Zinnia

Chapter 20

Duncan smiled at Zinnia as he took her into his arms on the crowded dance floor. "You look lovely tonight. I'm only sorry it was Chastain who brought you. At least he let me have one dance."

Zinnia chuckled. They both knew Nick had not given his permission. He had been talking with a business acquaintance when Duncan had appeared at her side and asked for the dance. She had accepted without a second's hesitation even though she had been aware of Nick's frown of disapproval when he saw her take the floor with Duncan.

Start as you mean to go on, she told herself. If she was going to have an affair with an off-the-chart matrix, she had to get the rules straight at the very beginning. And the first rule was that Nick could not make all the rules. He could not control everything and everyone. He would drive them both crazy if he tried.

Zinnia was mildly surprised to discover that she was enjoying herself tonight. It had been a long time since she had last danced. The Founders' Club ballroom was a glittering scene. The jelly-ice chandeliers cast a warm romantic glow over the well-dressed crowd. Through the windows she could see the lights of the city sparkling below on the dark carpet of the night.

She had panicked briefly when she had found herself faced with the problem of coming up with an appropriate dress but Gracie Proud, Clementine's permanent partner, had come to the rescue. Gracie knew fashion almost as well as she knew the focus business. She had sent Zinnia to one of her favorite boutiques.

The long, elegantly simple slip of a dress that Zinnia had discovered in the shop was the color of rare fire crystal. She had stored the memory of the appreciative gleam that had appeared in Nick's eyes when he saw her in it away in her heart. In the years ahead she knew that she would take it out from time to time to cherish it.

"I read in the papers that your recent expansion has given you the platform you need to launch the new generation of Synlce software," she said. "Congratulations. You pulled it off."

"The media blitz is scheduled to start next month." Duncan's mouth tilted wryly. "I'm surprised you even noticed the news about Synlce. Your relationship with Chastain seems to occupy most of the front page these days."

She wrinkled her nose. "Only in the tabloids. And only because a certain Cedric Dexter has apparently decided to use Nick as a means of establishing a reputation as a sleazeoid photographer."

"Seems to be working. From what I can tell, Synsa-tion sales are skyrocketing."

"How would you know?"

Duncan grinned. "Are you kidding? I'm one of the first in line to get my copy every morning."

Zinnia blushed. "I'd like to strangle Dexter."

Duncan's smile faded. "It's serious, isn't it? This thing with Chastain?"

"Yes."

"I guess there's not much point in warning you off him again, is there?"

"No."

"Be careful, Zinnia."

"It may be too late for that, too." She smiled. "But don't worry about me, Duncan. I know what I'm doing."

"And you don't give a damn about the gossip." He shook his head slightly. "I should hire you into an executive position at SynIce. You've got more guts than all of my managers put together."

Nick stood in the shadows of a large potted fern-tree and sipped a glass of champagne while he watched Duncan and Zinnia finish their dance. He was brooding again. He couldn't help it. The sensation of wrongness was a whisper of dread that touched all of his senses this evening, including those that functioned on the metaphysical plane.

The confusing part was that he could no longer sort out the legitimate sensory input that his psychically honed instincts were picking up from the rush of tangled sensations that he felt toward Zinnia.

He wanted to protect her from Luttrell, but logic told him there was no cause for concern. After all, she had been seeing Luttrell off and on for a month and a half before he had even met her. If she had been interested in the president of Synlce, she would have done something about it earlier. If there was one thing Zinnia was good at, he reminded himself, it was taking action to achieve her goals.

So why did the sight of her in Luttrell's arms make every single one of his muscles tighten as if in response to a threat? He did not understand the matrix here. This emotional stuff clogged up his thinking processes.

"Good evening, Nicholas."

Only one person in the whole world called him Nicholas. Nick steeled himself and turned to see Orrin's wife, Ella, standing at his shoulder.

"Hello, Aunt Ella."

He knew the greeting would annoy her. Like her husband, Ella hated to be reminded that he had a blood-relationship with the family. She was a small too-thin woman whose once-lovely features had become sharp and tightly drawn over the years. Nick was almost certain that her pinched look was the result of a restless dissatisfaction that ate away constantly at her insides.

His investigations into Chastain family history had produced the information that thirty-five years ago Ella had hoped to marry Bartholomew Chastain. When Bartholomew had left for the Western Islands without showing any interest in either the marriage or his family's business, she had turned her attention to Orrin. Nick suspected that it was Ella's skillful maneuvering that had resulted in Orrin becoming CEO of Chastain, Inc. after Bartholomew disappeared.

Ella had got what she wanted, but as far as Nick could see, she had never been particularly happy about it.

"I was surprised when Orrin told me that you would be here tonight," Ella said crisply. "I hadn't realized that you had been accepted into the Founders' Club."

"I can understand your deep sense of shock." Nick swirled the champagne in his glass. "The decline in standards these days is appalling, isn't it?"

"I assume you intended that to be amusing."

"Not really."

Ella cast a disapproving look at Zinnia, who was still in the middle of the dance floor with Duncan. "If you plan to move in these circles you would do well to be a bit more discriminating in your choice of female companions. Miss Spring has a certain reputation."

Nick swung around so quickly that Ella gasped and took a hasty step back. He lowered his voice to the merest of whispers. "So do I. Among other things, I am known for not tolerating insults to women who have honored me with their company."

Ella blinked once and then recovered quickly. "Don't you dare threaten me, Nicholas."

"I assume you want something or you would not have gone out of your way to talk to me in front of all your socially acceptable friends."

"There's no need for sarcasm. I wish to speak to you about a family matter."

"I thought you didn't consider me to be a member of the family."

Ella's too-snug features became even more tightly drawn. "There is no denying that you are Bartholomew's son. The whole world can see that. You are his living image. Therefore, I think it's time you repaid your obligation to this family."

"Only a Chastain would have the nerve to suggest that I've got an obligation to this family."

"I'm sure you're well aware that Chastain, Inc. is having financial difficulties."

"Yes." He smiled.

Ella's gaze hardened with grim determination. "I won't beat around the bush. Orrin's talks with Mr. Luttrell did not go well."

"You mean Luttrell refused to pour cash into Chastain?"

"Very shortsighted of him, but there you have it. As of this evening, Orrin has exhausted all possibilities. Chastain faces complete ruin. It is your responsibility to step into the breach. You are the only one who possesses sufficient financial capital to save the firm."

Nick nearly choked on the champagne. "My responsibility?"

"As the son of Bartholomew Chastain, it is your duty to invest in the family business. Orrin tells me that the company must have a cash infusion soon or we shall face bankruptcy. I will contact you in a few days to tell you exactly how much money is required."

"You look as if you've just watched the Curtain reopen." Zinnia smiled quizzically at Nick as he drew her out onto the dance floor. "Something wrong?"

"I had an amazing conversation with my aunt a few minutes ago." Nick took her into his arms and moved her into a slow gliding turn. "She informed me that I have a duty to invest in Chastain, Inc."

"Your family's firm?"

"My side of the family has no interest in the company."

"I see." She was amused by the austere passion that he had somehow managed to infuse into that simple declaration.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that." He glowered. "You think it's funny that my aunt wants me to put my money into the company?"

"No. I think it's a sign that the rest of the Chastains are desperate. I know the feeling."

"What in five hells do you mean?"

"If I'd been in your aunt's position, I'd have done the same thing. Unfortunately when Spring Industries went under there was no one in the family who had enough cash to save it."

"As far as the rest of the Chastains are concerned, I'm not in the family." Nick's hand tightened around her waist. "And I don't think that you would have gone down on your knees to anyone. Not even to save Spring Industries."

Zinnia raised her brows. "Did your aunt actually beg?"

"No, not exactly." Nick exhaled deeply. "You could say she stated her demands in no uncertain terms."

"I'm sure it took courage for her to approach you. She probably expected you to laugh in her face."

"You don't know my Aunt Ella." Nick steered her through the crowd of dancers with negligent grace. "She expected me to whip out my checkbook then and there."

"What did you do?"

"Smiled very politely and came over here to pry you out of Luttrell's arms."

"Smiled very politely?" She frowned. "I don't believe that for one moment. You never smile politely. Nick, I really think that you ought to think very carefully about this situation before you make any rash decisions."

"Don't," he warned gently, "try to tell me how to deal with the Chastains."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Damn." He had the grace to look chagrined. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"Maybe we should both just shut up and dance."

"Good idea." He swung her into another slow turn.

Zinnia gave herself over to the music and the many sensory pleasures to be derived from the experience of dancing with a matrix. Nick's instinctive sense of timing and distances meant that they never accidentally bumped into other couples or had to change direction in a hasty awkward manner. When viewed from above the movements on a large ballroom floor always appeared random to her, but she knew that Nick had a feeling for the underlying pattern. The result was a smooth graceful trip around the room.

When the music came to an end, he seemed reluctant to let her leave his arms. He halted at the edge of the crowd and looked at her with intense eyes. "I think we've made our statement for the evening. Everyone here knows that we're a couple. Let's go home."

She felt herself grow warm in direct response to the blatant sexual desire that emanated from him. "Do you know, I used to think you were the subtle type."

"I don't know where you got that idea." He took her arm and started toward the nearest of the long row of double doors that lined one side of the ballroom.

Zinnia noticed a few heads turn to follow their progress toward the lobby. She had been aware of several discreet stares since Nick had escorted her into the ball but no one had actually said anything nasty in her range of hearing.

There were several small conversational groups clustered in the lobby. One or two people who had been friends of Zinnia's parents noticed her and nodded politely. She could see the speculation in their gazes when their attention shifted to Nick.

Nick did not appear to be aware of the attention they received as they crossed the lobby. He guided her toward the cloak room with the cool arrogance that seemed to be built into him.

"Wait here. I'll get your coat." He released Zinnia's arm to deal with the woman at the coat-check booth.

A flicker of movement near the elevators made Zinnia turn to see who was staring at her now.

She found herself looking straight at Rexford Eaton. It was the first time she had encountered him since the day the tabloid photographer had taken the ruinous picture of the two of them emerging from the bedroom.

Rexford was clearly nonplused to see her. He stood with his wife, Bethany, and the third member of their intimate trio, the tall distinguished Daria Gardener.

Zinnia told herself that she should have been prepared for this. After all, the Eatons had been members of the Founders' Club for three generations. And Daria Gardener's climb to the heights of politics had been largely financed by contributions from the people who moved in this world.

Eighteen months had gone by since the scandal had broken across the pages of the tabloids, but Zinnia's anger and disgust boiled up inside as if it had happened yesterday. Damn them all, she thought. They had come out of it unscathed, but she was still trying to recover from the loss of business these three secret lovers had caused her.

Her only consolation in that moment was that all three appeared as stunned to see her as she was to see them. She was particularly pleased to notice the distinct uneasiness that flashed in Rexford's eyes.

Zinnia gave Rexford, Bethany, and Daria her coldest smile and pointedly turned her back.

She found Nick standing right behind her. He had her coat draped over his arm.

"Easy," he said quietly. His eyes went to the threesome. "Run into some old acquaintances?"

"No one important."

"I can see that." He arranged the coat around her shoulders, took her arm, and started toward the bank of elevators.

A premonition of impending disaster descended on Zinnia. It did not require a matrix-talent to deduce that the vector of the path that Nick had chosen would bring them very close to Rexford, Bethany, and Daria.

"Uh, Nick-"

He ignored her.

The elegant threesome seemed to recognize that a predator was moving in their direction. Like a small flock of nervous goat-sheep, they turned to melt discreetly out of the way only to find themselves trapped by the wall and the wine bar. By the time they realized that they had been neatly cornered, Nick and Zinnia were almost upon them.

It might have been amusing to see the nervous alarm in their eyes, Zinnia thought, if it had not been for the fact that she knew Nick had purposefully selected this route to the elevators. He was up to something and that worried her.

"Think respectability," she warned out of the side of her mouth.

"Respectability is ever at the forefront of my thoughts." He studied the threesome with the lazy interest of a lion-pard that has happened upon trapped prey. He paced closer.

Rexford, Bethany, and Daria tried to squeeze discreetly aside but Nick gave them no space. His eyes were filled with dangerous anticipation as he came within a hairsbreadth of brushing against Rexford's shoulder.

"Well, well," Nick said in a soft voice that managed to reach the small crowd standing at the nearby wine bar. "Will you look at this, Zinnia. You know the old saying, two's company but three's a syn-sex show."

Zinnia groaned silently. The devil was loose in the Founders' Club. There would be hell to pay.

Rexford blinked several times. His mouth opened and closed and color rushed into his face. "What is the meaning of that crude remark?"

Bethany's eyes widened in alarm. "For God's sake, Rex, don't make a scene."

"Don't let him goad you, Rex," Daria said with cold authority.

Nick grinned at Rexford. "Which one is the dominatrix, Rex? Or do they take turns with the little whips and chains?"

"Bastard," Rexford managed in a hoarse whisper. "Get out of here."

Daria took charge. She looked at Nick with icy disdain. "I see the Founders' Club has lowered its criteria for the acceptance of new members."

That was too much for Zinnia. She smiled sweetly at Daria. "It certainly has. Otherwise how could one possibly explain the presence of three such avant-garde thinkers such as you and the Eatons?"

Bethany's eyes snapped. "I would advise you to control your tongue, Miss Spring. You're getting enough publicity in the tabloids as it is, these days."

"I've always been rather sorry that the three of you didn't get the kind of attention that I got eighteen months ago," Zinnia murmured.

Rexford took a step toward her, his hands clenched at his sides. "One more word, Miss Spring, and I'll have my lawyers after you. By the time they're finished, you won't have a dime left to your name."

"Don't make threats you can't carry out, Eaton," Nick said gently. "You aren't going to call your lawyers."

Rexford swung toward him, chin outthrust. "I damn well will do just that if the two of you don't leave us alone. Now take yourselves off. This club is for decent, civilized people, not bastard trash from the islands."

Zinnia saw red. "Don't you dare call him trash. Nick Chastain is a gentleman. You, on the other hand, are a hypocritical son-of-a-spider-frog, Rexford Eaton. You had no compunction about throwing me to the press in order to cover up your cozy little arrangement with your wife and Miss Gardener."

Daria's face went rigid. "Speaking of cozy arrangements, Miss Spring, how does it feel to be the current mistress of the notorious Nick Chastain? I assume there are some interesting financial advantages to the position?"

"Nothing compared to the financial advantages a politician like you receives from sleeping with the Eatons," Zinnia shot back.

Bethany gasped. "You little tramp. I can't imagine why they let you or Mr. Chastain attend this ball."

Nick grabbed Zinnia's arm and hauled her back to his side before she could get her fingers on Daria's throat.

"Think respectability," he said. But his eyes were gleaming.

"That does it." Rexford clenched and unclenched his hands. "I'm calling my lawyers in the morning."

Nick looked at him. "Before you call them, I suggest you talk to your nephew, Warren. He owes me over sixty thousand dollars. At this point, it's a private matter. But I can certainly arrange for the debt to be made public. I'm sure it would make interesting reading in the tabloids."

Rexford's face turned an unpleasant purple. "Why, you . . . you bastard." He took a menacing step forward.

"Rex, no," Daria snapped.

Nick grinned. "You heard her. Down, Rex. By the way, just how far down do you usually go?"

Rexford gritted his teeth in rage and threw a roundhouse punch.

"Nick, look out," Zinnia yelled.

Someone at the wine bar screamed.

A familiar figure leaped out of the hallway that led to the restrooms.

"Totally synergistic," Cedric Dexter said happily. He raised his camera and grabbed the shot.

The flash exploded just as Nick crumpled dramatically to the floor.

Zinnia gazed steadfastly at the closed doors of the elevator that was carrying them to the parking garage twenty floors below. "I can't believe it. A brawl in the hallowed halls of the Founders' Club."

"Hey, these things happen even in the best places." Nick straightened his black bow tie. "No harm done."

"No harm?" She was nearly speechless. "That picture that Dexter took will be on the front page of Synsation tomorrow."

"We've been there before," Nick said. He looked remarkably cheerful.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. "What about your plans to become respectable?"

He smiled as the elevator glided to a halt. "I keep telling you, respectability is a commodity. I can afford it."

Zinnia watched the doors slide open to reveal the dark confines of the third floor of the underground garage. "For the record, I want it noted that this time, it was not my fault. You started that scene."

"I had help." Nick's eyes were wickedly amused. "I thought we worked well together, partner."

She glanced back at him over her shoulder as she stepped out of the elevator. "You deliberately took that fall. Eaton missed you by a mile."

"Not for lack of trying."

She eyed him thoughtfully. "Is Rexford Eaton's nephew really in hock to your casino?"

"Yes."

"I'll bet you set him up," she accused. "What's more, I'll bet you planned that whole confrontation with Eaton and his wife and Daria Gardener."

"Now, Zinnia, how could I have known we'd run into them tonight?" Nick followed her out of the elevator.

"Maybe you didn't know it would happen tonight. But you knew that sooner or later we'd encounter them if we went to functions like this one. What's more, you knew that Rexford would very likely threaten to sue when it did happen."

"It was a possibility."

"So you arranged to make sure that his nephew was in an embarrassing financial position with your casino before you made your move tonight."

"You're getting pretty good at this conspiracy-theory stuff," he said approvingly.

"It comes from hanging around you."

"The lights." The laughter vanished from Nick's eyes in the space of a heartbeat.

"What?"

"Zinnia, come here." Nick reached for her.

"What's wrong?" At that instant it hit her that all of the lights in this section of the garage were out.

By then it was much too late to retreat to the safety of the elevator.

She heard the rapid footsteps behind her and whirled around to see two men leap from the deep shadows between the parked cars. There was just enough light spilling from the crack between the closing doors of the elevator to see the scarves around their faces and the knives in their hands.

"Don't move," one of them shouted. "Don't nobody move."

"Oh, my God, Nick. Look out."

Nick went past her in a smooth, silent, utterly lethal rush. She saw the two muggers halt in shock and confusion when they realized that one of their victims was attacking.

"He's crazy," one of them shouted.

"Not as crazy as he's gonna be." The other man slashed wildly with his knife.

And then Nick was upon him. Zinnia heard a knife clatter on the concrete garage floor.

"Get him." The second man reeled backward and fetched up hard against the hood of a car.

"It wasn't supposed to go down like this," the first man yelled.

Zinnia watched in horror as the shadows of the three men merged. She looked around desperately for a weapon. She could barely make out the shape of the metal trash bin stationed beside the elevator.

She seized the lid and dashed toward the struggling men. The dim glow filtering from the far end of the garage enabled her to distinguish Nick from his two assailants.

One of the attackers was on the floor, groaning. Zinnia saw that he was clutching his groin. The other one rolled heavily past her feet and scrambled erect. He lurched backward toward the elevator.

Nick came up off the floor in pursuit.

Zinnia saw something gleam in the shadows. "Nick, he still has his knife."

The man who had been groaning and clutching himself tried to stagger to his feet. He lunged for his fallen knife.

"Forget it," Zinnia said. She swung the lid hard against his head and shoulders. He flopped back down to the floor and lay there, moaning.

She kicked the knife under a car and whirled back around. She heard a sickening thud as Nick shoved his quarry up against the wall. The knife fell from the man's hand.

Nick smashed a fist into the mugger's midsection.

Zinnia heard the sound of shattering glass and a faint hiss.

"Enjoy, sucker. Compliments of the house." The man's voice was slurred but unmistakably triumphant as he slithered to the floor and collapsed.

Nick stood utterly still in the shadows, staring down at the fallen man. He said nothing.

"Nick?"

A great terror unlike anything she had ever known swept over Zinnia. Something was very, very wrong.

"Nick." She dropped the trash-can lid and rushed toward him. "Are you hurt? Did he cut you?"

"No." His whisper was barely audible, impossibly remote. "He didn't cut me."

The elevator doors opened at that moment. Two couples made to step out.

"What the hell happened to the lights?" One of the men demanded.

"Oh, my God," a woman whispered.

All four people stared in shock at the sight of the two men lying on the garage floor.

"What's going on here?" the other woman demanded. "George, call the police."

Zinnia ignored them. She stared at Nick's stark features. In the light that poured from the elevator cab she could see the last traces of a white mist that had enveloped him for a few seconds. It was dissipating rapidly but the stunned horror in his eyes looked as if it would last forever.

"Nick, what is it?" She reached him, grabbed his shoulders and tried to shake him. It was like trying to shake a mountain. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Crazy-fog. He broke the pod in my face just as I hit him. Must have been very pure stuff. I got a huge dose of it."

"Nick, it's all right, you won't die from an overdose of crazy-fog. I'll get you to the hospital."

"No. I won't die." His eyes glowed with dread. "It'll be much, much worse."

"What is it?" She wrapped her arms tightly around him. "What's the stuff doing to you? Tell me. Tell me, damn it."

"I can see the chaos," he said softly. "In another few seconds I'll be in the middle of it. And there is no way back. I'm going insane, Zinnia. Contact Feather. He'll know what to do. He has instructions."

Zinnia nearly choked on her rage and fear. "Instructions for what?"

He caught her hand in his and crushed her fingers. "Promise me you'll call him quickly. Promise me."

"Yes. I'll call him."

"Something I want to tell you."

"Save it." She pushed him toward the elevator. "I'm taking you to the emergency room."

"No. Got to tell you now. While I still can."

"What is it?"

"I love you, Zinnia."