetation, and dead leaves, and loam. With branches, and dishes of sugar water. And he stared for a long, long time, before at last he tapped the glass near what seemed to be a pile of leaf mold. And it twitched. Tissue paper scalloped wings, beige and brown, flexed, then settled. "By damn, I almost didn't see him."

"Her." I say. "Didn't see her. For the live ones, I only collect the females."

That's how it's always been.

With the brightly colored ones, the one's I'll preserve and display, it doesn't matter. Male, female, whichever is brightest. But for my specials, for my pets... Only the female. The small ones, and the large ones. Only the females. Only the women.

Chapter Two: History

Tess had been gone for almost two years before Stephen began to feel The Need again. He had rather hoped that he was beyond it now, but he knew that he was fooling himself with that delusion. After all, he was only forty-three, and a young, well kept forty-three at that. The Need would be with him for several more decades.

If he'd been another man, he would have either controlled it by now, or it would have destroyed him. If he had been poor... He liked to think that he would have had the inner strength to resist the temptation. It was more likely, though, that he would have indulged anyway, and been caught long ago.

But Stephen Honeywell Baxter had been blessed, or cursed, with the wealth and power to feed his private obsession. Discreetly.

He already had his Hobby House. It was a small concrete bunker set at the far end of the spacious back garden. It had been built for the brief obsession Stephen's father had gone through with woodworking back when Stephen was a toddler. The noise and mess of such physical activities could not be allowed close to the house, of course, so the Hobby House had been built at a suitable distance.

There were still reminders of that time about the house: a tie rack with slightly skewed hooks, a pipe stand (forever empty because neither he, nor his father, had ever smoked a pipe), a rather nice wooden box...

Stephen was fond of this last. It was his father's last project, and was pretty well done. It was about the size of a large jewelry box, very simple. The corners had been carefully sanded down, smoothed to gentle curves instead of sharp angles. It wasn't varnished, but had been rubbed and oiled to satin smoothness. It was cedar, and the inside was still fragrant, almost forty years after it was made. Stephen kept it on a shelf in his office, and it held various treasures, changing over the years.

But as it was with every passion his father had, woodworking had been temporary. The tools gathered dust for several years before eventually being donated to a properly grateful local school. Then the little building had stood empty till a twelve year old Stephen appropriated it for his own uses.

Chapter 3: Morning Routine

The morning started off like any other. Stephen's alarm went off at six, but he had been lying awake, staring at the ceiling for the last half hour.

Stephen took the clock and shut off the alarm, waited a moment for the second hand to move past the set time, then reset it. He always did this first thing, never setting the clock down till it had been reset. He had learned this from his father. "Never an excuse for oversleeping this way, son. None of that 'I forgot to set the alarm' nonsense." No, indeed. No nonsense.

That done, Stephen stretched, and sighed, considering whether or not he really did want to get up and go in to the office. He did not have to. His grandfather had astutely structured the company so that it could be run with a minimum of actual effort on behalf of the Baxters. They worked when they felt like it, and the money flowed in.

Grandfather must have been thinking of Stephen's father, Garth, when he set up the system. Grandfather had taken what his father had left him, and turned it into the empire that it now was. He had looked at his own son, growing up in an atmosphere of indulgence and privilege, and had known that the boy was not going to be much of a business man. Thus he had structured things so that committees and boards of trusted, intelligent, ruthlessly business minded people did the actual day to day running of the enterprise. The actual efforts of a Baxter were not strictly necessary.

That had been fortuitous thinking on Grandfather’s part. Garth spent most of his time amusing himself, making a token appearance now and then. Grandfather had accepted it philosophically. When Stephen showed both an interest, and an aptitude, for the business, he had been overjoyed. He died happy, knowing that at least one Baxter had some interest in the company.

Stephen was active in running his holdings, but he sometimes indulged himself by playing hooky, knowing that his interests were well looked after. Putting off the decision for the moment, Stephen got up and padded naked into the bathroom. Usually he slept in boxers, but last night he had felt strangled by the simple garment. Minutes after he had gone to bed, they had been skinned off and tossed toward the bathroom. He retrieved them on his way.

The first thing he did was go to the toilet, lift the seat, and have a long, satisfying pee. It lasted a good while. He had imbibed the fruit of the vine a good bit last night. In fact, he had consumed an amount of fine wine who’s cost would most likely have paid one of his employees a week's salary. The indulgence was just another symptom of The Need.

He finished, shaking the last pungent yellow drops off. Then he just stood there and stroked himself idly for a moment. The stiffness had not disappeared with the evacuation. He sighed. Cold water this morning.

His bathroom would have drawn swoons of ecstacy from most people. But all he noticed was that there was a slight film on the mirror that ran the length of one wall over the sink and counter. He made a mental note to have Miss Fulham have a talk with the upstairs maid. The woman was paid generously, there was no excuse for shirking.

The counter was black marble, the polished stone adorned with milky swirls. The floor was tiled in a retro checkerboard of black-and-white tiles, while the walls and ceiling were a silvery grey. The bathtub was of the same polished black marble. It was huge, over six feet long, four feet wide, and two feet deep. The fixtures were brushed nickel, rich and subdued, no flashy chrome or plate. It had cost a fortune when his mother had it specially designed in Italy, back in the sixties. There were pictures of it floating around in old decorator magazines. Of course, back then the walls and floor had been turquoise, not one of mother's better endeavors.

But, as was usual each morning, Stephen bypassed the tub in favor of the more modest shower in the corner. The shower was for every day no nonsense cleansing, the tub was for relaxation.

The clothes he had worn last night were just where he had left them, puddled on the floor in front of the clothes hamper. He had simply been too preoccupied to worry about them last night. Ordinarily he was meticulous in his habits. But, he thought, what was the point in being able to do as you pleased, including being a bit of a hog, if you did not actually do as you pleased occasionally?

But habits are hard to break. Instead of leaving the clothes for the already slacking maid, he deposited them in the hamper. As he did so, he noticed that the towel and washcloth from his previous morning's shower were still there. He frowned. Really, there was no excuse for this. He would have Fulham dismiss the woman today. There was sure to be a suitable replacement in her circle of friends, or perhaps Dominic's. It was better this way. If he was going to succumb to The Need again, he could not risk an outsider in the house.

Stephen stepped into the shower stall and turned on the spray, setting the water to a level just too cool to be comfortable. He shampooed and conditioned his hair, using the special concoctions that were mixed for him exclusively. They would never see the market, because they would be cost prohibitive. Only the snobbiest, most self aggrandizing would ever be willing to pay what it would cost them to turn a profit.

Next came a full body scrub with a rough loofa sponge, using an herbal shower gel that was even more costly than his hair care products. He was careful to clean every crevice and crease. By the time he rinsed off, and finished with a short burst of icy cold water, his tumescence had gone. Good. He did not care to start the day by beating off. He preferred to save his energy. There was always lunch break, if the mood took him.

He dried himself briskly with a towel that was more of a sheet. Again he paid careful attention to every nook and fold of his body. Dampness could lead to chaffing, or fungus. He toweled his hair, then stood in front of the sink and took up the blow dryer.

He set it to maximum force, minimum heat, and began to comb out his hair, playing the blast expertly to dry the locks. He was lucky with his hair, he mused. So far he had not lost more than a few strands a month. His father had a healthy, full crop of hair when he died in his sixties, and his grandfather had been the same in his eighties. Stephen probably would not have to worry about thinning hair, but he was not taking chances.

When it was dry, he took a comb and smoothed it into thick, shining gold waves. He turned his head this way and that, examining it. Not bad. Still no grey. When it did arrive, it was likely that he would simply go from golden blonde to ash blonde. That was acceptable.

He went back into the bedroom, humming, and got fresh socks and underwear out of his drawer. Miss Fulham occasionally tried to persuade him to hire a valet. "As suits your station." But Stephen preferred to do these small things himself. If he ever needed any real help dressing or caring for his things, there was always Dominic. Besides, the fewer staff, the better. Less holes to plug.

He pulled on the pearl grey executive socks, and the pristine white silk boxers, then added a plain cotton ribbed undershirt. His father had always worn an undershirt, and he did, too, when he went out in public.

Stephen switched on the light in his closet and stepped in. One side business suits, the other shirts and more casual wear. He ran his hands over the shoulders of the hanging garments, considering. It was autumn, and the weather he glimpsed through the window had looked fine. He bypassed the Armani and Lords and Tailors, settling on a conservative Brooks Brother's number in a shade of grey slightly darker than his socks, with an almost imperceptible pinstripe. To this he added a crisp ivory shirt (his monogram at the cuffs and collar almost invisible in the same shade thread), a narrow black belt, and s pair of eminently sensible oxford shoes. The shoes had been handmade in England. They were ten years old, looked brand new, and were so comfortable that it was almost like going barefoot. Comfortable shoes were a perk of wealth that Stephen felt too few people appreciated. These went back to the maker once a year for a 'tune up', and would last the rest of his life, if he cared for them.

Now the tie. They hung on the back wall, with their own light just above them. He considered. He collected ties, one of his hobbies. The unusual ones were in a separate closet. Those were the ones with exotic or whimsical designs. He smiled as he thought of the reaction he would get if he wore any of them in public. Like the one with the Three Stooges, or the polar bear, or Dorothy, the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, and the Cowardly Lion tripping down the yellow brick road... Wall Street would probably react.

Instead he chose a maroon silk with a subdued grey domino pattern. Image, image, image. How one presented oneself was so important. He equated most of life with his butterflies, and had decided that he was an odd combination of shower and hider. He stood out from the majority of the world due to his position and wealth, but he blended into that smaller world of his social strata perfectly.

Stephen took his selections back into the bedroom, laying them out carefully on the bed. A foot kicked, rumpling the jacket sleeve.

Stephen moved the garment and smoothed it. He looked at the woman occupying the other side of the bed and scolded, "Don't do that. I've already decided on these, and I really don’t want to have to steam any wrinkles out of them."

She grunted. Well, really, you couldn’t expect any more around that ball gag, could you?

Chapter Four: Household

Traci watched as the john got dressed. She was lying on her back, hands cuffed to the bars of the headboard of the large bed. Son of a bitch had cinched those motherfuckers tight, and she was going to have marks on her wrists: bruises, maybe cuts.

She would have sighed, if not for the red rubber ball buckled between her jaws. He really had not been all that brutal, other than that. She had been with a lot worse. Like the one with the needles, or the one with the fondness for rubbing hot pepper sauce into places where it would provide the most pain. Then there were always the one's who just plain wanted to slap the shit out of you. She regularly had to take time off for black eyes to fade. That was, of course, unless her pimp found someone who LIKED the merchandise marked up.

And after all, she was being paid well. She was getting five hundred, so she figured that Rafe must have gotten at least twice that much.

The john slipped into his crisply pressed shirt, buttoning every button. Monogrammed. Her eyesight was good, and she could make out the letters SHB. She was not supposed to know his name, of course. Usually the johns told her a fake name, so she could scream it while they fucked her. He had said she could call him whatever she wished, it did not matter. So the initials were a clue to his real identity, a hint. She filed it away idly. Who could tell what would eventually prove useful?

He stepped into knife creased pants, carefully tucking his shirt in smoothly before zipping up and putting on the belt. Then he slipped into shoes she knew sure as hell didn't come from PayLess. After that, he went to the mirror and put on his tie. Rafe wore ties sometimes, but they were the kind that were already made up when he bought them. This dude tied his own, knotting it meticulously. Yeah, he was a thorough bastard. He had her in every hole she had last night. He was not old, but usually they were starting to slow down at least a little by his age.

It was kind of creepy the way he was ignoring her. Hell, she did not expect cuddles and kisses the morning after. She was a whore, and she was at ease with that. But the complete lack of acknowledgement, unless she intruded upon his activities, was unusual.

He selected a gold Rolex, and and a pearl tie tack with matching cuff links from a box on the dresser. After studying the effect in the mirror, he changed them for plain gold. Jesus, she thought, he's taking more care with his dress and looks than I do when I go to meet a client.

Stephen slipped on his suit vest, then the jacket, settling it perfectly. He examined himself in the mirror again, twisting to get the full effect. Once again he thought about purchasing a free standing floor mirror so he could properly see how he looked from behind. Perhaps a nice antique. Something Victorian, or earlier.

At last he walked over to the bed and turned his attention to the tart. He examined her dispassionately.

She was young, no more than twenty-one or two. But she was not going to look young much longer, living as she did, he thought. Already there were signs. She carried faint scars: breasts, ass, belly, thighs... Accepting pain was part of her profession, she was paid extra for it. But it was impossible to do that and remain unmarked, no matter how careful you tried to be, how sternly your pimp instructed the johns.

She was naked, the remains of a brown satin teddy and camisole lying about her in flaps and strips. Some of them he had torn away with his teeth, some had been sliced away with an Exacto knife. My, that had made her nervous. But he had not touched her skin, had left it unmarred. With all his years at his various hobbies, he had the skill to cut with precision.

"You did well last night," he said. Adequate, actually, but there was no reason to be harsh. She had tried. He opened the nightstand and took out an envelope. Going to the dresser, he got his wallet, extracted another hundred, and added it to the cash in the envelope.

Going back to the bed he laid it on the stand. "That's for your underthings." He knew it was far too much, but he felt inclined to give her a tip. She would not be telling her pimp, he was sure.

He checked his watch. "Your services were purchased up till nine o'clock. Dominic will be up to release you then, and see that you get home."

Without another word he turned and left the room, leaving her lying there cuffed and naked, butt resting in a cold smear of last night's jizm. She wondered if she would be allowed a shower before she left. Probably not. This time she did sigh, whuffing it noisily through her nose, and settled back to wait for nine o'clock.

Stephen made his way downstairs to the brakfastroom He wondered how many houses left in the world actually had rooms designated specifically for the first meal of the day? Probably not that many. The more proletariate breakfast nook was not uncommon. little crannies tucked off kitchens throughout America, barely larger than booths in a family restaurant. The breakfast room here was as large as the master bedroom of most of today's 'starter homes'. It was complete with french windows, a modest sideboard, and an orange tabby cat sleeping in the midst of a small jungle of potted plants.

He paused to scratch behind the cat's ears before sitting. It lifted it's head just enough for it's chin to clear it's paws and slitted yellow eyes at him. It yawned, showing ivory fangs and an amazing amount of pink gullet and tongue, then settled back to sleep, having accepted it's due. Stephen admired cats. They never seemed unsure of their place in the world.

He sat at the only place that was graced by a place setting and briskly rang the small handbell that sat to the right. He had almost stopped being self conscious about that. While he found it ridiculous, it pleased Miss Fulham. She was an excellent employee, and he saw no reason to deny her such a harmless eccentricity.

He was in the act of withdrawing his hand after replacing it when the door to the kitchen swung open. Miss Fulham entered, dressed in a sober grey dress that might as well have been a uniform for all the personality it expressed. Stephen had known the woman for over twenty years, and couldn't recall more than a dozen or so times he'd seen her dressed in anything but grey or black. Unless he had been mistaken, and some of that black had actually been a particularly deep shade of navy.

She was a sturdy, vigorous woman with hair the color of dusty cobwebs, and was somewhere between her mid fifties and early sixties. He could not be any more accurate than that, as she was one of those dour faced women who scarcely changed throughout their lives. He would never have been rude enough to ask her age.

Miss Fulham set his morning half grapefruit in front of him, cradled on a bed of crushed ice. The edges were precisely scalloped, the sections neatly loosened. It had been sprinkled with just enough salt to draw the juice and blunt the tartness, and an obscenely red marischino cherry graced the pit in the center. "How would we like our eggs this morning, sir?"

Stephen picked up the proper grapefruit spoon (not a soup spoon, not a teaspoon, not a dessert spoon. His mother had left an assiduously maintained set of silver). "Oh, scrambled, I suppose. I'll let you off easy this morning." They exchanged smiles. Stephen had not eaten an egg any way but scrambled since he had been old enough to express a preference. "Do we have bacon?" Miss Fulham gave him an as if you have to ask look. "That and a little toast."

She nodded. "You've a good appetite this morning. Juice?"

He spooned a section into his mouth and considered as he chewed. His lips pursed at the tart bite of the citrus. "No. Milk, I think. And... strawberry preserves. Is Dominic back yet?"

Every morning Dominic drove into town for the papers, the previous day's mail, and whatever odds and ends Miss Fulham required. "Just. Shall I send him in?"

"Please." Stephen continued eating steadily. This was not his favorite part of breakfast, but it had been a morning ritual since he had grown a full set of teeth. His mother had often waxed poetic on the health benefits of citrus. He could cater to this small obsession without undue discomfort, and it earned her good will in other things. It had become habit and, even though his mother had passed away years ago, he continued. He was not a man to break habits when they had been so carefully cultivated.

He was just laying down his spoon when Dominic entered from the kitchen. "Morning, boss." He laid the Wall Street Journal, the local paper, and a small stack of envelopes on the table.

"Good morning, Dominic." Stephen picked up the mail and sorted through it quickly. He frowned, examining one. "Damn. They've sent the phone bill here again. Why can't they remember to send it to my accounts manager, like the other utilities? Take care of it for me when you get a chance, would you?" Dominic took the offending bill and tucked it in his jeans pocket. "Why don't you get your coffee and join me while I sort the rest of this out?"

"Sounds good." Dominic went back into the kitchen, where Miss Fulham was putting the finishing touches on Stephen's breakfast. He went to the row of hooks hanging beneath the cabinet that housed the second best set of china and chose a thick mug. Pouring the coffee, he said, "He's ready for that. Want me to take it in?" He knew what the answer would be. He said it more to tease her than anything else.

"The very idea. Know your place, Dominic Genello." She arranged the plate and glass of milk on a wooden tray that had sprays of gold and rust leaves painted around the rim. A nice touch for a fine fall morning, she thought with satisfaction. The silver tray would have been a bit much for a weekday breakfast.

She eyed him sternly, but she knew he was only joking with her. He was an odd boy, Dominic. Good looking, though. He had that almost pretty olive-toned skin so many Italians have, with the big brown eyes that seemed to go with it. He wore his coarse black hair longer than she thought proper, hanging down in his eyes and on his collar. Still, Mister Baxter did not mind, so she said nothing.

He was twenty-five, and had worked for Mister Baxter about five years now. He had been called in to help Mister Baxter when one of his pets... let's see, that would have been not the last, or the one before, but the one before that. In any case, the poor thing had passed on. Mister Baxter's friend, Mister Thomball, had convinced him that it was much too risky for Mister Baxter to handle the disposition of the remains, as he had before. He had offered the services of a professional cleaner.

It was Dominic who had arrived at the house, with Mister Thomball's name as an entry. Despite his youth, he had been thorough. Impressed, Mister Baxter had, with Thomball's permission, hired Dominic full time. Now Dominic slept in the basement, having declined a room of his own. He kept a cot next to the desk that held the computer and surveilence monitors.

He followed her into the breakfast room, sipping his coffee, and watched her serve Stephen, then remove the now finished grapefruit. He sat down as she exited the room, saying, "Anything interesting?"

Stephen shrugged. "Begging letters, and an invitation to a charity ball. They're going to have a bachelor auction, and they want me to put myself up for bids. I might do it. It sounds amusing." He began to eat. "I won't need you till lunch today. I may not need you then. I'll phone if I don't. Would you like a piece of toast? I can't fathom why Fulham insists on giving me two slices when I never eat more than one."

Dominic accepted the slice of toast and spread it thickly with strawberry preserves from a small china pot. "Makes the plate more symetrical, I guess. Maybe she thinks you eat them occasionally, when you give them to me." He bit into the crisp bread, a glob of bright red dropping on his chin. He chewed with relish, then wiped the preserves off his chin with his thumb and licked the digit clean. "Mm. She used the brandied preserves. Just as well you don't want it all, boss. You could end up buzzed."

"It would hardly do to show up at the office tipsy."

"Yeah, but who would dare comment on it?"

"True. Would you or Fulham please give The Tank a good going over some time today?"

Dominic was about to take another bite, but lowered the bread. His eyes glinted, and he said in a low voice, "You going hunting again, boss?"

Stephen took a long swallow of milk, then used his napkin to wipe away the faint moustache. He had never quite mastered drinking milk without decorating his upper lip. Consequently, he never drank milk outside his own home. "Yes, Dominic, I believe I am. Just a quick foray to scout territory today. The young female last night just made me realize how much I miss having a pet of my own choosing." He ignored the way Dominic shifted in his seat. He knew the younger man was becoming sexually aroused at the thought of what Stephen pursueing his interest could mean to himself.

Stephen finished his breakfast, crossing his utensils neatly on the plate and folding his napkin beside it. He consulted his watch as he stood up. "The female upstairs contracted till nine o'clock. When that time comes, be good enough to go release her. If you don't care to drive her into town, provide a taxi."

Dominic followed him out to the entry hall. Stephen checked a thermometer near the front closet that registered the temperature outside. Sixty-six degrees. The paper had predicted a temperature drop to the mid fifties by late afternoon. Stephen chose a light coat for his return trip.

As he opened the door, Dominic said, "The whore still has about forty-five minutes on the clock."

Answering the unspoken question, Stephen said, "Yes, Dominic, you may fuck her if you wish. Just remember that I promised to have her back in good shape, and if you go over the time limit, you must compensate her at your own expense. This is important. I would hate for her business manager to distrust me, as I may want to use his services in the future. And she's fairly expensive."

Dominic grinned. "No sweat. I can do a hell of a lot in forty-five minutes."

Stephen thought about a certain videotape of Dominic with Tessa. "Yes, you can." He went out to his car as Dominic bounded upstairs, two steps at a time.

Chapter Five: Mina

Mina slapped weakly at the alarm clock. At the last second, she remembered to grab it before it crashed to the floor. That would have jarred the button back out, and she would have had to deal with several more seconds of teeth jarring buzzing.

Something was wrong. It took her a moment to figure out what it was. The sunbeam that slanted through the broken slat of her bedroom window blinds was not far enough across the ceiling. She brought the clock close to her face and examined it blearily. Six o'clock. What the hell? She didn't have to be up for another hour. Why had she...?

Then she remembered, and groaned. She had to wash her hair this morning. She'd been too tired last night, and had set the alarm early so she could do it before she left for work.

Mina was tempted to say screw it, reset the alarm, and doze off again. She dragged one dark brown curl of hair close to her nose and sniffed experimentally. Bleh! Stale smelling. She almost wished they'd ban smoking in the employees' lounge. Almost. Without a nicotine fix, some of her coworkers were bound to go from difficult to impossible.

After a satisfying, sinew creaking stretch, she got out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. God, it was tiny. If she bent all the way over while using the sink, her butt bumped the opposite wall. That meant there was only room for a shower stall, no bathtub. She really missed baths.

She stripped out of her panties and T-shirt, and stepped into the shower. She managed to get the water temperature up to lukewarm, and prayed that she'd be able to finish before it reverted to freezing.

Mina wet her hair, then unscrewed the top of the almost empty shampoo bottle and ran water in it. After shaking it to work up a foam, she poured it over her head and managed to work up a decent lather. That was it for the shampoo, then. Something else to buy. Let's see...she had a cents off coupon for Suave. She'd have to check and see if that made it a better bargain than the store brand. She hated the store brand. It was kind of harsh. She only conditioned every other wash, so the conditioner would last a little longer.

She scrubbed quickly, and managed to rinse off just as the last drops of tepid water gave way to chilled. She noticed that the towel, one of two that she owned, had most of the pile worn off it, and wasn't absorbing all that well anymore. Damn, something else to buy.

Mina ran a comb through her short, dark hair, then put her hands in it and touseled it. That was one good thing about having hair as curly as hers. It was pretty much wash and go. In a few minutes, it would dry and spring back into a mass of natural curls. She didn't care much for her own appearance, but she got some satisfaction from her hair. Once one of her co-workers had asked who had curled her hair for her, and she'd replied, straight faced, "God."

Back in her bedroom, she opened her closet and examined the garments hanging there. The contents of the closet held no more color than a sepia photograph. There were nothing but neutral shades. At last she settled on dark brown pants and a beige shirt. It wasn't quite cold enough for navy or black, but too cool for grey, tan, and oatmeal.

It only took a few moments to dress. Not bothering with hose helped a lot. Socks were much more comfortable and practical, and looked proper with the plain loafers she favored. When she was done, she put on her glasses. The perscription was so weak that it was really only a token correction, but she liked them. She always felt just a little more sheltered, peering at the world through the lenses.

Finally she stood in front of the cloudy, wavering mirror that hung on her closet door and examined herself closely. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to draw notice. Good. People who got noticed attracted trouble. She'd come to the conclusion a long time ago that it was safest to ease your way through the world unremarked.

The toaster had long before ceased to toast on both sides, so she had to pop the bread up halfway through and turn it. That was better than the last one, which wouldn't cut off. God, what a mess that had been. Luckily no one had called the fire department about the smoke. Or, she thought frowning, was it really that lucky? Sort of let her know where she stood with her neighbors.

Mina checked her purse, frowning at the small amount of cash left in her pocketbook. She'd have to eat in the company cafeteria today, she didn't have enough to splurge on fast food, let alone a decent restaurant. The company offered a free plate lunch each day, one of the perks, and the food was usually pretty decent. It was just that she didn't particularly like having to eat in the cafeteria with her fellow employees.

She sighed as she clicked the purse shut and stepped out into the hall. They probably thought she was standoffish, if they thought of her at all. It had been the same everywhere she'd worked. Hell, it had been the same in school. She just didn't make friends easily. She was too shy to approach anyone, and...Well, she just seemed to sort of pass under everyone else's radar.

It was frustrating. She wanted companionship, yet it went against her deepest nature to seek out the awareness of others. "Maybe a year or two nattering to a therapist would help," she thought. "Of course, they'd probably just tell me to force myself to be more open. I bet they wouldn't be too good on telling me how to do it."

One advantage of being up early; extra time in case her junker decided to screw with her. It was on its last legs, no surprise there. The beast had been manufactured only a couple of years after she had graduated from highschool. She supposed that, technically, it qualified as a ‘classic' by sheer age. It was more accurately described in street slang as a ‘hoopty mobile'.

Lately the battery had been being very temperamental. Today she must have been in a state of grace, though, because it actually started on the first try. She tapped the frozen gas gauge without any real hope. The damn thing had been broken when she bought the car. Still, by her estimation, she had a quarter of a tank left. It should be enough to get her to work and back, then she could get a few dollars gas tomorrow morning.

The car had developed another noise sometime during the night. This one was a sort of rubbing-creaking sound. She wondered how much THIS was going to end up costing her. Her mother had always said, Don't drive it if it's making a funny noise, Min. Take it to a garage at once. Take care of it before it can turn into a big, expensive problem. Fine advice, Mom. If you have the cash for the inexpensiverepairs. Even preventative work cost.

Once again she thanked God when she finally shut her engine off, parked in the employee's lot at work. Parked way the hell out in the middle of the lot, of course. It didn't matter what time she arrived at work, the half of the lot nearest the building was always full. She had to park, as her Dad would have so colorfully put it, out in Bumfuck, Egypt.

Mina trudged to the building. She took one of the elevators to the fifth floor and made her way down to Records. Mrs. Hollachuck was already there. But then, Mrs. Hollachuck was always already there. Min suspected that Mrs. H would put up a cot in the file room and sleep there if she was allowed to.

Mrs. H was a stout woman with improbably red hair who had been with the company since...Well, no one was quite sure. Somewhere more than thirty years, at least. She was in her late fifties, and had come to work for the Baxter Corporation right after she had graduated from college.

She wasn't a bad sort, really. But she wanted a smooth running office. She had little time for malcontents and troublemakers who don't know how to pull with the team. In other words, if you had a problem with anything other than the nuts and bolts of your job, don't come crying to her.

Hollachuck nodded to her briskly as Mina hung up her coat and made her way past her desk. "I see that you finished that last batch of information yesterday, O'Connell. Very good. You're progressing much more quickly that we estimated."

"It's not difficult, now that I've learned the software." Tedious, but not difficult. But I won't be telling that to you. You believe that working for the Baxter Corporation in any capacity is pee-your-pants exciting.

Mina was in the process of transferring old records and reports from paper to computer disk. And, considering the fact that the records went back to the 1920's, and they hadn't started to archive them till the early eighties, she had a job for a long, long time, if she didn't screw up.

That was perfectly fine with Mina. Change was risky. Security was good. Her father's flightiness had made her childhood pretty much a living hell. The feckless, gentle man, one generation removed from Ireland, had never held a job more than eleven months at a time. Mina had lost count of the number of time's they'd moved, usually into a progressively seedier area.

She'd learned the value of blending in early on. The new kid was always a target, so she would study her peers in whatever neighborhood she found herself in. In no time, she would be blending in as if she were raised there. Clothing, speech patterns... everything. Always exactly what would gain marginal acceptance, because enthusiasm was as suspect as hostility.

Her father was long dead, her mother had left years before he passed on, and Mina had done what she had always longed to do: found a niche, and sunk in. Her life might not be exciting, but it was safe. She intended to keep it that way.

She worked steadily for a couple of hours, then took her company guaranteed break. When she came back from the vending machines with her soda, and the rare treat of a candy bar, the office was... Well, ‘in an uproar' wasn't exactly the right term. It would have taken a terrorist raid to achieve that. Mina felt that even a bomb threat would have rated nothing but a quick, efficient evacuation.

But there was a definite STIR in the office. It looked as if the cubicles and cubbie holes had been emptied, and everyone was in the main room, clustered around Hollachuck's desk. She approached cautiously. Her own little niche was on the other side of the group, and she'd HAVE to pass them.

As she approached the center of the tension became clear. It was a big, blonde man, somewhere around her own age. He was handsome in a bland, all-American way, and dressed in well cut, obviously expensive clothes. He looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place him. Some high muckity-much in the company, most likely. What was he doing down here among the peon?

She almost made it through. Using her lifetime experience of fading into the background, she oozed around the perimeter of the crowd. She was just about to break out and slip to her sanctuary, when Hollachuck grabbed her arm.

GRABBED her ARM? Hollachuck NEVER touched anyone. She might if artificial respiration, or the Hiemlich Manuever were called for, but that was about it. Now she was positively bubbling. What had gotten into the woman? "Mina! Come here. You haven't been introduced yet."

She found herself propelled up to the man, nudged toward him like a bashful three year old being forced to ‘make nice' to company. He smiled at her, and offered his hand as Mrs. Holkachuck said, "Mina, this is Stephen Honeywell Baxter; our CEO and owner."

"Please." His voice was smooth, cultured. "Not 'owner'. You make me sound postitively feudal. I will settle for ‘boss'."

Mina shifted her supplies awkwardly, so she could shake hands. "Hello."

"Mr. Baxter, this is Mina O'Connell. I suppose she's your newest employee. Mina is working on record formatting."

"Really?" His grip was warm and smooth. He held on just a fraction longer than she was comfortable with. "A rather tedious job, I'm afraid."

She shrugged. "If I had expected my work to be a thrilling adventure, I would have been sorely disappointed early in life."

"Interesting philosophy."

She blinked. "Does that count as a philosophy?"

He smiled again. "It does in my book. How long have you been with me, Miss O'Connell?"

"Just about six months."

"And how do you like it so far?"

Stephen watched as the woman pursed her lips, and realized that she was unconscious of the expression. She was obviously thinking, "It's a JOB, and you're the BOSS. I'm going to say anything negative?" But her response was bland. "Just fine, sir. Mrs. Hollachuck has really made me feel at home."

She has? Stephen thought. Well, you're good with a social lie. I've known her my entire life, and Hollachuck is a cold natured bitch and a suck up. Aloud he said, "Good. That's what I want most for my employees."

"If you'll excuse me, sir, I'm on break, and there isn't much of it left..."

"Oh, I'm sure Hollachuck will extend your break to cover the time you've lost nattering to me. Won't you, Hollachuck?"

Mrs. H gave him a bright, false smile. "Of course, sir." The look she shot Mina warned her not to think this was going to become a habit.

Mina kept her smile in place as she sidled away. "Really nice of you to take the time, but I can't stand around wasting your money."

And she knows all the proper 'placate the boss to get him off your back' phrases. This one may be interesting. "Oh, I scarcely think you're a waste, Miss O'Connell." A pause. "It is miss?"

That stopped her, and she almost gave herself away. She almost let a genuine expression break through the carefully bland mask she presented to the world. No one else would have caught it, but Stephen had trained himself to look for the more subtle signs of nervousness and discomfort. It was in her eyes.

There was a flash of hurt, and anger. He could almost hear her say, Oh, it's that obvious, is it? No one would have me? Instead she gave him a smile almost as false as the one Hollachuck was wearing, and said, "Last time I checked." Then she was gone into her cubicle.

Mina O'Connell. Stephen added the name to the short mental list he'd begun during his morning rounds, and went on to the next department.

Chapter Six: Selection

Mina hardly had an appetite for her snack, once she got back to her cubicle. That had been... Not exactly unpleasant. Stephen Baxter was far too bland and good natured for that. But somehow it had been a bit disturbing.

He saw me. Why did that thought keep occurring to her? Of course he saw you, you idiot. You were standing right in front of him, in arm's reach. You shook hands, for heaven's sake. But a tiny part of her mind kept insisting You do that with a lot of people, and they still don't see you. I think he did.

She pushed the thought away, submersing herself once again in the soothing routine of her work. Read, sort, read again, then type, type, type. Or rather, to use the official term for it, enter data, enter data, enter data. Give them a new piece of electronic equipment, and they had to come up with a new term for what you did with it. She was transcribing, that was it: putting information from paper to floppy disk. It was a perfectly respectable occupation, and she had no need to be convinced that it was anything more than what it was.

She worked steadily till five o' clock, then worked an extra five minutes. Wouldn't do to have Hollachuck see her leaving on the dot. At last she saved the last file, turned off the computer, and got up out of her office chair.

Mina stretched, wincing. God, the sinews seemed to get tighter every year. she hadn't started creaking every time she changed position, but she supposed that was somewhere down the line.

Taking her purse, she went out to get her coat, and stopped with a silent groan. Axel Turner was there, flirting, as usual, with one of the office workers. Axel was a security guard who worked the evening shift at the building, four p.m. to midnight. He made it his duty to offer escort to their car to any female employee who was interested. Alex was a good looking guy, and there were a lot who took him up on the offer. A good number of them took him up on OTHER offers, too. Axel was more than a little full of himself.

Mina moved quietly to get her coat, hoping he would be too absorbed in his present occupation to notice her. Not a chance. Axel had radar that could detect female DNA through a brick wall.

He turned a blinding smile on Mina. "Well, if it isn't the prettiest data processor in the building."

MIna smiled in return, slipping into her coat, thinking Axel, you are so full of bull shit that I can't understand why your eyes are blue instead of brown. "You're too kind." And such a fucking liar.

"Need someone to walk you out to your car?"

Do I ever? And in broad daylight? "No thank you, Mr. Turner. I think I'll be safe enough."

"I feel a little nervous, Axel." The other woman, whom Mina couldn't for the life of her identify, batted mascaraed eyelashes.

"Well, that's just fine, little lady. Grab up your stuff, and I can walk you both out."

That pleased neither Mina, nor the other one, but neither of them said anything. It probably wouldn't have done any good, anyway.

Axel Turner was in his mid-twenties, blonde, good looking, and nicely built. He had never had a turn down that he took seriously, marking off the REALLY vehement refusals to a woman being 'on the rag'. Or possibly being gay, or at least frigid. Those were the only reasons he could understand for anyone turning him down. And some women Mina thought with weary astonishment, actually find this attractive.

He stood too close in the elevator, but at least he didn't try to put his hand on her waist, like he did with the other woman. When he tried to rest his hand on the small of her back as they left the building Like I'm a damn shopping cart that needs to be steered, she managed to move out of his reach without obvious effort. She was an expert at putting distance between herself and something unpleasant without drawing undue attention.

Miss Cindy Lou Who? was parked, of course, in one of the front ranks. She obviously wanted Axel to hang about and chat for a moment or two. But to both her and Mina's irritation, Turner sketched her a brief salute of farewell and followed Mina on toward the center of the almost deserted lot. Cindy Lou sprayed gravel on the way out. Hey, don't be mad at me, babe. Mina thought. You can have him.

"Starting to get dark earlier," Turner commented.

Well, at least he could make an occasional intelligent observation. "Yes. The days are getting shorter."

"Pretty soon it'll be dark when you leave, if you have to stay over the least little bit."

"That's true." She unlocked her car. Please, God, let the damn engine start. Don't let me have car trouble with this guy here. I'm not Catholic, but I'll do a few hail Marys, how's that?

She got the door open, and was ready to slip inside, when he put his hand casually on the roof, his arm blocking her way. "I want you to start waiting for me to walk you out. You shouldn't be wandering around out here in the dark." He smiled. "Something big and bad might jump on you."

Something wearing a security guard uniform, perhaps? "Oh, I'm sure I'll be all right, Mr. Turner. Thank you, anyway."

"The name's Axel, darlin'. And you're Mina, right? Nice name, Mina. Real feminine."

"Thank you." What is it with him? I'm more than a dozen years older than he is, and he has the entire female staff to choose from. Hell, and probably some of the male staff, too. Is it just some sort of a knee jerk reaction with him? If it's got double X chromosomes, flirt? "I'd like to chat, but I have to get home. I promised a neighbor I'd feed her cat." Not entirely a lie. I did promise... last summer.

He reluctantly removed his hand, unbarring her way, and she slipped into the car. "All right. But you and I need to have a good, long talk one of these days. I just know we have loads of things in common."

She smiled. Sure. We both breath, be both eat, we both sleep, we're both warm blooded... What more could you ask for? "That would be nice."

Axel wasn't quite as oblivious as Mina thought he was. He heard the hint of sarcasm she thought she had kept out of her voice, and his eyes narrowed. But his smile remained in place.

It took her three tries to get the engine to turn over, and then the car stalled twice while she was backing out. Axel watched it limp out of the lot and into traffic. Several cars swerved around the slow moving vehicle impatiently.

He walked back into the building to start his rounds. Miss Mina O'Connell. You're the only one who doesn't slaver like a bitch in heat. That makes me curious. I'm gonna have to pay a little more attention to you, girlfriend.

That evening, while Mina was trying to decide between Rice-a-Roni or Tuna Helper, Stephen was sitting down to his first course of herbed cream of mushroom soup. As he had requested, Dominic joined him at the table. "Dominic, you're not eating?"

The younger man shrugged. "I had a burger earlier."

"Your taste for mass produced junk when you have the services of the talented Miss Fulham constantly amazes me." He shrugged again. Stephen sipped his soup. "Did you see the young person safely back to her domicile?"

"Yeah. She was a little stiff and sore when I got through with her, but a soak in some Epsom salts will heal that up, quick enough."

"Good. And what else did you do today?"

"Nothing much more than the usual. Got your dry cleaning, picked up the mail again, grabbed a few groceries for Fulham."

"And?"

Dominic nodded, grinning, "And checked over The Tank, and spruced it up. I didn't forget."

"I didn't really think you would." Stephen nibbled the Melba toast that had accompanied the soup. He preferred it to saltines: much less messy. Stephen saved his messiness for places other than the dining table.

"I've been giving it a touch up once a month, anyway. I figured you'd need it again, sooner or later. All I had to do was dust a little, make sure the toilet was flushing okay, and change the sheets."

"Good, good."

"I... um. I also... cleaned out the Meditation Room. I hope you don't mind. I didn't actually throw anything away. I have all the photos boxed up, if you want them."

"No, I don't mind, Dominic. That was actually very thoughtful of you, since I will, of course, be redecorating the Meditation Room, once I choose my new pet. Just put the photos in the closet downstairs with the others."

"Speaking of the new pet, any possibilities? I know it's kinda soon."

"Yes, there are several likely prospects. Have you your notebook?"

"Sure." Dominic pulled a small spiral notebook out of his pocket, and clicked a fountain pen. "Shoot."

"Adrianna Barenski, Accounting. Torrie Schulburg, Accounting. Kenya Desmond, Housekeeping." Dominic wrote busily. "Leeanne Potter, Personnel. Su-Lin Liang, Mailroom. And Mina O'Connell, Records."

"Six. Sounds like a good start. Want me to pull the standard company records?"

"Yes, please." Miss Fulham removed the soup plate and replaced it with a spinach and bacon salad, with a raspberry vinaigrette. "We'll wait on pulling outside information till I narrow the field a little." He munched. "She's really outdone herself on the garlic croutons tonight."

"Fulham's big on the details, all right."

"Did you notice what else she has back there? I know she likes to surprise me, but... well..."

"Chicken Marsala, orange rice, and roasted asparagus with Hollandaise."

"Mm. I wonder if the woman is capable of making a simple meal? It almost killed her the last time I requested a plain steak. She nearly cried when I wouldn't let her dress it with a sauce or grilled mushrooms and onions. What does she have for dessert?"

"Some sort of white pudding-custard thingy."

"Was there a sprinkling of brown sugar on top, and the little blow torch on the counter?"

"Uh, no."

"Then it's probably blanc mange. If she had out the torch, it would have been creme brulee. Have the agency I used last time for the surveillance contact me tomorrow, and I'll make arrangements. They were quite satisfactory."

"Will do. I was talking to one of their guys the other day, and they just laid in some new equipment. They might be able to get you video, if you want it."

"Really?" Stephen was so interested that he laid down his fork for a moment. "That would be helpful in making my decision. It's always preferable to see how they act in their home environment, but I've never really been able to do that with my big pets."

"He claims he's done some work for the government, though I'm pretty convinced the establishment wouldn't pay him enough to keep him interested, and he DAMN sure wouldn't offer his services out of patriotism. Claims he can get you a full view of a room, no distortion, from a hole that..." He held up his fingers, nails of thumb and forefinger less than a quarter inch apart, "big."

"The more I hear, the more interested I become. Yes, I'll definitely want to speak to him. Not on the phone, I think, for a matter as delicate as this. Have him call me, and I'll chose a place to meet him."

"But you want them to start with straight identifying photos, right?"

"Yes. I will need them to help me visualize as I begin working out the pros and cons concerning each candidate. If you would, you might begin a bit of personal observation. You know that I value your opinion."

"Happy to." There was nothing Dominic would like more than an excuse to do a bit of stalking, and he would be well paid for his indulgence.

Miss Fulham removed the salad plate and replaced it with the plate of artfully arranged chicken, rice, and asparagus. Stephen smiled at her, "What a charming symphony of aroma, flavor and color contrasts. This will be a feast for the soul as well as the body, Miss Fulham."

She blushed, a rather alarming phenomenon. "Stop, sir. You know it's my pleasure. I just can't understand why such a charming man hasn't married."

He said, quietly, "Marriage would interfere with my hobbies..."

Chapter Seven: Names

Stephen was working his way through an excellent Belgian waffle, slathered with whipped cream and dotted with jewel-like strawberries, when Dominic joined him at the breakfast table the next morning. "Good morning, Dominic."

"Morning, boss." Dominic blew on his coffee, then sipped it. "I don't see how you can eat all that so early in the morning. Makes my stomach churn just looking at it."

"Well, Dominic," Stephen cut another fork full. "Perhaps if you were a bit less enthusiastic in your alcohol consumption before you retired..." He chewed the bite thoroughly, then continued. "But we all have to choose our indulgences." Dominic nodded agreeably. Each man knew exactly what the other's 'indulgences' were. Few things bring people closer together.

"Of course," Stephen sighed. "I will have to do penance for this in the gym." He took another bite, chewing with a meditative look on his face. "I think I will go to the company gym instead of my private one. Perhaps I will get a chance to observe some of my candidates, or even find a new one."

"Sounds like a plan. And it should give you a chance to check out their bodies, if you see them there."

"I suppose so." Dominic didn't seem to understand that body type wasn't as important to Stephen as personality. If all he wanted was blonde hair, big tits, and a tight ass, he could rent that easily enough. "Did you pull all the initial information last night?" The question was by force of habit. Dominic had never failed him yet on such a simple task.

"Um... not quite." Stephen stopped eating, put down his fork, and turned his full attention on his employee. "I pulled up files on all of them but one. I just couldn't find a Mina O' Connel anywhere in the company data base."

"Did you try variations in spelling?"

Dominic frowned. "How many different ways can you spell 'Mina'?"

"She looks as if she were born somewhere in the sixties. If her parents were hippies, you'd be surprised at the spelling they might have dreamed up. That might not even be her real name. She may be embarrassed by her legal name, and choose to go by a nickname. I know that if my parents named me something like 'Moonbeam' or 'Free Spirit', I certainly would. She will be listed in the database under whatever name is on her identification papers." He resumed eating. "I'll check before I leave for the office."

Stephen wasn't really displeased. In the beginning, he'd done all his own research and preparations, and had enjoyed it immensely. Over the years, as he'd refined his technique, he'd delegated more and more, and sometimes he missed it. There was no reason why he had to just sit back and receive the pet at the end of the process. He decided that this time he would be more active in the actually acquiring.

The thought energized him, and he was looking forward to his visit to the gym later in the day. Perhaps he could wheedle someone into a rousing game of handball. It always put him in a good mood to thrash someone. After winning several competitions at his private gym, some of them against much younger men, he wasn't worried about acquitting himself well.

Dominic accompanied him into the study, and Stephen went to sit at the computer that rested on a side table. His personal desk was a huge, handsome mahogany affair, no place for anything as crassly modern as a pc. Stephen sat before the computer and booted it up. The BEE logo came on the screen. Baxter Electronics Empire was a very lucrative part of the family business. Grandfather had recognized the way the wind was blowing, and gotten into software and microprocessors early in the game.

They also had an Internet connection service, which made things very convenient. Every Baxter employee who had a computer received a free access account. It was ridiculously easy to pull their information.

Stephen went into the company data base and did a search for 'Mina O'Connel'. Sure enough, no listing. "You just have to know how to talk to these things," he assured Dominic, who grunted. He tried 'Minna'. No luck. Time to go into the more esoteric spellings.

Minah, Meena, Meana, Mynah... Variations on a theme. None of them quite worked. So he tried playing with the last name. O'Connel, O'Connell, O'Connelle, Oh'Connell. Nothing. He stared at the screen, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table. This was interesting. The woman seemed to be better at hiding than he'd initially credited.

"There's one last method that should get a result. That is if I didn't just imagine her yesterday." He typed in 'O'Connel, M." and pressed 'Search'. Immediately a single name appeared on the screen. "Ah. As the woman said, looking at the line of tiddlywinks, 'Bingo'." He peered more closely. "Goodness. No wonder Mina didn't work. Her legal name is Miann`Aiteag O'Connel."

Dominic whistled softly. "That's a mouthful. No wonder she goes by Mina."

"Very Gaelic. I wonder."

"What, boss?"

"Well, she's a natural born citizen, but her name is very, very ethnic. Her parents must have been immigrants, or first generation Americans. When someone chooses a name with that obvious a nationalist sound, it usually means something significant. Something they're trying to say about their child, or their hopes for them. I wonder what Miann's parents were thinking?"

Stephen got up and went to one of the bookcases that lined the walls. He ran his finger over the leather bound spines, half pulling one book from the shelf before changing his mind and replacing it. Finally he settled on a book that was as thick as a good dictionary, and brought it back to the table, showing it to his young helper. "Brouard's Compendium of Names and Meanings."

Stephen sat again and opened the tome. "Let's see. O'Connel, so we'll start with Irish names, of course. `Aiteag. That's an unusually one, for sure. Mm. Aileen, light. Ailis, form of Alice, truth. Here we are, `Aiteag." He smiled slowly. "A shy girl."

Dominic grinned. "Oh ho."

"Yes, oh ho. Now, Miann. Maille, Maire, Meara. Miann." Stephen's eyebrows rose. "My, my, my."

"What does it mean, boss? Butterfly?"

"No, Dominic, but it's just as good." He looked up, eyes glittering. "It means 'desire'. Miss O'Connel has just risen several notches in my estimation. But it DOES make me wonder what on earth her parents were thinking when they named her. It's quite a lot for a girl to live up to."

"Do you think she knows what her names mean?"

"I think we can be relatively sure that she does. Almost everyone looks up the meaning of their name at some time or other, especially if it's a bit unusual. I'd say that the reason she's going by Mina is that she does know the translation." He closed the book. "My own name means 'crown'. Yours, Dominic, means 'belonging to God'." Dominic snorted derisively. "Yes, well, we don't always grow to suit our names. I rather hope Miann `Aiteag did, though."

Stephen copied the information over onto the CD of other information that Dominic had prepared for him, and slipped it into a case neatly labeled 'CANDIDATES'. "Drive me in to work today, Dominic. I want you to be available for lunch with our investigator, and I'll probably be having you pick out some new surveillance equipment with him."

"I'm pretty sure he can provide whatever you need, boss." Dominic observed as they walked to the car.

"Yes, but I like the idea of having my own equipment. It may come in handy in the future. After all, I never know how long a pet will last. I'm hoping that this one will live a long and healthy life, but you never can tell."

He thought sadly of Renee'. He'd let her have a plastic fork to eat. Apparently she'd broken it and swallowed it in a suicide attempt. She was successful. The jagged shards of plastic had torn a vein or artery in her throat, and she'd choked to death on her own blood before they knew what was happening.

At the office, Kenya Desmond was polishing the glass in the front door, and he stopped to chat with her for a moment. He noted the bright orange T-shirt she wore under her housekeeping smock, and mentally deducted points. She lost even more ground when she proudly showed him a picture of a handsome, fat infant: her son. That effectively put her out of the running. People with such close ties were searched for much too frantically.

The field was narrowing already. This might not be too difficult, but he decided to take his time with the selection. It was one of the most pleasant aspects of his hobby.

In his office, his private secretary, Donald, had several reports ready for his inspections, and a stack of orders for him to sign. He skimmed them briefly before setting his signature to him. He had so many buffering layers of people looking out for his interests that it was scarcely necessary, but some of the old line caution held over, and he never let anything go by without checking it personally. He was a swift reader, getting every scrap of meaning in one quick viewing, and retaining it. His grades at school had been outstanding. His grandfather had been a bit disappointed that he hadn't pursued a Ph.D., but didn't hound him about it.

Once the business was out of the way, he popped the CD into his computer and settled down to begin studying his options. First he deleted Desmond: no point in keeping the information if she was out of the running. Then he started alphabetically, with Barenski.

Baxter Enterprises kept fairly extensive employee records. By industry standards, they were quite nosy, but all questions were worded in a way that was not liable to prosecution. Their legal department boys were experts in covering corporate ass.

If he remembered correctly, Baranski was a dish-water blonde, barely escaping brown. She wore her hair in what he called 'The Corporate Bun', twisted into a knot at the base of her neck. It was a particularly old style for a young woman: she was only twenty-five, according to her statistics. That was in her favor. And the business suit she'd been wearing yesterday had been a particularly drab shade, somewhere between beige and grey.

He had hesitated a little before making a sweep through Accounting. After all, an accounting degree required a good bit of effort to achieve, and it would seem that someone willing to go to those lengths might automatically be too unique to suit Stephen's taste. But then he looked at it from another angle. There were, perhaps, only two professions he knew of more colorless than accountant: statistician and insurance salesman.

Baranski was single, that was good. He'd find out later if she had a boyfriend, or an active social life. Those two things wouldn't necessarily disqualify her, but they would have to be balanced out by more desirable characteristics.

His phone rang, and he answered it absently. "Yes?" There was no need to announce who he was. No one could get through to this line without being screened.

Donald said, "Mr. Baxter, I have a gentleman on hold. He won't give a name, but he said that you wanted to speak with him about some electronic equipment?"

"Put him through."

"Good day, sir. I'm calling in relation to a referral from a mutual acquaintance named Dominic. He mentioned that you have used our services in the past, and found them satisfactory. Also that you may have work for us now."

"That is correct. I would like to meet with you today in order to discuss this. Would it be possible to meet for lunch?"

"Of course."

"Good. Shall we say Templeton's, at twelve-thirty?"

"A good choice, sir." Templeton's was a discrete restaurant. There were private dining rooms, and the staff was attentive when they needed to be, but very forgetful of who had dined there, when, and with who.

Dominic came by a little later. When they arrived at the restaurant they were shown into a small private room. Stephen studied the neat man who rose to greet him. He was wearing a moderately priced suit: no designer name, but no chain warehouse drek, either.

Dominic did the introductions. "Lamont, this is Stephen. Stephen, Lamont." They shook hands. Last names were to be used as little as possible in a transaction like this.

Lamont hadn't met with Stephen the last time he had used the services, delegating it to a subordinate. But a return customer was fairly unusual in his line of work, and he'd been intrigued. Besides, it had been awhile since he'd been on the actual nuts-and-bolts end of the business, and he missed it.

Lamont, for his part, liked what he saw, and was prepared to do business on Dominic's recommendation. Stephen was obviously Old Money. The tasteful, expensive wardrobe, conservative haircut, civil manner and tone, and, perhaps most importantly, well kept hands told him this.

They ordered. When the waitress had left, Lamont said, "Well, Stephen, shall we discuss our business now, or later?"

"No reason to delay." Stephen folded his hands on the table.

"Dominic mentioned that this would be much like the last time you hired our services?"

"Very much. I have five people I'll need you to observe and gather data on." When he saw Dominic's raised eyebrow at the number, he reiterated. "Five. Desmond has proved unsatisfactory." He looked at Lamont. "I notice that you're not taking notes." There was no condemnation in his voice.

"No. I don't believe in writing things down. I record as little as possible, but I have a mind like a sponge. If I forget anything, or need any more information, I'll ask Dominic. The only records at all will be what I turn over to you, there will be absolutely no backup copies of anything." Stephen nodded his approval. That was a very good thing.

"I'll have to put you to work immediately, I'm afraid. I'd like a good, clear head shot of each of these individuals by the end of work tomorrow. I like to have something to look at while I'm doing my research. Then I'll need random shots of each one, without their knowledge, of course."

"Of course."

"Though I think I might set up some sort of line of gossip at work about starting a company magazine. That would give you or your operative an excuse to wander about with a camera with impunity."

"An excellent idea."

"Over the next week or two I expect to narrow the field. Eventually you will be dealing with only one individual, but on an intense basis."

"Dominic hinted that you might be interested in our video surveillance services?"

"Oh, yes. I'm VERY interested in that. I can tell you for sure that I'll want a set-up at my home. We'll have to wait and see if it would be feasible to install in the home of my final selection."

"All right. But I'll tell you now, if the security is any less than prison level, there are ways."

Stephen smiled. "The ones I'm thinking about are hardly likely to live in secured buildings. I don't think it will be a problem."

He supplied Lamont with the names of his chosen candidates, and they had a pleasant lunch. Lamont agreed to have the initial photographs the next day. After ascertaining that all the women would be at work, he commandeered Dominic to point them out to his operatives that afternoon as they left the building. "We'll take it from there."

Stephen returned to work satisfied, both physically and emotionally. He had eaten enough, but not too much, and his selection process was in motion. He worked a couple of hours to let his lunch settle, then went down to the employee's gym in the basement.

Baxter Enterprises was considered something of a leader in employee perks. Stephen didn't particularly CARE what his staff wanted, but he had learned from his grandfather that expending a little could save a lot in the long run. Let your peons see you as generous to a fault, and they'd be less likely to notice if one or two of them had less than ideal treatment. So the day care, subsidized lunches, free gym, and excellent health insurance neatly covered over the few arbitrary dismissals. And two unexplained disappearances.

Ever prepared, Stephen had a locker in the men's section of the gym dressing room. Each week a fresh set of gym clothes was exchanged for the old one. There were a fair number of people using the gym when he went down at two. Breaks were staggered, and many employees took advantage of the facilities.

Stephen warmed up with a quick set of exercises on a weight machine. No one had the bad taste to actually stand and gape, but there was a lot of covert observation goin on. He accepted it calmly. He controlled these peoples' livelihood, a certain amount of interest was to be expected. Different from when I was a kid Stephen thought absently. Eyes seemed to just glide over me without registering a human being, way back then. He speeded up in his chest curl repetitions, snapping the machine's arm resistors around with almost vicious speed. Those who observed him wondered what had given him the sudden burst of energy, and Stephen honestly wouldn't have been able to tell them.

Finally he found someone who was willing to give him a game of handball. It was one of the vice-presidents, slumming today by coming to the employees' gym rather than going to his private club. Stephen was pleased. The man was high enough ranked that he probably wouldn't feel the need to kiss ass by going easy in the game, and he was young enough and fast enough to be a serious competitor.

The game started out even, which told Stephen that the man was, indeed, playing his best game. It deteriorated quickly, though. Stephen was a ruthless player, and today he didn't feel like toying with anyone. He beat the man with hard over-head slams and drives that took the ball to the edge of his field, forcing him to dive for it.

A crowd gathered around the perimeter at the top of the sunken court. Stephen raked quick glances over them between serves, looking for hiders. He spotted two that he already had on his list: Sulynne Liang and Mina O'Connel. The women were at opposite sides of the pit. Liang was standing with a few other people, O'Connel was a bit apart from the others on her side.

Well Stephen thought, preparing to serve again. Does Liang gain points for blending into a crowd, or lose points for BEING in a crowd willingly? He smashed the ball into the far wall, and was moving before it struck, calculating where his opponent would have to dive to make a return, and the trajectory the ball was likely to take on the rebound. He proved correct in both instances, and his opponent missed the ball when it whizzed past his head after Stephen made a lightening return.

Retrieving the ball, he took the opportunity to look again, and frowned. Liang was chatting animatedly with a co-worker. They were apparently discussing his performance but that didn't mitigate the fact that she was choosing human contact when it might have been avoided. Now, O'Connell...

Chapter Eight: Scouting

The use of the company gym was free. It went against Mina's ethics to have something free offered to her, and turn it down. That's what being poor will do to you. I hate exercise, and here I am.

Well, she wasn't actually exercising, she was guy watching. Anyone who knew her would have been shocked. And probably amused, she thought sourly. Just because I'm an old maid it doesn't mean I don't like to look.

Mina was a virgin. Oh, there had been opportunities, but no one she was even remotely interested in had ever made advances, and she had no intention of having sex just to get it out of the way. If fate decreed that she die untouched by mortal man, so be it. She'd have them bury her in a wedding gown, since she'd be legitimately entitled to wear white.

Still, she enjoyed watching the courting rituals of others. It could be highly amusing. And she had no objection to watching a good looking male strut and preen. In this she subscribed to the male philosophy that there was no harm in looking. So she looked.

There was a lot of guy watching opportunities in the gym. Sure, some of them wore sweats, but usually it was shorts and T-shirts. Sometimes she'd get lucky and one that was worth looking at would take off the shirt. Tucked out of the way on an exercise bicycle, Mina could pretend to read a book propped on the handlebars, and look to her heart's content.

She sometimes wondered if they knew. There were times when she got the impression that one or the other was pushing himself just a little harder, exerting himself just a little more. She suspected that they had instinctively known that a female was watching them, and their egos drove them to put on a display, even if they weren't sure WHO it was for. Certainly none of them had shown the desire to strut for her.

Today she'd once again brought her book to the gym, and done a couple of miles on the stationary bike, darting sideways glances at the man from customer relations on the weight bench, and the boy who delivered the mail on the step machine.

When she figured she had done enough to justify her presence, she headed for the locker room. She didn't really need a shower, maybe a quick rinse, just to be fresh.

There was a crowd gathered around the sunken handball court. That didn't happen often. They must be having a good match. She found an open spot, away from the others, at the rail, and peered down. Her eyebrows rose. Well, that was unusual.

Stephen Baxter was beating the socks off one of the vice presidents. That didn't bother Mina at all. The man had sent her a totally necessary, nasty memo once about her production levels when she was just starting out. She had been getting used to the software, and she wasn't quite as fast as he would have liked. He said so in a calculated, cutting manner, hinting that she could be easily replaced. I suppose so. There's always someone desperate enough. No, watching him get physically humiliated didn't hurt her feelings at all.

She was a little surprised by Baxter. He had struck her as a bland sort of person, not very remarkable. He played like a demon, streaking around the court and smashing the ball with vicious energy. I shouldn't be surprised. He runs this corporation, and runs it well. He'd have to be a bit of a shark.

When the ball was in motion, he was focused single mindedly on the game. Between the action, though, he looked up, scanning the audience. Guess he likes to be aware of what's going on around him all the time. Good quality. It can keep you safe, I know.

She noticed him noticing one of the other women: Sulynne Liang. No surprise there. she thought wryly. Su-lin, a petite Eurasian woman, was one of the company beauties. She could probably have worked as a runway model, if she was about eight or ten inches taller. Just over five feet tall, she had the blue-black hair and slightly almond shaped eyes of her father, and the grey eyes and pale skin of her mother. Mina felt a little kinship with her. She was a quiet, reserved woman, who didn't mingle much in office society. She had two or three close friends, whom she stayed close to.

Mina turned her gaze back to the court...

and found herself looking directly into a pair of sea green eyes. He's looking at me, she thought in astonishment. Why is he looking at me? She was afraid that she had been staring. Stephen Baxter was a good looking man, and she had been enjoying the way he moved.

She looked away quickly, not daring to turn her eyes back to the court till she heard the thump of ball and squeak of rubber soles that told her that play had resumed. But Baxter quickly made the point and, while his opponent was retrieving the ball, looked right at her again.

His expression was unreadable. He took the towel stuck in his waistband and wiped his face. Then he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the sidelines, and began to wipe down his torso. There were admiring wolf whistles from some of the bolder women. Stephen was in his forties, but he took care of himself. He looked good.

And he knows it, too. But it's not like he's showing off to the crowd, somehow. Mina watched the rough white terrycloth pass over his flat belly, then up to his chest. It dragged across dark brown nipples that looked pebbled. Did exercise do that to you? Or was it the excitement of the competition? Or knowing that the women were looking at him, and speculating.

Mina could feel the blush rising in her face. She turned away abruptly and headed for the locker room.

Down on the court, Stephen smiled faintly, tucked the towel back in his belt, and finished thrashing his competitor. He made a mental note to find out what kind of security Mina O'Connel had in her building. Shy girl.

Mina was grateful for the privacy stalls in the showers. She never would have used the gym if the showers had been communal. She just couldn't deal with exposing herself, even among her own sex. She was all too aware of her own physical inadequacies without having to worry about a judging glance.

She showered quickly, even washing her hair. Mina had not need for a blow drier. A quick tousling with a towel, and a sketchy comb out, and she was ready to go. The hair would dry in less than a half hour, springing into natural curls that were both crisp and soft. Along with her eyes, her hair was her best feature.

She returned to her cubicle for the last two hours of work, feeling refreshed. She even hummed quietly to herself as she booted up her computer and opened the folder of inventory reports from 1968 that she was transcribing.

Mina typed steadily, and found herself singing under her breath, a ridiculous little ditty about walking on sunshine, and didn't it feel good? God alone knew how that had managed to get stuck in her subconscious. It probably had been a commercial on television last night before she went to bed. The only way to get rid of it was to sing it all the way through. Unfortunately, she didn't know all the words to it. She was tempted to get on the net and do a quick search for the lyrics, but her self-preservation instinct told her not to.

It was right again. "It's nice to see someone in such a good mood."

She flinched at the sudden voice, startled. No one ever came to her cubicle. The work she was doing wasn't important enough for direct messages, and memos always appeared at the beginning or close of each day. Who had decided to come speak to her?

She looked up to find Stephen Honeywell Baxter filling the little doorway. And he literally FILLED it, top to bottom and side to side. He was smiling at her, green eyes bright and friendly.

"Oh. Sorry about that. You know how it is when you get a song stuck in your head, and you just can't get rid of it."

He nodded. "I'm familiar with the phenomenon. I went through a particularly bad spell when 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' was popular."

She winced without thinking. "Oh, ick."

"Yes, ick. How is your work going, Miss O'Connel?"

"Well... it's going. That's about all I can say for it."

"Fair enough."

He looked at her silently. She felt the urge to fidget, and quashed it. Visible nervousness was not good, it attracted attention. Finally she said, "And speaking of work, I'd better not lose my momentum on this file." He didn't take the hint. He doesn't have to. she thought sourly. He's the boss.

"I was looking over a list of new building employees for the past year, Miss O'Connel, and I almost didn't find you."

"Yes?" Oh, no. Not the name. Please tell me he didn't latch onto the name.

"Yes, I couldn't find a listing for any spelling of Mina at all. I didn't locate you till I tried your last name and first initial."

"Ah. Well, I usually don't go by my real first name. I've tried before, and everyone just calls me Mina or Ann anyway, so I figured I might as well head them off."

"But it's a shame. It's really a lovely, lyrical sounding name. Miann." It did sound almost melodic the way Baxter said it.

"My father was from Ireland. He named me while my mother was still knocked out by anaesthesia. She was irritated when she woke up, and she was the first one to call me Mina." Though it wasn't as if she actually cared. If she had cared, she wouldn't have left me when I was eleven.

"I like to look into the meanings of names. Yours has a nice, feminine meaning, as well as sounding pretty. Do you know what it means?"

She didn't want to talk about this, especially since she was worried that he might move on from her first to her middle name. Surely not. It's so unusual, it isn't easy to find a translation of it. "I've heard different interpretations."

"A shy girl. Were you shy when you were a little girl, Miss O'Connel? I think you were."

What's going on here? I haven't seen the man but once in the six months I've been here, and now he's having a cozy little chat with me. "We moved a lot when I was a child. It wasn't easy to make friends. It was easier..." She trailed off. Why am I telling him this? I don't tell anyone this.

"It was easier to just fit in, wasn't it? I can understand that. It must have seemed safer. Children can often be cruel to anyone they see as different."

"I wasn't different. It wasn't too hard."

He smiled, as if he understood perfectly, then shifted the topic abruptly. "`Aiteag."

She made her face blank. "Yes, they really picked an obscure one for the middle name."

"Not so obscure. Have you had it interpreted?"

She knew what it meant well enough. More than once a neighborhood bully had somehow (she was never sure how) found out. Her life would be hell for a time after that. "No. I'm sure it's something pretty mundane."

"On the contrary. It means 'desire'. You didn't know that?" She shook her head. Mm. You're lying about that, Miann. I can't say I blame you.

Isn't this beginning to skirt sexual harassment? I think it's borderline. Who am I kidding? I'm not going to say anything unless he grabs my tit, and that isn't likely to happen. Not with women like Sulynne around.

He came a step into the room, and suddenly it seemed very crowded. "Am I making you nervous, Miss O'Connel?"

Oh, hell no. I'm used to giants talking suggestively to me. No, that's unfair. He hasn't really done anything, has he? It's probably my imagination. "No, sir. Not really."

Oh, you're lying again. I'll only play with you a little more, Shy Girl. You're too much fun to let out of the net too soon. "I saw you in the gym this afternoon."

"Yes. I doubled up my breaks."

"You didn't stay to see the finish of the game."

"I had to get back to work."

"That wasn't necessary. I could have given you... dispensation."

"Other employees tend to resent that sort of thing, sir." Use the title. Put a little more distance between you and him, at least verbally, because there isn't much physically right now, and my God that man is big!

"Understood. But next time..."

Next time?

"...stay to see the set out. I'd like your opinion on my style of play."

Your style of play? You crush people. How much style is there in that? "Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Baxter." Title and surname. That should get it across. He smiled. Maybe not.

Time to let her loose, for now. "Well, I won't keep you any longer." He stepped back to the doorway. She gave a little sigh, and he had to fight to keep the smile from broadening into a grin.

"Oh, no trouble, sir." Please go away. Hollachuck, shouldn't you have noticed him and come over to fawn and toady by now?

So very uncomfortable. You're about to crawl out of your skin right now, aren't you, woman? A very satisfactory reaction. "Good day, Miss O'Connel."

"Have a nice day, sir." He left. Thank God, finally. He was almost as hard to get rid of as Axel. She thought for a moment more. No, I lie. No one is as hard to get rid of as Axel. The man is oblivious. Mina shook her head, going back to her work. Baxter must have been bored, that had to be it. A little amusement from observing the peon, eh, Padrone?

She typed steadily. In a moment, she was humming again. And then she was singing softly, "...and dun't it feel good? All right, now..."

Just outside her cubbyhole, his back to the flimsy wall, Stephen Baxter stood and listened to the woman singing softly to herself. He relished the thought of listening to her when she was unawares, when she was acting unselfconsciously.

The outer office was nearly empty, all the other employees on errands, or break, or having left a little early (he'd made note of that). The only one there now was a file clerk, and the woman was quietly swearing at a recalcitrant data sorting program. She wasn't paying any attention to Stephen.

That was good. It was just as well that no one was watching him, because he was getting hard, just knowing that the woman was going about her business on the other side of the wall, unaware of his interest.

Chapter Nine, Interest

Mina was tapping away briskly, eyes riveted on the list of stock holders for 1932, when someone tapped on the wall of her cubicle. She looked up to find some sort of a delivery person standing in the doorway. What on earth? They're not shipping me supplies or records, are they? Usually I have to haul them in myself. "Yes?"

"Mina O'Connel?"

Uh oh. Maybe it's a process server. Have I done anything that I can be subpoenaed for? It wouldn't be for that library book I spilled soup on, would it? They said I could pay them back a little at a time. Evade, evade, evade. "This is her office." When the boy swept the interior with a snide look, before returning a scornful gaze to her she said sourly. "All right. It's her hole. What do you want?"

"You authorized to accept deliveries for 'her'?"

Emphasis on the 'her'. I ain't fooling no one. "Yeah," she said resignedly.

"Geez, lady, I ain't bringing you a summons. It's just flowers."

"Flowers?"

"Flow-er, to be exact. And a nice one." He stepped in and set a vase on Mina's desk, offering a clipboard. "Can you sign for 'Miss O'Connel'?"

Mina took the clipboard, signing. "I can't afford to tip, but if I could, you would have blown it."

"I'm crushed. Enjoy." He left.

Since when did the majority of the population become smart-asses? The vase was pretty, cut glass, and heavier than she would have expected. She could make out a single, long green stem through it's sides. The upper part of the delivery was wrapped loosely in green tissue paper, and Mina carefully peeled it down.

She almost gasped. It was a single rose, and she had thought that she was beyond being impressed by a single rose. It might have been pretty significant decades ago, back before you could by them off street-corner vendors or in the floral section of the all-night supermarket, but now? Eh. That's what she had thought. Of course, no one had ever actually given her roses. She found that she wasn't as indifferent as she had expected to be.

Maybe if it had been the usual red or pastel pink, but this... It was salmon pink, a deep, rich shade that had a touch of peach in it. It was full blown, at that perfect point when it was at it's most magnificent, it's most fragrant, just before it would start to become blowsy. Almost in awe, Mina touched one velvety soft petal with her fingertip. "There has to be a mistake," she whispered. "People don't send people like me flowers."

"Very nice, Mina." Mina looked up to see Hollachuck in the doorway.

"I think there must have been a mistake."

"Check the card."

Mina had been so distracted by the beauty of the flower that she hadn't seen the pasteboard card hanging from the white ribbon that was tied in a bow around the narrow neck of the vase. She detached it carefully, and looked at in. In fine, careful script was "Mina--perchance."

"Well, it has my first name on it, all right. I can't make any sense of it, though. It's not even my birthday."

"Well, there's something going on. You aren't the only one to get one of those."

"Oh?" She felt unaccountably let down. Figures. No one would single me out for attention. I just have to remember that's a good thing. "Who else? Everyone in records?"

"No, you're the only one here. But there were two in accounting, one in personnel, and one somewhere else, one of the grunt workers, I think." she cocked her head. "It's very nice."

"Well, I suppose so. But it's just a flower, after all."

Hollachuck had come in. "May I?" She was already reaching for the flower, so Mina went ahead and nodded. Her supervisor picked up the vase, and made a surprised sound. "My word! This is heavy!"

"I noticed that."

Hollachuck lifted the vase high, peering at the base. She blinked rapidly several times. Then she pulled her reading glasses from her skirt pocket, perched them on her nose, and looked again. Finally she set the vase down, very carefully. "Mina, that's Waterford Crystal."

"What? You mean that brand that they register in all the fancy bridal stores?"

"Yes. I was out pricing gifts for my cousin's anniversary last month. A vase just like that was priced at just under one hundred and seventy dollars."

Mina opened her mouth, the words 'You're shitting me' on her tongue, but she bit them back just in time. At last she said, "No fooling?" Hollachuck snorted. "Why would I joke about something like this?"

Oh, pardon me. I forgot, you have NO sense of humor, cruel or otherwise. "This is... confusing."

"I'll say. Who would send YOU such an expensive present?"

Oh, thank you VERY much. "Do the other's have vases like this?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." She left the room.

Mina peered out of her tiny office and was treated to the rather astonishing sight of Hollachuck leaving her post during working hours for some purpose other than to eat lunch or pee. The rest of the office noticed it, too, and turned questioning eyes on the data transcription clerk. Mina just shrugged, and went back to work.

A few minutes later, Hollachuck returned. "Yes, they all have the same vase, but the flowers are different colors. A red, a maroon, a pink, and a yellow. Barenski, Schulburg, Potter, Liang, and you. All women, no men."

"Do they know what's going on?"

"They're as mystified as you are. The cards that came with them aren't signed, either. There's just the woman's name, and a short inscription. All of them look like they were written by the same person, though."

"What do their cards say?"

"Let me think..." She started ticking off on her fingers. "Barenski's was 'perhaps', Schulburg's was 'possibly', Potter's was 'maybe', and Liang's was 'mayhap'."

"Well, there's definitely a theme to them, but where it leads, I have no idea."

"I'd be tempted to say it was some sort of elaborate practical joke, if it wasn't for the sheer expense involved. After taxes, and including the flowers and delivery costs, this little stunt set someone back close to a thousand dollars. People simply don't spend that kind of cash on a whim."

She sniffed. "If they'd gone to the heads of each division, I might have thought they were a gesture of appreciation. As it is..." She trailed off.

Since I so obviously do nothing to be appreciated, you're at a loss. Stuff it. "Yes, very puzzling. Excuse me, I was in the middle of a file." Mina turned back to her work, leaving Hollachuck to decide if she wanted to go against her principles and interrupt a busy worker, or leave. The older woman obviously didn't like being dismissed, but force of habit was too strong. She left.

When Hollachuck was gone, Mina stopped again, and contemplated the flower. It really was beautiful. But...

But it was out of the ordinary. It meant that someone had... noticed her. You don't send a hundred-seventy dollar gift to someone who's below your radar. This troubled her.

Well, there's nothing I can do about it, I suppose. I'm darn sure not going to throw it away. Daddy didn't raise a fool. She settled it on her desk where she could see it every time she glanced up from her work.

She dropped the card in the wastebasket, and started to type again. After a moment, though, she stopped, staring into the cylinder. She reached in and picked the card out, studying it again. "Mina--perchance. Perchance, what? Maybe, what? Possibly, what? Perhaps, what? Mayhap, what? Who are you, and what kind of game are you playing? Because this is a game, isn't it?" No reply of course. "I don't want to play."

But she didn't throw the card away again. Instead, she tucked it into the corner of her desk blotter, next to her keyboard. And every time she looked at the rose and smiled, she would look at the card. And frown.

Chapter Ten, Possibilities

Stephen's desk intercom gave its discreet buzz, and he held down the reply button. "Yes, Donald?"

"Sir, there's a messenger here with a package for you. He won't let me sign for it, says he's to deliver it to you personally." Donald sounded distinctly annoyed. He was a rather petty man who enjoyed what he saw as his power over those who were allowed to see Stephen.

"Yes, I've been expecting it. Send him in." Stephen consulted his watch. Only four o'clock. Lamont had made excellent time. If he kept performing at this level, Stephen would have to consider giving him a bonus. With this type of work, it was wise to give a little more than you had to, to keep good will.

The messenger was a cut above the general scruffy sort he saw moving through the business district. His jeans were clean, and he had actually removed his cycling helmet before entering the office. "You have something for me?" Stephen extended his hand expectantly.

The young man shuffled his feet, then said, "Um, sir? I hate to do this, but I'm gonna need to see some ID. I know this is your office, an' I had ta go through th' dragon outside an' all, but Mr. Lamont insists on us bein' ab-so-lutely certain 'fore we hand over material."

Stephen nodded, reaching for his wallet. "You may tell your employer that I am impressed with his cautionary measures." He showed his driver's license to the boy. "Will this do?"

Stephen was pleased when the young man did not just glance hastily at the proferred card. He studied it carefully, comparing the photo to Stephen's face. Finally, his expression relieved, he said, "Yessir, that's you all right. Here you are."

Stephen took the manilla envelope the boy offered. "Is there a receipt for me to sign?"

"Nossir. We ain't much on paperwork." He grinned, and there was something feral in his expression. "Boss says it leaves a trail."

"A wise man, your boss. Thank you." The boy left, and Stephen placed the envelope carefully in the exact center of his desk, and just looked at it for a few moments. He ran his fingers lightly over it's surface, tracing along the edge that marked the flap.

Besides that rediculous brad device all these envelopes had, the flap had been gummed shut. Good. He knew the types of riskes bicycle messengers took: he'd seen them dodging in and out of traffic. He had not actually seen one get hit, but it was only a matter of time. And the idea of an envelope full of photographs he'd ordered ripping open when it flew under the wheels of some vehicle after the messenger was downed... He could imagine glossy photos skimming through the air to land in street and gutter, and on sidewalk, to be picked up by witnesses or the police who came to investigate the accident.

Today, there should be no risk. The pictures were supposed to be simple candid protraits, and none of the women had experienced anything that might have made them go to the authorities, and alert them to... irregularities. But later... It was good to know that they were careful.

Stephen picked up the envelope, unbent the prongs of the brad, and tried to peel the edge of the flap up. After a moment, he smiled. They hadn't just used the commercially applied gumming to shut the envelope: they had glued it, also. It was well and truly sealed. Stephen slit the end with his letter opener. He had plenty of spare envelopes to put the photos in for their trip back to his home.

He was surprised by the thickness of the sheaf of photos that he removed from the envelope, until he realized that Lamont had included two different shots of each candidate. How thoughtful. You just don't find those little extras in service these days.

He paged through the photos slowly, studying each woman carefully. He tried to imagine what it would be like to look at that face day after day, perhaps even see the small lines of age creeping in. That was what he wanted. He wasn't interested in getting a toy to use and throw away. If THAT was all he wanted, it would be simple enough, and entail a great deal less risk. He could have gotten what he wanted through Thomball or a half dozen other contacts with nothing but a phone call.

Schulburg first. She was a little older; early forties, starting to show her age. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Stephen wasn't locked into the 'twentysomething' mentality. In fact, there were certain things that appealed to him about more mature women. They'd usually set up their routines more firmly, knew who they were and what they wanted. They had years of experience at blending in and fading into the background.

Schulburg had a little grey in her hair, she hadn't dyed it to conceal it. Stephen tried to decide if this was good, or bad. If she'd used a rinse, would that be considered trying to use protective camoflauge, or putting on display colors? One of her photos was of her in her car. He frowned. That was a rather flashy yellow. Had she chosen it deliberately, or was it all she could afford?

Suelynn Liang was next. Again he studied the photos. She really was quite pretty. That would be a plus, of course. But the more he looked at her, the more he was aware of the exotic nature of her appearance. There was an almond tilt to her large, dark eyes, and a slight ivory tint to her smooth complexion. Would her drabness of dress and self-effacing manner be enough to offset that? According to the records, she was an immigrant from Japan, had come over to the U.S. when she was a teenager. He was afraid that her habits and personality traits had been too set by then for her to truely blend herself in the American culture as seamlessly as he would have liked. He put aside her photos and went on to the next.

Mina O'Connel. He smiled. This was the one he'd had the most contact with so far, and she was very promising. She had her social facade very firmly in place, but Stephen could still catch little glimpses around and over it. There was a sharp mind behind that bland face, and sometimes it peeked out through the wide blue eyes.

Her clothing so far had been exemplery. He hadn't seen a spot of real color on her the few times he'd seen her. She had very nice, very curly hair, but she did absolutely nothing with it. No make-up that he could detect, unless she'd completely mastered the 'natural look'. Yes, she was a good possibility.

Now, then, Barenski. There was a shot of her in the cafeteria. Stephen frowned. She was sitting with several people. He looked more closely, and his expression smoothed. Yes, she was sitting with them, but she wasn't with them, you could tell. They were totally involved with each other. There might as well have been a wall across the table.

Finally Potter. She was the youngest of the group, only nineteen. There was still something unformed about her. If he wanted to, he could shape her as she matured, make her whatever he wanted. That was an idea. He'd never taken one that young before. Of course, at that age, there might still be parents keenly interested in her whereabouts.

Stephen took Liang's photos, and went to his paper shredder. He slid the photos into the slot, and reached for the SHRED button, but stopped. For a long moment he considered, then pulled out the photos and looked at them again. Finally he shrugged. "It's too soon to eliminate her completely." He took the photos back to his desk, gathered all of them into a pile, and slipped them into a fresh envelope. Then the old envelope went into the shredder, and this time he pushed the button.

Dominic picked him up from work that evening. Stephen had him park across the street from the building, and he observed the employees as they made their ways out to their cars. Barenski got in a car with another woman. He'd have to get Lamont to check and see if that was an anomaly, or if she was part of a car pool.

Dominic indicated the lot. "That O'Connel dame has been sitting in her car for quite a while. What's she doing?"

"Judging from the way she was just now pounding on the steering wheel, I would say that she is swearing at the car for not starting." As Stephen spoke, she got out of the car, slamming the door. She stood fuming for a moment, then jerked the door open and slammed it again. Stephen smiled. "Oh dear. She seems to have a bit of a temper."

"She's pissed, all right." Dominic agreed.

Stephen watched as the woman opened the hood of the car and peered at the engine. Even at this distance he could see the look on her face. It said, 'I don't know why the hell I'm doing this. It' isn't like I'll know what's wrong, even if I see it.' She looked close to crying.

A man in a security guard uniform came out of the building and approached her. When he spoke to her, she pulled away slightly, her stance tense. He looked under the hood, but Stephen could tell that despite his attempts to look wise, he hadn't a clue as to what was wrong, either. Shaking his head, he spoke to the woman again, then put his hand on her arm.

Stephen felt a small lance of irritation, bordering on anger. What was the man doing, touching one of his hiders? She wasn't comfortable with it either, he observed. She had pulled back from him with almost a jerk. But that didn't seem to deter the guard. He just took another step toward her, talking and making soothing gestures.

Stephen came to a decision. "Drive over there, Dominic."

His driver shot him a surprised look. "Boss, you going to get personal with her this early in the game?" When he saw Stephen's cold look he said hastily, "Yeah, sure," and pulled across into the lot.

The car had flatly refused to start when Mina went to go home. It had made a grinding, whining sound that got slower and fainter ever time she turned the key. Finally it was just whirring faintly. Alone in the car, with no one near to observe, she had given in to the frustration and anger, and had sworn vigorously and loudly, pounding on the steering wheel as if she could beat the car into co-operation.

No such luck, of course. The final key turn had produced nothing but a clicking noise. She put her head briefly against the wheel, then got out of the car and slammed the door. It felt so good that she did it again. Knowing it was hopeless, she went and opened the hood and stared at the jumble of wires, hoses, and arcane metal bits, hoping against hope that she'd see something that had obviously come loose, and could be easily reattached.

It had startled her when Axel came up behind her. "Car trouble?"

No, I was just admiring the engine. Grease gives me the warm fuzzies. "I suppose so. It's been more reluctant than usual the last few days."

"Let me see if there's anything I can do." Axel leaned into the area under the hood, peering seriously. He touched a wire here, and a hose there, but it was fairly obvious that he didn't know any more about it than Mina did. At last he stood back up. "Nothing jumps out at me."

"Fantastic. NOW what am I supposed to do?"

"No one to call for a ride?"

"No." She answered shortly, and didn't elaborate on it.

"You'd better come back inside while we try to decide what you're going to do."

He put his hand on her arm. Mina stiffened and pulled away. "That's all right. Maybe it just needs to rest a little. Maybe it's flooded."

"Honey, that thing is deader than disco." He took her arm again. "Just come with me, and..."

She didn't have the patience to be diplomatic this time. Her nerves were raw from dealing with the car: faulty mechanics always had that effect on her. Plus she'd been a little on edge all day, wondering what the floral gift signified. She didn't like people in her personal space to start with, and Axel was particularly offensive. "Don't call me honey!" She snatched her arm back. "And don't touch me."

She felt a thrill of alarm when he smiled, his eyes narrowing, and said softly, "Now, that's no way to go through life, darlin'." It was still daylight, but the lot was a hell of a lot more deserted than was comfortable.

Just as she was thinking this, a large, dark car pulled up beside them and stopped, engine idling. The door on the other side opened, and Stephen Baxter got out. Standing in the open door, he said, "Miss O'Connel, isn't it? Is there some problem?"

She drew a breath, grateful for the presence of someone else. "My car won't start."

"How terribly annoying. Do you have a ride home?"

"I was going to offer her one," Turner spoke up.

Stephen studied him with a looke of faint distaste. "You're one of my security guards?"

Axel's eyes hardened slightly at the 'my'. "I work here, yes."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe your shift runs until midnight."

"I have a break in a couple of hours."

"And you were intending to leave the premisis? Your desire to help a fellow employee is commendable, but completely out of the question." He looked at Mina. "The busses have stopped running by now, and I believe that taxi cabs are obscenely expensive. Allow me to offer you a ride, Miss O'Connel."

Mina considered briefly. Baxter was right on both counts: the busses had stopped an hour ago, and a taxi ride would cost far more than she had in her purse. Even if she had felt vigorous enough to walk home, it would have been close to eleven by the time she got in, IF she wasn't mugged or murdered. There really wasn't much of a choice. And after all, this was Stephen Baxter, for heaven's sake. He was a public figure, very well known, and there would be a witness to her getting into the car with him. It wasn't like he was Ted Bundy. "That would be very kind of you. Thank you."

"Excellent." He leaned back into the car. "Dominic?"

The driver's door opened, and a man who looked vaguely familiar got out. He walked around to her side and opened the passenger door in back, making a slight bow as he waved for her to enter. Just before she entered the car, she decided that it wasn't wise to leave things too antagonistic with Turner. A security guard could make things pretty miserable for you, if he wanted to be petty. She gave him a small, brief smile. "Thanks anyway, Mr. Turner. I appreciate the thought."

The dark haired man shut the door after her, and turned to go back around the car. When he passed, his eyes met Turner's, and he smirked. Axel felt a prickle of anger. It was like the bastard was laughing at him for getting shot down. Just before he got into the car, the man said, "You ought to be gettin' back to your rounds, shouldn't you, Rent-a-Cop?"

Dominic had to force back a snicker as he saw the guard's face turn brick red. He shut the door and buckled up, thinking Yeah, pretty boy. Mr. Baxter doen't like anyone else messin' with someone he might be taking a fancy to. You'd better watch yourself, or he'll find some reason to have you pounding the pavement looking for another job.

Dominic turned, hooking an elbow over the back of the seat. She was sitting as far in the corner as she could get without plastering herself to the door. "Where do you need to go, Miss?"

She gave him the address. Crummy section of town. Not dangerous, just crummy. No wonder she can only afford a piece of shit car.

"What seemed to be the trouble with your vehicle?" Stephen asked.

The bitterness of her words was belied by her light tone. "Oh, if I had any idea of that, I'd fix it myself and not have the problem."

Stephen grimaced. "Yes, of course. Silly of me to ask. Has it given you this sort of trouble before?"

"Not exactly this type of trouble. It's been getting slower and slower these days."

"Perhaps it's something minor that can be easily repaired."

"I'd like to think so." Yeah, right. Minor is a relative word. If it costs over fifty bucks, I can't afford it. She glanced around the rich interior of the car. Her fingers absently stroked the seat. Real leather. Who the heck can afford real leather?

Stephen watched the woman stroking the upholstery, and wondered if she was even aware she was doing it. She likes fine things, she just hasn't had a chance to experience them. "How will you get to work tomorrow?"

Mina sighed. "Let's see... I'll have to get up about twenty minutes early, I think, but there should be a bus. I'll have to walk to the store to get change, I suppose. They only want exact change."

"And you'll have the car towed to a garage during the day and repaired?"

She fidgitted. "Would it be all right if I left it there a couple of days? I won't be able to have anything done to it till payday. The towtrucks want to be paid right up front, and the garage won't release it to me unless I can pay them, even if they manage to fix it."

"That sounds like a great deal of trouble and aggravation. Dominic is quite proficient at auto repairs. Would it be agreeable if he had a look at it tomorrow? It's quite possible he'd be able to fix it for you."

"Oh, I couldn't ask that. Besides, it's probably something horrendous. It usually is. I'll still have to have the money for parts, even if he doesn't charge mechanic's rates."

"Something can be worked out. Perhaps ten dollars a week out of your paycheck. In any case there's no point in worrying about it until we know what the problem is. I insist on this. You must accept my help."

"I'm not sure I'd feel right about that."

"Nonsense. It's the most practicle thing to do. Can you really afford to turn it down?"

She stared at him. He was right, of course. That didn't make it any easier to swallow. She'd been making it on her own with no assistance from anyone since she'd gotten out of high school, and it was a little galling to have him assume she needed charity.

Who the fuck are you kidding, Mina? You DO need charity. You're not noble, you're fucking BROKE. Take the deal. "Thank you. That's most kind. I'll appreciate any help I get."

Stephen nodded, thinking, Perhaps. But you resent the hell out of needing it, don't you? You're proud of making it on your own. I wonder how you'd react to being totally dependent on someone else? How would you feel if your shelter, your clothes, your food, your water... your very existence was in someone else's control? My control. How would you feel?*

At her apartment building, Dominic started to get out of the car, intending to go around and open her door again. Mina quickly did it herself, knowing that it was a petty defiance, but not caring. "Thank you for the ride."

"Give Dominic your key so he'll be able to work on your car."

Mina hesitated, then pulled a keyring out of her purse, removed a single key, and handed it across the roof of the car to Dominic. "Thank you."

He tossed it lightly in his palm before pocketing it. "No problem."

She was beginning to shut the door, when Stephen called, "One more thing, Miss O' Connel."

She leaned down to look in at him. "Yes?"

"There's no reason why you should waste money and time on the bus. I will pick you up tomorrow morning."

It wasn't an offer. It was a pronouncement. Not 'Can I give you a ride?' or 'Would you like...?' Just 'I will.' How on Earth could she refuse? No plausable excuse leapt to mind, and he was watching her expectantly. "I have to be in by nine."

"That will be fine. Until tomorrow, then." Feeling somehow as if she'd been herded into something, Mina closed the door and went into her apartment.

Dominic got into the front seat and pulled out, headed toward Baxter's mansion on the outskirts of town. "This is the first time you've gotten this close to one of them this early in the selection process." He was careful to keep his tone neutral, non-judgemental.

"Yes, I know. But really, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. After all," he settled back into the seat. "if I'm her ride home tomorrow, and I will be because you aren't going to be able to fix that car right away no matter what's wrong with it... If I'm her ride, well..." He smiled. "She won't very well be able to arrive home unexpectedly, will she? I'll need to talk to Lamont. If he's ready, this will be a perfect time to install the video equipment."

Chapter Eleven, Contact

Axel Turner surveyed himself in the men's room mirror, turning his head from side to side. Yes, there was an errant lock of hair trying to stick up in back. Shit. I should know better than to wear those damn caps, but I look so good in them. He sighed, and wet his comb in the sink, then carefully smoothed his hair in back and checked the results. It took too more tries. He didn't want to use too much water: that made his hair curl, and he was out of styling gel.

He wiped off the comb and tucked it back in his pocket, checked his teeth to be sure there were not food particles in embarrassing places, and practiced a quick smile. Oh, hell, boy. You don't really need to practice any more. You're damn near irresistible.

Whistling, he left the men's room and swung by the desk in the front lobby. Borden was at his usual post, a Fish and Game magazine open on the desk behind the raised counter, as usual. Borden was taking retirement in two years, and had the first five years after that planned solid with visits to different fishing and hunting spots in America. Axel had seen Mrs. Borden a couple of times, and was pretty sure she was planning on staying home and packing his wide ass off in the RV alone.

"Hey, Borden."

"Hey, Hotshot." Borden didn't look up from the magazine. Borden didn't look up for much of anything. Axel had a feeling that an all-girl topless marching band could come through the lobby playing John Philip Sousa, and Borden would just turn a page. "You gonna do escort duty again today?"

It was a rote question. Axel ALWAYS did escort duty for any of the women who worked late and felt nervous about walking out to their cars. He did it for the nice looking ones even when they DIDN'T work late. You could do some serious flirting between the building and their car, and sometimes that led to other, more pleasant things. More than once he'd been invited into a back seat.

"Yeah, Borden. Got to keep the damsels from getting distressed."

Borden was looking at an advertisement for a graphite rod that would cost just about what he took home in pay for one week's work, with overtime. "Yeah, and if they didn't get their daily dose of Turner turn-on they'd be pretty distressed, huh?" There was no irony in his voice. He'd learned long ago that Axel would ignore it. The boy truly believed he was God's gift to women, and it was his divine duty to shine his light into as many dim little lives as he could.

Axel tightened the knot in his tie minutely. "You said it, I didn't. Think I'll go upstairs and take a look around."

Borden grunted as Axel headed for the elevators. It would have been simpler for Axel to stay at the lobby desk and pick up his charges as they passed through, but he probably wanted to be sure that some choice bit didn't locate a male co-worker to walk with before she got downstairs. One of these days he was going to try some shit with the wrong person. Either an irate spouse or boyfriend would feed him his nuts, or he'd get a face full of mace. Borden kind of hoped he'd be around to see that. He ran across an ad for a new type of custom made, hand-tied fly, guaranteed to lure any bass within a square mile of your boat, and lost what little interest he'd had in Axel Turner.

In the elevator Axel's hand hovered over the buttons indecisively. Where would be the best pickings this evening? Accounting was no good: those bean counters made sure they got out on the dot, unless there was some sort of big push going on. Ditto personnel: since they kept an eye on all the overtime, their supervisor was big on punctuality. Cafeteria? There might be a few scrubbers left, cleaning up, but they always smelled like cleansers and whatever had been the special of the day.

What about records? Yeah, records. He pushed the button and stood back to wait as the doors slid closed. On the way up, he complacently considered the possibilities. There were a lot of single women in records. Not that he objected to the occasional married woman, but you had to be careful with them.

He'd had better success with the women of records than he had with most of the other departments. Must be having to deal with those dry, boring facts all day. It must leave them ready for a little action. Well... He smiled to himself as the doors slid open. I can give 'em more action than a Stallone movie marathon.

The office was still half-full. Good, good. More to choose from. The old warthog who ran the show gave him the hairy eyeball when he came into the room, but he gave her his 'damn, but you look good for a woman your age' smile, and she softened a little around the edges. He went to her first: better to get the authority's blessing before starting to troll.

"Good evening, Mrs. Hollachuck." And ain't that an appropriate name? I'm not sure if you look like a woodchuck, but that face would do justice to some kind of rodent.

"Good evening, Axel. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company? No security threat, I hope?"

Straight faced, he said, "Well, ma'am, I've heard that some of the staff may be smuggling out important company documents."

Her eyebrows rose. "Really?"

No, you moron. "Yes, ma'am. I'm afraid that I'm going to have to perform a strip search on all the female staff."

It finally got through to her, and she giggled, a rather grotesque sound coming from her. "You're a bad man, Axel Turner."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm real good at being bad." Crap, I deserve a medal for flirting with this dinosaur. What I won't do to get access to possible nooky.* "I'm here in case any of the ladies feel a little nervous about walking out to their cars alone."

"Axel, it's only five-thirty. There are no windows in this office, but isn't it still light outside?"

Sincere puppy-dog look. "Yes, ma'am." Damn, I'm getting tired of saying that. "But this neighborhood isn't what it could be. I heard a woman got her purse snatched while she was on her lunch break, about a block up the road. So you see, there's never really any time you're absolutely safe in a city like this." The purse snatching wasn't an entire lie: it had happened, but more than a half a mile away, and it was suspected that the 'victim' had been trying to make a drug purchase, and the dealer had just decided to take payment without offering up product.

She was nodding. "You're right, of course. I'll be here for another hour or so, but I'm sure some of the younger girls will be leaving soon. I think Mina was just going to the ladies' room for a little water for her rose."

"Rose?"

"Yes, I'm surprised you didn't hear about it." Me, too. If anything happened that was interesting enough for you to think it warrants comment, I want to know. I hate being out of the loop. Well, I guess you're going to make me ask, aren't you, you old warthog? "What happened?"

"It's quite the mystery. Several of the girls received anonymous flowers, a single rose each. That would be odd enough by itself, but the vases that the flowers were in are all quite valuable crystal. Do you know what Waterford crystal is, Axel?"

No, I'm a fucking peasant moron. "Yes, ma'am. Quite a famous brand. That IS interesting. Several, you say?"

"Yes, five in all: Mina, Adrianna and Torrie in accounting, Leeanne in personnel, and a Susie somethingorother in the mail room."

"Liang." Trust this snobby bitch not to remember her name. All good enough looking chicks, if kinda quiet. And I guess I'm going to have to drag the whole story out of you, aren't I, bitch? "Completely anonymous? No cards at all?"

A frown. "Well, there WERE cards, but nothing significant. Just one word on each one: things like maybe and perhaps."

"If it was just one of them, I'd say they had a stalker."

Hollachuck looked startled. The idea had obviously never occurred to her. "It could just be a secret admirer."

I shrugged. "In this day and age, they pretty much amount to the same thing."

Mina came back into the office, carefully carrying a pretty crystal vase that contained a single rose. She was regarding it with a rather pleased expression. When her gaze fell upon Hollachuck and Turner, it cooled. Axel didn't miss that, and it made him more determined to get close to her than ever. "Hello, Miss O'Connel. Nice flower."

"Thank you. Excuse me, I need to put it away." She went to her cubbyhole, and Axel followed.

As she set it on the desk he said, "Miz Hollachuck says that it was anonymous."

"Yes."

Mm, pretty short, aren't we, darlin'? You're not gonna put me off that easy. "I find that a little disturbing."

And why would it bother you? she thought acidly. Aloud she said, "It's a little unusual, I'll admit. It would be worse if I were the only one, but what with the other girls getting one, I'm pretty sure I'm not being singled out." She got her coat.

"You sure about that? I mean, there are a LOT of women working in this building, and only five of you got roses. Sounds a little like you were being targeted to me." Put a little fear into her. It's probably nothing, but if it makes her feel vulnerable there'll be that much more chance to get 'protective'.

"I hardly think so." She put on her coat and got her purse. Walking toward the door, she said, "But thank you for your concern."

Oo, did I just hear 'fuck you' under those words? As she started to slip past him, Axel put his had casually on the door frame, blocking her exit. "You're not taking this seriously, Mina."

Her eyes sparked at the use of her first name. "Look, I'm a church mouse, I don't have any power in the company or the real world. What could anyone possibly want from me?"

He let his eyes travel lingeringly down her body. When they returned to her face, she had flushed, but it was hard to tell if it was in embarrassment, or anger. "You've got the same thing any man wants from a woman, Mina. I think I'd better escort you out to your car... just to be sure you're safe."

She stared at his arm till he lowered it, then walked past him saying, "That isn't necessary."

He followed her through the office, ignoring the curious look Hollachuck gave them. "I think it is. I don't want you walking around outside alone."

"I won't be."

They had stepped into the hall. Stephen Baxter was just leaving the elevator. "Ah, Mina, there you are. All through for the day?"

"Yes, sir." She walked over to stand beside him. "Mr. Baxter, Mr. Turner is worried about me going out alone."

"Really?" Stephen turned a bright blue gaze on Axel. Turner took in the perfect cut, style, and fit of Baxter's understated wardrobe, and suddenly felt flashy in his tailored uniform. "There's no need to worry, Security."

Son of a bitch! Like he didn't just hear my name!

Stephen was continuing. "I'll be giving Miss O'Connel rides too and from work for the next few days, till her car is repaired. She'll be quite safe with me. Now, Mina, Dominic is waiting downstairs."

Stephen put his hand on her back to guide her into the elevator, and Axel was gratified to see that she stiffened and subtly pulled away, just as she had when he tried the same thing. You're money isn't going to get you as far as you might think with THAT one, bub, he thought smugly as the doors slid closed.

In the elevator, Stephen said, "Wasn't that the young man who was with you in the parking lot yesterday?"

"He was in the parking lot, yes, but he wasn't WITH me," Mina replied.

"I see." He was silent for a moment. "Was he bothering you, Miss O'Connel? I can't have one of my employees harassing women."

Mina hesitated. As obnoxious as she found Axel, he really hadn't DONE anything, besides be an asshole, and even assholes needed jobs. She decided that it wasn't bad enough for her to want his job, and said, "Not really. He's a little full of himself, but I'm pretty sure he's harmless. I can take care of myself."

Again there was silence. As the doors slid open and they started into the lobby, Stephen remarked, "I get the impression that you've been taking care of yourself for a long time." When she didn't reply he said, "Please pardon my unseemly interest. I have no right to be so personal."

"No problem." I'll just ignore anything I don't want to answer.

The car was pulled up right at the entrance. Dominic hopped out and opened the door for her again while Baxter went around and got in the other side. Mina felt just the tiniest bit embarrassed by the gesture. "You don't have to do that."

Dominic shrugged. "Why shouldn't I? Besides, I like to."

On the way to Mina's apartment, she said, "So, did you get a chance to have a look at my car?" She tried to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

He nodded. "Yeah, just a quick look. It seems to be the fuel pump."

She groaned, and Baxter said, "Is that expensive?"

Mina gave him a disbelieving look. God bless, 'im. He has no concept. Must be nice. "It is when you're on a budget like mine."

"If you're not in a hurry, I can check around some junkyards and see if I can find a second hand one, save you some money," Dominic offered.

"Would you?" For the first time there was some genuine emotion in Mina's voice: gratitude.

"Sure. It may take a little while, though."

"That will be no problem," Stephen broke in. He looked at Mina. "I will be happy to provide you with transportation until Dominic can effect the repairs."

"I hate to be any trouble." There was a remarkable lack of sincerity in her tone again.

"It's no trouble, believe me. I enjoy having you. I don't get to spend too much time with other people away from work these days, and you're a very pleasant person."

"Oh. Thank you." She didn't say anything else, but she occasionally slid him a puzzled glance. Pleasant? Stephen H. Baxter thinks I'm pleasant? I'm not sure how I should feel about that.

They dropped her off at her apartment, Dominic again doing the honors on the door. On the way home, Stephen settled back and said, "Now, Dominic. Is it truly the fuel pump that is giving the young lady so much trouble?"

"Well, the fuel pump probably won't last much longer, but that's not the problem right now."

"And what IS the problem."

He grinned at Stephen, looking at him in the rearview mirror. "Clogged fuel filter."

"What?"

"Probably from letting the gas get too low. The sediment in the bottom of the tank got sucked up and clogged the filter. I already fixed it. It took a wrench, some solvent, an old toothbrush, and about fifteen minutes, total."

Stephen frowned. "I'm not ready for her to have her car back."

"That's what I figured, so I didn't charge the battery she wore down trying to start it. Whenever you're ready, I just give it a jump, or put in a fresh one, and she's good to go. At least till something else goes wrong with the piece of crap."

"Very good. I spoke with Mr. Lamont before I left. He was unable to install the video equipment today because her upstairs neighbors were home, and he needs to get into their apartment to place the cameras. He'll try again tomorrow."

"He'll manage it. If they don't want to leave, he can just waft a little methane in there, show up on their doorstep in uniform, and tell 'em the gas company has had a leak reported, and they need to get out for awhile."

Stephen considered this. "He's very resourceful."

"He's the best." They drove for awhile. "So, boss. You're liking this one, aren't you?"

"It's still too early to predict who I will finally choose, but yes, this one has many desirable qualities. I think she's..." He cocked his head, considering his choice of words. "feisty."

Dominic laughed. "Yeah, from the way she was snapping at Rent-a-Cop I'd say that was true."

Stephen frowned. "I don't like him. He's showing entirely too much interest. But I don't suppose I can do anything right now. She refused to complain about him, and I would need some legitimate reason to terminate him. An Employment Commission investigation could make things rather sticky. Especially if the woman who appeared to be the cause of the dismissal turned up missing herself.

Chapter Twelve, Paprazzi

"Miss?"

Mina turned in her chair. "Yes?"

snap

"Thank you, that was perfect. Now, please look back at your terminal."

The man had lowered the camera for a moment, now he raised it again. Mina tried not to gape. "Excuse me. What are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't they tell you I'd be coming around today? There should have been a memo. I'm here to take photos for the new company magazine."

Mina vaguely recalled something tacked up on the bulletin board, but she hadn't paid much attention to it. They seldom, if ever referred to her. "But what are you doing taking photos of me?"

"You're an employee, aren't you? You qualify. I'm getting candids and set photos in every department. We may eventually do an employees' directory. You know, little picture and bare bones bio for each one."

She frowned. "I don't really like the idea of that."

That's the second one on Baxter's list who's said something like that. He seems to favor the shy ones. "Not to worry. They'll get permission before they publish anything, but I have my orders. I need to go ahead and get these photos now, so if you'll just face the monitor, please?" Mina did so grudgingly, and he snapped a picture. "Now, if you could just look like you hadn't heard the world was about to come to an end." She looked at him sharply, and he snapped another picture. "Or perhaps not. Thank you. You may see me around the next day or so. Just ignore me."

"My pleasure."

He walked away from the cubby hole with a silent whistle. That's a tart one, Baxter. Covers it up with butter, but there's a lot of lemon under there. Well, if that's what you like, more power to you.

Lamont snapped a few shots of some of the other workers, then moved on to personnel for the next subject who actually mattered: Leeanne Potter. She was much more obliging, willingly striking several poses. He took note of her co-operation. Baxter wanted to be informed of the women's attitudes about the extra attention.

When he was done he dropped off the film at his office to be developed. They had their own dark room, of course. With some of their subject matter, they couldn't very well run the film through Photo Lab. Then he got one of his junior operatives, got in the van, and drove to the O'Connel woman's apartment building. The beat-up Volvo belonging to the upstairs neighbor was nowhere to be seen.

The equipment he needed was already loaded into two gym bags. Lamont stepped into the set of generic laborer's overalls he'd brought and told his assistant to keep close watch for the Volvo. The second it came into sight he was to give Lamont a buzz on his cell phone.

Lamont entered the building, whistling cheerfully, and took the stairs up to the third floor. Sure, it was a bitch, toting the equipment, but better than risking getting caught in the elevator with someone who might later remember an unexplained handyman. Besides, the damn lift looked iffy, at best.

Upstairs it took him all of thirty seconds to pick the lock on the door. Luckily they hadn't bothered with installing a dead bolt. "Idiots," he muttered. "But thank God for idiots. Make my life SO much easier."

Inside he set the bags down on the floor in the middle of the living room and looked around. In these older buildings the apartments were usually laid out so that all on one side were identical. So O'Connel's bathroom should be right under this one's bathroom, her bedroom under this one's bedroom, etc.

He was really in luck. The management, in a vain attempt at gentrification a couple of decades before had pulled out all the old carpeting, polished the original wood floors, and laid down rugs. Of course, no one bother to ever wax or polish the floors again, so it was pretty much a lost cause. The floorboards were dull, scratched, and scarred where they showed around the edges of the rugs.

First, the bathroom. He unloaded towel, toilet tissue, and a box of sanitary napkins from the under sink cabinet, then pried up the boards. A foot or so down was the back of the ceiling of O'Connel's bathroom... hopefully. Lamont used his battery operated drill, quickly punching a hole about the size of a standard pencil eraser in the boards. Then he set up the camera and switched it on. It was motion sensitive, so would only record when someone was in the room, thus saving its batteries. With luck they wouldn't need to be replaced for a month. Of course, the tape would have to be removed every now and then.

Lamont nearly strained his neck, bending to squint through the view finder to check the angle. He adjusted it minutely, knowing that Baxter would want as good a view of the shower as possible. To bad there wasn't a way to get under the stall up here so he could shoot down directly into the shower below.

Satisfied, he replaced the boards, carefully refilled the cabinet (though how many people actually noticed how they stacked their towels?), and moved on to the next location in the bedroom. It was a little more work here. He had to move the bed and roll up the carpet to reach the flooring. Once that was done, though, the job went quickly. He wasn't as careful about not damaging the boards as he had been in the bathroom. Judging by the number of dust bunnies, the bed wasn't moved very often.

It was the same in the living room. As long as he was careful to fit the boards back in smoothly, it was doubtful anyone would notice anything amiss. The rugs were old and wrinkled, and covered up a multitude of sins. Including that of voyeurism, he thought whimsically as he re-packed his equipment.

There had still been no call from his assistant by the time he exited the apartment, re-locking it. The risky part of the exercise out of the way, he next went down to the subject's own apartment. He had to check to be sure that the observation holes weren't too obvious.

He'd been right. O'Connel's apartment was the same as her upstair's neighbor's in layout. The only difference was in color scheme and personal items. Lamont usually wasn't curious about his subjects: it didn't pay. But he found this assignment rather interesting. It was unusual to be working on group observations. This was only the third time he'd done it, and it was the second time for the same man: Stephen Baxter. The only separate incident had been when a small software company had hired him to keep tabs on a development team when they thought someone was leaking information to a rival firm, and that had been more-or-less simple tailing and wiretapping.

O'Connel's locks, plural, were a little more difficult. He had to work almost two minutes to get them open and he was worried for a second that he was going to leave some tell-tale scratches. If he had, a little metal polish would probably have taken care of it, but he hated to do sloppy work.

Inside he turned on all the lights and examined his handiwork. Even knowing where to look he had to search for the three holes. The only one he was really worried about was the one that was directly over her bed (and it was a good thing she hadn't decided to get creative and rearrange her furniture). Still, the overhead light in the bedroom was burned out, meaning that she was operating with only a bedside lamp. Even if she got ambitious and changed the lightbulb soon, chances were that she wouldn't see the hole. And if she did, chances were she'd just put it down to the building deteriorating. After all, he thought, smiling, it isn't as if someone's going to install spy cameras to keep track of a thirty-something records clerk, is it?

There was a little dust and a few wood crumbs on the bed sheet, and on the floor in the living room and bathroom. He located a dustpan and whisk broom in her kitchen cabinet and cleaned them up neatly, then flushed them down the toilet before returning the cleaning utensils to their proper place. Lamont went through the apartment turning lights back off, and left, re-locking the door again.

He whistled all the way back to the van. The pictures should be developed by the time he got back to the office, and ready to be sent to Baxter. All in all, it had been a good day.

Mrs. Hollachuck popped her head into Mina's cubicle just as she was shutting down her computer for the day. "Mina, Mr. Baxter has sent a message to you."

Such a mingling of awe and disbelief, Mrs. H. You sound like Jesus himself just came down to prove the virgin birth to you in person. "Yes?"

"He's a bit delayed, and he asks that you go up to his office to wait for him."

Mina nodded and stood up, gathering her purse. She could see the curiosity eating away at the older woman. Oh, go ahead. Ask. You know you want to.

She finally broke down. "Mina, is this work related? If it is, I should know about it, since you're under my supervision."

"No, it's not really work related." She kept her voice casual. "I mean, aside from the fact that he's giving me rides too and from work till my car gets repaired." Oh, that was WORTH giving up a bit of personal information. Just look at her eyes bulge.

"Mina, Stephen Honeywell Baxter is chauffeuring you?"

"Um, no. Actually it's his chauffeur who's chauffeuring me. Mr. Baxter just sits in the back with me." Hollachuck was blocking the doorway, and Mina stood in front of her, bag in hand, waiting. The supervisor finally got the message and moved aside, watching Mina with fresh interest as she slipped into her coat.

Mina rode up to the top floor. She'd never been there. It was Baxter's private suite of offices: there had been no reason for her to venture that far.

The room that the elevator opened on looked more like a posh hotel lobby than a business office. Though it was still lighted, it seemed completely deserted. Well, it WAS a little late. She took a few steps in, peering around. There were comfortable groupings of chairs and love seats. Perhaps she should take a seat and wait.

While she was considering this a thin, fussy looking man bustled out of a corridor at the back. He spotted her, hesitated, and came forward. He eyed her in a manner slightly more welcoming than the doorman at an exclusive hotel watching an approaching wino. "You would be Miss O'Connel?"

No would be about it, sport. I'm the genuine article. "Yes, I am."

He nodded. "Mr. Baxter is expecting you. If you'll follow me?"

"I can wait for him out here." Mina didn't like going into unfamiliar territory.

The man frowned slightly. His tone was still polite, but firm. "Mr. Baxter said to bring you back at once. Please."

Or you drag me by my hair? You could try. It might be fun to kick your skinny ass. "Certainly." Someone has a little more power than is strictly good for them, I think.

She followed him back into the floor, all the way to the back. They came to a heavy, dark door. The other doors they had passed had all born brass nameplates, but this one was unmarked. Hm. I guess he doesn't feel the need to set himself apart. He's important enough that anyone who needs to know, knows exactly where he is. That kind of quiet self-confidence was just the tiniest bit intimidating.

Her guide knocked discreetly. Mina was expecting someone to call out for them to enter. Instead the door was opened by Dominic. His eyes flicked disinterestedly over the man to rest on Mina, and he smiled. "Hey! He won't be much longer. Come on in." He looked at the other man. "Donald, move your butt so the lady can pass. He won't be needing you any more today."

Donald stepped aside, tugging at his vest in frustration. He looked like he really wanted to say something. Whether or not he actually would have, the decision was taken away when Mina entered the room and Dominic more or less shut the door in his face.

The office was smaller than she would have expected for such an important man, but she supposed the wall of windows behind the desk made up for the lack of space. The view of the city was breathtaking.

Stephen Baxter was at the desk, his back to the magnificent view, sorting through a thick pile of glossy black and white photographs. He glanced up. "Good evening, Miss O'Connel. I am sorry to keep you waiting like this. I'm afraid I became engrossed in the photos for our new in-house magazine. There are several here of you, I believe."

"Yes. The photographer was by earlier."

"You don't sound too pleased." He tapped the photos into a neat pile and slid them into a manila envelope.

She watched as he laid the envelope in the open briefcase on the desk before him. I'm not sure I like the ideas of photographs of myself just floating around out there. "He startled me. His candid pictures are a wee bit too candid."

"I'm sorry if it startled you. I'll be sure to have him be more discreet."

"There's going to be more?" She couldn't keep the hint of annoyance out of her voice.

"Of course. This is going to be an ongoing venture, and today was only the first tentative step. It will take some time before we achieve the results I want." He looked at her. "You don't mind, do you?"

Oh, Christ! How am I supposed to answer that honestly without sounding like a touchy bitch. "No, of course not. It's just... If I had known I would have dressed a little more nicely." No, I wouldn't have, but maybe you'll give us more warning next time.

What a little liar you are. "That would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? I want you in all your natural splendor." When she blinked, he smiled. "All of my employees, just as they are, day to day. I have one more paper to read before I sign it. Please, have a seat. Dominic, get Miss O'Connel a drink." She started to refuse and he said, "You're not a teetotaler, I hope? There's nothing wrong with abstinence, but I do like to think of people enjoying a few small comforts now and again."

And now I'll look like a bitch if I refuse. No wonder you're a success at business. You're damn good at manipulation. Still, there ought to be some way to get out of it. As she sat on a small love seat she said, "I'm afraid I can't handle the taste of straight alcohol."

Dominic was pulling bottles from a small refrigerator that had been concealed behind a wall panel. "No problem. Collins okay? You can hardly object to a little fortified lemonade."

"That would be... fine." Shit. Out bluffed.

In a moment he brought her the glass, and she accepted it with murmured thanks. "Don't mention it." Then he sat beside her.

As she sipped the drink she though, There must be almost a dozen seats in this place, and you have to park it right next to me? She glanced over and caught his slightly smug smile. Why, you jerk. You did that deliberately. You know it's making me uncomfortable. I wonder if I could get away with upending this thing in your lap? I suppose I shouldn't. If for no other reason than the fact that I might accidentally get some on myself.

There was a few minutes of silence. Mina concentrated on her drink, which was actually pretty tasty. She stiffened a little when Dominic laid an arm across the back of the love seat, behind her shoulders. But it stayed decorously in place. Finally Stephan drew a pen from his jacket and signed the document, then laid it into the briefcase before closing it. Mina kept her face blank, but she was thinking, If you were going to take the thing home with you, why the hell was it so important for us to wait around up here for you to read the darn thing? I swear, tycoons!

Dominic arose immediately and held out his hand. "I'll get rid of that for you."

He took the glass into a small side room while Stephen got up and took the briefcase. "All done. I apologize once again for keeping you waiting."

"No problem."

She followed him to the front of the office, where he opened a closet and retrieved his coat. As he slipped into it, he frowned. "Miss O'Connel, is that all the wrap you wore today?"

Mina looked down at her coat. "Yes."

"It's rather thin."

It was actually a treated canvas raincoat, but it was all Mina had. Usually it was enough, since the area was fairly temperate. Lately it had been rather chilly, though. "It's what I have," she said bluntly.

He made a humming noise as Dominic joined them. "Dominic, run down ahead of us and have the heater on when we get there, would you? We don't want Miss O'Connel to take a chill." The young man nodded and left, hurrying down the corridor with rapid strides, and they started after him.

"That isn't necessary."

"Nonsense. What kind of a boss would I be if I didn't look after your welfare." As they rode down in the elevator, Stephen suddenly said, "Miss O'Connel, do you have a steady gentleman friend?"

She blinked, and barely escaped gaping. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, I know it's terribly intrusive, but I just wanted to know before I asked you out. I'd hate to cause you any trouble with your young man." When she didn't answer he said, "I rather thought you might be unattached, given your response to Mr. Turner. Most women who were in a relationship would have told him to desist if he didn't want to deal with their boyfriend."

She considered lying, but he might ask her who her boyfriend was, and then she'd have to make up a name, and it just got so complicated. "No, I'm not involved with anyone. I don't date."

"Good, then I won't be apprehensive about asking you to have dinner with me tonight."

Now she almost did gape. I just said I don't date...

He was continuing. "I know that it's dreadfully short notice, but it isn't as if it's actually a date. I had forgotten that I had a reservation at Toulouse for tonight." He checked his watch. "It's for only a few minutes from now, and I really can't make it if I run you to your apartment first. You need to eat, so why not come with me?"

"Well, for one reason, I have approximately sixty-four cents in my purse right now."

"Please, Miss O'Connel!" He sounded scandalized. "I'm asking you. Of course I'll pay."

Mina thought. Toulouse was a four star restaurant that had been written up in Bon Appetite and Gourmet magazines. Rumor had it that reservations were hard to come by unless your name was on a short list. When was she ever going to get a chance at a free meal somewhere like that? And, like he'd said, it could hardly be considered a date. "All right."

"Splendid. You won't regret it."

She didn't. Dominic dropped them off, and it was worth it just to see the look on the maitre de's face when they took her coat and got a look at her office wear. It was hard not to laugh, seeing how he had to fight to keep a grimace off his face at he took in the entire oatmeal-colored, synthetic blend, clearance sale ensemble. Her judgement of Baxter's influence in the world was confirmed when not a word was said, and they were shown to what was obviously a good table.

She resisted ordering the most expensive items on the menu, mainly because they didn't actually appeal to her, and the meal still ended up costing enough for her to have bought groceries enough for a week. She'd never been much of a wine drinker, but the waiter kept filling her glass, and she ended up drinking more than she had intended. Even with the full meal, after the wine and cocktail earlier she was a little tipsy when Dominic picked them up. Ah, well, it was Friday night, and she didn't have to be in to work the next day. One of the few perks of the job was weekends free.

This time Dominic not only opened her door for her, he insisted on walking her up to her apartment. When she tried to demure Baxter had said, "Please, Miss O'Connel. This isn't the best of neighborhoods. I'll feel much more comfortable if you allow Dominic to escort you."

She accepted as graciously as she could. It was sensible, really. The neighborhood really WASN'T all that secure, and she usually tried to avoid being out after dark.

In the elevator Dominic pushed two, and she said, "How did you know what floor I needed?"

He shrugged. "I've watched you get out of that elevator a couple of times in the morning, haven't I? It had to be either two or three. I guessed right." As the doors slid shut he said, "You have a good time tonight?"

Why does everybody want to know my business? I guess he's just making small talk. "Yes." She paused. I'd better say something else, I suppose. "He's very nice."

"Yeah, he's all right." There was a moment of quiet as the car gave its first lurching heave upward. Then Dominic turned toward her and said quietly, "I'm nice, too."

She regarded him warily. She didn't particularly like that smile. "I'm sure you are."

He took a step toward her, leaning forward. "No, I'm REALLY nice. I could show you."

Her heart was suddenly thumping heavily. Oh, shit. He's coming on to me. Don't panic, O'Connel. He's bored, he decided to tease you. He's just Baxter's gofer, not a street thug, and you're almost home. He has to go right back out. "No, thank you."

He grinned, and suddenly all the arguments for his harmlessness seemed much less convincing. "My, aren't you polite. Tell me, do you say please and thank you when you're getting screwed?"

The sudden crudity was shocking, but it slapped her into a more decisive response. "You'll never know," she snapped. The doors slid open and she hurried out, digging in her purse for the keys. Shit! He's following me! Her heart was hammering now.

She paused at her door, key in hand, and turned back to face him. He halted a few feet away, still smiling. "Get back in the elevator."

"I'm supposed to see you to your door."

"That's my door. I'm here, and I'm not unlocking it until you're on that elevator and started back down."

His eyes were suddenly wide and innocent. It would have worked better if he hadn't been smirking. "Why Mina..."

Oh, no more Miss O'Connel, huh?

"...you sound as if you don't trust me. But I can understand. A woman can't be too careful." He started to back away. "I'll just see you Monday, then."

Monday? "My car..."

"I found a pump. Should have it by then. You might even be able to drive it home Monday evening." He was entering the elevator. One last cheeky smile. "But I wouldn't set my heart on it."

As the elevator started down she unlocked her door, finding that her hand was trembling just a little. Inside she quickly re-fastened all the locks, then leaned against the door for a moment. "What the fuck was that all about?"

Maybe I over reacted, she thought, going into her bedroom and starting to strip. I am a little sloshed. I guess women everywhere deal with that sort of thing or worse every day. But it was just so out of the blue.

She struggled into her sleep shirt, then went into the bathroom. Just inside the tiny room she paused, then swore softly. The light was out, and she didn't have any spare bulbs. It wasn't likely she'd be able to get to the store tomorrow, either, unless she paid the outlandish prices they charged at the convenience store on the corner.

Maybe it's a short, she thought hopefully, reaching for the switch. If I flick it off and on, maybe it'll catch, and... She snapped the switch, and the room was flooded with light. Mina stood for a moment, blinking in surprised, then looked at the switch. On. It had been off? She frowned, muttering, "I left it on this morning, didn't I? I'm pretty sure..." Eventually she shrugged. At least it wasn't burned out.

She brushed her teeth, then tore off a section of tissue to blow her nose. She dropped it in the toilet and flushed, then quickly leaned over to take a better look. Something had caught her eye, something swirling in the water. That had looked like... What? It had been tiny, no bigger than a cornflake, but it was out of place. She knew her home turf pretty well, and she couldn't think of any reason for something like that to be in her toilet. But by the time she focused the water was down the drain, and fresh was gurgling back up.

She sighed. Mina, you're drunker than you thought. Now you're seeing things in your toilet bowl. Go to sleep.

Dominic trotted out to the car and got in, pulling away from the curb. They rode in silence for a few moments, the Stephen said, "How did she react?"

Dominic laughed. "She wasn't as diplomatic with me as she is with the rest of the world. I got it worse than old Rent-a-Cop. I asked her if she was always that polite, even when she was screwing, and she told me, 'You'll never know.'" He looked at Stephen in the rearview mirror. "But she might be mistaken about that, huh, boss?"

Stephen settled back, musing over the evening. "The possibility is stronger and stronger, Dominic."

Chapter Thirteen
Contemplation

In his study, Stephen removed the manila envelope from his briefcase and opened it, removing the pictures. He sorted out the ones of his candidates and started to run the rest through the shredder, but he paused. There might come a time when someone asked about the 'magazine'. It wasn't impossible that, after his chosen one disappeared, someone would question why there had been a photographer around. He set the extra photos aside, reflecting that he really might set up a company publication. It would be another way of keeping the workers preoccupied.

Stephen carried the photos up to his room, placing them on the bedside table, then took a leisurely shower. Usually he showered in the morning, but tonight would be his first time to 'be with' his prospects, and he wanted to feel fresh.

His flesh glowing and still slightly damp from the steamy water, Stephen padded into his bedroom. He'd considered wrapping a towel around his waste, but there really wasn't any reason, since he was alone. Instead he hung one around his neck, since he'd need it in a little while. He turned off the overhead light, leaving his bedside lamp on. It cast a small pool of warm, golden light on his bed as he folded back the covers Miss Fulham had turned down earlier.

Stephen sat comfortably on the edge of the bed and spread the photos out on the smooth white sheets. There were three photos of each of his subjects, and he grouped each trio of photos together. Stephen arranged them neatly, being careful to have each in a symmetric, pleasing formation. Then he opened the drawer of his night stand and removed a small bottle of very expensive lotion. He uncapped it and sat it on the table top in readiness.

Then Stephen looked at the photos, and began to caress himself. His cock hung between his thighs, already thickening a little with the anticipation that had accompanied the preparation. He skimmed his fingers along the still soft length as his eyes moved from one photograph to another, and he thought about each of the women.

Su-Lin Liang. In the first she was standing at a table, sorting a mound of envelopes into piles, intent on her work. The second showed her loading neat bundles of correspondence onto the cart that would be used to carry them throughout the building, and again she concentrated on her work. The third had been taken in the company cafeteria. She was sipping a soda through a straw, her lips pursed, eyes downcast. Stephen gave his shaft a squeeze, and felt it beginning to firm. That was a good picture. If she was the one, it would go in the Meditation Room.

Leeann Potter. He frowned when he saw her photos. She was smiling cheerfully at the camera in each one, eyes bright and lively. She's displaying herself, Stephen thought with disapproval. Not like a hider at all. I'm afraid I misjudged her. Without hesitation he swept her photos together and deposited them face down on the night stand, then turned his attention to the next subject.

Mina O' Connel. The first was obviously candid. She was at her station, face turned toward the camera with a startled, wide-eyed expression. Stephen looked at the photo for a moment, then poured some of the lotion into his palm, worked it evenly over his hands, and began to stroke himself more firmly. He was fully erect now, and the pleasure was beginning to spread through his body in a long, slow wash. The second picture was much the same pose as the first: she had only turned slightly more toward the photographer. Now the surprised look had been replaced by one of clear annoyance. Dark brows were drawn slightly together, and the full mouth looked sulky. His hand speeded up. In the last photo, also taken in the cafeteria, she was most at ease. Her elbow was propped on the table, and her chin rested in her hand. Her eyes were half closed, and her expression was almost dreamy. What had she been thinking of?

Stephen moved on to Adrianne Baranski. She looked stiff and uncomfortable in her pictures. She smiled, but it was wooden, and she couldn't seem to look directly at the photographer. Good, good. A point in her favor. The photographer had gotten a shot of her leaning down to get something from a bottom drawer, and the photograph showed an almost indiscreet amount of cleavage. Stephen frowned even as he used his thumb to spread the drizzle of pre-ejaculate that had drizzled from his slit over his glans. Well, he supposed he couldn't count that as actually displaying herself. She had almost certainly not been aware that she was displaying that much skin. But still, was it a subconscious wish for attention?

Torrie Schulburg was captured just rising from her office chair, and Stephen frowned at the amount of leg she showed even as he reached down to fondle his testicles. And she was peeking over her shoulder in a distinctly provocative way in the second photo, her smile sly. He didn't even bother to look at the third picture, but scooped them up and piled them on top of Leeann's.

"Quite a productive night," he murmured. "Two more eliminated already. So, my lovelies, that leaves you. Li-ang, O'Connel, and Baranski." Stephen took the towel from around his neck and spread it carefully cross his thighs, so that it hung beneath his hard-on. He knew from experience that once he ejaculated he wouldn't feel like getting out of bed to clean himself, and he certainly didn't want to leave sperm on the bedroom rug.

He touched each face gently with his fingertips while he masturbated with the other hand. He picked his favorite photos of each woman, putting the others with the already rejected pictures, and fixed his gaze on his choices.

Which one? His breathing became deeper, more rapid. Oh, God, this was so good. Each one was at home, thinking herself safe and unnoticed in her little nest, with no idea that the hunter had turned his attention to her. Stephen squeezed himself firmly. It might have been better if he'd used both hands, but he needed one hand free. Again he touched the photos, tracing the lines of cheeks and lips. His voice was a ragged whisper as he spoke to each one. "You can be mine. You can be mine. You can be mine."

He climaxed with a gasp, shoving up into his own hand. His seed spurted strongly. He was surprised to see that he almost overshot the towel. He hadn't come that hard for a long time, not even the other night when he'd been buried in the whore's ass. He'd apparently been missing having a pet more than he had realized.

Stephen wiped himself clean with the unstained portion of the towel, then put the wadded up cloth on the night stand. He'd drop it in the clothes hamper tomorrow when he went into the bathroom. Baxter gathered the three photos and sorted through them one more time, murmuring, "Thank you, ladies." Then he slipped them under his pillow, turned out the lamp, and slipped under the covers. He wasn't worried about damaging the pictures during the night: He was a very peaceful sleeper. At least physically.

Stephen awoke in the grey light of dawn and lay staring up at the ceiling. He hadn't had that dream for a long time now. That had been such a special summer, such a special time. There in the kitchen, holding the pigtail of the shy little girl who had concealed herself so well a few moments before, he had realized that hiders were not limited to butterflies.

The thought had fascinated, and excited him, instantly. It wasn't the girl herself. After all, she was just a little kid, even if she was kind of pretty. No, it was what she represented: a whole new species.

Stephen got up and went through his morning ritual, depositing the now stiff towel in the dirty clothes bin, and showering. Since he didn’t' have to go to the office he dressed in neat khakis, a polo shirt, and loafers.

He went down and went directly to the kitchen instead of stopping in the dining room. Miss Fulham was chopping potatoes as he came in. "Good morning, sir. I thought you might like Potatoes O'Brien this morning."

"That would be splendid." He went to the counter and felt the sides of a plastic screw-top pitcher. "Excellent. The sugar water is quite cool."

"I fixed it last night, and took it out of the refrigerator a couple of hour ago in order for it to warm up. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Just remember that we can't save any of it over for the next feeding. It might spoil." He got several shallow saucers out of the cabinet and carried them and the jug down into the basement.

Dominic was on the computer, chin propped in his hand as he watched a small video display that showed a woman, tied over a stair railing, being simultaneously molested by two men. As Stephen came down the stairs he looked up, then closed the program. "There's no need to stop that, Dominic."

"It's okay, I have unlimited access to that site. I can see it whenever. Time to feed the babies?"

"Every third day." Stephen walked to the door on the right side of the room, and Dominic jumped up to open it for him. Stephen thanked him as he entered, and Dominic came in behind him. "There's no need to interrupt your viewing, Dominic."

"Like I said, no big deal. I'll help you. I know it can be kinda awkward, trying to do it alone without letting any of your hiders escape." He shut the door. "There. Now if they DO get loose, you can catch 'em without worrying about them getting out of the room."

"Thank you." He set his burdens down on a table. "I think the most efficient method will be if you lift the lids a little so that I can slip out the old dish, then lift them again for me to put in the fresh."

"Can do."

There were a half dozen glass aquariums of various sizes on tables around the room. For each one Dominic carefully lifted the net lid a few inches, just enough for Stephen to slip his hand in and retrieve the sticky saucers that sat in the dead leaves and grass that littered each one. "Gonna be time for you to change their bedding pretty soon, huh?"

"Yes, I think it's getting a bit stale." Stephen carefully poured a couple of tablespoons worth of slightly thick sugar water into the fresh dishes, then reversed the process he had just completed, putting a saucer in each aquarium. As he was inserting the last dish, a grey butterfly not much bigger than a bumblebee lunged up from the litter and slipped through the gap, beginning to flutter frantically around the room.

"Ah, crap!" Dominic exclaimed.

"It's all right. Go ahead and latch down the lid."

"But dontcha want to get it back inside?"

"Not this time. Now, please stand still so that you don't alarm it any more." Stephen stayed still also, and the two men watched the butterfly fluttering around the room, high and low. Finally it seemed to exhaust itself, and lighted on a table edge. It was facing away from Stephen. He reached out cautiously, and managed to cup his hand over it before it took flight again.

Dominic shook his head. "You're good at that, boss."

"I have a lot of practice." He spread his fingers a little and peeked through the gap, smiling. "They tickle when they struggle to escape."

Dominic watched with interest as Stephen used his free hand to unzip his fly, then work his penis into the open. It was half hard. He always had a little bit of a boner when he was working with his butterflies. Dominic had never yet been able to understand it, but hey. He was the man who paid the bills.

Stephen held his loosely clenched fist close to his face and whispered. "Now, now. You can't escape me, don't you know that?" There was an almost inaudible whirring sound, the sound of the insect frantically beating its wings against its fleshy prison. "No, pretty thing. I can't let you go. Once you're mine, you're always mine."

He was getting harder as he spoke. Dominic leaned back against the door to watch. He'd seen this a couple of times before. Sometimes Stephen lost contact with the rest of the world when he was dealing with his pets.

He touched himself as he spoke to the butterfly struggling in his grip. In a few moments he had a straining hard-on, shiny fluid slicking the deep rose head. He was hung pretty good for an old guy, Dominic thought

Then Stephen brought his hand down and joined it with his other, cupping them both around his hardened organ. The butterfly, trapped in the cage of his fingers, lighted on the velvety skin of his shaft. Stephen began to slowly move his hands back and forth, never allowing a gap that would have let the butterfly escape. It was forced to walk the length of his organ, and back, and Stephen's hands moved. Dominic knew it was weird, but he got a little bit of a hard-on himself, imagining what that must feel like: the minute scratchiness of the insect feet, the feather soft brush of wings.

Stephen's face flushed. His hands moved more rapidly, and Dominic knew that the little insect was being pushed back and forth, no longer able to walk quickly enough. He knew it was coming, but it was still a little shocking when it happened.

Stephen moaned, and suddenly his grip tightened. His hands closed the gap, wrapping firmly around his arousal, flattening the butterfly. Dominic could see the tip of one wing peeking through his fingers, vibrating. Then Stephen started to stroke with fast, savage movements. Dominic shivered a little as the tip of the grey wing tore loose and drifted to the floor, landing on Stephen's polished loafer like a dirty snowflake.

Stephen massaged the remains of the butterfly all over his straining dick, hips jerking. He was always so calm and put together. Seeing him with his cock out, jerking himself almost brutally, making little grunts of pleasure was almost surreal.

He came quickly, sighing his pleasure as he shot his load into the wastebasket Dominic had thoughtfully placed right in front of him. When he was done, Dominic wetted some paper towels at the sink in the corner and handed them over. Stephen cleaned himself thoroughly, tossing the paper into the wastebasket, and again tucked himself away, zipping up. He ran a hand over his still smooth hair, and once again he was the bland, well-bred man known by most of the world.

"Thank you, Dominic. Would you be so kind as to bring the jug and dishes up to the kitchen for cleaning? I'd rather not get my hands sticky again."

"Sure, boss."

"And you can call Mr. Lamont and tell him that he can now concentrate on only three candidates."

Dominic grinned. "Which ones?"

"Guess. I'd like to hear your opinion."

Dominic considered as he gathered up the dirty dishes. "W-ell... I'm thinking not Schulburg. I mean, someone named Torrie just don't strike me as the really retiring type. Baranski I'm pretty sure of. Um... Potter?"

"No. You can look at the photos later and you'll see why. The little slut looks almost vivacious."

"Okay, then I'd say Li-ang, because she's got that oriental reserve going on, and O'Connel. Definitely O'Connel."

Stephen smiled as they started up the stairs. "You sound pretty sure of that."

"Hey, she has to be in the finals with THAT attitude."

"Indeed. I can tell that she's a bit abrasive naturally, but she's doing such an excellent job of concealing it. Nothing to draw attention, either favourably, or negatively."

"Just your meat. Li-ang's pretty hot, but I think I throw my vote behind Irish."

"You like her, do you?" Dominic had not influence on his decision, but he did listen to the boy. Since the younger man was sometimes instrumental in disciplining his pets, it was preferable that he find them desirable also. Of course, this wasn't difficult with Dominic. He found most of the females of the species attractive, one way or the other.

Dominic grinned rubbing the front of his trousers. "I wouldn't exactly call it like."

Chapter Fourteen
Narrowing the Field

"Bad news from Lamont, Dominic."

They were on their way to pick up Mina the next Monday. Dominic glanced at his employer in the rearview mirror. "Yeah?"

"He won't be able to get videotape of Liang. She lives with an elderly father, who would be very difficult to shift out of the house without suspicion, so the cameras can't be placed.. I'm afraid that the father also gives her a negative mark. Apparently she's run late a time or two, and he called the job, fussing and worrying."

"How'd you know that?"

"That prissy snot who runs the mail room made a note of it in her file. He LOVES to report anything the slightest bit negative. I don't call him on it because it can be very useful, like now."

"Is she out of the running?"

"No, not yet. I won't make a final decision for another few days. Once I choose and take her, I'm stuck with her."

Dominic shrugged. "You could always get rid of her and start over again."

Stephen frowned. "I told you before, Dominic, that isn't an option. I do not kill my pets. That would be cruel. I tend to their needs for as long as I have them. It's just unfortunate that not all of them do well in captivity. It isn't that I don't appreciate you. I don't know what I would have done without your disposal of my last two pets after they passed on, but really, I can't just put them down like an unwanted puppy."

"Well, if you ever change your mind, all you have to do is ask. What's on the agenda today?"

"Nothing much. Another gift for the ladies."

"Flowers again?"

"Yes. I'm afraid that anything more substantial would attract too much attention. Perhaps later, when I have it down to two candidates, and then I'll send it privately, away from the office."

"Okay." They had arrived at Mina's building. She was waiting in the entry hall, and started out when they pulled to the curb. "Should I tell Shy Girl that her car is fixed?"

"Certainly not."

"Thought so." He got out to open the door for Mina. She slowed as she approached him, watching him with a hint of wariness. He gave her an unapologetic smile and said, "Sorry, but the part isn't in yet. It's gonna be another couple of days." She made no comment, but her shoulders stiffened slightly, then drooped.

As Mina entered the back seat Stephen said, "My dear Miss O'Connell, you look as if your best friend just died."

"I'm sorry, it's that damn hunk of junk automobile. I'm tempted to get a sledgehammer and sell whacks at it."

"Frustrating, eh?"

"You have no idea."

It was a general statement, one she'd made hundreds of times, but Stephen Baxter took it seriously. "You're right. I've had automotive troubles before, of course, but there's always been a spare available, or else renting a substitute was no trouble, so I can sympathize, but I can't say I empathize."

She tried not to stare at him. "Right." God, imagine never being stuck without a ride. I wonder if he's ever had to do the dishes, or wash a load of his own laundry? Shit, it's almost like riding with a member of the royal family. She leaned forward slightly, speaking to Dominic. "Have you got an estimate on how much this is going to cost?"

He glanced at her in the rear view mirror. "Don't sweat it. What ever it is, we can work something out."

She didn't like the sound of that. "Look, I'll try to pay you at least a quarter of what the parts cost to start with, then shoot for ten percent each payday, but it may take a little while. Expenses come up."

"Will you quit worrying?" His eyes flicked to Stephen, and his voice was amused. "She acts like she thinks I'm going to try to take it out in trade."

Mina didn't have time to be offended, because Stephen promptly said, "Apologize, Dominic."

Dominic's voice was the verbal equivalent of a shrug. "Sorry, lady. No harm meant."

"Yeah. Right." Mina settled back on the seat grumpily. Baxter snaps, he jumps. But neither one of them sounded all that serious. It's sort of like... I don't know. I get the feeling that Baxter's just protesting because that's what's expected of him, and he doesn't really disapprove. Maybe he's being common vicariously through Dominic.

At work Mina went to her cubicle, while Dominic went with Stephen to his office. Once inside, Stephen began to sort through the correspondence Donald had left on his desk. "I have at least two tasks for you today, Dominic. Mr. Lamont should have gone in to retrieve the tapes from Mina's apartment after we collected her, so I'll want you to pick those up. Then I need for you to arrange the flower delivery. You'll find the vases I want used in the trunk of the car."

"Sir, you didn't purchase them this weekend, did you?"

"I'm not a fool, Dominic. No, I'm not leaving a purchase trail for anyone to follow in the future. They're part of my mother's collection, they were bought years ago. It isn't as if I actually NEED them, so I see no reason why my prospective pets shouldn't have a treat."

"Fulham is going to wet her pants."

"It will be less for her to dust, and you know very well that she won't say a word to me."

"Not to YOU, but I'LL have to listen to her bitch."

"I'll write out what type of flowers I want. You'd better go to different florists for each one, and definitely not the one you used for the roses. Be sure to pay cash..."

"Mr. Baxter, now don't YOU act like I don't know how to go about this."

"I'm sorry, Dominic. I'll reimburse you, of course."

"Any cards?"

"Not this time. Paper evidence is always ill-advised, don't you think?" He frowned at a sheet of paper. "Another begging letter. When will they learn to send these to my attorney? I have a set amount for charities each year, and he disburses it. All these things do is feed the shredder."

When Mina heard the tap outside her cubicle that afternoon, she almost flinched. Flower deliveries, a photographer, what now? If it was still on the air, I'd almost expect a 'This Is Your Life' crew, that's all I'd need to have my privacy completely invaded.

It was another messenger, with another flower, and he didn't have any more information about where it came from or who sent it than the first one did. Hollachuck had come to her door so quickly that the man had to maneuver around her to leave. "O'Connell, I'm really not sure you should be accepting personal deliveries at work." "It's not my fault, Miss Hollachuck. It isn't like this is anything that I'm ordering."

"Aren't you going to open it?"

No point in delaying, I suppose, except the pleasure of knowing you'd be almost as anxious as if you had sand in your knickers. Might as well get it over with. Mina carefully unwrapped the white tissue paper.

It was an orchid, in the classic shape. The delicately scalloped and unfurled petals were creamy white at the edges, shading through increasingly darker pinks as they neared the center, finally moving into crimson, then almost maroon at the plant's core. It was the most exotic thing Mina could remember ever being this close to, and it almost frightened her. "Somehow I get the feeling that no high school kid could afford that for his prom date's corsage."

"I seriously doubt it. It's exquisite. And the vase..."

Mina studied the container. It was pink tinted, and etched with delicate vines and leaves. "It's not Waterford," she said, feeling some relief.

"I should say not. It's Lalique, and it's even more valuable than the Waterford." Mina's heart sank, even as she recognized the note of envy in Hollachuck's voice. "I've been collecting most of my life. I didn't manage to find a piece like that for years, and it was even longer before I had comparable pieces of both Lalique and Waterford. How have you managed this, O'Connell?"

Mina regarded her in astonishment. That sounds almost accusatory, like she thinks I'm working some sort of scam to get these things. "I have no idea, ma'am. There's just someone out there with a really bizarre sense of... of... I'm not even sure what to call this. If it's a practical joke, it's an awful expensive one. Did the other girls get these, too?"

"I don't know, but it shouldn't be hard to find out. I'm going to go call around." There was a determined glint in her eye as she went back to her desk.

Mina considered following her out and listening, but decided there was no point. Hollachuck would not be able to resist telling her exactly what she found out. Mina remained at her post, working away at her transcriptions. Sure enough the older woman returned in a few moments, and she was wearing that smug 'I-know-something-you-don't-know expression, but there was a bit of puzzlement, too.

Mina decided to put her out of her misery, and asked immediately. "Well? Did the other four girls receive the same?"

"Only two others got flowers this time, Mina. Su-lin Liang and Adrianna Baranski also received orchids, though they were different types, and different vases instead of similar, like last time."

Mina studied the flower with much less pleasure than she had the rose. "I don't understand this."

"Well, kiddo, it looks like you made the last cut." Both of the women looked up to see Axel Turner leaning through the doorway, a grin on his face.

Mina frowned at him. "What do you know about this?"

"I saw the guy bring them in. I remembered last week and thought I'd come up here and check, see if the same ones were getting them. So, whatever is going on, Schulburg and Potter are out of the running. Nice poesy."

Mina almost squirmed in her seat. All this attention made her horribly uncomfortable, but she couldn't very well throw everyone out. Finally she said, "I need to get on with my work."

"What's going on?"

Mina closed her eyes briefly. Oh, crap.

The other office workers had been gathering outside her room, but now they parted quickly, allowing Stephen Baxter to come to the front. "Miss O'Connell, I just wanted to tell you that we'll be leaving about a half hour early today." He looked at Miss Hollachuck, "You won't mind, of course."

There was an instant, obsequious smile. "Of course not, sir." Mina wondered exactly how sour the taste in her mouth was, having to allow Mina that little advantage.

"So, what's caused such a mob scene?" Mina indicated the flower. "Ah. Another gift from your secret admirer?"

She scowled. "What was considered courting in the last century is considered stalking today. I don't like this. I don't like this at all."

Hollachuck gave her a condescending look. "That might be the case if you were being singled out, Mina, but you have to remember that there are others involved in this."

She shrugged. "So maybe it's a group stalking."

"There is no such thing."

Mina allowed annoyance to peek through her usually bland air. "Look, there wasn't such a thing as stalking till someone named it. There weren't such things as serial killers till the term was agreed upon. You can't say something doesn't exist just because it hasn't appeared in the Encyclopedia Britannica or Webster's Dictionary yet."

Turner and Hollachuck just stared at her, but Stephen felt a glow of pride. The woman was a lot more intelligent than she let on to the public, and he was pleased that he'd picked her to be part of his pool of choices. If he chose her, there was the chance for some more than physical interaction. Oh, it wouldn't be for awhile, At first all the pets seemed capable of was pleading and crying. In fact, he'd had one or two who never moved past that initial phase. Those didn't last long.

"Has there been any incidents outside the office, Miss O'Connell? Any peculiar phone calls, or suspicious people hanging about your home?"

She shook her head. "No, nothing that I've noticed." The only thing she could think of that might have been suspicious was the vague sense of something out of place in her apartment that time Dominic had walked her up, but that had just been... oh, an aura. There was absolutely nothing concrete.

"Then it's probably nothing to worry about, not yet, anyway. If there's any other occurrences, then you might consider speaking to someone about it, though I doubt the police would do anything, since you haven't been threatened. You might have to resort to a private detective."

Yeah, like I can afford that. "I suppose so."

Stephen glanced around at the office workers. "I thought that you staggered your breaks on this floor?" They scattered hastily. Alex didn't move off till he received a particularly pointed look. Stephen had to speak to Hollachuck. "You know, Hollachuck, you're a comfort to me. It's nice to know that I have at least one section I don't have to worry about. I can always be sure that you're at your post, assuring that things are running smoothly. She took the hint, went back to her desk, and recommenced being efficient. Once he'd dispensed with the audience Baxter entered the cubicle.

"That's an interesting vase. My mother collected crystal and china. Lalique, isn't it?"

"So says Hollachuck. I have no idea, and I'm scared to death to tip it enough to get a look at the base."

"Doesn't matter, I suppose. No roses, this time."

"No. Whoever it is must have been going for something a little less cliche."

He smiled. "Interesting observation."

She grunted. "It's pretty, anyway, I suppose." She cocked her head. "Almost too pretty to be natural. I'd almost believe it was silk, if I didn't see water in the vase."

"No, it's real, all right. A particularly good specimen, too. Are you familiar with the paintings of Georgia O' Keeffe, Mina?"

Mina frowned in thought. "I think so. She did southwestern themed, and florals, didn't she?"

"There were some southwestern elements, such as cattle skulls, but she's best known for her large flower paintings. The colors and forms were quite extraordinary. She could reproduce the intricate blossoms with a clarity and conciseness that was almost beyond realism into surrealism."

He reached out and stroked the orchid with a fingertip. "The canvases were filled with the soft, lush folds. They almost seemed to glisten, and pulse." He looked at Mina, stroking the petal. "Did you know, many people consider her paintings almost pornographic? They believe that they are subtle representations of female genitalia."

Mina stared at him silently, shocked into speechlessness for once in her life. Is this sexual harassment?

He smiled, stepping back. "Ridiculous, of course, but some of the critics were terrible prudes. They no doubt held her unorthodox private life against her. Will you be bringing it home with you?"

"I suppose so."

"Splendid." She froze in surprise when he took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it briefly. As he released it he said, "Then I will have two beautiful things in my car tonight. Don't forget: a half hour early."

Chapter Fifteen
Hider's World

Dominic, a backpack swung over one shoulder, breezed through the door into Stephen's office suite, whistling jauntily. Donald, at his desk, looked up with an audible sniff of disapproval. In response Dominic broke into song as he neared. "Wha-at's love got ta do, got ta do with it?" He leaned on the desk, grinning cheekily at the secretary. "What has love got to do with it, Donny?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know." His voice was cold.

Dominic shook his head. "No, I suppose you wouldn't." He jerked his head toward the back of the office. "Anybody with the grand poobah?"

"He's free at the moment, but I'm sure he's busy." He reached for the intercom. "Just a moment, and I'll ask if he'll see you."

Dominic had started back. "Don't be any stupider than you have to, Donny. You know good and well that he'll see me if he isn't with someone." He thoroughly enjoyed the sotto voce mutter of irritation that followed him.

Despite his nonchalant air before the front office toady, he paused outside Stephen's office door and rapped. He entered when he heard Stephen's vague call of permission.

Stephen sat up in anticipation when he saw the backpack, laying aside a stock report. Dominic deposited the sack on the desk, knowing that he would want to explore the contents himself.

Stephen unstrapped the backpack and removed five video cassettes, each enclosed in a nondescript cardboard case. He frowned. "Five? There should be six--three for each."

"Lamont's apology. Something screwed up on Baranski's bathroom camera. He wants to know if you want him to try to go in and replace it."

Stephen considered. "Well," he said grudgingly, "that WOULD greatly increase the risk of him being discovered. I'll review these tapes, then let him know. Perhaps Baranski will be free enough in the bedroom to let me make an informed decision." He pulled out a large manila envelope, and looked questioningly at Dominic.

"He started the extra photos, since you're down to three, and there were a couple of good opportunities over the weekend."

"Excellent." Stephen slit open the envelope, to find three smaller envelopes labeled L, B, and O. He opened the one labeled L. Liang had taken her father to the park over the weekend. There was one nice photo of her silhouetted against the misty green droop of a willow tree.

Baranski had been photographed through the large glass window of a diner as she made her way through a large hamburger. Usually he enjoyed watching his pets eat, but this one seemed to have the rather unfortunate habit of over filling her mouth. It made her cheeks bulge like a chipmunk.

It took him a moment or two to recognize where O'Connel's pictures had been taken. At first it looked like someone's den, or library. Then he noticed the logo on the coffee mug sitting on the table beside her. She was at a large chain bookstore that specialized in offering cozy chairs for the customers to enjoy the books and the specialty coffees offered by their in-store coffee bars.

He smiled. Actually, she was sleeping in the bookstore. There was a large, colorful book open across her lap, but she was curved toward the side of the wingback chair, her head resting against the cushions. He peered closer. "Dominic, she wears glasses." He cocked his head. "Bifocals. She's quite cute in them. She won't be allowed to keep them if I choose her, of course."

"Glass? Don't think so." He peeked at the photo. "Yeah, even that little speck of drool on her lips is cute."

"I don't think it's drool. I think it's coffee. See? That appears to be the remains of a cappucino."

Dominic touched a finger to the photo. "Whatever it is, I wouldn't mind licking it off."

"There's an idea." He sorted through the photos. "There's a magnifying glass over on the table. Get it for me, would you?" While Dominic went to get the glass he said I think I can get a good look at what she's reading without having to resort to computer enhancement."

Dominic handed over a powerful magnifying glass. "Why would you want to do that?"

"You can tell a lot about someone by what they read." He put on his own glasses and centered the glass over the photo, raising and lowering it as he tried to find the proper focus. "Now, let's see." His eyebrows went up, and he leaned closer. A slow smile spread across his features.

"What?"

"The book appears to be reproductions of Impressionist paintings."

"Oh." Dominic sounded unenthused. "Uh... classy."

"Very." The smile grew wider. "The calendar she has open on it is the latest featuring the Chippendale dancers."

Dominic howled. "I guess that settles it--it's drool. I'm guessing that this scores her some points?"

"Most definitely." He chuckled. "She's such a quiet thing. I never would have thought..."

The intercom buzzed, and Stephen depressed the button. "Yes, Donald?"

"There's a Mina O'Connel here to see you, sir."

"Don't keep her waiting. Send her back." He smiled at Dominic. "You know, I feel like I can almost guess what she thought about that. I can hear her thinking 'A Mina O'Connel? You mean there's more than ONE of me?'" He neatly stacked the photos and returned them to their envelopes. There was a tap at the door, and he called, "Come in, Mina."

She came in, moving with a bit less hesitation than she had before. "Mr. Baxter, I was wondering if you'd mind stopping by a store for just a few minutes on the way home? I'm running a little low on supplies."

"Certainly, Mina." He casually laid the envelopes back in his briefcase, and replaced the tapes into the backpack. Dominic watched with amusement, knowing that Stephen got a kick out of handling the evidence of his intrusion into her life under her very nose. "I'd be more than happy to take you anywhere you desire."

He closed the case, and Dominic picked up the backpack. Stephen opened the door, and gestured for her to precede him, making a motion that was not quite a bow. She paused, and Dominic thought sardonically, *Don't like anyone behind you, do you, Missy?*

In the car, Mina gave directions to a large bargain grocery store. As Dominic pulled into the crowded lot before the huge, box-like building, Stephen read the sign that stretched over the windows that were filled with posters that fairly screamed the daily specials. "Smart Saver Warehouse Supermarket. Dominic, doesn't Miss Fulham usually send you to Craymoore's? I believe she said that they have the best butcher and produce section, as well as the finest selection of cheese. Mina, wouldn't you prefer to go there?"

She pointed at the posters. "Do they have Ramen noodles, eight for a dollar, or mac and cheese, two for one?"

Stephen looked inquiringly at Dominic, who shook his head. "In any case, that doesn't sound very nutritious."

"Maybe not, but it's filling, and cheap." She got out of the car. "I won't be long."

She watched in dismay as the two men exited the car. Stephen said, "This looks interesting. You wouldn't mind if I tagged along, would you?"

She tried not to grit her teeth. *I'm going to have my boss watch me buy pork and beans. Terrific.* "Of course not." *But you're going to be awful bored,* she thought as she headed toward the entrance, weaving her way through customers (mostly plainly dressed women, with small children).

Inside she tried to wrestle a cart out of one of the long lines, but it resisted stubbornly. That is, it did until Dominic grasped it's wire sides and gave it a violent shake, freeing it. She nodded a reluctant thanks, which he accepted with a smirk.

Stephen was gazing around with the air of someone at a zoo. *Come to think of it, that might not be too far off the mark for him,* Mina thought. Stephen was studying a tow-headed toddler of indeterminate sex. The child had several days of snot crusted on it's upper lip, and was dressed in the shorts and t-shirt uniform that seemed to be favored by all preschoolers these days. Since the outfit was a washed out green, it gave no clue as to the child's gender.

The urchin was in the process of trying to pry a wad of gum up off the tile floor. Judging by the pattern imprinted on the pink-gray blob, the last shoe to step on it had probably been a cross-trainer. A blousy woman whose white-blonde hair marked her as a near relative of the child was deeply engrossed in the prosses of choosing her numbers for the next Powerball drawing.

Mina sighed, and walked over to the industrious child. She bent down, hands on her knees, bringing her face level with the child's, and said, "Hi." Her voice was matter-of-fact, not the falsely cooing tone most adults used when addressing small children, or the mentally handicapped.

The child looked up. "Lo."

"What's your name?"

"Chwis."

"Is that short for Chwistopher, or Chwistine?"

"Chwis."

"Okay. Chwis, it that your Mom?" She pointed. Chris nodded. "Ask her if you can have some gum."

Chris sidled up behind the woman and reached up to tug on the hem of her Daisy Dukes. The woman waved a hand back idly, as if shooing a fly. Chris tried again, and this time the wave was more of a swat. Mina fished a quarter out of her purse and said, "Ma'am?" No response. "YO! Mom."

The woman half turned her head and mumbled, "Jus' slap 'im if he bothers ya."

"Okay, that solves one mystery. Would you mind if Chris had some gum?"

"Is thirty-three more of a mystical number than, like, seven? Cause I've heard that threes are powerful, but that seven is the perfect number."

"Personally I always play the numerological designations of everyone in my immediate family, minus two for luck, but only if the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars. Can Chwis have some gum?"

"Hm? Sure." She went on carefully filling in spaces.

"Pencil."

A vague wave. "Over there."

"No, pencil, not pen, you... You're using a pen, and the machine won't... Nevermind. C'mon, Chwis." She took the child, now identified as a boy, by
the hand and led him to a nearby bank of vending machines, pointed at them, and said, "Pick." The little boy studied them intently, peering through English sheepdog bangs, and finally tapped the glass of a machine that held gumballs roughly the size of ping pong balls. "Excellent choice." She handed the quarter to him, then lifted him so he could fumble it into the slot and turn the knob.

She lowered the boy, opened the flap, and neatly plucked out a bright blue gumball and presented it to him. Chwis promptly performed the amazing feat of stuffing the entire thing into his mouth. "Chew, baby. I don't want to have to Heimlich you."

He managed to close his jaws, then gave a few chews, reducing the wad to a barely managable mass. Vivid blue drool ran down his chin. He regarded her gravely, then mumbled, "Ank 'oo."

"You're welcome, darlin'." She went back to her cart and started to wheel it down the produce aisle. She noticed Dominic staring at her and said, "I could have walked off with him and she wouldn't have noticed till she checked out. Maybe not till her old man, if she has one, got home for supper and asked where he was. And later on she's going to look at him and wonder why he looks like he's been eating Smurfs. He just might as well have not been there."

Stephen, who had watched the entire episode with a growing sense of unreality, murmured, "He might as well have been invisible."

*He was six. That part was very distinct. He was six, because next fall he was going from the Longbranch Kindergarten to the Mirabelle Grammer--the same one that his father had attended. He'd heard Mother saying that you pretty much had to be a legacy to get into Mirabelle these days. No amount of money could get you in without the right connections.*

*He was six, and his parents were having a party. Stephen was not to attend, of course. "Children do not attend parties, unless they are for other children," Mother had told when he had asked if he couldn't be there for just a little while.*

*Stephen had been put to bed even earlier than usual--while it was still bright daylight outside. Miss Fulham, the new maid, had tucked him in, pulling the sheet up neatly under his chin. She looked down at him and said kindly, "Would you like me to leave the light on in the bathroom, Master Stephen?"*

*"No, thank you."*

*"You don't want a little light?"*

*"No."*

*"You aren't worried about a monster under the bed, or in the closet?"*

*He looked at her curiously. "There are no monsters, Miss Fulham." He thought. "Not in this house, at least."*

*"I'm sure you're right, little sir. And if there are, they'll run away when your mama and daddy come up to see you before they go to bed."*

*When she left, Stephen lay there and thought, listening to the murmur of voices from the floor below. He was curious as to what adults did at a party. He slipped out of his bed and paused long enough to pull his robe on over his underpants. That was a rule of the house--one did not roam about half dressed.*

*He padded down the stairs to the ground floor. The party was going on in the large livingroom just down the hall to the right. Music, laughter, and chattering voices drifted from the open archway. He stopped and pressed himself to the wall as one of the caterer's helpers clattered busily out into the hall and toward the kitchen, carrying an empty canape tray.

When the man was gone, Stephen eased down the hall, his bare feet silent on the polished wood floor, and peeked around the corner into the room.*

*There were at least two dozen people (Stephen had been able to count very well for ages). He had never seen the spacious room look so crowded. Oh, there had been his own birthday party, where his mother had invited his entire class, but that was different. All the guests had been his size, and the room hadn't seemed so full.*

*No one had noticed the small blonde boy peering around the corner. They were far too involved in their own pursuits--drinking, flirting, making business and social connections. Stephen saw his mother sitting on the little loveseat near the door, deep in conversation with one of her clients--a handsome man who was sitting very close, and being very attentive.*

Stephen waited for someone to see him. At any moment someone would notice him and call out, "Mellie, we have a visitor." Or perhaps someone would tap Father on the arm and say, "Hey, Will, isn't your kid supposed to be in bed?"*

*Mother or Father would turn and look at him. There would probably be a tiny frown, and a slightly annoyed, "What are you doing up?" He would be called over, scolded, introduced to whoever was nearby, then Miss Fulham would be summoned, and he would be sent back up to bed. Not an unsatisfying adventure.*

*But no one noticed. He stood there for quite awhile, or so it seemed. When the waiter came hurrying back with a full tray, Stephen didn't even try to hide. He just looked up at the young man with solomn blue-green eyes. The man, a slender Hispanic smiled at him, bent down, and offered the tray of canapes. Pleased, Stephen chose a scalloped cracker topped with smoked salmon and caviar. He liked caviar, but his mother said it was far too rich for a child, and often scolded his father for letting him sample it, and 'giving the boy a taste for something that isn't good for him'.*

*The waiter winked at him, then stepped into the party and began offering the tray. Stephen, munching the cracker, noticed that the guests didn't seem to see the waiter--they paid no attention to him till he put the tray right in front of him. He might almost have been invisible.*

*After another few moments, Stephen edged into the party. A few adults glanced at him, but their eyes skimmed over him with no more interest than if they head been seeing the pattern in the carpet. He stood almost at his mother's elbow for a second. She continued chatting to the customer, debating the merits of Art Neuvo versus Art Deco.*

*There was a narrow space between the side of the loveseat and the wall, and a space behind it, due to the fanciful curve of the seat's back. It was just large enough for a six year old boy who was a little small for his age to squeeze in, so Stephen did.*

*It was cramped, a little stuffy, and rather dusty, but it was... cozy. Stephen carefull poked one bare foot out so that it was clearly visible, sat back, and waited.*

*No one noticed. He tried to be patient, but his head kept dropping sideways against the wall. He dozed. Every now and then he would drift up to near consciousness. One time he noticed vaguely that it was much quieter--there were only two or three voices, and they had Hispanic accents.*

*"The party must be almost over," he thought sleepily. "Now they'll find me. When Mother and Father go up to check on me, they'll see that I'm not in my bed. They'll look all over for me." He smiled as he began to slip back into sleep. "My, there will be a fuss. I wonder how long it will take them to find me?"*

*When he opened his eyes again, the room was dark and silent. Stephen blinked. They must have just gone up. Any moment now he would hear the rapid footsteps upstairs, and voices raised in growing alarm.*

*He sat. He heard the clock in the hall chime two o'clock, then three o'clock. Stephen frowned. That meant it was already the next day. Mother and Father still hadn't noticed that he wasn't in his bed?*

*He sat, but he didn't sleep again. He listened to the clock progress through the dark hours. A faint gray light filled the room, seeping through the arch from the hall.*

Stephen crawled out from behind the seat, moving stiffly. He glanced toward the stairs, but instead made his way down the hall to the breakfast room. The room was filled with watery light. His father was at the table, reading one of his financial papers. A half full coffee cup and a china saucer bearing a few crusts were sitting before him. Stephen frowned. Mother always insisted that he eat his crusts. Some nonsense about them containing all the vitamins.*

*His father turned a page, groping for his cup, and lifted it up behind his paper. Father would never be so crass as to make noise when he sipped, but there was only dregs in the cup when he put it back down again.*

*Stephen went and stood beside his father. The older man continued to read. Miss Fulham came in, entering through the door behind his father. She smiled when she saw the boy. "My, Stephen, you didn't have to get up so early. I was going to let you sleep another half hour before I went up to wake you."*

*His father finally glanced around the paper, and frowned. "Stephen, you know better than to come downstairs like that. What if someone saw you?"*

*

"Boss?" Stephen blinked. He was standing in the middle of the produce section, and Dominic was looking at him with curiousity and concern. "You okay?"

"Yes, Dominic. I'm fine." He looked around. The section was busy, but Mina was nowhere in sight. "Where is she?"

He shrugged. "She grabbed some potatoes and some grapes and went around the end of the aisle. It isn't like she's going to leave without us."

"You can never be sure." Stephen set off briskly. She wasn't in the next aisle. He could feel his adrenaline starting to rise. Where was she? Was she hiding, here among others of her kind? *It won't do you any good, little hider. I'll find you.*

She was in the meat section. She had a large pack of ground meat in each hand, and was considering each in turn. He came up behind her and said, "What's there to decide about? They look exactly alike."

She shot him a condescending glance. "This..." she lifted her right hand, "is hamburger. This..." she lifter her left hand, "is ground chuck. Believe me, there's a difference. I'm trying to decide if the extra cost will be justified by the lower percentage of fat."

"Can you eat all that? There must be three pounds in each of those."

*Do I have to give this man a Home Economics course?* "I divide it up into half pound portions and freeze them. I can get six meals out of one of these."

"Really? That's amazing. But won't it get a bit tedious?"

"Yes," she said shortly. She wasn't going to explain to the all the permutations possible: hamburger, spaghetti, hamburger and Rice-a-Roni, hamburger stroganoff...

"You should vary your menu a little." He picked up a package of meat. "This looks rather nice."

"Then buy it. That's rib eye, twelve bucks for that package."

"Here." He put it in the basket.

She looked at the steak, looked at him. "Do you want to keep that in my cart till you check out?"

"That would be good. I'll buy it for you."

Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw tightened. *Oo, touched a sour spot, boss,* Dominic thought gleefully.

Mina's hands tightened on the cart's handle till her knuckles were white. Her voice was very quiet. "Mr. Baxter..." She paused, and took a deep breath, then said slowly, "I don't think you MEAN to be insulting. Let me explain this to you. I have paid my own way since I was eighteen. I've never been on food stamps, or gotten a Thanksgiving turkey or a Christmas basket from the Salvation Army. I was happy to have dinner with you the other night, but nobody is buying my groceries." She picked the steak up and replaced it in the cooler. "Thank you."

"I understand."

She nodded, thinking, *Sure you do.*

As she started down the aisle again, Stephen said, "Dominic, go get a basket. I feel like shopping."

Chapter Sixteen
Selection

Miss Fulham stared at the bags of groceries sitting on her kitchen counter. Yes, her kitchen counter. The house belonged to Mr. Baxter, but the kitchen was her domain. Aside from a very rare request, Stephen left it all up to her--now this.

Dominic sat at the table, watching her disbelief with amusement. She began to unload the sacks, muttering to herself. "Green beans. Canned are always too salty. I suppose I can boil some potatoes with them to take out the excess salt. Of course then they'll be soggy."

She pulled out a package of steak, examined it critically, then nodded. "At least he's got a good eye for meat." Dominic snorted, almost spraying a mouthful of beer. She looked at him. "What?"

He waved his hand till he caught his breath again. Finally he said, "Just agreeing with you."

She looked at him blankly for a moment, then smiled. "You!" She began rummaging again. She pulled out a garishly colored box. "Good God. 'Sav-U-Mor Mac 'n Cheese' He loves my macaroni and cheese. Why did he buy this?"

"Because they were on sale--four for a dollar. Find some way to use them or his feelings will be hurt."

She sighed and began to put away the groceries. "I just hope he doesn't decide to make a habit of this. Lord, if his mother ever knew of Sav-U-Mor on her Limogenes china..."

"Dominic?" Stephen came into the kitchen. "I'm going to take a look at the tapes, if you're interested?"

"Oh, fuck no!" He stood up immediately, going to the refrigerator. "Want a beer?"

"Please. Ah, Miss Fulham, could you hand me those pretzels?"

She handed them over, obviously trying not to look pained. "Butter Krisp?"

Stephen accepted the bag, opened it, and munched a pretzel. "Mr. Salty and Rold Gold were a dollar more."

Dominic followed Stephen out of the kitchen. "Rec room or basement?"

"Basement. The tapes are already down there." They went downstairs.

Stephen had offered to re-furnish the basement for Dominic more than once--buy him a proper bedroom suite, but the young man always shrugged it off. He claimed that he liked the sofa bed.

Stephen settled on the couch and Dominic went to where the tapes were stacked by the television. He began sorting through them. "What first?"

"Let's try Baranski first. Living room, bathroom, then bedroom."

"Check." He plugged the chosen tape into the VCR and went to sit beside Stephen on the couch. As the older man used the remote to activate the television, then the video, he said, "You're not fooling me, you know."

"What do you mean, Dominic?" He was fast forwarding through the tape. When Adrianna walked into the scene he slowed it to normal speed.

"You're saving O'Connel for last. Some people go straight for what they really want, others save the best for last. You're a saver." Stephen didn't reply, merely taking a sip of beer. Dominic chuckled.

Dominic found Adrianna rather boring. She cleaned house. She spent what seemed to him an inordinate amount of time vacuuming her little living room and dusting one of the most impressive collections of ceramic penguins Dominic had ever seen. Had it been him, he would have fast forwarded through it all, but Stephen liked this kind of shit. It turned him on to observe the minutiae of a woman's life without her knowledge. Dominic noticed the slight bulge in Stephen's crotch that heralded the beginning of an erection. He shook his head wonderingly. Not even any skin, and he was getting hard.

She took delivery of a pizza. Dominic watched in astonishment as she brought in a plate and flat-ware, and proceeded to eat two tiny slices with a knife and fork. "Oh, fuck me!" he groaned. "Even Miss Manners... even Miss Fulham wouldn't expect that."

"A bit prissy," Stephen agreed.

"The term is 'tight ass'."

The bathroom tape was a bust. Baranski ran herself a nice, hot bath--so hot that it steamed up the camera lens. She came out of the bathroom into the bedroom wearing a nightshirt with a (surprise) penguin on it. She slipped into bed and spent several moments making sure her sheets and cover were perfectly aligned and turned down in precise layers. Then she went to sleep and did not stir till the tape ran out.

"Well, that was boring." Dominic ejected the final tape, and inserted the first for Mina.

She came into the living room, throwing her coat and a lumpy plastic bag on the couch as she kicked off her shoes. Dominic watched gleefully as she reached up under her shirt and did some fumbling and grimacing. A moment later she pulled a bra from under her shirt, tossed it on the couch, and rubbed her sides and now unfettered bosom with every evidence of relief. Dominic laughed. "I love this woman."

Mina disappeared into the kitchen and returned a little later with an enormous bowl of popcorn and a soda. The television and VCR were located at one end of her tatty sofa, facing up its length. They watched as she tossed her discarded garments on the coffee table, selected a tape out of the bag, and plugged it into the VCR. The odd placement of the television was explained when she propped her back against the sofa's arm and stretched her legs out comfortably on the cushions. She had no visitors to consider, so her furniture was placed solely to please herself.

She enjoyed the movie, though she seemed to have some issues with it. Twice she shot the finger at the screen. Once she threw popcorn. Dominic wished they had sound, because she was obviously freely giving advice to the characters and cursing them when they didn't take it.

The bathroom tape was much more of a success than Baranski's. Mina stripped before going in the shower. She did it casually, with none of the grace and little gestures of someone who knows they have an audience. She was no centerfold. Her breasts were not perfect, sagging a bit. Her waist was a little thick, her belly gently rounded. Her thighs looked strong and a little chunky, but that ass... That was a nice ass--plump and very white. Dominic noticed that Stephen was pressing his palm down firmly on his tented fly.

The lens did not fog. "Her hot water must not be very abundant," Stephen remarked.

"Yeah." She'd just stepped out of the shower, water droplets glistening on her skin, and was beginning to towel herself. "Look," Dominic pointed. "It must've run cold. See? Her nipples are hard."

Stephen made a quiet sound and unzipped his fly, reaching inside. She slipped into a baggy t-shirt and shorts, then left the bathroom. "Dominic, the bedroom tape, please." Stephen's voice was thick.

Dominic quickly switched tapes. They watched as she entered the room, went into the bathroom, then finally emerged again. She flipped her coverlet to the foot of the bed and crawled under the sheet. Finally she picked up a small, colorful magazine and began to flip through it thoughtfully.

Stephen sat a little forward, frowning in concentration, then smiled. "Oh, my. Dominic, that's a catalogue. Do you know what it's for?"

"Victoria's Secret? Frederick's of Hollywood? Though she has the most plain vanilla undies I've seen, barring nuns."

"And how would you know about nuns?" Dominic whistled innocently. "It's International Male."

Dominic gaped, then laughed. "Way to go, Mina! You can almost tell whether or not the models are circumsized in the underwear and swimsuit shots."

She laid the magazine open on her lap, flipping a page. This spread showed several young, buff men attired only in different colored thongs. Her eyes on the catalogue, Mina idly ran her fingers lightly up the inside of her forearm from wrist to elbow. She stroked the same path several times, fingertips delicately brushing the skin. She wet her lips.

"Holy Christ," said Dominic, almost reverently. "Look at that. Her nipples are hard again, and it ain't because she's cold this time." He looked over again. Stephen's expression was slightly glazed and his hand moved inside his pants in a slow, steady rhythm. Dominic didn't blame him at all.

Mina laid aside the catalogue, slipping down to lie flat, the sheet puddled around her waist. She gave each peak in her shirt a tiny pinch, her lips barely curved in a smile, as if wondering at the phenomenon. Then she pressed her hand flat against her belly and slid it down the front of her shorts.

Dominic whispered obscene admiration, and Stephen fumbled impatiently with his belt, completely opening his pants for better access. By the time he succeeded the woman's hand had begun a slow, subtle motion. Stephen exposed himself and began masturbating strongly.

Dominic grew hard himself, but he waited. There'd be plenty of time to review the tape later. He knew that, though he'd been invited to watch, Mr. Baxter would prefer to have the first experience all to himself.

On screen the woman had clamped her knees tight together, curling her legs up. She bit her lip, eyebrows drawing down in concentration as her hand moved more quickly. Stephen was jerking off almost roughly. He was whispering, and Dominic doubted that he was aware of it. "Yes, Mina. Yes. Do it. Love yourself, sweet little hider. Mina, Mina Aiteag, shy girl."

She threw her head back, spine arching, mouth falling open. Her body jerked. When she opened her eyes they seemed unfocused. Stephen made a guttural as he climaxed, his sperm splattering the coffee table before him.

Dominic silently offered tissues, and wiped off the coffee table as his employer cleaned himself. On screen Mina stretched luxuriously, turned off her lamp, rolled over, and drifted off to sleep. Stephen sat for a moment more, squeezing his now flacid cock as he stared at the television.

As Stephen refastened his pants, Dominic said, "Boss, you can tell yourself you want to weigh things a little more, but I think you've already made your choice."

Stephen got up and went to the television. He stacked some photos on top of Adrianna Baranski's cassettes and said, "You can dispose of these. Tomorrow I'll tell Lamont to begin the photography, concentrating on Mina O'Connel. I want lots of pictures--all kinds." Dominic was nodding.

Stephen picked up a thin sheaf of photos of Mina--ones he'd viewed at the beginning of this choosing. He paused and touched the television screen, lightly tracing over the line of her mouth, then shut the machine off. He opened a door in the basement's back wall, leaving it open while he lit several candles on a small table near the small room's entrance. He entered, then shut the door.

The room was long and narrow, almost like a short hall, and paneled in dark wood. Reaching into a box on the table, he scooped up several push-pins--each one topped with a silver or gold bead, then he walked to the room's far end.

Stephen ran a finger down one panel, feeling the minute indentations of many tiny holes. He carefully tacked the three photos of Mina in the center of the wall. Stephen dragged a thick pad in front of the miniature gallery and settled on it, cross-legged. He stared up at the photos, eyes moving from one to another. He sat there for a long time.

*

Mina peered through the lobby door into the street. Nasty day. It was only spitting rain right now, but the sky overhead was an ugly purple-black, laced with occasional flashes of lightning. She'd been getting impatient about having to depend on Baxter for her transportation, but now she was relieved. Her car had always chosen days like today to misbehave.

The now familiar dark car pulled up before the apartment building. As she started to step out she was surprised to see the front passenger side door open. A large black umbrella popped open, and a man followed it out, hurrying toward her before she could move out of the shelter of the doorway. "Just a moment, Miss."

A small man held the umbrella out invitingly, and she allowed him to shelter her to the car. He kept the umbrella carefully over her as the back door opened and she slipped in.

Stephen Baxter was wearing a raincoat that probably cost more than she earned in a week. Mina gave it another look. *Make that two weeks.*

He nodded gravely. "Miss O'Connell. I would wish you a good morning, but..." he gestured toward the street. As if even nature worked at his behest, the rain thickened to a hissing downpour.

"Yes." She caught Dominic's glance in the rear view mirror and said, "I don't suppose...?"

"Not in this weather." She sighed as Dominic pulled away from the curb. "Why don't you relax, O'Connell? It isn't as if this is costing you anything."

"It's restrictive."

Stephen said, "As I've told you, Miss O'Connell, you have only to ask, and Dominic can take you wherever you wish to go. I quite enjoyed our foray into the supermarket."

"Thanks, but it's... it's like being ten years old." She made her voice high pitched and childish. "Daddy, would you take me to the library? Daddy, can I have a ride to the movies? Oh, and could you pick me up at nine o'clock? Pretty please? I've been good." Her tone was wheedling.

She didn't notice that Stephen's stare had become intense, nor that he quickly laid his briefcase across his lap. She was too busy studying the man who'd escorted her--he looked familiar. "Do I know you?"

He half turned to her, smiling genially. His left hand rested on the seatback, his right gripped the thick handle of the umbrella, near the base. Peculiar design. There were round, flat crystals circling the handle. As he spoke, he idly tapped his thumb on the butt. "We have met, though we haven't been formally introduced."

She thought, then nodded. "You're the photographer." It was almost an accusation.

"Yes. The last session was only to give us ideas--a feel for what we might try," Stephen interjected. "He'll be around the next day or so getting the photos for the first edition of the company magazine. It will be just a 'meet your fellow employees' sort of thing."

"Mm. Are you sure this is the best time for it? A number of people are going to end up looking like drowned rodents."

"Mr. Baxter has assured me I'll be welcome for as long as necessary," the photographer assured her.

Mina bit back a cynical grunt. *Why not? Mr. Baxter owns our time while we're at work. He can order a full scale fashion layout, if he so chooses.* She looked out the window, the better to avoid further conversation.

*Lovely profile, lit by that gray light from the street.* Lamont again pressed the butt of the umbrella handle. There was no click, but he felt the button depress. He'd have this roll finished by the time they reached the office, then he could switch to his usual 35 mm.

She didn't turn her head, keeping her forehead against the glass, but she slid a look at him that was a little sullen, a little suspicious. He made a note to tell his operatives to be very careful with this one--to stick with the long range zoom lens whenever possible.

*He likes you, kiddo. Last time I started off targeting two, and it was three days before he settled on one of them. I guess I can see why, though. You've got your own style.*

The look she turned on him wasn't quite a glare. "Do I have egg on my chin?"

He was startled. "Oh. Uh, no, nothing like that."

"I should hope not, since I only had toast."

Lamont took the hint, turning to face forward, and caught a glimpse of Dominic's grin. *Yep, her own style--polite 'go to hell'.*

Chapter Seventeen
Outside Suspicion

Axel Turner cursed silently to himself as he cruised up and down the aisles in the lot, looking for a parking space. That was one thing that he hated about working the evening shift. If you worked morning or graveyard, there was always an abundance of slots available, but evenings... evenings sucked. He had to arrive before most of the staff left for home and unless someone had gotten off early he was stuck far out in the lot.

He slowed down, then backed up, peering at a particularly battered car. The little trees that ringed the lot had been shedding leaves lately and they usually blew off the lot during the night, but they were beginning to pile up under this car, showing that it hadn't moved from that place for some time. Just as he'd thought. *So, Mina still hasn't gotten her car up and running. I wonder if she's still getting chauffer service from Baxter, or if he got tired of playing Lord Bountiful?*

He found a space and went into the building to clock in. Benny Mounts, one of the day security men, was punching out. "Hey, Axel."

"Evening, Benny. Anything interesting today?"

"Nothing much. Someone's still stealing lunches on the eighth floor, but I think they're gonna stop." He grinned. "One of the workers had his lunch ripped off three times. He told me today that he's gonna mix ipecac into his tuna salad tomorrow. Should be interesting to see if anyone has to leave early." He slipped his time card back into the rack. "Oh, and if you see some guy wandering around with a camera, he's not an industrial spy or anything. They're getting more pictures for that magazine they've been talking about."

"Taking pictures, hm? Damn, if I'd known that I would have had my hair trimmed before I came to work."

Benny laughed. "Don't sweat it, Coverboy. This is like most magazines, I think. They're gonna want pictures of the ladies to make things look good. I followed him around a little today. I'd say that the ratio of snaps of guys to girls was, like, two to twenty."

Axel sighed. "Oh, well. I'll have to make sure I get a look at the thing when it comes out, then."

"He spent most of his time on the fifth floor, but he took a turn through the cafeteria and the gym, too."

Axel clocked in. He nodded to Borden, who was already situated at the front desk with an Outdoorsman magazine, and headed up to the fifth floor. When he entered Records he noticed that there were a lot more employees in evidence than there usually were. Some of them were working at their desks, but the attention they were paying to their tasks was almost ostentatious. *You can almost see 'I'm working hard' tattooed across their foreheads.*

Some of them had given up on pretending to be industrious and were openly watching the small man with the camera hung around his neck. He was at Hollachuck's desk, talking to her while he loaded a fresh roll of film. "I want to thank you for your patience, Miz Hollachuck. I know I must be disrupting your routine something terrible."

"Not at all, Mister Lamont. This is part of my job--promoting Baxter Enterprises." Axel had to supress his gag reflex. Her voice was as sweet as corn syrup. It was unnatural--for Hollochuck, anyway.

The photographer snapped the back of the camera closed, pushing a button. There was a whirring sound as the film advanced. "Now, I'll just step back a few feet to get a better composition. Please, go about your work."

"Shouldn't I look up and smile?"

"I'll tell you if I need that." He lifted his camera. "Let me just focus this."

Axel frowned to himself. He didn't know how wide a range that camera had, but it seemed to Axel that he was holding it at an angle that wasn't going to catch more than the top of Hollachuck's beehive hairdo. It was the area beyond her that was going to be square in the view finder.

Axel directed his attention to the spot that Lamont seemed to be focussing on, and felt a twitch of surprise. He moved around the room till he was behind Lamont, looking over the shorter man's shoulder. *I can see right into Mina O'Connel's cubicle from here.*

Mina, dressed in one of her usual dun colored outfits, was at her station. At present, though, she was watching the action in the outer office. She had her elbow on the desk, and her chin propped in her hand. She wasn't watching the photographer, though--she was watching Hollachuck. Her expression was wry and wondering as she watched the office supervisor primping while trying to look busy.

The man started snapping away. *He's getting some pretty good pictures--of O'Connell.* It was a good method of getting candids. Mina was completely unaware that she was being photographed. Consequently her expression was more open and unguarded than he had ever seen it. *She's really pretty like that. I've got to make another effort to get next to her.*

Mina raised her eyes from the spectacle of Hollachuck dithering. *Hollachuck--dithering? Good God. Perhaps the world is coming to an end. She didn't even quite manage dithering for Baxter. It's amazing what a lens can do to some people.* She lifted her eyes to the photographer--and noticed that Axel Turner was standing behind him, and he was grinning at her.

Lamont frowned behind his camera. The woman's expression had suddenly closed. It was as if shutters had come down, and she turned back to her work. *What caused that? She was doing so well.* He heard a shifting behind him, and glanced over his shoulder.

There was a good looking blonde guy in a sharp *Be damned if I don't think he had that thing tailored* security uniform, and he was watching Baxter's chosen cutie with more than a little interest in his eyes. *Uh, oh. Sonny, you might want to turn that heat elsewhere. I don't think boss man would appreciate it. He might not do anything physical personally, but he's got a little friend who'd be more than happy to do it for him. Hell, Dominic would enjoy it.* He'd lost his chance to get anything good, so he moved on to take a few cover-up photos around the office.

Axel strolled over to the entrance of Mina's work cubicle and leaned in the doorway. "Hey, pretty lady."

*Hey, horny idiot.* "Hello, Axel." She didn't take her eyes off her work, hoping he would take the hint. It didn't work. He stepped inside.

"I noticed that your car is still out in the lot. It's going to get dust on it so thick that you'll be able to plant daisies."

*It was like that before. Do you think I'd bother to keep a piece of shit like that spiffed up?* "Yes. I'm afraid they're going to start charging me rental on the space."

"Well, if you're going to junk it, I can find someone who'll give you a few dollars for it. No trouble."

Now she looked at him, frowning. "No, I don't want to get rid of it--I'm not ready to give up hope yet."

"Shouldn't you have it hauled back to your place, then?"

"I can't afford to have it towed. If I could, I would have had it done a week ago. Up here it's more convenient for Dominic to work on it."

Now Axel was curious. "Genello?"

"Dominic."

"Baxter's shadow, right? Black hair, brown eyes, Guinnie complexion."

Her expression became even colder with distaste. *Great. He's a bigot, on top of everything.* She didn't like Dominic herself, but it had nothing to do with his ethnic background. It was on a strictly personal, almost chemical level. "I thought Dominic was his surname--it's all I've ever heard him called. I've been calling him by his first name all this time? Anyway, he's supposed to be fixing it for me, kind of on account."

"On account of what?" He laughed at her pained look and his own cleverness. "That's clear enough. On account of what a sweet little thing you are."

*Oh, God. Do women actually fall for that slop?* "How kind of you." Her voice held all the warmth of an IRS agent listening to a taxpayer trying to justify deductions.

"He sure seems to be taking his time on this. How long have you been stranded? Coming up on two weeks, isn't it?" She nodded. "Damn, sugar, any garage that put you off that long would be looked at real hard by the Better Business Bureau."

"Yes, but they wouldn't do it for nothing but the cost of parts."

"But if it takes you forever to get it, what good is that?"

She sighed. "I'm waiting on him to fix it, and I don't have a ride. If I had it at a garage, they wouldn't let me have it till I could pay for the work, and I still wouldn't have a ride. At least this way I have a ride to and from work, because for some reason, Baxter has decided to be a good Samaratin."

"Some reason, hm?" She looked at him sharply. Axel could pack a lot of innuendo into just three words. He moved in closer, till his hip almost brushed her shoulder, and she pushed her chair back a bit.

He was grinning. The look he was giving her made her feel slightly grubby. "Look, Turner..."

"Turner? It was Axel a minute ago."

"Turner, I'm at work, okay? Or I will be, if you'll toddle off and make your rounds, or whatever you do."

"There's nothing I need to be doing right now. I have a little time." He stepped closer again. She tried to push her chair back, but (damn cramped office space) there wasn't anywhere else to go. He leaned toward her, and she slumped slightly in the chair. "So tell me, Mina--has Baxter tried anything with you on those trips back and forth?"

"What do you mean?" *Oh, I know what he means, but maybe if I bluff he'll back off and he won't actually say it.*

"C'mon, Mina. Baxter is the big boss, and he's running a low level employee around."

*That's it, Axel. Win my heart by your flattery.*

"It can't be just out of the goodness of his heart. Guys like that give checks to charity, but they don't do the personal help thing. He must have his eye on something. Hasn't he ever, like, told Genello to keep his eyes on the road and take the long way home?"

She stared at him, not believeing that even someone as crass as Axel would be stupid enough to say something like that about his employer--especially to someone he knew was indepted to the man.

Axel leaned further down, putting his hands on the seat back on either side of Mina's shoulders, and she slid down another inch. "You saw that Kevin Costner movie, No Way Out, huh? Remember that scene in the back of the limosine with Sean Young? Damn, that was almost hot enough to melt the film. He was in his Navy dress whites. Women like uniforms, don't they? Get's 'em hot."

Body English and subtle snubs weren't going to do it. Axel was one of the kind you had to beat over the head, and then they just thought you were playing hard to get. "Back off."

"What's the matter, darlin? Didn't I use enough breath freshener?"

"You're so full of yourself that it's not surprising that common sense has been squeezed right out. Back off, Turner."

He was bending toward her again. "Don't be that way, Mina."

"Miss O'Connell."

Axel stood up quickly, turning back toward the cubicle entrance. Stephen Baxter filled the opening, staring at the security man with absolutely no expression--but his eyes were as cool and hard as turquoise. He stared at the fast flushing Axel, then turned his gaze to Mina. "You mentioned that you would like to visit the library after work. I thought that I might wish to obtain a card myself, and I was hoping that you could direct me to some reading material that might entertain me, so I thought that we might leave a bit early."

"Mr. Baxter, Mrs. Hollachuck is going to start getting *pissed* upset with all this extra time I'm taking off." Despite the fact that Stephen's presence sometimes made her feel uncomfortable, she was grateful to see him now.

"I doubt it. In any case, I've had a look at your record. You've been more than conscientious, and a little down time will not be amiss." He returned his gaze to Axel. "Turner, is it? I see that you're part of our security force. I hardly think that Miss O'Connell qualifies as a security risk. You can go about your business."

"Yes, sir." Baxter stepped aside to allow Axel to exit, then entered the cubicle. Out in the main office, Axel saw Dominic Genello lounging against the wall, just outside the cubicle. Dominic gave him a hard, feral grin. *Shit. How long was he standing out here, listening?* Axel slipped past him, feeling the other man's eyes on him like a weight till he was out of the room. There was definitely something hinky going on there, but O'Connell herself didn't seem to be aware of it.

Stephen emerged after a few moments and Dominic accompanied him out to the elevator. When the doors slid closed, assuring their privacy, Stephen said, "She's agreed to take dinner with me again." He smiled. "As I have done little recreational reading in the last few years, I desire her opinion of various novels and authors."

"Smooth. She likes books."

"Yes. I need to find out her tastes, so I can make proper preparations. Dominic?"

"Yes, boss?"

"I think Mr. Turner has an improper interest in my hider."

"I think you're right."

"I don't like the man. I don't like him at all."

"Would you like something done about him?"

Stephen considered, then said slowly, "Not right now. If he continues to annoy her--perhaps. But nothing permanent will be required, I think."

"You sure about that?"

Stephen shrugged as the doors opened on his office's floor. "No, of course not. I'll have to see what transpires, but I'd like to avoid any final solution, if I may." They started back to his office. "I don't know enough about Mr. Turner to consider eliminating him. After all, as obnoxious as he is, someone might miss him."

Chapter Eighteen
Preparation

The next day it was cold, very cold, when they left the building. Even though it was only five the sun had already begun its descent, and the shadows of the buildings were slanted and dark. Dominic had the car waiting at the front curb, as usual. As usual he held the door, and he and Stephen waited for Mina to enter. But this time she did not slide right in.

She hesitated, looking at the open door, then glanced to her left, toward the employee parking lot. Many of the employees had left, and there were only a few cars. Her own junker squatted in the middle of the lot. The ground around it looked littered and neglected. *I can almost visualize it up on cinder blocks.* She took a few steps up the sidewalk, toward the lot. Yes, she'd cursed the car heartily, but it had served her for a long, long time, and she found (absurdly) that she missed it. *I get chauffered wherever I want to go in a car that probably cost ten times what I've made in my best year, and I want my POS back.*

"Miss O'Connell?"

She didn't flinch away from the touch on her elbow, but she hitched her purse strap higher on her shoulder, breaking the contact. Then she took a deep breath and turned to look at the two men. Stephen's expression was bland and courteous--Dominic's sardonic, and almost challenging. *That's it, you bastard. Time to look things in the face.* "Look, I went to the bank on my lunch hour."

"Yes?" Stephen knew this. Lamont's men kept close track of Mina, providing him with photos at every opportunity. He had a thick sheaf in his briefcase right now. Once he was home they would be picked over, and his favorites would be taken down to the tiny room in the basement and tacked to the wall, joining his ever expanding gallery. Then he would sit and contemplate the images of his hider, and most likely pleasure himself.

"I went to put in a personal loan application. I'm hoping they'll approve enough for me to get another car."

Both Dominic and Stephen frowned. Dominic's voice was a little snippy. "I told you I'm working on it."

"And told me, and told me, and told me. It's been almost three weeks. Look, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but enough is enough. If it's taking you this long to get ahold of a used part, and if buying a new part would be as much as the whole car is worth, I might as well cut my losses, see if I can get a few bucks for scrap, and start over."

"I can sympathize with your frustration, Miss O'Connell, but it's rather nippy out here. Could we discuss this in the car?" Stephen asked quietly.

Mina stuffed her hands into her coat pockets so he wouldn't see that she was balling them into fists. "Of course. How inconsiderate of me." She stalked back and got into the car. She didn't see the look that Stephen and Dominic exchanged as they got into the car.

As they pulled out, Stephen said, "If you'll pardon me for asking, Miss O'Connell, how much are you trying to borrow?"

She gritted her teeth. *Good God, this man is supposed to be the cream of society. How fucking rude can he get? Or do I just not register on the 'need to be polite' meter?* "I tell you what, if you'll forgive me for *telling you to piss off* not answering, I'll forgive you for asking."

He blinked. "I see. I seem to have offended you. I apologize."

She sighed. *He can't really be that clueless, can he?* "It's all right, Mr. Baxter. It's just that... well, there aren't many things more private than a person's financial situation."

"Except their love life," said Dominic.

That earned him a glare. "Well, gee, since you knew that, I'm surprised you mentioned it."

"Oo, touchy, touchy. I guess the wait is getting on your nerves. Hold out for another couple of days, and I should have it taken care of for you."

Mina made a sound of exasperation. "I won't know anything till tomorrow or the next day. They do everything but check your tonsils these days, but since I don't have any collateral, that may speed things up."

"What type of car do you have in mind?" Stephen asked.

"One that runs," she said shortly.

"I meant what model or make?"

"Mr. Baxter, with the kind of money I expect to get I look for four wheels, a roof, doors that close, and an engire that will actually run. Everything else is gravy."

"You don't even have a preferred color?"

"What would be the point?" Her voice was a little louder than she had intended. She sighed. "I'm sorry. Look, if I'm very, very lucky, I might get as much as a thousand at interest just this side of a loan shark territory. Since you don't even begin to find decent vehicles for less than around two thousand, I just don't torment myself with speculations about what I want--I worry about what I can get. I know you mean well, but have you ever had to buy a used car?" Stephen thought. "And I'm not talking about a classic collector's item."

"No, no I haven't." He studied Mina. "We live in different worlds, Miss O'Connell--I'm aware of that. Please don't be offended if I try to understand yours a little better."

Mina closed her eyes briefly. *Crap. And now I feel like a bitch again.* "Sorry if I'm touchy. I just... I'm not used to people being so interested in my business."

"I'm surprised--you're an interesting woman." She gave him an incredulous look. "No, you are. Yes, you're not a flamboyant, showy sort, but you have depth. And I'm not the only one who's noticed. That security man, Turner?" She squinted, eyebrows pinching down. "Yes, Turner. I think he fancies you."

*Fancies--what an odd, old fashioned word.* "He fancies himself."

Stephen smiled. "Yes, I think you're right there. Has he been bothering you much?"

"No more than anyone else with double X chromosomes, I suppose."

"Well, I want you to know that if he harrasses you, you should file a complaint. I can promise you that it will be taken very seriously. Now, to move on to more pleasant matters, would you be interested in earning some extra cash?" Dominic glanced into the rearview mirror, studying his boss in surprise. What was Stephen up to now?

Mina stared back at Baxter suspiciously. *Oh, man, am I about to be propositioned? Surely not. He just talked to me about filing sexual harrassment complaints, that's hardly a lead in to an attempted pick-up. A month ago I would have said that he was too asexual for me to worry about that, but not since I saw him playing handball.* "A raise?"

"That's not out of the question, but I don't think any reasonable raise would do you much good. No, I was thinking of offering you some moonlighting work, doing basically what you already do--data transcription."

She was silent, thinking. If the work didn't take up too much time, and the pay made it worth while... "What exactly," she said slowly, "would be involved?"

"I'd like to modernize the family records. They're quite extensive, going back to my grandfather's boyhood. I'll preserve the hard copies, of course, but I want to get it all on disc, just in case there's ever, oh, a flood, or fire and they are destroyed. You could do that, couldn't you?"

"Yes, I could. It's exactly what I do at work. I'm even good at interpretting bad handwriting. What are the particulars--hours and pay?"

"Let's see. Oh, say, two or three hours, three or four days a week. Twenty dollars an hour?"

Mina almost bit her tongue. *Shit! That could be over two hundred a week! If I can get him to pay cash and don't have to have taxes and social security taken out that'll earn me more than my take-home pay. Act casual, don't be too eager.* "That sounds interesting. The only problem is that I don't own a computer. We'd have to make arrangements for me to use mine at work afterhours."

"That won't be necessary--I have an excellent setup at home."

She was silent for a moment. "You mean go to your house to work?"

"Yes. It's located in my study, so you wouldn't be disturbed. It would be quite easy to just bring you home with me. You could work for a few hours, perhaps have supper since it will be so late, and then Dominic can take you home." Mina was silent again, but Stephen could see that her mind was racing. *I hope I haven't misjudged. I have to strike a balance between making it attractive, and not making it too attractive. I have to use her greed... Oh, be honest Stephen--it isn't really greed, it's need. But I have to play on it without getting her suspicious.*

*His house. I've never worked in anyone's house before. I'm not sure I want to. It seems too... intimate.* Stephen was waiting patiently, his expression expectant. *Oh, come on, Mina. It isn't like he's asking you to tidy up his bedroom, or scrub the toilets. And the money... With an income like that, I wouldn't need to settle for just what I could buy outright with what I get at the bank... IF I get anything from the bank. I could manage decent car payments if it was going to go on for awhile.* "How long do you expect it to take?"

Stephen shrugged. "I don't have a time frame, really. There is a good bit of material. You can just work at your own pace."

"I think that we could come to some sort of agreement."

Stephen's smiles were rare and usually muted, but this time it was bright and pleased. "Excellent! Perhaps you could start this evening?"

"No, I couldn't start tonight. I need a day or so."

"Why?"

She looked at him. "Mr. Baxter, I don't have much of a life, but I do have a life. I need more time."

"Of course. I'm sorry. I seem to put my foot in it a good deal where you're concerned. Tomorrow?"

"Yes, that would be all right." They were pulling up in front of her apartment building. As they stopped, she reached for the door, opening it. Stephen laid a hand on her arm and she stopped. Again she tensed, but she didn't pull away. *It doesn't mean anything, and this man can give me a good bit of money for honest work.*

"Miss O'Connell, it would be better if you didn't mention this arrangement to anyone. I'll be paying you in cash, and there's no reason for us to bring the federal government into this, is there? It will be a private arrangement."

*Oh, ho. Perhaps not entirely honest work, but I can live with that.* "Sure, no problem."

"Good." Stephen released her, but he allowed his hand to slide down her arm as he did. When she glanced at him suspiciously he gave her a charming smile, sliding his hand under her elbow in the gallant gesture of a gentleman helpin a lady out of a car. Mina exitted, nodding good-bye, and hurried toward the entrance.

They pulled away. After they drove a block, Dominic whistled softly. "Well, aren't you the smooth mover? Boss, that was some of the slickest improvisation I've ever seen. You'd make an excellent scam artist--you think on your feet."

"Thank you, Dominic. I'm quite flattered."

"So, you going to... um, accomodate her tomorrow?"

Stephen opened his briefcase across his knees. There was a thick stack of glossy photographs inside. The top one had been taken in the company gym. Mina was on a stationary bike, dressed in loose tee-shirt and shorts. Stephen stroked one finger down the white line of her flexed leg. "No, there's no hurry now. I know how banking is these days, and she's unlikely to get any sort of decent loan on a first try. Even if she does, it will take her awhile to find a car. After all, it isn't as if she can go trotting around, making comparisons, is it? No, I'll give her a couple of days to settle in, get comfortable. I like the idea of having her in my house before she's confined." He rifled the photos, picking up one that showed Mina peering through the door of her cubicle with an almost whimsical expression on her face. "I wonder what she was looking at here?"

"Is that the one in her office?" Dominic chuckled. "Lamont said he was pretending to photograph ol' Hollachuck, and the old gal was primping like a highschool cheerleader."

"Hollachuck is a fawning old twat, but she's very efficient at running her section."

When they arrived at the house Stephen stopped by the kitchen. "Fulham, we'll be having a dinner guest tomorrow, and possibly for another couple of nights after that."

Miss Fulham had been peeling potatos. She wiped her hands on a towel, smiling at Stephen. "If this was just one night, I'd assume it was for business."

Dominic was hanging up his jacket on a hook by the back door. "You're right--it's pleasure. We're gonna have to start laying in a few more supplies, old doll."

Fulham clasped her hands. "Oh, you're going to bring home your new pet, and I get to see her! How wonderful! What should I fix, Mister Baxter? I want her first meal here to be special."

"Well, when we went to the restaurant she ordered Lobster Thermidor, but she might think something was off if she had anything that elaborate when she thought she was just coming over to work."

"I know--I'll make beouf bourgignon. Simple, but elegant. That and a cheese souflee, and perhaps a nice parfait for dessert."

"That sounds marvelous. I'll be in the basement."

He left, and Dominic got a beer out of the refrigerator. "He has another batch of photos for the meditation room."

"Gracious, he must have that thing papered by now."

Dominic drank deeply, and sat at the table. "There isn't a speck of wall showing at the back, and he has both sides covered pretty thick about half way to the door." He chuckled. "When he sits on that cushion, he's just about drowning in a sea of Mina O'Connells. I'll probably have to go down and roust him at dinner time."

*

When Dominic went downstairs he knew immediately that Stephen wasn't in the Meditation room--the panel to the Tank was standing open. Dominic paused outside it for a moment, once again admiring it's construction. Fitting this place up had cost a bundle, especially since the discretion of the workmen had to be assured. They'd told them that it was a 'safe room', in case there was a home invasion, and they'd at least pretended to accept the explanation. Once it was finished Stephen had simply had another group come in and add an effective lock and bolt on the outside of the door.

The solid wooden door set in the wall behind the panel was ajar, also. Dominic tapped, and heard Stephen call, "Come in."

The tank was a narrow rectangle that had once served as a laundry room. It was about eight feet wide and not quite twice as long. The walls and the low ceiling were enamalled white, and the floor was polished cement. The floor slanted slightly from each side to a small, sunken drain--a reminder of the room's original purpose.

There was an open shower stall in one of the far corners, and a chemical toilet beside it. The opposite corner was fenced in by a sort of cage made of heavy mesh, like that used in security areas. Behind it was a television, and above it was a video camera, angled so that every portion of the room was visible.

There was a platform bed in the middle of the room. The room was so narrow that there was only a little more than a foot of space between the foot and the wall. Stephen was sitting on the bed, watching a news report on the televison. When Dominic entered he used a remote to shut off the tv, dropping the remote on the bed. "Suppertime already?"

"Fulham said to tell you that if you don't hurry, don't fuss at her if the rolls are stone cold." As Stephen swung around to get off the bed on the door side Dominic said, "You really enjoy kinda communing down here, don't you?"

"I'm trying to get a sense of what it will be like for my pet, but I know that it's in vain. It's like I told Mina--I know we're in different worlds." He followed Dominic out of the room, locking the door and throwing the bolt. There was no need for it now, since it was unoccupied, but Stephen Baxter was a methodical man. He shut the panel, and it blended seamlessly with the other woodwork. To open it again he would have to press in a particular spot to release a spring, allowing it to move out enought to be grasped, and moved.

As they started up the stairs Stephen continued. "How can I expect to know how it will be for her? After all, I can just walk out of there at any time."

Chapter Nineteen
Stalking

Axel Turner parked next to the squatting hulk of Mina O'Connell's car. Squatting, because the balding tires were losing air, going spongy and allowing the body to sink even lower than the sprung shocks usually allowed. *What the hell is Baxter's lackey supposed to be fixing on that anyway? I've never seen him touch it. I suppose he could do it before I arrive, but I mean I've never seen him anywhere near it. I wonder...*

He got out and walked around the car, studying it thoughtfully. He peered through the driver's window. No key. *Baxter's man would have that, if he's supposed to be working on it.* He tried the door handle, then snorted. *It won't go anywhere, it has nothing in it or on it worth stealing, so of course they lock the door. Well, it's an old model--that can be taken care of.*

He hated risking getting wrinkles in one of his shirts, but he sacrificed a hanger, anyway. Axel unwrapped the hanger, straightening it till it was a long, straight rod with a fish hook shape at the end. Axel stood close to the car, looking around. The street was quiet. It was too late for people going to work, and too early for people to be leaving work. Axel slid the hanger down into the car, working it between the roof and the crumbling rubber insulation. He bent the hanger down, forming it into an L shape. When he lifted the end he held, the bar of the L came up against the window, the hook tapping against the lock knob. With a little fishing maneuver he looped the hook around the narrow barrel, then jerked up sharply. The hook caught on the knob, and the lock tripped. Axel, feeling smug, opened the door.

Once he had the door open, Axel rummaged in his trunk till he came up with a flat head screwdriver, a pair of pliers, and a pair of gloves. Axel opened the hood and examined the engine. *Let's see, it's a four cylinder. I think that the plug wires should be on the right, center, and they run... here, to the coil wire. Okay, now, if the hanger will stretch...* He put on the gloves, just in case, and unbent the hanger. It just barely reached from the coil wire to the positive post of the battery. Of course, even if the car WASN'T broken down, this wouldn't work if the battery was dead. There was only one way to find out.

Axel found the starter solenoid. Using the pliers he crossed a small wire with the positive battery cable. Nothing. He twisted the end of the hanger a little tighter around the battery post, then clamped the wires tighter together. There was a weak whirr. The engine turned over, caught, and idled. "Well, I'll be damned," Axel whispered in amazement. "It worked!"

He quickly unhooked everything, shutting the hood. *The bastard runs, and I'm willing to bet it's been able to run for some time. So, what the fuck is little Miss Mina doing still riding around with his highness?* The obvious reason was that she was enjoying the luxury, taking the guy for whatever she could, but somehow Axel thought that the obvious seldom applied to Mina.

"What are you doing with Mina's car?"

Axel whirled, every motion screaming 'guilt!', to find the chauffeur standing behind him. Behind him Axel could see Baxter's sleek, black car parked at the curb in front of the building's entrance. Axel collected himself quickly. "I think the question is what haven't you been doing with Mina's car?"

Dominic smiled. "What I have or haven't been doing with the car..." he paused, "or the woman herself, is none of your fucking business, Rent-a-Cop."

Axel bristled. "I'm security, and anything that happens around here that's suspicious is my business."

"You look into suspicious stuff, huh? Well, I have a neighborhood watch flash for you--someone's hot wiring cars in the parking lot."

Axel could feel the hot rush of blood to his face. "You haven't been working on the damn thing! I was just testing it for her."

Dominic rolled his eyes. "O'Connell asked you to do this?" Axel was silent. "But she knows you're doing it, right? No? I'm sure the cops would understand. Tell you what, man... Why don't you get your narrow little butt inside and do what they pay you your seven bucks an hour for, and forget about this shit? It'll be better for your ulcers." He turned and started toward the building, tossing over his shoulder, "Hell, it'll be better for your health, all the way around."

Dominic stalked into Stephen's office and stood before his employer. Hands clenched into fists, he spat, "Fucking Axel Turner!"

Stephen put down the document he was reading. "This is more than the usual distaste, Dominic. What has he done now?"

Dominic was pacing in front of the desk like a caged animal. "What has he done? The motherfucker notwired Mina's car, to prove that it runs. The asshole is suspicious."

Stephen frowned. "That is distressing. I don't think anyone has ever really become suspicious before when I settled on a new pet."

"Well, boss, you gotta admit that you've been spending more time with this one than you did with your others. What do we do now?"

Stephen had picked up the phone, and was dialing. "The first thing to do is to take Lamont off the clock. She might notice him and become suspicious. Hello? This is me. Yes. Cease coverage. Yes, entirely. Yes, all actions. The balance of pay will be delivered to your office. Yes. Thank you. It's been a pleasure. Perhaps in the future, but not for a very long time, I hope." He hung up.

Dominic said, "So, what? We give it up? Start over with someone else? You know Mister Thomball has said that he'd always be happy to supply you with one, and it wouldn't cost all that much."

Stephen waved the thought away. "Very generous of him, but no. I have very specific tastes, Dominic, as you well know, and they can't be satisfied by some anonymous Barbie doll woman. No, I'm not ready to give Mina up. I have too much of myself invested in her already. We just have to do a little damage control." He gave Dominic a small, cold smile. "Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say 'do a little damage'."

Dominic returned the smile. "I love my job."

Mina looked up from her monitor at the rap on her door frame. Dominic Genello was leaning in the door, smirking as usual. "Yes?"

The smirk widened to a grin. "Got it going."

Mina fell back in her seat, mouth dropping open. "Well, fuh... Uh... Wow. I'd just about given up on that."

Dominic shrugged. "I told you I'd get it done. The only problem might be that the battery was pretty low. I wouldn't advise driving it much of anywhere till you can have it replaced. You're supposed to come out to the house tonight, but if you try it in that junker you're going to end up sitting by the side of the road."

"Oh, peachy," she sighed.

"All is not lost. Why don't you drive it home this evening and park it? I'll take you back and forth to the house tonight and we'll pick you up as usual tomorrow, then I'll see what I can do about getting you a battery installed."

She studied him. "It's too late to get a replacement now. If I put the car in a garage tomorrow to have it done, he'll insist on riding me around instead of my taking the bus, won't he?"

"You know it. C'mon, Mina. I know I get on your nerves, but Baxter's treated you good, and I'm not gonna believe you'd prefer hard seats, bad shocks, and onion breathed seat companions to a quite ride in a luxury car with a rich, good-lookin' man."

She didn't answer that remark. Instead she said, "Is is time?"

"Yup. C'mon and I'll escort you upstairs."

Mina shut down her computer. Her tone slightly acidic, she said, "The only people who get escorted more than I do are dowager duchesses and prisoners."

She was a little startled by Dominic's burst of laughter as he stood aside to let her pass. He said, "Well, you're not my idea of English nobility, O'Connell."

They went into the hall. Dominic started for the elevators, but Mina hung back. "I need to visit the ladies room." She started toward where the hall turned.

"You could use the boss's private can."

*Ugh. That's a bit too intimate for me.* "I said 'need', not 'want'. I'll be right back."

Dominic leaned against the wall near the elevators. "Take your time."

Axel had been on his way to Records to speak to Mina when he saw her emerge from the room. Unfortunately Dominic Genello was right behind her. Axel didn't want to have to face that bastard down unless he had to, so he ducked down the short side corridor. Genello was busy laughing at something, and he didn't see him. *Damn. Now I'll have to wait till tomorrow to tell her. What exactly the fuck am I going to tell her anyway?*

He heard Mina say something about going to the ladies room, and her footsteps approached. He looked around quickly. There were no offices on this short hall--only the restrooms and a supply closet. Somehow he knew that if Mina saw him she would just turn around and walk off. He had to get her cornered long enough to make her listen to him.

Alex quickly unlocked the supply closet and stepped into it, not quite shutting the door. He watched through the crack as Mina came around the corner and entered the restroom. He waited a moment to be sure that Dominic wasn't going to follow, then eased out and approached the restroom.

He eased the door open and stepped inside, looking around the cool, bright room. No one. He walked toward the row of stalls and squatted, peering under the doors. In the last one he spotted a pair of clunky, but comfortable, dull brown shoes, topped by a puddle of dull brown cloth that had to be a pair of loose fitting pants. He walked over to that door and said, "Mina?"

The feet jerked violently, and there was a hollow sound, like someone banging against a metal wall. "Jesus! Whoever you are, this is the ladies room!"

"Mina, it's Axel--Axel Turner. I..."

"What the hell?" He heard fumbling, the sound of a paper roller spinning. A streamer of tissue appeared beside the shoes. There was a soft swear, and the tissue was jerked up. "Turner, this is the ladies room! Get out, go next door."

"I'm not here to use the pot, O'Connell." He watched as the feet shuffled, and the pants were hastily drawn up. "I need..." The toilet flushed. "I need..." The door opened, and a very agitated and angry Mina O'Connell glared up at him. "to talk to you."

"Talk?" Her voice rose in pitch. "Get out of my way, Turner! God, I knew you had nerve, but I never would have imagined this."

Axel went from flustered to angry. "Look, I'm doing you a favor."

"Oh, I bet you are! Well, don't! Just move, and let me out of here."

"Not yet. You've got to hear what I have to say."

"Like hell I do." She pushed at him.

Axel grabbed her wrists, pushing back. "Calm down and listen, you silly bitch! I'm trying to tell you about the con game that..." She kicked him. "Dammit!" He crowded her back into the stall, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her roughly. "Listen to me, would you?" Mina twisted, trying to force her way past him, and he turned her, pinning her against the wall with his body. "Will you quit fighting me?"

That was when she screamed, and Axel suddenly realized how badly he was fucking this up. "Oh, shit! Mina, please, I'm not going to hurt you. You don't understand..."

"Help! Let me go! Someone help meee!"

Axel started to panic when he heard running footsteps in the hall, and raised voices. He had enough sense to let go of her just before the outside door slammed open, but the sight that greeted Dominic, Mrs. Hollachuck, and a couple of other employees was that of a near hysterical, disheveled Mina bursting past him, screaming frantically.

Dominic tried to catch her, but she shoved away from him violently, stumbling past him. She grabbed Hollachuck and dragged the startled woman between her and Axel, crying, "Keep him away from me!"

There was a babble of questions. Dominic was watching a stunned Axel, and he murmured under his breath, "Oh, Axel, you bad boy. What have you done now?"

Axel shifted uncomfortably. He was standing in front of Stephen Baxter's desk, pinned by the cool, sea-green eyes of Baxter himself. Dominic stood beside his boss, and Hank Borden, the senior security guard on the evening shift, stood beside Axel. Hank was thoroughly pissed. He'd had to dump a brand new Guns and Ammo magazine in the wastebasket when he saw Baxter's right hand man approaching, and he wanted to get back to the lobby before housekeeping got to it.

Baxter was slowly drumming his fingers on an ominously official looking form, while he stared at Axel. Finally he said, "I'd heard rumors that you were being overly attentive to some of the female staff, Turner, but I didn't take it seriously. I see now that I should have."

"Mister Baxter, I know this looks bad..." Dominic snorted. "It's just a misunderstanding, really."

"That's what they all say," sneered Dominic.

"Quiet, Dominic," Baxter ordered. "The facts seem fairly clear cut. You followed Miss O'Connell into a women only restroom. You accosted her in a stall, refusing to allow her to leave when she protested, even to the point of physically preventing her. You didn't release her until witnesses arrived."

"I never hurt her," Axel protested.

"That's the only reason the police haven't been called. I'll tell you truthfully, I'm a little disappointed tha Miss O'Connell has declined to press charges. You're luckier than you deserve in that area. You aren't getting away scot free, though." Stephen indicated the papers. "I've had Miss O'Connell, Miz Hollachuck, and Mr. Genello fill out incident statements, and this will be referred to a disciplinary board as an incident of sexual harassment."

Axel gasped. "Hey, wait a minute!"

"It will be a week or so before they can convene and render a decision. I expect that when they do, your employment here will be terminated. In the meantime you are suspended, and you are not to come onto any property owned by Baxter Corporation, on pain of arrest for trespassing. Mister Borden." Borden straightened, actually sucking in his pot belly. "Allow Mister Turner to get his effects, then escort him from the premises. Call someone in to finish his shift, and write up a memo for security covering his banning."

"Yessir."

"I don't believe this!" Axel whined. "I'm not the one who's up to something." He pointed at Dominic. "It's him!" He narrowed his eyes at Stephen. "Maybe it's you, too. I don't know what it is, but it creeps the hell out of me, and I wanted to tell Mina..."

Stephen's voice was cold. "Are you looking for a slander suit as well, Mister Turner?" Stephen looked at Borden. "Pathetic, really, how people try to shift blame when they're caught out."

Borden nodded. "I don't believe this! Borden, don't you believe me? They're trying to pull something. They..."

Borden took hold of Axel's arm. His voice low, he said, "Turner, you nitwit, you're making it worse for yourself. Just shut up and come on before they change their minds. Even if that girl doesn't file charges, Baxter can still call the cops on you for causing a disturbance on his property. You might not go to court, but you'd end up at least spending the night in jail and having to bail yourself out, plus having the eagle eyes of the law focused on you. Do you want that?" He led Axel out of the office.

"But Hank, I really didn't do anything wrong."

"Shut up, Axel. Just shut up, and let it go for now."

Stephen opened the door into the small, private sitting room just off his office. The two women on the couch looked up at him. Hollachuck sat close beside the younger woman, but there was no touching, no hugging--in short, no comforting. Mina didn't mind. In fact, she knew that she would have been more disturbed than anything else if her stolid supervisor had acted sensitive and nurturing.

There was a squat tumbler sitting before Mina, more than half full of amber liquid. Stephen walked over and said, "You really should finish your drink, Miss O'Connell, for your nerves."

Mina shook her head. "Sorry. I can't stomach alcohol without a lot of fruit juices or mixers. It wouldn't settle my nerves to unsettle my stomach." She paused. "Is he gone?"

"Yes, he's gone. I've suspended him, pending a disciplinary board hearing, but I'm sure he'll be dismissed then. I doubt if you'll have to appear, so don't trouble yourself about it. Your signed statement, along with the witnesses," he nodded toward Hollachuck, who swelled slightly with importance, "should be sufficient."

Hollachuck stood. "Good. Now, if you don't need me anymore, I ought to go back and see that the office is closed up." She patted Mina awkwardly on the shoulder, saying, "Try a hot bath tonight," and left.

Mina sighed, picking up the neglected tumbler, and rolled it across her forehead, closing her eyes. Ice cubes tinkled softly against the glass sides. "Excuse me. I have the worst adrenaline headache of my life. I feel like a vise was clamped on the nape of my neck, then someone drove a spike straight up into my brain."

Her eyes closed, she didn't see how Stephen Baxter was watching her. She didn't see the naked hunger in the usually bland expression. "I have some wonderful pain relievers at home, Miss O'Connell."

He wiped his expression clear as her eyes opened, and she said, "Home? Mister Baxter, I'm not sure I'm up to working tonight."

"You needn't actually work. However, I'm anxious to begin this project." He considered quickly, searching for a reason that would make delay unacceptable. "I've had an offer from a small publishing house to publish my grandfather's diaries. Limited run, mostly for historical reference libraries, you understand, and I need to give them an estimation on how long it will take to prepare them. All you need to do is have a quick look, then you can have a relaxing dinner, and Dominic will drive you home." She hesitated. "I'll pay time-and-a-half, of course."

*Sixty dollars,* Mina thought. *Maybe close to ninety, and I have a new battery to buy.* She put down the glass. "All right."

Chapter Twenty
First, and Last

Stephen smiled genially at Mina. "Wonderful. My housekeeper is preparing a dinner, and she would have been very disappointed if you hadn't come."

"Oh. That's nice of her, but there was no need."

"Nonsense. You just rest here for a moment while I finish packing my briefcase. I'll be right back."

Stephen went back out into the office. Dominic was waiting, sitting on the edge of the desk. "Well?"

Stephen smiled slightly. "I don't see how I can pass up this splendid opportunity, since Mr. Turner was so obliging about drawing attention to himself. Tonight."

Dominic grinned. "What about Rent-a-Cop? Borden says he'll probably find a bar and hole up till his money runs out or they pitch him."

Stephen shrugged. "We'll see about him later. I want to get her home, and settled in."

The younger man cracked his knuckles. "Think you might need a little hand with that?" His tone was hopeful. "Maybe need someone to soften her up for you?"

"Not this time, Dominic. I'll show you why." He took a thin sheaf of paper out of his briefcase and handed it to him. "I got this yesterday, and I'm afraid I've been hording the knowledge, gloating. Third page, about halfway down."

Dominic flipped the pages. "Physical exam report?"

"Every new employee gets one when we hire them, so they'll qualify for the company insurance."

Dominic scanned the page. *A gynocological report? Yeah, he'd want to be sure she was clean before he screwed her. Let's see... bunch of technical gobbledygook. Wait a...* He looked up at Stephen, stunned. "Boss, does this say what I think it says? Hymen intact?" Stephen nodded. Dominic's voice rose in astonishment. "You mean she...?" Stephen gestured sharply, indicating the closed door, and Dominic lowered his voice to a near whisper. "You mean to tell me that she's still cherry?" Stephen smiled slowly, his eyes shining. "Son--of--a--bitch." He put the report back in the briefcase, then solemnly shook Stephen's hand. "I don't know how you do it, boss. Just do me a favor--nail her in The Tank so we can have it on tape."

The door opened and Mina came in, buttoning her coat. She hesitated, eyeing the two men. *What are they congratulating each other about?* "I just thought I'd come ahead."

"Of course. Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss O'Connell." Stephen closed his briefcase while Dominic got his coat, then helped him into it. Then Dominic zipped up his own jacket.

Mina watched this small scene. *Dominic has an 'I've got a secret' look. I don't trust him. I'm not sure I want to ride home alone with him. I wonder how much a taxi would cost back into town?*

They went down to the car and once again she was ushered into the plush back seat. As they pulled away she said, "I'll try driving my car home tomorrow. Mister Baxter, could you follow then, just in case it decides to die on me again?" "I'd be happy to, Miss O'Connell. Rest assured, if there is any trouble I'm willing to continue this arrangement for as long as is necessary."

"I appreciate the offer, but I have to cut loose and fly sometime." She couldn't understand the look that Dominic and Baxter exchanged in the rearview mirror.

The drive was farther than she had expected. *He must get up pretty early to make it into the office each morning. A rich person with energetic habits--how depressing.* The house was impressive. *God, that almost looks like a hotel. One person lives here? Well, one owner and at least two servants, but still... The sucker looks like it must have at least twenty rooms. A person could get lost in there. I'd better take careful not of where I go, or I might end up stumbling into something embarassing.*

The entry hall was two stories high, and the tiles on the floor weren't the ten dollars-a-square foot sort you could buy at Home Depot. She allowed Dominic to remove her coat instead of pulling away, no matter how much she wanted to. "I'll give you a tour of the place," Stephen said, "but I want to introduce you to Miss Fulham first. She's so looking forward to meeting you."

He ushered her through the house, toward the back. The kitchen was across the hall from what looked like a large, formal dining room. As they entered Mina thought, *They could run a medium size restaurant out of this place. That pantry probably holds enough food to supply me for three months.*

Something with a delicious, beefy smell was simmering in a big stock pot on the stove. A small, sturdy, gray-haired woman was standing at a central counter, vigorously grating cheese. She stopped when they entered, immediately wiping her hands and coming to greet them. She wore a plain gray dress that almost matched her hair--the perfect non-uniform uniform for an upscale housekeeper.

She beamed at Mina. *God, you'd think I was her long lost grandkid,* thought Mina as she took the offered hand. It was plump, but her grip was firm.

Stephen said, "Miss Fulham, this is the young lady I've been telling you about--Min Aiteag O'Connell, known as Mina."

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mina. I can tell that you have a good appetite. I'm going to enjoy cooking for you," she said happily.

*I think I've just been refered to as overweight. Oh, well, why be snappish about the truth? She's going to be feeding me.* "Pleased to meet you, too, ma'am. Whatever you're making smells wonderful."

She waved a hand. "It's nothing fancy, but I am rather proud of my souflee. I think you'll like it."

"I'm sure I will."

"Come along, Miss O'Connell, and I'll show you the rest of the house." Stephen took her elbow, escorting her. Dining room, breakfast room, living room... The housekeeper's quarters were pointed out, but not toured. "The basement was for nothing but storage when I was a boy, but I finished it." He led her downstairs and she looked around. It looked like a rec room. There was an elaborate entertainment center on one wall, with a sofabed on the other. There was a door on the right hand wall, and two doors on the back.

Bright splashes of color on the wall over the sofa caught her attention, and she went to get a closer look. *Trust Baxter to be different. Most people would have a landscape or still life. What does Baxter have? Butterflies.*

"I see you've found out my hobby." Mina almost jumped. Baxter had come up behind her so quietly that she hadn't been aware he was moving at all.

He was right at her back, so close that she would have had to step forward to keep from brushing him when she turned, so she didn't turn. "They're lovely. You collected and mounted them all yourself?" "Yes." He moved around her and touched one of the arrangements--a spray of bright yellow and pale green against a black background. "I've been collecting since I was a child."

"Do you still have the first one you captured?"

Mina was busy looking at the display. She didn't see the blank expression come over Stephen's face, didn't notice that his gaze seemed to turn inward. "No," he said quietly. "The first one escaped."

1972

Minnie. He called her Minnie because she was so small, and her voice was squeaky. He had known that Maria, the housekeeper, would bring the little girl to spend the day again, now that she knew it would be allowed. He woulld come in contact again with the quiet, dark little girl--all he had to do was be patient. He was ready. He'd already prepared a place and thought out a plan.

The chance came in mid-July. As he ate his grapefruit his mother said, "Stephen, darling, Miss Fulham and Maria are giving the house a thorough shakedown today. You'll need to stay out from underfoot." She thought. "Maria said she was bringing her little girl, I think. Oh, well, it shouldn't be a problem. The few times she's been here I was scarcely aware."

"She hides." Stephen didn't look up from his plate, ignoring his mother's questioningly look.

"Yes, I think she does. I surprised her in the coat closet once. Perhaps I should tell Maria to be sure to keep her in the kitchen."

Now Stephen did look up at her. He made his voice persuasive. "She doesn't hurt anything, and it would be awful boring for her to be stuck in the kitchen all day."

His mother frowned. "Yes, I suppose so. I guess it's all right. If she damages anything, we can always take it out of Maria's salary."

His father peered over the top of his paper. "I'll be at the club today. Want to come, Stephen? You could fool around at the pool. There should be some kids your age there."

"No, thank you. I want to work on my collection." His father frowned. He didn't much like the idea of his son cooped up, handling dainty, fragile insects. While the elder Baxter wasn't by any stretch a 'macho' man, he worried about appearances, and a boy who'd rather play with butterflies than whoop it up with other boys...

*He's worrying again that I'm a sissy,* Stephen thought. "Melissa Anderson asked me to her birthday party next Tuesday," he offered. He put an interested note in his voice. "She sure does have pretty hair. You know, she's not so bad... for a girl."

Looking relieved, his father settled back behind his paper. Melissa Anderson was a teasing flirt who'd developed far beyond her years and was destined for either a convent school or a home for unwed mothers--perhaps both.

Stephen finished his breakfast quickly. He gathered his equipment and went to the kitchen. Miss Fulham and Maria were finishing the breakfast dishes and Minnie was sitting at the table, eating a piece of toast. Her tiny feet dangled several inches from the floor.

"Miss Fulham, I'm going to go out hunting, and I'll probably be gone all day. Would you pack me a big lunch, please?"

"Certainly, Stephen." She wiped her hands and began to prepare the lunch while Stephen sat at the table. Minnie regarded him with big eyes. She'd spent most of her short life in the bosom of her family and a close Latino community. Stephen Baxter, with his sun-streaked blonde hair and green eyes, was exotic and fascinating to her.

Stephen noticed a battered cardboard box containing an assortment of well used toys. "You brought your toys today." She nodded. "Maria, my mother said it's all right if your little girl wants to go out into the house, as long as she's careful."

Maria looked flustered. She'd obviously intended for Minnie to spend the day in the kitchen, and hadn't been expecting this open invitation. She nodded hesitantly. Miss Fulham set Stephen's knapsack on the table. "There you are, Master Stephen. Two sandwiches, carrot sticks, chips, cookies, milk, and Coke."

"Thanks, Miss Fulham." He stood, slotting his net into its back straps, and picked up the knapsack. "I probably won't be back till late, so don't worry about me."

He went out the back door, through the garden, and into the woods. As soon as he was in the trees he turned and began to circle the house. When he got to the front he found a comfortable place and waited. His father left, then his mother. Stephen didn't shift and fidget, like most boys his way would--he waited patiently.

After about a half hour he saw the curtains in one of the upper bedrooms twitch. They were opened, and the window was raised to admit a freshening breeze. Stephen got up and quickly went back the way he'd come. He knew Maria and Miss Fulham's habits--they'd spend at least fifteen minutes on that room before moving on to the next.

Minnie was still at the table when he got back to the kitchen, but now she had a sheet of newspaper spread out before her, and was industriously scribbling with a stubby, dark green crayon. She looked up as he came in. Stephen smiled at her. "Hello, Minnie."

She blinked. Minnie wasn't her name, but who was she to argue with this big Anglo boy. "Holla."

"Es una rana." When Stephen looked puzzled she hopped down off the chair, squatted, and jumped up and down, croaking.

"Oh, a frog."

"Si. Frog."

"Do you like butterflies, Minnie?" He pulled his field guide out of his knapsack and opened it, showing it to her.

The thin, paperback book was filled with bright illustrations, and the little girl looked awed. She touched one picture, murmuring, "La mariposa bonita."

He pointed. "That's a Monarch, probably the best known. It's pretty, isn't it?" He turned the pages. "There are lots of different kinds. Look at this one." He touched a brown insect with cream markings on its wings. "This is a hider." He tugged her brown ponytail, then the hem of her dingy cream colored dress. "Like you. Would you like to see some of these, Minnie? Real ones, not pictures?" She nodded vigorously. "Good." He picked up a limp rag doll and handed it to her. "Bring your dolly." He took her hand and led her out the back door and through the garden--to the Hobby House.

No one noticed that the little girl was gone until lunchtime. They didn't think much about it right away. After all, the girl had been given permission to explore the house, and she had a fondness for hiding. Maria walked up and down the main hallway, calling her, but there was no response. Then she made a quick search of all the downstairs closets and cabinets. Her expression beginning to be strained, she went back to the kitchen and told Miss Fulham.

"Perhaps she's teasing you?" Fulham suggested.

"No, not mi hija. Our neighborhood, it isn't good. I told her I must always know where she is--always."

"Well, perhaps she hid, then fell asleep. I'll help you look." The two women went over the house from top to bottom with increasing anxiety. Then they started searching around the outside of the house.

In the Hobby House Stephen watched Minnie as she circled around the center tank, stopping every now and then to rise on tiptoe for a better look. Minnie had spent a long time perusing his mounted collection, but she'd started to get bored, so he'd put down a dish of sugar water in the main terrerium and several of the hiders were fluttering on the rim of the saucer, sipping at the artificial nectar.

Stephen heard, very faintly, a voice calling. It sounded like Maria. She was calling a different name, but he knew she was looking for Minnie. He backed up to the door, keeping his eyes on Minnie, and locked the door. Minnie looked up from the tank and said, "Mamacita?"

"Are you hungry?" Stephen opened the knapsack. "Look, Minnie. Miss Fulham made a peanut butter and honey sandwich. Here. Sit down and I'll pour you some milk."

Minnie sat on the old blanket Stephen spread on the floor, accepting the sandwich and some of the potato chips. There was a particularly sharp cry outside, and she started to get up. Stephen said quickly, "I bet you'd rather have Coke instead of milk, wouldn't you?" Minnie wasn't allowed the sweet, fizzy drink often, and she quickly forgot about her mamacita calling her. By the time she'd finished the sandwich and chips and started on the cookies, the calling had stopped, and she had forgotten about it.

After she'd eaten, Stephen wet a cloth and cleaned her hands and face. He noticed her blinking sleepily and said, "You take a nap after lunch, don't you, Minnie? Stand up." He spread out the blanket, then opened a cabinet and dragged out his old sleeping bag. She watched as he unrolled it, then held it open. "Climb in, Minnie. We'll pretend you're camping."

Minnie didn't question--she was used to obeying her elders. She snuggled down in the sleeping bag and dozed off quickly. Stephen sat and watched her for a little while, then he laid down beside her, stretching out carefully so as not to disturb her. He pulled the hem of the bag up till only the top of her head was showing, and put an arm over her waist. "Little hider," he whispered.

Mrs. Baxter returned at three to find a flustered Fulham and a frantic Maria. Fulham sat Maria down in the kitchen with a stiff brandy, then explained the situation to her employer. "It's time we called the police, ma'am."

"Police? Oh, surely not! The child can't have gone far, after all." It didn't occur to Melanie Baxter that if this had been her child, she would have been demanding the police, the FBI, and bloodhounds.

"Ma'am, we have to. There are woods out there, too much for just us to search, and the highway isn't all that far off. Granted she's just a little thing, but the young ones have been known to go a far piece. She could have been snatched if she made it to the road, or she could have fallen and broken her leg. We have to notify the police."

"I suppose you're right. Oh, dear. I'd better phone my husband first."

Sensing possible negative publicity, Stephen's father made it back to the house before the first of the police arrived. Not that he was much use. He mostly stood in the background with a whiskey and insisted that this be kept out of the newspapers and off the nightly news.

The first pair of officers talked to Maria and Miss Fulham, then did their own search of the house. Then they called in the report--a little girl was missing, having disappeared sometime between aproximately 8:30 and noon. That meant that she'd been missing for as long as eight hours. The child was only four years old. This was serious.

They were just getting ready to start the search when Miss Fulham said, "Stephen! He's been out since this morning, too."

"Who's Stepen?" asked one of the officers.

"My son," said Mr. Baxter. "But I'm sure he's not in any trouble. He's thirteen, and he often spends all day wandering around the estate."

"Could the little girl be with him?"

"Oh, I hardly think so. He's like most boys his age, and doesn't have time for little children. Anyway," he continued, "He left early. I'm sure he was already out on his ramble before the little girl was last seen."

Maria agreed, and so did Miss Fulham. But Miss Fulham, as she nodded, was looking at the paperback book lying on the kitchen table--Stephen's field guide to butterflies. She remembered seeing it in his knapsack when she packed his lunch, and that meant that he had been back in the house. She thought of how he'd been this morning, taking the time to speak to the little girl. She turned her attention away from the book.

Stephen came into the kitchen, and all conversation stopped. He blinked at the adults as he shut the door behind himself. He regarded the policemen, then looked at Miss Fulham. "Have we been robbed?"

One of the policeman went to him. "Stephen, right? Stephen, Mrs. Mendoza's little girl has disappeared. Did you see her anytime today?"

"Yes. She was having breakfast here when I went out."

"No, son, did you see her after that? Maybe she followed you out into the woods and got lost?"

His voice was a little cool. "I told you, no. No one followed me. I saw her just before I left, and that's all." He looked at Miss Fulham. "I'm hungry. Could I have something to eat?"

As Fulham started to heat some soup one of the policemen whispered to the other, "Cold little guy, isn't he?"

Mrs. Baxter heard him, and snapped, "For God's sake, it's the housekeeper's child! It isn't as if it was his sister or a close friend. He hardly knew the child, how much is he supposed to feel?"

"Not knew!" Maria screamed. Everyone stared. For the past half hour the woman had been sitting silently, rocking--now this explosion of emotion. "Not knew! Not... not before. Ago?"

Miss Fulham put a calming hand on her arm. "Not past tense. No, Maria, not past tense. Stephen KNOWS her, present tense, because she's still alive." The other adults were nodding and murmuring agreement, but Miss Fulham was looking at Stephen. "I'm sure she's fine."

Stephen had been taking a soda from the refrigerator. He opened the can and took a deep swallow, watching Fulham over the rim of the can. When he lowered it he added his voice to the others. "Yes, I'm sure she's fine." The adults turned back to the issue at hand, and Stephen ate his soup, listening.

"Have you searched the outbuildings?"

"The garage, a gardening shed. There's one building out at the back of the garden, but it's locked."

"Well, get into it."

"It's padlocked. There's no way the kid could have gotten in there."

Stephen finished his meal, then pulled a glass jar out of his knapsack. "I need to go put these in The Tank."

His mother waved at him distractedly. "Don't stay out long, dear. Don't get in the officers' way." He nodded and went outside, and the adults continued their discussions. Miss Fulham stood in front of the back door, blocking the window, and watched Stephen make his way through the dimness to the Hobby House. He unfastened the padlock and went inside, and Miss Fulham went to put another pot of coffee on.

About twenty minutes later one of the officers who'd been searching came in. "Sarge, you know that building? The one that was padlocked? I went back by it, and the lock is off it now."

The sergeant suddenly looked alert. "Where's the kid?"

Mrs. Baxter said, "Stephen? He's in his Hobby House. He had some butterflies to take care of."

"He went back out?" He paused, thinking. "Well, since he's out there, this is a chance to search that building."

Mrs. Baxter gave him an astonished look. "But there was no way she could have gotten in there unless she was PUT in there. I thought we'd agreed..." her voice trailed off. "No! What are you suggesting?"

"I'm just suggesting that we check, to set everyone's mind at rest."

They went outside--the sergeant, a patrolman, and Maria. The Baxters were so confident that they would find nothing but their son that they didn't bother to accompany them. Miss Fulham stayed in the kitchen, watching from the open back door. They stopped at the Hobby House. The patrolman held the beam of a high intensity flashlight on the door as the sergeant tried the door. *It will be locked from the inside. The boy is young, but he isn't a fool. Poor, poor Stephen.*

She could see them knocking. Faintly she heard their voices, rising in intensity--first the officer's, demanding entry, then the mother's, pleading. Finally, like a scene from one of those police shows that were so popular, the sergeant stepped back and kicked the door in.

The flashlight beam cut through the darkness of the Hobby House, illuminating the two figures huddled on the far side. There was a moment of silence as the adults took in the scene. Stephen Baxter was lying in a sleeping bag beside the little girl, his arms wrapped around her. The little girl looked startled, her face pinching in distress. His voice angry, Stephen said, "She was sleeping! You woke her up!"

The sergeant pointed at them. "Stephen," he said slowly, "let go of her."

Stephen's arms tightened. "No. Go away." He pointed past the man to where a stunned Maria was standing. "She left her all alone, all day. She ignored her, acted like she wasn't there, acted like she was invisible. Well, I saw her, I caught her, and she's mine. I'm keeping her."

Maria cried out, bursting into tears. The sergeant stepped forward quickly and grabbed Minnie, trying to peel Stephen's hands away. Minnie started screaming. Stephen shouted, "Stop it! You're scaring her! You're hurting her. I never hurt her."

The sergeant bundled the still shrieking Minnie into her mother's arms, saying, "Get her to a hospital and have her checked. Stephen..."

He turned back, only to have the boy barrel into him, kicking and punching. "Mine! Mine! Give her back!"

The Baxters had heard the screams and shouts, and arrived just in time to see their son face down on the floor, being handcuffed. Mrs. Baxter, ignoring a sobbing Maria and a still screaming Minnie, shrieked at the policemen. "What are you doing? Let him go at once!"

"Lady," panted the sergeant, "he had the little girl in here. He was... Jesus, he was laying down with her."

"He found her! He was comforting her, for God's sake."

The sergeant lost patience. "Comforting, my ass!" He hit the light switch, illuminating the room, then waved around it. "Look at this! Food--boxes of crackers and cookies, soda, things a little kid would like. He's got a damn port-a-pottie there! It's just like he said, he intended to keep her."

"Stephen." The officer had hauled Stephen to his feet and had a firm grip on his arm. Melanie Baxter's son regarded her sullenly, green eyes glinting through the light hair that had tumbled down over his forehead. He looked so different. It was as if she hadn't seen him properly before. "Stephen, tell him the truth. You found the poor little thing, didn't you? You were just getting her calmed down before you brought her in."

She was stung by the contemptuous glare he gave her. "Tell them to give her back. I found her, I caught her, and she's mine." He scowled. "I don't know what everyone's so excited about. She's fine, and I'm going to take good care of her. I was even going to get the cot out of the basement so she didn't have to sleep on the floor. I was going to get her a little television set."

"He's coming to the station. You folks might want to get a lawyer."

The Next Day

"I want him released, and I want him released right now."

The district attorney stared at Stephen Baxter's father. "Mr. Baxter, your son abducted a four year old girl, with the obvious intention of imprisoning her."

"My son found a missing child, and was caring for her."

"He was laying next to her."

"Was the girl touched?" The DA was silent. "Was she touched?"

The DA rubbed his eyes. "There was no medical evidence that she'd been abused, no."

"Any bruises or cuts?"

"A few scratches on her legs, but the mother says they were already there."

"Well?"

"Mr. Baxter, the girl had been locked in that room all day. The boy had to have known. He knew that we were searching for her, he knew how distressed the girl's mother was. He just sat there, in cold blood, pretending..."

The attorney hired by Stephen's father said, "Sir, I would be very careful about what I said. We're speaking of a minor, a thirteen year old boy from a respected family, a good student with no history of any type of misbehavior. I don't see how you can make these rank accusations. The boy hasn't even been charged." The DA was silent. "He hasn't been charged, and yet you still haven't released him to his justifiably worried parents. Am I correct in assuming that the little girl herself hasn't accused Stephen of anything?"

"She's four years old. She was upset by all the noise and commotion when we found her. The doctor ended up giving her a mild sedative so he could perform the exam without having to strap her down. She's confused now as to what happened. She just says she went to see the butterflies."

"There you have it. Stephen has told me that he was in the Hobby House before he began his trek in the woods, and that he left the door open while he went to the other side of the garden, chasing a butterfly. He didn't look when he re-locked the door. The little girl must have gotten in then. He found her when he went out to secure his day's catch. It's as simple as that."

"And instead of bringing the child directly to her mother he laid down next to her, in the dark."

"There is no medical evidence..."

"Stop it," the DA said sharply. He sighed. "A case would be very hard to prove without the kid's statement and the mother's co-operation. Since the child wasn't injured, she doesn't want to put her daughter through the ordeal of a court trial. Believe me, I tried to convince her differently."

The attorney straightened his cuffs. "Then you have no cause to hold my client. I want him released..."

"I said it would be very hard. I didn't say it would be impossible. I could subpoena the mother, have a therapist work with the girl."

"You'd put her through that? What kind of heartless man are you?"

"Don't get all indignant with me, counselor. Maybe your client didn't physically harm the girl, but God knows what's going to crawl out of her psyche somewhere down the line." He looked at Mr. Baxter. "Baxter, your son has a problem."

Mr. Baxter bristled. "You don't know my son!"

"And apparently you don't know him, either. He needs help. I talked with the arresting officer, and Stephen... Stephen lost it. If he was any bigger my officer would have been in trouble. Even if he didn't molest the girl, and I'm ready to admit that he didn't, he needs help. So I'm offering you a deal."

Baxter's face was flushed brick red by now. "He isn't being charged, so there's no need to cut a deal."

"Oh, I beg to differ. Like I told you, I could try this case. I might not win it but by the time it was through, anyone who might have a child that would be endangered by your son would be warned." Baxter had been starting to rise. Now he sat back down, and the DA nodded.

The attorny touched Baxter's arm, calming him. "What are you suggesting?"

"I already told you--he needs help. Get it for him. Put him in therapy," Baxter started to say something, and the DA pointed at him. "Don't. Do not tell me what a sweet, normal, well adjusted little man he is. If he's as normal as you claim, then it's not going to hurt him. That's the choice. I'll even let you choose the doctor, as long as they're acredited, but I'll be checking to see that he isn't just billing you while junior is out chasing his butterflies. Do that, and this goes away."

The lawyer thought about it. "No record?"

The DA shrugged sourly. "He's thirteen. The records will be sealed if he stays out of trouble. When he's eighteen, they'll go away. I don't like it, but that's how it works."

Stephen's father spluttered. "It isn't good enough! You've insulted my family, accusing my son of such a depraved act. I should sue."

His lawyer sighed. "Take it."

"But..."

"Take it it, Baxter. Unless you want to risk Stephen spending the next five years behind bars. They'd have to release him when he was eighteen, but do you really want to have your son's academic record reading 'Correctional System'?" Finally Stephen's father nodded. The lawyer looked back at the DA. "Agreed."

The DA picked up the phone. "You can pick him up at the station. I want to hear from his doctor in three days. If I don't, I send the boys in blue after him, and you don't get his ass back out without a fucking act of God."

"Are you comfortable, Stephen?" Anita Babcock studied the slender, light haired boy sitting on the other side of the desk. He did not slump, and he did not sit rigidly. His hands rested calmly on his thighs, and he was at ease. *In fact, he's the calmest client I've had in years. From his history, I would have expected him to be tense and anxious.*

"Yes, Dr. Babcock. I'm quite comfortable, thank you."

"There's no need for formality, Stephen. We're going to be getting to know each other very well, so you can call me Anita."

"Thank you, but I'm not comfortable with calling adults by their first name, and while I know you expect to come to know me, I seriously doubt that you're going to open your personal life up to me."

Anita was speechless for a moment. The boy returned her gaze with cool calmness. "Stephen, you know why you're here?"

"There was a misunderstanding. For some reason the policemen think that I tried to hurt Maria's little girl. They're wrong."

"Would you like to tell me what really happened?"

Stephen's expression was bland. "Not really." Then he just sat, looking at her politely, waiting for the next question.

"You became very upset."

"They were scaring Minnie."

"Who?"

"Minnie, the hider."

*Hider?* "Stephen, the little girl's name is Luz."

He blinked slowly. "Is it? Oh. Well, now I know."

The doctor sat back slowly, thinking, *Oh, God. How am I going to tell his parents that they have a sociopath on their hands?*

Chapter Twenty-one
Hunt

Present Day

*He's off in his own little world,* Mina thought. "What kind was it?"

He came back from wherever he was. "What?"

"Your first butterfly."

"It was a hider."

"A hider?"

"Yes. They survive by protective coloring, mimicking their surroundings, hiding in plain sight."

"Oh, camoflauge." She scanned the wall of framed displays. "I don't see any of them here."

"I don't kill the hiders. I collect them alive. Would you like to see my pets?"

*He keeps butterflies as pets? Eccentric, but interesting.* "Yes, I'd like that."

"This way." He ushered her over to the side door. "It's time to turn off the ulta-violet lights, anyway." There were six lidded aquariums arranged about the room. "I use them since the hiders can't get true sunlight down here, and they have to be turned off at dusk, so that my pets will have a natural sleep cycle."

As they entered the room and moved toward the first tank Mina said, "It sounds like you're very conscientious."

"I always take excellent care of my hiders. Let's see if any of my beauties are out." He bent down to peer through the glass. "Ah, yes! Look, Miss O'Connell. There, on that twig. It's exactly the same shade as your skirt."

Mina studied the butterfly. "So it is." The triangular wings were ash gray. "And there's a pretty little white one."

"That one spends most of its time in flowerbeds. It favors daisies, baby's breath... other pale flowers."

"So it can blend in."

"Precisely. Come over here. There's a particular one I want you to see." He led her to a side aquarium. "Look there, in the corner." It was speckled with different shades of brown, beige, and cream. "Now, tell me, doesn't that look exactly like the pattern of that dress you wore last week?"

"I'll be darned. It really does." She had an oatmeal tweed dress that almost perfectly matched the insect's coloration. Mina spent another few minutes roaming around the room, peering into the glass boxes, tapping the sides to encourage the insects to move. Stephen stood back and watched his new pet getting acquainted with his old ones.

At last he switched off the individual UV lamps, and they left the room, Stephen shutting off the overhead light. "The other doors just lead to a bathroom and my private meditation room--nothing interesting there. Now, I'll show you the library. I have my study there, and that's where you'll be working."

He led her upstairs and toward the back of the house. There were several turns. *God, this place is like a maze. He grew up here? I'm surprised they didn't have to send out search parties on a regular basis.*

It was a beautiful room--not quite big enough to lose the feel of intimacy, but she couldn't quite call it cozy. Aside from a framed diploma there were no personal mementos, no family photographs or souviniers. Each wall was lined with floor to ceiling shelves, each shelf was crammed with books. There were some paperbacks, but most of them were hardbound, and some were quite old. *Bet there are a few first editions lurking around here. Ooo, I'm going to spend a little of my unsupervised time browsing here!*

Stephen indicated the desk, and the computer. "It has all the standard programs. I set up a profile for you under 'Mina'. Your password is pappillon."

"French for butterfly, hm? I've never watched that movie--I don't like prison stories."

"They're an acquired taste, I suppose."

"What materials will I be working with?"

"These two shelves." Stephen ran his finger down a line of thick greenbacked books. "Each one represents a year."

Mina was stunned. "There must be over fifty of them."

"There are seventy-three, beginning in 1911. He began keeping a daily journal when he was fifteen and made his last entry the day before his death at eighty-eight. Of course the last couple of weeks were dictated to a secretary."

"Wow. That's... massive."

"Yes, it's going to be quite a project. Would you mind waiting for the rest of the tour? I'm familiar with about how long it takes Miss Fulham to complete a soufflee, and it should be done any minute now. She'll be terribly offended if it gets cold."

"Sure, no hurry."

She was grateful that he led the way back to the front of the house, certain that she would have gotten lost somewhere along the way if left on her own. *I need to get a roll at dinner and leave a trail of breadcrumbs.*

The dining room table could have easily a dozen people. Mina had an almost hysterical flash of countless cartoons and comedies showing a mile long table with one lonely diner at each end, requiring a hike if you wanted to pass the salt, before she saw that there were three places set at one end. *Oh, geez, and those aren't Sears House Wares dishes, either. That has to be hand painted china, and are those three dishes piled up at each place? Good gosh, Miss Manners. How many...? Oh, thank God, a normal set of silverware. Mm, except that there are two spoons. Okay, the one with the round bowl will be for the stew, and the long handled, narrow bowled one must be for either tea or dessert...*

"Miss O'Connell, you look like you're thinking ninety miles a minute." Stephen pulled out a chair to the right of the head of the table.

Remembering how he'd held her chair in the restaurant, she didn't hesitate, but took her seat. "Just admiring the table." She nodded at a low, cut glass bowl that was overflowing with an attractive arrangement of multicolored chrysanthemums. "The centerpiece is beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it. I have a nice hot house, and it's excellent for strawberries as well as flowers. I have a crop that will be ripe in a week or so, and I want you to try them. Miss Fulham does a wonderful strawberry shortcake."

Dominic came in from the hall, bearing a large china soup tureen. He placed it before Stephen's place, saying, "Yeah, and it's realL biscuit shortcake with natural whipped cream, not those foam rubber sponge cake cups with that oil-based fake fluff. The rolls are on the way, and Fulham says the soufflee will be done in about twenty minutes."

As Dominic sat, Stephen said, "Translation: don't lollygag over the bourgegnon. Dominic, would you please take care of the wine while I serve? I have a nice red breathing in the kitchen. Mina, if you'll hand me your soup plate?"

As Stephen ladled the stew into the plate, Miss Fulham entered, bearing a basket, covered by a clean cloth. She unfolded the cloth, revealing a pile of golden rolls and offered them to Mina, saying, "I suppose Dominic told you that I'd set a time limit? Ignore him. He gets above himself."

"Thank you." Mina took a roll and settled it on the little saucer by her plate. *Reading all those 1950 cookbooks is finally coming in handy. From the table setting diagrams I know that's a bread plate.* "Everything smells delicious. Let me thank you in advance. I can't remember the last time anyone cooked for me."

"Well, you're welcome, Miss. I'm really looking forward to cooking for you. Oh, Mister Baxter and Dominic appreciate my cooking, but they've eaten it for so long that it's difficult to surprise them anymore."

Mina nodded, thinking, *Lord, she's talking like I'm going to be boarding here.*

Stephen placed the plate of stew before her, saying, "Please go ahead, Miss O'Connell. Don't stand on ceremony."

*Easy for you to say. This may be casual dining to you, but it might as well be a State Dinner to me.* She took a bite of stew, and almost closed her eyes in appreciation. *Beats the hell out of Dinty Moore.*

Dominic came back from the kitchen carrying a small tray. It held an elegant bottle of wine, surrounded by three filled glasses. Dominic set the tray on the sideboard, then placed a glass before each place. Mina eyed her glass. Like the center piece, the crystal was beautiful. The wine was a deep, rich red, almost maroon. *It almost makes me wish I liked wine. I can pretend to drink some, to be polite. Luckily they have a water glass, too.*

Stephen finished serving, and he and Dominic were seated. Mina was almost beginning to enjoy herself. *Treat it like a game,* she thought. *Maybe like a play.* She even ate her stew in the Emily Post approved manner--dipping her spoon away, instead of towards herself.

"So, Mina," Dominic started. "You've never been married, or anything?"

She took a moment to break her roll *One does not simply bite into one's bread. The approved manner is to break it, thus the term 'breaking bread*, then said, "Mr. Baxter is correct in giving me the title of 'Miss'."

"Roundabout, but still a confirmation. How about boyfriends?"

Mina let her spoon clunk into her bowl, staring at Dominic. Stephen said, "Dominic, don't pry."

Dominic shrugged. "What can I say, boss? I'm interested, so I ask. I wouldn't want to try to chat her up and have a jealous boyfriend come after me. How about it, Mina?" She continued eating. "No comment, but I think the temperature just dropped without anyone touching the thermostat."

"I don't blame her. Do not harass her. This project is very important to me, and I don't want you scaring her off. Miss O'Connell, the wine isn't to your taste? I notice that you've touched it to your lips a few times, but the level hasn't gone down."

She sighed. "It's not a slur on the wine, I'm sure it's very good. But I'm just not a wine drinker. It's an acquired taste, and I've never had the inclination to acquire it."

Miss Fulham brought in the soufflee, and Mina was too busy admiring the golden, puffed dome to notice the look that passed between her host and his aide. "Dominic, would you go in the kitchen and find a more suitable beverage for Miss O'Connell?" When Mina started to protest that water would be fine he said, "Nonsense. There's a selection of soda. I believe I've seen you drink Diet Coke?" Miss Fulham gave him a horrified look, which he ignored.

Back in the kitchen Miss Fulham put the soufflee dish on the stove and said, "A carbonated drink with soufflee! I know that Mister Baxter wants to coddle the girl, but really!"

Dominic was dropping ice cubes into a tall glass. "No choice, Fully. She's not drinking the wine." He pulled a small glass bottle out of his pocket and unscrewed the cap, revealing a dropper. He squeezed some of the liquid over the ice, paused, then added a bit more. "Got to get the Rhohypnol into her somehow, don't we? She's going to be skittish, and the boss doesn't want to be any harsher than he has to. This'll gentle her down. I don't want to put too much in, because he doesn't want her to pass out."

"No?"

Dominic laughed as he poured soda into the glass. "Hell, what fun would that be? Boss is looking forward to a little bit of a chase, so be sure the doors are locked."

The rest of the meal was excellent. The dessert was custard layered with fresh peaches and raspberry puree, and she'd been right--the long handled spoon was meant for reaching the bottom of the tall, slender glass. Mina had managed to eat till comfortable, but not overstuffed, and was feeling a little mellow. "Now, if I can find my way back to the study, I can get on with the work. Do you have a preference? Any special formatting, or shall I save it as plain text? Do you want it on floppies, or do you have a CD burner? That would be the most efficient way to store the information."

"Just save it to the hard drive for the time being, say a month at a time," Stephen said.

She went to the door and hesitated. "Um... I take a left turn, then the first left, and a right?"

"Left, second left, right."

Mina sighed. "If I get lost, is it all right if I yell for help?"

"I'm sure you'll do fine. I'm going to get comfortable. Just let me know when you're ready to go home, and Dominic will drive you."

Stephen and Dominic watched her go, and Stephen said, "You didn't give her too much, did you?"

"Relax. I gave her enough to get her like she's four or five sheets to the wind, but she shouldn't pass out."

"Excellent. I think I'll go take a shower, just so I'll be fresh." Stephen smiled as he started upstairs. "Now I just need to decide if I should go to her, or let her come to me."

Mina booted the computer and took the first volume of the journals down. *I can use that stapler and that paperweight to hold it open, but I need something to prop it against. Let's see, something wide, to support both sides." There were a number of leather bound picture albums on a bottom shelf. *Three of those should be just right. They should be heavy enough to not be pushed over.*

She stacked the albums, thinking, *Fancy, fancy. Embossed in gold. Missy, Angella, Claudia. Stephen doesn't have any sisters, so I wonder who these are for?* She snorted softly as she propped the first journal open. *Maybe they're filled with photos of the family's dogs and cats.*

She started typing. It didn't take her long to get bored, and she was used to working with boring material. *It looks like I'm in for seven decades worth of detailed accounts of what he had for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks. She flipped ahead in the book. *Oh, joy. They sent him to boarding school, so I get to transcribe institutional menus. Aaand... lesson plans. Sheesh. Well, at least he's bound to get a girlfriend somewhere down the line, since he must've spawned a kid to generate Stephen.* She typed another few paragraphs, then stopped, putting a hand to her forehead, feeling a bit lightheaded. *I am going to earn my pay on this one. I haven't even worked a half hour, and I need a break. Ah, the benefits of self-supervision. Now I can have a look at the books.*

She pushed the swivel chair back, the rollers moving smoothly on the rug that covered the hardwood floor, and she grabbed the chair arms. "Whoa." It had felt like the floor was tilting. *Must've moved too fast. Okay, let's see what we have here. Oh, damn. Someone was heavily into political and economic theory.* Her eyes fell on the remaining albums. *I haven't had much opportunity to look at other people's family snaps. Here's a chance.*

She picked up the top album--the one labeled Shelley. *Okay, Shelley, what are you? Cat, dog, horse, or maybe cousin?* She opened the cover. *Oo, Shelley is a blonde. No birthday parties or 'say cheese' photos. Lots of candids.* She flipped some more. *Oh, there's one where she's looking at the birdie, finally. Where is that? Looks like a cheap ass dorm room, or,* she thought fascetiously, *a cell.*

She turned a page. "Whoa! Smile, you're on candid camera, and none too pleased about it." Shelley was naked and wet in an open shower stall, trying to cover herself with her hands, and looking very upset. *Stephen, you dog! Did you take this? Oh, man. Talk about still water running deep. I shouldn't look at this.*

She closed the album, but found herself eyeing the others. "Oh, what the hell." When she leaned over for one she barely caught herself, bracing her hand on the shelf to keep from bumping her head. *Damn. Am I coming down with the flu or something?*

The second one was labeled Theresa. Theresa was older, in her late thirties, at least. Once again, candids, candids, candids, then a straight on photograph... *In that same damn dorm room.* A prickly feeling was moving up her spine. She didn't look any farther, but put it aside and picked up the album dedicated to someone called Renee.

Candids of a pale woman with long dark hair. Gradually Mina realized that all the women she'd seen had been dressed in clothes that wouldn't have been out of place in her own wardrobe. Now her scalp was prickling. She came to the 'dorm room' photograph. Her head beginning to swim, her hands trembling, she turned the page.

Renee was crouched in a corner of the bare room, clothes ripped half off, a terrified expression on her face. "Oh, Jesus." She turned the page. Renee was tied to a cot, naked. Mina felt a surge of nausea. She managed to vomit in the wastepaper basket, the album slipping from her lap to land on the floor.

When she finished heaving, her eyes fell on the album that lay at her feet. It had fallen open to show two pictures on facing pages. On the left, Dominic was sodomizing Renee, pushing her down with a hand on the back of her neck. On the right, Stephen lay naked between her spread legs, both hands pinning her shoulders to the cot. His expression was almost tender, but his eyes...

"I'm afraid Renee didn't last long."

She didn't scream. Later she wondered why she didn't, and concluded that the drug was responsible. What she did was jerk in the chair, shoving back from the album. Stephen was standing in the doorway, watching her mildly. He wearing a sophisticated looking navy blue dressing gown, his legs bare under the hem. Seeing Stephen Honeywell Baxter with bare feet, in a robe, somehow seemed just... wrong.

Stephen came closer. Mina cringed back in the chair, but all Stephen did was bend down and pick up the album. He looked at it for a moment. There was a faint hint of regret in his expression. "She killed herself. I wouldn't have thought it was possible with a plastic fork, but she swallowed the jagged bits. At least I think that's what happened. There was a lot of blood in her mouth and throat. Such a shame." He replaced the album on the shelf, then clasped his hands, gazing down at her. "Do you feel well, Mina? You look a bit dazed."

*Stay calm, Mina. Whatever you do, don't panic. Psychos do not deal well with hysterical people. Let's try just ignoring the situation.* "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" The smile was growing. "Did you sneak some wine while I wasn't looking?"

Stephen continued, "Why don't you lie down? There are plenty of beds upstairs. Of course, you look a little unsteady, so you'll need some help going up."

"I think I've done enough for tonight. Would you go call Dominic to take me home?" *And I run like hell as soon as you're out of sight.*

"I can do that. But Mina..."

He glanced at the wastepaper basket. "Oh, dear. You have been sick." He shook his head, frowning. "I only hope enough of it got into your system."

A fresh wave of dread washed over her. Despite her decision to act normal she said, "What got into my system?"

"The Rhohypnol. That's why you're feeling woozy."

*Rhohypnol? The fucking date rape drug?!* "You drugged me?" The resolve slipped. "You drugged me, you motherfucker?"

Now Stephen grinned, and waved a finger at her. "Language, Mina."

*I have to get out of here! Take him by surprise.* She lunged out of the chair, screaming, "It's Miss O'Connell, you asshole!"

Stephen was expecting her to be much groggier, and she caught him off guard, slamming into him hard enough to throw him sideways. He grabbed at her, and she lashed out, catching his cheek and laying down raw stripes.

She got past him but her co-ordination couldn't handle the sudden, violent movement. She staggered heavily into the doorframe, but bounced off into the hallway and kept going. She heard a sound behind her that raised the fear to terror--Stephen Baxter was laughing.

Somehow she managed to make her way to the entry hall and threw herself at the front door. *I just have to get out. I can't ask Dominic for help. Shit no, not after that photo. He's in on it, too, he...* She was trying the knob. It turned, but the door seemed to be stuck. As she tugged on it, looking to see if there was some button to be pushed or turned, she thought, *Son of a bitch! My car! That bastard...*

The door wouldn't open. She heard Stephen call, "Miiina? Mina, be careful. You can hurt yourself if you fall." His voice was light and cheerful, and coming closer.

"Shit!" *Back door. I know I saw one in the kitchen. If I can make it to the highway I can flag someone down.* She stumbled down the hall toward the kitchen.

Miss Fulham was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee. She looked up with a bright smile as Mina grabbed at the doorknob. "It's locked, dear. You look frazzled. Why don't you sit down and wait? Mister Baxter or Dominic will be here in a minute or two."

Mina stared at the older woman. "You... you're all crazy! Let me out of here and I'll tell the police you helped me."

"If you'll just calm down things will be much easier for you. Although," she smiled fondly, "Mister Baxter DOES enjoy a bit of a struggle." Mina looked around frantically, and grabbed the wall phone's receiver, stabbing at the buttons. "And there's a certain little something you have to do to dial outside. You might as well hang up."

She screamed, throwing the receiver against the wall and went out into the hall again. Dominic was standing at the far end, smiling at her. "Hey, cupcake! Why so agitated?"

"Bastard!"

"I love you, too. Or I will, after the Boss man says it's okay. You're moving pretty good considering how much juice I gave you."

Stephen came up behind him. "I'm afraid she upchucked most of it."

Dominic glanced at Stephen, then sucked his teeth in sympathy. "Damn, she got you good."

"It was my own fault for not waiting till the drug took full effect."

While they spoke Mina looked around frantically. There was only one clear path, and it led to the basement. *A trap, but there's nowhere else to go. There's a bathroom down there, and it should have a lock on the door.*

She hugged the banister all the way down, but still she fell the last two steps. She landed bruised and winded, but nothing was broken or sprained, and she managed to crawl to her feet. She ran to the left hand door, and found it unlocked. She threw herself in, slamming the door, and scrabbled at the knob. No lock. "Oh, God." She turned and braced her back against the door, knowing the futility. What she saw made her knees go weak.

The room, long and narrow, was lit by several candles. There were hundreds of glints being thrown back from the flames. The glints were coming from the glossy photographs that papered the walls. Photographs of herself.

Stunned, Mina slowly slid down till she was sitting on the floor. They were all of her, all of them. At work, at the library, in a coffee shop, in the company gym... *That photographer,* she thought numbly. *He's been planning this. He's been planning this for weeks.*

There was a tap on the door, and she heard Stephen say, "Mina?" A pause. "Come now, Mina, there's no use pretending you aren't there. I've already looked in the Hider Room and the restroom, so there's nowhere else you COULD be, since you couldn't get into The Tank. Will you come out, or shall I come in for you?"

"Let me go and I'll forget this happened."

Stephen chuckled. "Oh, please, Mina! I know you well enough by now to know that wouldn't happen. Come out. I'm not going to hurt you." His voice dropped to a purr. "I'm going to take very good care of you."

"Go to hell."

Chapter Twenty-two
Capture

She felt the door press against her back as Stephen pushed against it. The room was narrow, and Mina braced her feet against the far wall and strained back. She was using every ounce of her strength, but still the door opened a crack. The force behind her increased slowly, and she felt her legs begin to tremble with strain.

Then suddenly the pressure was gone. She was pushing back so hard that when the door slammed shut her head banged against the door so hard that her teeth clicked together. It stunned her for a moment, and that was all Stephen needed.

He lunged against the door again, and Mina's knees buckled. She was shoved before the door, crumpling into the corner behind it, smacking her head hard enough to make her see stars.

Stephen stepped through the gap quickly, then half shut it so he could see her. There seemed to be genuine contrition in his voice. "Oh, I am sorry, Mina! Please believe that I don't want to hurt you, but if you're going to keep fighting me I may have to be rougher than I want to."

Mina, head hanging, pushed herself up with her hands, gasping, "Yeah, that's right. See, lady, if you fight it's your own fault you get hurt. Your own fault." Her head hung, curls dangling before her face as she glared up at him and hissed. "Fucking bullshit! Anything that happens to me is your fault, you psycho!"

"God, I love your spunk."

"Don't call me spunky! Spunk is a slang term for come, and it's condescending as hell." He reached down toward her, and she tried to scoot back, but came up against the wall. "Get away from me."

"Mina, you can't be comfortable there. Let me help you to your room."

She slapped at his hands. "My room is back in town. You wanna help me there, fine, I'll go. Otherwise fuck off."

He looked a little surprised, but not displeased. "I had no idea you used such foul language."

"I'm not at my best, okay?" She kicked at him.

Stephen dodged easily. "I suppose I'll have to be much more careful when you're fully unimpaired." She bared her teeth and kicked again. Again he dodged. "But I have to admit I'm enjoying this."

"Then you're a sick fuck."

"Yes, I suppose I am. My psychiatrist seemed to think so when I was a boy." He leaned down quickly and got his arms around her waist.

Mina thrashed, trying to break away, but Stephen was strong. Mina was dragged to her feet with little effort. The door had been knocked shut at some point, and when Stephen let go with one hand to reach for the knob, she redoubled her efforts.

Stephen saw it coming in time to grab her again, holding her off. He managed to keep enough space between them so that the knee meant for his groin landed on his thigh instead. It still hurt, and he couldn't hold back a small cry of pain.

There was a rap on the door. "Need any help, boss?"

"If you'd be good enough to open the door for me, Dominic. I have my hands full right now."

"Bet you do." Dominic opened the door and stood aside as Stephen dragged Mina out of the Meditation Room. "I'll get The Tank open." He went to the proper strip of paneling, located the pale, swirling knot in the grain, and pushed. There was a click.

Mina was trying to tear herself out of Stephen's grip, but she noticed how one section of the paneling was suddenly not flush with the others, as if the nails hadn't been driven home, and the wood had somehow slid a fraction of an inch up them. Dominic hooked his fingers in the space and pulled, and the panel swung toward him.

It was a false wall--she could see the space between the surface presented in the basement and the actual wall, several inches back. And that section was stuffed with thick material. It looked something like cotton wool. Then she noticed the bolt on the outside of the door.

"No!" she screamed. Stephen had been expecting her to try to lunge away--he wasn't prepared for her to attack.

Mina leapt on him. She wasn't a small woman, and she managed to stagger the surprised man into the wall. As he thumped against it, she stamped, aiming for his toes. She caught his instep instead, so the result was a deep bruise rather than broken bones, but it still hurt, and it loosened his grip. Mina lunged for the stairs. There had been french door in the dining room. If she was determined enough, she should be able to put a chair through one of them.

But Dominic was between her and the stairs. He swung around quickly, blocking her escape, arms spread like a basketball player defending his zone. He grinned. "Oh, yeah! C'mon, darlin'." She hesitated, and he crooked his fingers invitingly. "C'mon. I've been waiting to get my hands on you ever since I watched you pleasure yourself so sweet." When he saw the disbelieving look he said, "Which one of the models in that catalogue was it who did it for you? The one in the red thong? You liked him-I noticed you touched his picture a lot."

Mina's thoughts swirled with horror. "You couldn't. You couldn't know."

Dominic pointed at the VCR. "Wonders of modern electronics, darlin'. It only takes the teeniest, tiniest little hole, not much bigger than a nail hole." He peered past her at Stephen. "Hope you don't mind my spilling the beans, boss."

"No. She'd have found out sooner or later."

"Good." He turned his attention back to Mina just in time to avoid getting her nails in his face, just as Stephen had. He caught her wrists, and Mina was immediately aware of the difference between the way Stephen handled her and the way Dominic did. Stephen's grip had been firm, but not rough. Dominic…

Dominic was only being careful because Stephen was there, Mina was sure of that. For a moment she was so enraged that she concentrated her efforts getting to Dominic rather than escaping. She fully intended to put his eyes out, those eyes that had spied on what should have been a private moment, dirtying what was supposed to be a simple act of self amusement. Dominic held her off, laughing, "Damn, you're a vicious little butterfly, aren't you? Let's get you in your jar, princess." She was half carried, half dragged through the door, kicking and screaming all the way. Stephen followed them in.

The room, though almost bare, was so narrow that it seemed crowded. Dominic said, "Whattaya think, boss? Tie her up, or just turn her loose, lock the door, and let her wear herself out?"

"You know very well I've already been waiting too long." Stephen pulled a length of cord from his robe's pocket. "Cross her wrists and hold them." Dominic grabbed Mina from behind, clamping her wrists in the position Stephen had indicated. While the woman swore, stamping and kicking, Stephen quickly and efficiently bound her wrists. "I'm using wide, soft cotton cord, Mina. I don't know how long you'll have to stay like this, and I don't want you to be any more uncomfortable than is necessary. All right, it's done."

Dominic let her go, and Mina stumbled a step away from him, then stopped. She looked toward the door, but Stephen blocked her exit. Her eyes narrowed, then she slowly turned back to Dominic. He was shock, and a little suspicious, when she smiled at him. It wasn't a nice smile, but still… "Dominic, do you know why police cuff a prisoner's hands behind him?"

"What's…"

"Here's why." As she was speaking, her hands had doubled into fists. The muscles in her forearm tensed, she dipped her shoulder slightly, and then suddenly swung up, arms held stiff, like she was trying to heave a sack of grain over a fence. Her fists caught him under the chin with a solid thunk.

Dominic's head snapped back, his teeth clicking together as he staggered backward. Mina knew her upper body strength wasn't enough to do him any real damage. She was hoping he'd fall and hit his head on the concrete floor or walls. If she was lucky he'd get a concussion. She was hoping for a cracked skull. But the back of Dominic's legs hit the bed, and he fell across it. It did take him a couple of seconds to sit up, though.

Dominic had literally seen stars. For a moment, as he was stumbling, tiny specks of light had shot across his vision, and he had thought that he was going to experience the humiliation of being knocked unconscious by a bound woman. That would have called for serious reprisals. This, though, could be accepted. He sat up, shaking his head. "Shit. Boss, are you sure you don't want me to stay and hold her legs for you? She's liable to kick you in the head, the way she's going."

"No, thank you. She's already upset and frightened, and I'd like to be alone with her this first time."

Dominic nodded, and edged cautiously around Mina. Before he left he said, "Something for posterity?"

Stephen said, "Of course."

Dominic shuffled his feet. "On, or off?"

Now Stephen smiled. "Whatever you wish."

Dominic pumped his fist in the air. He grinned across at Mina. "I'll be seein' you, doll." He laughed. "Really seeing you." He shut the door after himself.

*What the hell is that about?* Mina thought. Stephen was watching her, and she turned to look for any other escape possibility. That was when she took her first really good look at the room. She realized immediately that there was no way out, but something else caught her eye. She'd worked enough minimum wage jobs in convenience stores and discount department stores to recognize a security video camera when she saw one.

"Posteri..." She rounded on Stephen. "You're gonna fucking tape? Christ, how many layers of sick are you?"

"Don't worry, it isn't as if I'm going to broadcast it on the Internet." He started toward Mina, holding at his hands. "You know, this doesn't have to be rape, Mina. I could be seduction."

"Don't fool yourself, Baxter. Even if I was to quit fighting you, it would STILL be rape. Just in case some shit head defense lawyer in my future asks me, I'm telling you right now--no! I do not agree to have sex with you!"

"Duly noted." He kept advancing, and she kept backing up. It didn't last long--there was nowhere to go. Mina ended up crowded into the corner shower stall. When she could go no further, she put her back against the wall, braced her legs, and glared at Stephen. He paused. "You're waiting for me to crowd up to you. No, I don't think so. I know that old saw about a cornered animal," he rubbed his thigh, "and I remember that knee, so..."

He lunged, arm outstretched, grabbed her bound wrists, and jerked hard. He pulled Mina past himself. Off balance, she couldn't help but fall when he put a hand in the small of her back and pushed. As Dominic had, she landed on the bed, but face down.

She wanted to go over the bed and try for the door. Dominic had probably locked them in, but there was always a chance. But with her hands trapped she had no leverage to push herself up. Before she could roll over she felt Stephen grip her waist. She was lift forward till her face was clear of the mattress, but before she could move again, he climbed on top of her. She went wild.

Stephen reflected that it had to be like trying to ride a rodeo bronco. *And Mina has always seemed like such a quiet woman, not given to physical exertion. Oh, she's full of surprises, this hider.* Stephen planted raised his upper body by planting his palms atop Mina's shoulder blades and pushing up, then he waited.

She tried. She tried to keep fighting, but he was so damn heavy, and she was tired, and her adrenaline couldn't completely over ride the Rohypnol. Besides, she couldn't draw a deep breath with that weight pushing her down into the mattress. It vaguely occurred to her that Stephen had moved her face clear of the mattress so she wouldn't be suffocated. How considerate.

He was talking to her again. "I want this to be as easy for you as possible, you must believe that, Mina." He shifted, lifting a little more of his torso off her. Now there was only one hand in the middle of her back--the other began to work her skirt up around her hips.

"Damn you!" She started to struggle again, but it was no use. The skirt went up.

"I'm glad that you're wearing nylon panties tonight." He hooked his fingers in the waistband and jerked hard. There was a ripping sound as the material shredded, and Mina shrieked. "The elastic bands are bad enough, but that stretch knit cotton is a real bitch. It's almost impossible to tear--it just stretches.

The room was air conditioned, and Mina felt cool air on the bare skin of her rump, and shuddered. She'd never been this naked and this close to a man in her life. Stephen squeezed first one buttock, then the other, and Mina snarled, "Don't you dare!"

"Not this time. Eventually, but not this time." He shoved first one knee, then the other, between her legs, forcing them apart. "No, this has to be a proper claiming, so my goal is lower." His hand moved between her legs.

"Stop it! Oh, God, will you just stop it, you freak?!"

"Try to relax. It'll make this much easier for you." For the first time in her life she felt a man's hand on the most private part of her body. "Now, don't worry. I had a manicure yesterday."

He was gently stroking along the crease of her sex. "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting you ready. If I go in while you're dry it'll hurt like hell, and it could injure you."

"Do you think you're going to get me excited, you arrogant bastard?"

"Mina, your physical responses are not all under your control. Sometimes your body ignores your will. The right physical stimulation can do wonders. Here..." His finger's slid upward, and Mina's body jerked. "Ah, that's it! There's your clitoris." He rubbed slowly. Mina tensed, her breathing harsh. Stephen's touch was repugnant to her, but her body was reacting.

"There, now. It's getting firm. You won't admit it, but I know it feels good, Mina. I hope that you'll tell me what you like later. It'll be so much better if you enjoy it, too. You should be moist by now. Hang on, I'm going to check." His finger skimmed lower, and Mina felt it slide more smoothly than it had before. When he spoke again his voice was pleased. "Yes! Oh, that's lovely, Mina! You're quite wet already."

He rubbed his fingers together, watching Mina's bodily juices glisten, then licked them clean. "You know, many men have to be coaxed into cunnilingus, Mina, but not me. I'll want more of that later." She groaned.

Stephen jerked his belt loose, opening his robe. He was hard, had been almost since he'd sat down to dinner with his new pet. The anticipation had been exquisite, but he was eager to end it. "Getting the condom on should be a good trick." He fished the packet out of his pocket and ripped it open with his teeth. Mina started bucking again, and Stephen barely caught the little latex disk. "Mina!" he scolded. "If I drop this or tear it I'm going to have to go in bareback. You don't want that, do you?" None of my pets have become pregnant so far, and it's something I'd rather not have to deal with, but if you don't..."

"No co-operation!" She arched weakly. "None. I'll be able to spit in your lawyer's eye."

Stephen sighed. "It's a good thing I've practiced." He managed to roll the sheath on his cock one handed. He could feel her legs trembling as she strained against his thighs, and he smiled, knowing that it was an instinctive effort to block him, and she didn't realize how erotic the squeezing was.

He held himself and pressed his latex covered glans to the entrance of her body. "I know you've never done this before, so..."

"How the fuck do you know that?" For the first time Mina felt a bolt of despair. It looked as if her life had been laid bare for this man. Wasn't there anything that was private and secret anymore?

"I have my ways. I'm rich, Mina, and I'm determined. This is going to hurt, so I'll get it done as quickly as possible. After all," he smiled as he began to push inside her, "we have all the time in the world. You aren't going anywhere."

Mina squirmed as the nudge became a prod, then a probe, and Baxter's stiffened flesh slid several inches into her. It ached, but it wasn't too bad physically--psychologically was a different matter. She felt like screaming, but she was afraid that if she started she wouldn't be able to stop. *No weakness!* she thought fiercely. *Don't you cry, Mina. Don't you give that to the bastard.*

Stephen slid halfway in, relishing the tight heat, then stopped. Not because he wanted to, because he HAD to. "Good God, woman! You are literally cherry! I didn't think there was a woman in America past puberty and outside of a parochial school who still had her hymen."

She panted, "So stop and preserve the species."

"As you might say, not fucking likely." He thrust hard.

She didn't scream. She wanted to, but instead she bit her lip till it bruised. The pain was very bad at first. It was a burning, tearing sensation. Baxter only drew back a little way before thrusting in again. After he did that several times it faded to more of an ache, but there was no way it was even remotely pleasurable. *Ask me if I had an orgasm, Mr. Defense Lawyer. Go on, ask me. It'll be worth a contempt of court charge to give you an honest answer.*

It was just as well that he had decided to go as quickly as possible, because he wasn't going to be able to last long. The clinging grip of Mina's body, the heat, and the sense of rightness, of ownership, was too much. Soon he was lunging into her with deep, fast strokes, driving toward his climax. He dropped even more of his weight on her, concentrating...

It almost worked, but at the last moment he noticed her neck and shoulders tensing and jerked back just in time to keep the back of her head from smashing into his face. Now he used one hand to brace himself and the other to push her head down, with a hand on the back of her neck. She started wheezing. He realized that he was pressing her throat against the edge of the mattress, cursed, and moved her a little farther up so that it caught her across the chest instead. Then he finished fucking her.

Even with the condom, Mina knew when he finished. One thrust was somehow sharper and stronger than the others. She knew that he was digging his feet into the mattress, pushing for traction. Then his body jerked, and he shuddered, groaning. Then he went very, very still. He moved inside her a few more times, but slowly, without urgency, and she could feel that he was deflating.

Finally he stopped and just lay on top of her, panting. She endured it for a few moments then said tonelessly, "I can't feel my arms."

Baxter made a tsking sound and climbed off her. "Sorry about that." He rolled her over, then lifted her into a sitting position and began to untie her wrists. "I'll have to remember that. The circulation isn't too good when you're in that position with the hands tied in front."

Her voice held no more color when she said, "Done a lot of comparison tests, have you?"

He unwrapped the last loop and shoved the rope back in his pocket. "I've had some experience, yes."

"Not from this side, I bet."

"No, not from your side."

"I can't uncurl my fingers."

Again the tsking noise, and he carefully unbent the stiffly knurled digits, working them gently till they moved freely. He began to rub her arms firmly, massaging feeling back into them. "You're taking this very well, Minn Aiteag."

"Blow me."

He smiled. "You're a survivor. I knew that. Most hiders are."

"Why are you calling me that? What hider? I didn't have a chance to hide. If I had, I'd have found a hammer and waited till you walked past."

"And very bluntly honest, now that you're away from the herd. There were glimpses before, like at the supermarket, but you always kept that social mask in place at the office. Protective coloring, eh?"

She sat up suddenly, understanding washing over her. "You mean hider like your butterflies?"

Stephen sat back, peeling off the messy condom. "I'm afraid you bled, Mina. I'll get you fresh sheets tomorrow. There are towels and soap on the floor by the shower. I'm sure you'll want to clean up." When she didn't immediately reply he said, "You might as well forget about trace evidence. I'm sure my lawyers could find a way to exclude it, even if you did get out of here for it to be collected. You'll feel better freshening up instead of sitting around, feeling rank."

She looked around the boxy room, recalling the terrariums and tanks in the room on the other side of the basement. She remembered Baxter comparing her wardrobe to the coloration patterns of his pets.

"Pets." She didn't realize she'd said it till he looked at her questioningly. "Pet. Me?" He nodded and headed toward the door. "No."

"Yes, Minn Aiteag. This has been the most interesting hunt I've ever had, but I've finally captured you, and here you stay, my pretty little hider."

He was shutting the door before Mina could launch herself off the bed. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she threw herself on the door, hoping against hope she could shove her way through before he got it latched, but she was too late.

Out in the basement Stephen snapped the padlock closed, then shut the panel, hiding the Tank's door. Dominic was sitting at the computer terminal, his legs spread casually and a damp patch on the floor between his feet. He gave Stephen a lazy smile. "Sweeeeet."

"She is." Stephen came over and dropped the condom in the wastebasket, then looked at the monitor screen. Dominic had routed the video feed through the computer. Mina was at the door, forehead against the wood, between clenched fists.

Dominic said, "Okay, I bet this is where the sound proofing pays for itself. She's about to go ballistic."

"Would you care to wager on that? Say fifty dollars?"

"You're on! Should I turn down the volume?"

"It won't be necessary." They shook hands and watched the screen.

Mina stayed that way for several seconds. Then she thumped her fists on the door. Dominic held up a finger, ready to crow with triumph when she exploded.

It didn't happen. Instead Mina turned and slowly, stiffly, walked the length of the room till she was standing directly in front of the screened off video area. She looked up into the camera. Her face was pale, her expression hard. She opened her mouth, and again Dominic tensed, ready for her scream.

Mina whispered, "I---am---not---a---goddam butterfly."

Genteel Obsession, Chapter 23

Axel Turner looked like shit, knew he looked like shit, and for the first time in his life, he didn't
give a damn. He hadn't shaved, showered, or even combed his hair since just before he'd come to work yesterday, and it was early evening now. The lingering scents of alcohol and vomit that he'd
acquired during his stint in several different bars didn't help, and he quite frankly stank.

He was sitting in his own funk, vaguely aware of it, but not really caring. He was parked across the street from Baxter Enterprises--he didn't dare go to their parking lot. He'd pulled through once earlier. Some yahoo he didn't know in a company security uniform had come out and given him the evil eye, so he'd just cut through and circled the block before going back to the bar two streets over.

Axel took his eyes off the entrance briefly to pick at a stain on his shirt. Was that vomit, or secret
sauce? It was hard to tell. He sighed, slumping a little more. *I should have gone straight home after they kicked me out,* he thought. *If I hadn't started drinking right off the bat, I probably wouldn't have binged.* He thought about it, then amended, *I wouldn't have binged as badly as I have.* Axel rubbed his jaw, listening to the stubble rasp. The three-day-beard look was just SO not him. Clean-cut looks like his shouldn't be covered up at all. *I'm going to have to go get myself scrubbed and scraped pretty soon, or they'll haul me in as a vagrant when I step out on the street.*

But he hated to leave his post just yet. He'd missed her arrival this morning because he'd been sleeping in his backseat in front of the bar. Her rust bucket was still parked in its accustomed place when he'd gotten here around lunchtime. That bothered him. *Shouldn't it have been moved, at least a space or a row from where its been these past weeks? Mina's just stubborn enough to have WAITED till she could park somewhere--ANYWHERE else. Well, maybe Baxter and his
bozo gave her a ride again, and she'll be driving herself after work.*

He was waiting for her to come back out. He needed to talk to her, and explain what it was he was trying to say yesterday. *What the fuck HAD I been trying to tell her? Shit, alcohol fogs the brain. Being pissed off and worried about your rent doesn't help, either.*

*

The big black car pulled up into the parking lot, then parked at the end of the walkway. Dominic Gennello got out and strolled to the entrance. Alex could feel the snarl pulling at his mouth. "Bastard," he muttered. "SNEAKY bastard." *He's up to something--him and Baxter together, and no one's noticed anything but me.*

Axel waited. In a little while Baxter and Dominic came out, got in the car, and left. Mina wasn't with them. He waited. The sunlight started to slant. The other employees began drifting out, but still no Mina. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. "Is she working late, or what?" After a moment's thought, he got out and went to the phone booth nearby. He dialed records in the Baxter Building.

"Baxter Enterprises, Records--Hollachuck speaking. Can I help you?"

*Figures that Hollachuck would be the last one there.* "Hello, may I speak to Miss Mina O'Connell, please?"

"Mina isn't here. Can I take a message?"

Alex stared across the street at Mina's car. "She's left already?"

"No, she didn't come in. I believe she's taking a few personal days. She had a rather upsetting experience the other day, and..." her voice trailed off. When she spoke again, her voice was stiff with suspicion. "May I ask who's calling?"

Axel hung up. "Personal days, huh? Doesn't sound like Mina at all, at all."

Upstairs, Miss Hollachuck stared at the phone for a moment, then quickly dialed the number that she, as department head, had been trusted with.

*****

Mina heard the door open. She kept her back studiously turned to it, though. "Good evening,
Mina." She didn't respond, simply studying the dark painted scrapes on her hands. They were already healing over. Baxter had stood and watched as she used the capful of antiseptic he'd brought. When she said something about stinginess, he replied that a bottle could be drunk, and an aerosol could be sprayed in someone's eyes, so she'd just have to make do. He'd bring more, if she needed it.

The door closed, and she heard the footsteps approaching. The mattress dipped as Stephen sat on
the other side of the mattress. "Did you have a nice day?" She turned her head long enough to give him a blank look, then looked away. "A little boring? Nothing on television?"

"Talk shows and soap operas. I hate both."

"Dominic could run a video feed for you through the set. Just tell him what you want to see."

"How thoughtful. I'd choke before I asked him for anything."

"You don't like Dominic much, do you?"

"You're a master of stating the obvious. Try 'hate'. While you're at it, you try it on, too."

"I'll have the movie channels activated, and I'll see about getting you some reading material."

She turned again, glaring at him. "Look, if you expect me to be GRATEFUL, you can blow it out your ass."

Stephen smiled. "And if you expect your crudity to repel me, you're mistaken." He reached for her. She jumped up, moving out of reach. "It's going to be interesting to see how long you continue to try to evade me when it's evident that you can't escape." He got up and began to come around the foot of the bed.

"Boss?"

Stephen looked up at the speaker. "I'm about to be rather busy, Dominic."

"And don't think that I don't look forward to it, but something unusual has come up. You'll never guess who's on the phone."

"Whoever it is, you can take a message."

"Oh, you'll want to take this one--it's Hollachuck."

"And WHY would I want to talk to Hollachuck?"

"It's what she's calling about. She just got a suspicious phone call asking after our guest, and she
thinks that it was Turner."

"Turner?"

"Damn, Baxter," said Mina. "You actually sound surprised. You shouldn't be. Axel might be a
self-satisfied egoist, but he's one of the most damn PERSISTENT men I've ever run across--present company included." He gave her a look, then left the room. She leaned back on the bed, moving casually, careful not to tremble.

*Axel. Mother-FUCKER! What was he trying to tell me in the ladies room? He never said--he just kept telling me that I had to listen to him. Crap, I think what happened was something like all those stupid scenes in the horror movie where some idiot is trying to tell everyone there's a psycho about to break in with an axe. They keep trying to start the story from two days before instead of just yelling 'Knife! Nutcase with a knife!' If he'd just said, 'Baxter is up to something,' I think I'd have listened. Hell, hadn't I been thinking that door-to-door chauffer service by a millionaire was too good to be true?*

Out in the basement, Stephen took the phone from Dominic. "Yes, Miss Hollachuck?"

"Good evening, Mister Baxter. I hate to bother you at home. I know how a busy man like you cherishes his private time, and I wouldn't dream of interrupting if I didn't think this was important."

*Enough ass kissing.* "Why did you call? Dominic said something about that rogue security guard?"

"Yes, sir--Axel Turner. He called just a few minutes ago."

Stephen waited for further information. When it didn't come he rolled his eyes at a smirking Dominic, then said, "He identified himself to you?"

"Well, no. But I'm sure it was him."

"Recognized his voice, did you? You're one hundred per cent sure?"

"I... yes, pretty sure. He was just very suspicious."

"How so?"

There was a pause. Finally Hollachuck, sounding a little helpless, said, "He asked about Mina O'Connell. No one EVER calls about her. Who else could it be?"

Stephen thought for moment, then smiled slowly. "I believe you're right. This does make me a bit uneasy, but I'm not sure alarm is warranted. I DO want to speak to Miss O'Connell again, and urge her to press charges against the man. It begins to look as if she might have a stalker. You remember the unexplained flowers, and notes?"

"You're right!" Hollachuck's voice held a 'my God, I never thought of that!' tone. But doubt crept into her tone. "But those were directed at several of the girls."

"He was obviously choosing his victim."

"And they were quite expensive. On a security guard's salary..."

"Mrs. Hollachuck, I have no doubt that Mister Turner has other income that we know nothing about--illicit income. After all, a man who would assault a woman as he did..." Dominic raised his eyebrows, and Stephen smiled. "When I think of how distressed that poor woman was at being man-handled. You know, that wasn't the first time he'd harassed her. He had accosted her
in the parking lot a week or so ago, when she first began to have car troubles. If Dominic and I hadn't come along when we did..."

"He's always been far too attentive to the girls," said Hollachuck firmly. "Oh, they don't say much
about it, but you can tell. I think he must have had them frightened for some time now. I've noticed how, well, how CREEPY he can be. He makes me quite nervous."

"I'm going to speak to Mina tonight and try to persuade her to press charges. We may need you to
make a statement later, Miss Hollachuck."

"Of course, sir. I WANT to do my part, if the man is actually dangerous."

"Just go over what happened carefully in your mind. Be ready to give the police all the details if you're called on--ALL the details. And thank you for contacting me. I'll let you know what I hear
tomorrow." He hung up.

"Boss," said Dominic. "Old Rent-a-Cop didn't really do much of anything except startle Mina and piss her off."

"You know that, I know that, and MINA knows that. Which of us is going to tell that to the authorities, though? Believe me, by the time Hollachuck tells her story to anyone, Turner will have been interrupted on the verge of rape. This is working out splendidly. Tomorrow I'll alert the police to incident, and tell them that Mina hasn't been in to work for two days. I'll go on about how unlike her that is, and how I haven't been able to reach her by phone. How there was no answer at her apartment, and her car hasn't been moved. And officer, I'm just so worried that
something may have happened to the poor woman, because that bastard who assaulted her has been calling around..." Dominic laughed, and Stephen smiled. "Poor Turner--he just keeps digging himself in deeper, doesn't he. He's so obliging. Now," he rubbed his hands together, eyeing the door to The Tank, "it should be interesting to see how Mina reacts to this."

Dominic followed him to the door. "What do you think? Hysteria? Catatonia? Major shit fit?"

"You know, I have absolutely no idea. That's what's so delicious." He paused, then smiled. "Would you like to come along and observe?"

"Fuck, do you need to ask? And, uh, maybe...?"

"No, not yet," Stephen said firmly. "She's got to learn who her master is first." Dominic blew out a
breath. "Don't be disappointed. I very well may ask for your assistance, if she's difficult. I was
rougher with her than I'd have liked the first time, and she hasn't fully recovered yet."

"Sure, sure. Anything to help." Dominic's voice was cheerful.

"Of course, since we'll both be inside, we'll have to leave the door open, and that means..."

"Please!" Dominic sounded offended. "As if I don't know enough to be careful to keep her corralled."

"I'm sorry, Dominic. It was foolish of me to think you needed to be instructed." He opened the door.

*****

*God DAMN it--both of them!* "What did Hollachuck want? Someone filching paperclips? Doing obscene Xeroxes on the copy machine? Wanted to declare her undying passion? Good, you can let me out of here."

"You have a sick edge to your sense of humor, Mina. The very thought of Hollachuck being passionate about anyone, much less myself, gives me the shudders."

Mina knew that Baxter wanted her to ask him about the phonecall. She hated to give him anything he wanted, but she HAD to know. "What was that call about?"

"What will you give me if I tell you?"

"You're fucking kidding. I'll give you attitude, just like I would if you didn't."

"Typical. I'm in a good mood, so I'll tell you anyway. Yes, Hollachuck was calling to inform me that Turner seems to be stalking you."

"Stalking me?"

"Actually, she just called to tell me that he'd called anonymously to check up on you. After I got through speaking to her, it was stalking. Give me another day or two, and she'll be convinced that he's a local version of Ted Bundy. Should he be foolish enough to go to the authorities, there will be some interesting stories to tell about him."

"God DAMN you for a thorough bastard!"

Stephen began to unbutton his shirt, while Dominic stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Mina studied the situation, measuring the distance she'd have to slip past Baxter (practically none). "I'd tell you both to get out of here, but since I'm pretty sure that would be pointless--Dominic, YOU get the fuck out of here."

"Uh-uh. I'm here by invitation."

"Baxter, he listens to you. Get him out of here."

Stephen seemed to consider. "Will you promise to co-operate?" Mina was silent, glowering at him. "You won't do that, even if you don't intend to?"

"What would be the point? You'd just call him back in when I fought."

"Mina, are you trying to tell me that you don't lie?" He continued taking off his shirt, then kicked off his shoes. "I know you do. I've watched your eyes when you talk to Hollachuck. You despise the woman as much as I do, but you're unfailingly polite."

"And so are you. You are because you can be, and it's expedient. It puts up the image you want the world to see. I am because I HAVE to be, and the same second reason. It's social and professional lying, Baxter. I don't lie just to amuse myself."

"No, I don't suppose you do, but he stays."

"I want a thesaurus."

That gave Stephen pause. "It's possible, but I'd like to know why."

"Because even though I have an excellent vocabulary, I can't think up words vile enough to describe you two."

Stephen smiled, and Dominic snickered, "Trust me, Mina--the words you'd want won't be printed in anything they'd have out in general circulation."

"It could still be useful. I might be able to brain you with it. Oh, scratch that--you need a brain to be brained."

"I like her," said Dominic cheerfully. "Ya know, Mina, if you were my bitch, I'd slap a little respect
into you." He held his finger and thumb an inch apart. "Just a little--I love a broad who's a little
mouthy." He wiggled his eyebrows at Steven. "Speaking of which..."

"No, Dominic."

"Crap." He shook a finger at Mina. "Matter of time, honey. Matter of time. I getcha all, sooner or
later."

Stephen had pulled off his shoes and socks--now he was examining his shoes. "These have rather hard soles." He tossed them to Dominic. "Better leave them outside--no point in tempting her."

"She's not deaf!" Mina snapped.

"She's not stupid, either," said Dominic, tossing one of the shoes out into the basement. When he saw Stephen's frown, he deposited its mate more gently.

Stephen started to circle around her as he unbuckled his belt. Mina knew she was being herded, but she couldn't help it--she felt the instinctive need to keep as much space between herself and her captive as possible. "You're still feeling a little sore, aren't you, Mina?"

"Get fucked."

"Yes, I thought so. I'd dearly love to screw you again, but I'm willing to resist for a little while.
How about a little oral sex instead?"

She made a disgusted expression, but then it melted into a feral smile. "Sure, Baxter."

Dominic laughed. "Right, and get a natural Lorena Bobbit."

"Not till you're properly trained," said Baxter blandly. "No, I was thinking more of you being on the
receiving end."

Her expression went rigid. "I know you're kinky, but somehow I didn't figure you would willingly risk drinking pee."

She felt a chill when he said calmly, "You wouldn't be the first. I believe that some defense experts advise that as a way of avoiding sexual assault. The motivated are willing to endure a few less than pleasant moments for the sake of the experience, though. Now, I'd rather not tie you again so soon, so there's only one other option." He looked at Dominic. "I believe you'll going to get some marginal participation anyway, Dominic. Hold her."

Dominic grinned, flexing his hands as he started toward the stunned woman. "Playtime, sugar."

Part Twenty-six: Not Believed

Detective Roland Mankowitz was tempted to get the Lysol out of the men's room and give the office a generous spritz after Axel Turner left. He had told Turner in no uncertain terms that no missing person report would be filed before the woman had been incommunicado for forty-eight hours, not by an individual who had no real personal or professional relationship with the woman.

He stared glumly at the assault report on his desk. Unfortunately, he couldn't just ignore this report--not without risking a reprimand. His partner, Connie Vandel, was just coming in from lunch, and he said, "Don't bother taking off your jacket." He got up. "How would you like a drive in the country?"

"I have no problem with a scenic drive after lunch," she said cheerfully. On the way out to the car she said, "So, who and what are we working on?"

"We're going out to have a little talk with a fellow named Genello."

She frowned thoughtfully. "Dominic Genello?"

"Yeah. You know him?"

"I know OF him--a little." She was quiet and thoughtful.

They got into the car, Roland driving. He pulled out into traffic, then said, "So, are you going to give, or do I have to guess?"

"Dominic Genello used to work for Corbin Thomball. Heard of him?"

Roland frowned in concentration. "Wait a minute--there were Feebs around awhile back, and I think I heard them mentioning his name."

"They're very interested in him. He's suspected of being the mover and shaker behind a pretty elaborate and extensive sex ring."

"Call girls?"

"Nothing as wholesome as that. We're talking what could better be described by the rather Victorian term of 'white slavery'. His name has come up in connection to the disappearances of well over a dozen young women, but they've never been able to hang anything concrete on him. Common speculation is that Dominic Genello has a lot to do with that. Dominic is third generation thug. His daddy and his granddaddy both spent the major part of their lives behind bars. They seem to be getting smarter each generation, though, because Dominic has never done time for anything more than drunk and disorderly."

Roland ruminated on this for a moment. "Do you think that Turner might have something on Genello, and he's trying to sort of ease it out, instead of just TELLING us?"

She shrugged. "It's always possible that Genello could have slipped."

They drove in silence a little while longer, then Roland said, almost hesitantly, "Turner wanted to file a missing person report." Connie made a 'go ahead' sound. "One of his former co-workers--a woman." Connie sat up a little straighter, a spark of interest in her eyes. "It's probably nothing. No one with a closer relationship has made a report."

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything," said Connie. "There are some people out there who don't touch the rest of the world much."

"Still..."

"Roland, you've heard the stories about little old ladies who are found dead for a month, half eaten by their cats. It isn't just eccentric little old ladies. Some people CHOOSE not to interact with the world. Tell me about this woman."

"She works in the same place he used to. He got fired from there a few days ago, and he says that she hasn't been in to work since then, and she isn't the sort to miss work. He admits that he was fired after some sort of incident with her, but he swears that it was a misunderstanding. He was trying to warn her that Genello was up to something. It seems that the woman, Mina O'Connell, had been catching rides back and forth to work with her boss--Stephen Baxter."

She blinked. "Baxter, ferrying an employee around for an extended period of time? You may not want to hear this, Roland, but I think that would look like a red flag to me, too."

"What, the guy can't be generous?"

"Oh, get real. Guys like Baxter are generous with their checkbooks if they're generous at all. They write tax deductions. They do not give personal car service to their employees, no matter how needy."

"So you're telling me that you think I ought to take this missing person report seriously?"

"You're the senior in this partnership."

He sighed. "Oh, hell, I hate it when you do that. It's like when I was a kid, and my mother told me she trusted me to do the right thing. It always meant I was going to have to do something I wasn't going to particularly like. Okay, we'll talk to Baxter and Genello, see what they have to say. I'd like to have a look around the place."

"Do you think he's likely to do that without a warrant?"

"Hell, what sort of warrant could we get with what we have--or rather don't have? But if he doesn't have anything to hide, maybe he'll go ahead and let us look, as a sign of good faith."

"Good luck. I think that someone this rich could live as clean as Billy Graham and he'd STILL hesitate to let the cops snoop around his place without having legal limits set in concrete."

"We're getting close to the place now. Which side is it going to be on?"

"You're asking me? I haven't taken the guided tour, but my guess would be the left."

"Why?"

"Because of that big ass brick wall over there. Look, there's a place to turn in up ahead."

They pulled into the short drive, but had to stop. There was a gate across the drive. Roland glanced over at Connie. "You get out and use the intercom."

"Please state your name, and your business." The voice was clear, with scarcely any distortion. Roland poked his head out of the window, looking around for the speaker. "There's no need to get out. Just speak clearly." Connie poked her partner, then pointed to a camera mounted on top of one of the thick gateposts. "Yes, we are monitoring you. Information, please."

"Detectives Mankowitz and Vandel." They both pulled out their ID and helt the shields up toward the camera. "We need to speak to Mister Baxter."

"What's this about?"

A different voice said, "Dominic, zoom in on the shields." There was a pause. "They seem genuine. This is Baxter. Wait a moment, detectives, and the gate will open." There was a mechanical whirr, a muted clang, and the gate slid sideways. "Please come ahead to the house. Just follow the drive." The gate slid shut behind them as they made their way down the graveled drive.

Roland shook his head as they approached the house. "You mean to tell me that one family lives in that?"

"Not even a whole family," Vandel replied. "Baxter is childless, and unmarried. It's just him, and whatever live-in servants he has. They pulled to a stop at the front door, just as it opened. A gray-haired woman in a dark dress stood, hands folded, watching them. She wore the carefully neutral expression of a good servant, but her eyes were sharp--apprehensive, and...

*Hostile,* Mankowitz thought, his interest rising. *She doesn't look like the sort who'd be raised to spit when she saw a policeman, so I wonder what's got her panties in a bunch?*

She nodded to them as they approached. "Sir--Miss. Mister Baxter will see you in the front parlor, if that is acceptable." Her eyes said that had damn well BETTER be acceptable.

"Just fine," Mankowitz assured her.

He'd been in many different houses during his career, talking to victims and suspects of many different social levels. This, though, was something else. It wasn't quite up to the standards of those 'stately homes' they toured on the public broadcasting channels, but it wasn't that far down the scale.

The front parlor was bigger than Connie Valden's first apartment, and much better furnished. As they entered, the woman said, "Detectives Mankowitz and Valden, sir."

There was a man standing, looking out one of the windows, and he didn't turn immediately. *Hm. He knew we were coming, and there's nothing out that window that he hasn't seen before, so he's showing us that we're not very high up on his scale of what is vitally important,* thought Mankowitz. *I suppose he's trying to show how little you're worried about this visit. When are people going to learn that condescending to the law is never a very good idea?*

Baxter counted to three, then turned and gave his visitors a carefully measured smile. "Hello, detectives. My curiosity is piqued. I'm certain that if there was anything wrong at work, my security department would have notified me."

"It isn't anything about your business per se," said Mankowitz. "And I understand that you also employ Dominic Genello in a personal capacity."

"True. Dominic is... I suppose the best description would be assistant."

"We'll need to speak to him, also, and if we can kill two birds with one stone..." Mankowitz trailed off suggestively.

"I see." Baxter's voice was flat. "He's here, so there's no reason why he can't join us." Stephen gestured at a sofa. "Please, be comfortable. Can I offer you anything? Miss Fulham keeps a wonderful array of teas and coffees on hand, and she's an excellent baker."

As they sat, Connie said, "I can always use another cup of coffee, and it's bound to be better than the sludge at the station." Roland nodded agreement.

"Excellent. Coffee all around, Miss Fulham, and please ask Dominic to join us." As she left, he seated himself in a high-backed chair, resting his hands easily on the arms. The suggestion of a king on his throne was far too strong to be uncalculated. "What can I do for you?"

"Mister Baxter, do you know a man named Axel Turner?" asked Mankowitz.

Stephen frowned slightly. "Well, I don't KNOW him--we aren't friends, or even what I'd call acquaintances. I know OF him. He used to work for me. Not directly, mind you. He was employed as a security guard in my building, but I discharged him several days ago. What has he done now?"

"What makes you think he's done something?"

Stephen shrugged. "Besides the fact that you asked after him? The circumstances that led to his termination. He was harassing one of my female employees. He basically attacked her in the ladies room."

"We haven't had any complaints against him."

"Yes, Miss O'Connell didn't want to file charges. I was rather hoping she'd change her mind. It isn't safe to let someone like that roam around. There's no telling what he's capable of." Dominic entered the room, pausing near the door. He eyed Roland and Connie, his gaze shrewd, and...

*Amused," thought Connie, feeling her hackles rise. *Someone's feeling very superior.*

"You called, Boss?"

"Dominic, these are detectives Mankowitz and Valden. They wish to speak to us, though I'm not entirely sure why. It seems to have something to do with Miss O'Connell, and Turner."

"Yeah? Dominic looked at the detectives again. "What did he do to her?"

"Both of you seem to be pretty sure that the only reason we'd be here is if Turner did something wrong. Why is that?" asked Valden.

Dominic took a chair near, and a little behind, Baxter. "Because he's an asshole, and he was bothering her even before he tried to jump her in the lavatory." He looked at Stephen. "You remember the first day we gave her a ride, huh, Boss? We were just getting ready to drive home when we saw that he practically had her pinned against her car in the parking lot. She sure was happy when we showed up."

"So, you've been providing transportation for her this last week or so?" Valden continued.

Dominic scratched his chin casually. "About that. I was trying to get her car fixed for her. Between my other duties and getting the parts, it took awhile." He smiled. "She had it good, though. She didn't suffer while waiting."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

Dominic frowned, then looked at Baxter. "Been a couple of days. Boss?"

"Dominic repaired her car two... no, three days ago. She drove it home from work."

"You didn't see her at work the next day?"

"I wouldn't normally see her at work, Detective Valden. She's a data processor. Our areas of duty are widely separated."

Valden smiled, but it was a little tart. "Don't have all that much contact with the 'little people', eh?"

Baxter's voice was cool. "I have well over a hundred employees in that building alone. I'm hardly capable of sustaining a close relationship with each one. I'm beginning to get disturbed by your reticence. You still haven't told me WHY you are here."

"Mina O'Connell has been reported missing." Mankowitz watched Dominic and Stephen's expressions closely.

Stephen frowned. "Who made this report? We spoke a little during our rides, and I was under the impression that her parents were deceased, and she had very few close companions."

Before either of the detectives could respond, Dominic said, "Wait a minute... Was it...?" He shook his head. "No, it couldn't be. Tell me it wasn't Turner." The detectives said nothing. Dominic sat back, passing a hand over his face. "Oh, fuck. I don't believe it."

"TURNER reported her missing?" said Stephen. "That is utterly ridiculous. Miss O'Connell may be unavailable right now, but she's hardly missing. The last time we spoke, she said that she intended to take a few personal days off. Apparently the assault in the restroom had shaken her more than she first thought."

"So you gave her permission to take off? That's very considerate of you," said Connie, the sincerity in her voice less than true.

"I thought it was an excellent idea. After all, an employee who is distracted is hardly an asset to the company."

"So, she filed paperwork for the days off, right?" Stephen was silent. "I know that when I want any time off I have to fill out forms out the wazzoo." She laughed. "You'd think I was applying for CIA security clearance. I'm sure a corporation like your business has to be really, really careful to have everything documented."

"I don't handle such things personally."

Connie pulled out a notebook and pen. "Who would? I'd like to have a talk with them." She smiled. "Just touching bases, you know. The brass like it if we dot our I's and cross our T's."

"That would be Miss Holachuck, in Records. Do you really believe that Miss O'Connell is missing?"

"We'll have to check," said Mankowitz. "We'll be visiting her apartment, talking to her neighbors, that sort of thing."

"And you came here before you did that?" asked Stephen slowly.

Connie gave him a crooked smile. "We have to start somewhere." Miss Fulham came in, carrying a heavy silver tray, laden with serving pieces, cups, and saucers. "Oh, wow, that looks fantastic! Are those home made macaroons?" Fulham nodded stiffly. "I'm kicking the vending machines when we get back to work."

END CHAPTER 25