After Glow

Chapter 9

EMMETT OPENED THE file that Perkins, Wyatt's administrative assistant, had just handed him. "This is the list of people who phoned Wyatt the day before he was shot?"

"This is the list I gave to Detective Martinez, when she interviewed me," Perkins said with clipped precision. "It includes all of the business calls, both incoming and outgoing, that were made from this office on that date."

Emmett looked up. Perkins probably had a first name but no one in Wyatt's headquarters had used it in so long that it had been forgotten. Perkins evidently preferred it that way.

He was a small, dapper man who looked more like a butler than a professional secretary. A circle of close-cropped gray hair surrounded his gleaming bald pate. He peered at Emmett through gold-framed spectacles.

"Can I assume from the way you responded to my question that there were some calls of a personal nature that were not included on this list?" Emmett asked evenly.

Perkins cleared his throat. "There was one that I saw no reason to add."

Emmett raised his brows. "You made that decision on your own?"

Perkins drew himself up to his full height. "I have worked for Mr. Wyatt for twenty-three years. I think I know him well enough to say that he would not have wanted me to give the caller's name to the police."

"Because?"

"Because the call was from an old friend of his who was, I'm sure, in no way connected to the dreadful events."

Emmett rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'll need the name, Perkins."

"Yes, sir, I understand, sir. The caller's name was Sandra Thornton."

Emmett frowned. "She gave you her name when she phoned?"

"No, sir, but I recognized her voice immediately."

"She calls frequently?"

"She hasn't called at all in the past two years, but before that Miss Thornton and Mr. Wyatt had a close, extremely personal relationship for a period of several months. During that time, she called Mr. Wyatt's private number on several occasions."

One of Wyatt's former mistresses, Emmett thought. Great. Talk about complications. He closed the file and stacked his hands on top of it. "Let me get this straight, Perkins. One of Mercer Wyatt's old lovers who hasn't been in touch in two years just happens to call the day before Wyatt gets shot and you didn't think that was worth mentioning to the cops?"

Perkins looked down his nose at Emmett. "I beg your pardon, sir, but this is Guild business of the most personal nature."

Emmett tried not to grind his back teeth. He reminded himself that this was the Cadence Guild, not the new, reformed Resonance Guild. In spite of Wyatt's avowed intentions to modernize the organization, they still did a lot of things the old-fashioned way in this town. And by long-standing tradition, Guild affairs were guided by one unshakable precept: Guild business stays within the Guild.

"What's the story on Sandra Thornton?" Emmett asked, reigning in irritation. "Think she's still got feelings for Wyatt? Was she angry when he broke off the relationship?"

Perkins blinked a couple of times in obvious surprise. "My understanding is that Miss Thornton was the one who ended the affair, sir, not Mr. Wyatt."

"Did she call it off because Wyatt was seeing other women besides her?"

"I have no idea why she ended the arrangement, sir." Perkins cleared his throat. "Mr. Wyatt did not confide that information."

He wished Perkins hadn't used the word arrangement.

"Did Wyatt say anything after Thornton called? How did he react? Was he annoyed?"

"Perhaps a bit preoccupied, sir, but that was all." Perkins hesitated. "He did ask me not to mention the call to Mrs. Wyatt, however."

"Why not?"

"Mr. Wyatt cares deeply for Mrs. Wyatt. I believe he was afraid that she would be hurt or upset if she knew that an old flame had contacted him."

Tamara would not have been pleased, that was certain. Emmett considered his options. He would turn the information over to Detective Martinez, but given the extensive resources and manpower available to him through the Guild, he could probably find Sandra Thornton a lot sooner than the cops.

Wyatt's last coherent words before he went unconscious rang in his ears: It wasn't politics, it was personal.

"Get hold of Verwood," Emmett said. "Tell him I want to see him immediately."

Lloyd Verwood was in charge of Guild security here in Cadence. The only thing Emmett knew about him was that Wyatt had appointed him to the position. That was enough. Verwood wouldn't have gotten the job if he wasn't good.

"Yes, sir," Perkins said. "Shall I—"

He stopped when the door opened without warning. Tamara Wyatt walked into the office. One look at her tense, drawn expression and Emmett knew that she was very tightly rezzed. The stress she was under was taking its toll.

"Perkins." She nodded at the little man. "Wondered where you were."

"Mrs. Wyatt." Perkins bobbed his head deferentially and then looked at Emmett for directions.

"That's all for now, Perkins," Emmett said. "Let me know when Verwood gets here."

"Yes, sir." Perkins left, closing the door discreetly behind him.

Tamara went straight to the window and stood looking out at the view of the Dead City and the mountains beyond. In spite of the strain she had been under since the call that had summoned her to the hospital, she was as sleek and polished as ever. Her dark hair was neatly coiled in an elegant chignon that focused attention on the excellent bones of her striking face. She wore her amber in her earrings.

Tamara was a ghost-hunter, a strong one, although she had never worked much underground. Her interests lay elsewhere. Tamara preferred the halls of Guild politics to the alien catacombs.

She was a beautiful woman, endowed with that subtle aura that people called glamour. The old meaning of the word implied sorcery and magic and looking back he figured he must have been under some kind of spell when he had proposed to her. Or maybe he just hadn't been paying much attention, he thought. Either way it was hard to explain why he hadn't noticed the single-minded, all-consuming thirst for power that guided Tamara's every move.

The tabloids had got it wrong this morning. His engagement to her hadn't ended because she had been swept off her feet by Mercer Wyatt. Tamara would never have allowed herself to be distracted from her objectives by anything so mundane and inconsequential as passion.

The truth was that Mercer and Tamara were in many ways a perfect match, he thought. In spite of the fact that Wyatt was nearly four decades older than her, they had a lot in common. They both had a talent for manipulating Guild politics and they were both obsessively loyal to the organization.

But last month Mercer had informed Emmett that he intended to retire so that he would have more time to enjoy life and his lovely new bride. Emmett was pretty sure that news must have come as a shock to Tamara.

"I assume you've seen the headlines in the tabloids this morning," Tamara said curtly.

"Hard to miss 'em."

"They couldn't get much worse. What if the media picks up those old rumors about you being Mercer's illegitimate son?"

"My birth certificate states that I am the son of John London. As far as I'm concerned that's the way it's going to stand."

"What a hideous mess." Tamara turned away from the window and began to pace the room. "Any news from the police?"

"No. I assume they are following their own leads." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm going to start a private investigation using Guild resources."

She nodded in a distracted manner. "I just came from the hospital. Mercer's two daughters are there now. They arrived a couple of hours ago." Her jaw tightened. "They are not particularly fond of me, you know. They tolerate me because they have no choice, but as far as they're concerned I married their father for mercenary reasons."

"Well, look at the bright side. They'll probably want to stay in a hotel while they're in town. You won't have to put them up at your house."

"That is not very funny, Emmett." She halted on the far side of the room. "There are a couple of problems that have to be dealt with immediately. First, you do realize that your temporary appointment has to be ratified by a majority of the Guild Council as soon as possible?"

"I've scheduled a meeting of the Council on Thursday. Can't do it any sooner than that because three of the members are out of town."

She frowned. "Confirming you as the acting head of the organization may not be a sure thing, even though everyone knows that Mercer handpicked you to take over in his absence."

"I think that, under the circumstances, there won't be any problem getting a majority."

"Maybe not, but there's always the possibility of a challenge from one of the members of the Council," she warned.

"I don't think that's very likely, do you?"

"I'd like to say that it won't be an issue. After all, you've only been appointed on a temporary basis." Her eyes narrowed. "It's not like you're taking charge of the Guild permanently, is it?"

"No," he agreed mildly. "Wyatt can have this desk back as soon as he wants it. What's the problem, here, Tamara?"

"Foster Dorning may be the problem."

Emmett raised his brows. "What makes you think that?"

"He was elected to the Council a few months ago. He came up through the ranks very quickly. Mercer thinks Dorning greased the way with a lot of bribes and favors."

"Sounds like Guild politics as usual."

She looked at him from across the room. "I think he has his eye on this office. He may try to take advantage of the current situation."

"By issuing a formal challenge?"

"If Dorning won the challenge and claimed the position before Mercer gets out of the hospital it might be impossible to unseat him. You know how murky Guild law and tradition are when it comes to this kind of thing."

"Let me worry about Dorning."

"Emmett, I know you're a very strong para-rez. I've seen you work. But the word is that Dorning is extremely powerful, too. What's more, I don't trust him. If it comes down to a formal challenge—"

"I said, I'll deal with Dorning. What was the other problem?"

Frustrated and angry, she opened her mouth to argue. But whatever she saw in his eyes must have convinced her that it would be useless to pursue the issue. In the end she went with the forced change of topic.

"The Restoration Ball is the other problem," she said stiffly. "It will be held on Thursday night. Mercer and I had planned to attend."

"Don't worry," he said. "I think under the circumstances everyone will understand if you send your regrets."

"It's not that simple, damn it." She resumed her restless pacing. "You know how important the annual ball is in Resonance City. It's no different here. It's the social event of the year. Everyone who is anyone will be there. The Cadence Guild must be represented."

"You can't be serious about showing up at the ball, not with Wyatt in intensive care. If you think the scandal sheets were bad this morning, just imagine what the headlines would look like if you danced the night away while your beloved husband fights for his life."

"Of course I can't go." She gave him a repressive glare. "You will have to go, instead."

"Forget it." He sat forward and reached for a pen. "I've got more important things to do than put on a tux Thursday night."

She came to stand directly in front of the desk. "Listen to me, Emmett, you not only have to go, you've got to take a date."

The absolute conviction in her voice and face gave him pause. Tamara might be single-minded, even ruthless, but she did not do things without good reason.

"You're worried about the image of the Guild, I assume?" he asked quietly.

"Yes. Mercer and I have worked very hard in the past year to make the Guild part of the mainstream here in Cadence. You know how difficult it is to change the way the public views the organization. It took you six years to do it in Resonance."

"You don't have to remind me."

"I know the politics in this city, Emmett. Trust me on this. It is critical that the Guild is represented at the ball this year."

"I'll send someone from the Council."

"No." She flattened her hands on the desk. "That's not good enough, not now with all this ridiculous gossip about a lovers' triangle at the top of the Guild. We have to put a stop to that nonsense or at least try to contain it. The best way to do it is for you and your friend, Miss Smith, to show up at the ball looking like a besotted couple."

He meditated on that for a long moment. She had a point, he thought.

"All right," he said eventually.

Tamara subsided wearily. "Thank you." She took her hands off the desk and turned toward the door.

"Lydia and I will be there," Emmett said, "but I can't guarantee that Lydia will do the besotted thing."

"As long as everyone gets the idea that you're sleeping together, it should work. I'm going back to the hospital. The press is keeping a twenty-four-hour watch and it's vital that the reporters see that I'm sticking close to Mercer's bedside."

"Sure, good for the image," he said neutrally.

"Exactly."

She went out the door and closed it firmly behind her.

He bounced the end of the pen against the surface of the desk a couple of times. Then he reached for the phone and punched out Lydia's office number.

She answered on the first ring, sounding tense.

"Shrimpton's House of Ancient Horrors, curator's office."

"I need a date for the Restoration Ball," he said without preamble. "Tamara says we need to be there. A Guild image thing."

There was a short silence from Lydia's end of the line.

"Gosh whiz," she said finally. "I haven't got a thing to wear."

"Go shopping tomorrow. Get whatever you need and tell the shops to bill me. If they give you any trouble, have them call this office."

"Maybe I could rent a dress. I know there are shops that rent gowns for special occasions."

For some reason that irritated him. "You are not wearing a rented gown to the Restoration Ball."

"Why not?" she said persuasively. "It's the logical thing to do. It's going to cost a bundle to buy a designer dress and all the accessories. It's not like I would ever be able to wear the gown again in this lifetime."

"Forget it. Buy the damn dress and whatever you need to go with it."

"You sound upset. Are you upset?"

"I'm not upset," he said through his teeth. "But I am way too busy to waste time on this argument."

"Okay, okay, I take your point." Her tone was soothing now. "I guess it would be kind of tacky to show up in a rental gown."

"Yes, it would. Very tacky."

"I mean, everyone knows that the clothes are a big part of the whole Restoration Ball scene. It's always televised. Everyone will be watching at home. The media will film all of the guests as they walk into the Hall on that long red carpet and there will be pictures in the papers the next day. I can see where it might look bad if it leaked out that the new Guild boss's companion for the evening wore a cheap rental."

"I'm glad we're clear on that issue," he muttered.

"Maybe I can find something nice on sale."

He made a fist around the pen. "If it's on sale, it's because no one thought it was good enough to buy at full price, right?"

"That's one way to look at it. But I'm sure I can find something that will do."

"Damn it, Lydia—"

"I just don't want you to get stuck for the cost of a very expensive gown, that's all," she said quickly.

"I can afford it."

"I know, but it's the principle of the thing."

"The principle of the thing? What the hell is that supposed to mean? We're talking about a dress. I'd like to know just what kind of principle is involved here."

"It's not like you and I are married," she said very coolly. "As you pointed out, we're involved in an arrangement. I don't feel right about letting you buy me a lot of expensive things. Don't you understand? There's a name for women who accept costly gifts from men."

He went very still, aware that something inside him had just gone stone cold. An arrangement. Well, it wasn't like he was in any position to deny it. An arrangement was exactly what they had.

"If it makes you feel any better," he said, working hard to keep his voice even, "I'll put the dress down as a business expense and let the Guild reimburse me."

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't pass off a fancy ball gown as a legitimate business expense."

"Sure I can," he said grimly. "I'm the boss here, remember?"

There was a lengthy pause.

"You're angry," she said.

"Lydia, I'm out of time and out of patience. Get the damn dress. Look at it this way, you'll be doing me a favor." He rubbed his temples. "By the way, I'm going to have to call off our dinner date this evening. I'm sorry but I've got a hunch I'll here until at least eight or nine. I'll just go on back to my place."

"What will you do about dinner? Eat at your desk?"

He hadn't given the problem any thought. "Yeah, probably."

"I've got a better idea," she said firmly. "Come to my apartment when you're ready to pack it in for the day. Fuzz and I will hold dinner for you."

"You don't have to do that."

"We don't mind."

"Thanks," he said. The part of him that had gone cold thawed a bit.

When he hung up the phone a short time later he felt as if he'd had a couple of cups of strong rez-tea. The prospect of going home to Lydia tonight would fortify him for the long afternoon ahead.