High Energy (32 page)

and lit up at the tips in different colors?"

"That's the stuff. Our friend LaLeche was wearing them or something like them.

You see, light travels through those clear filaments from an end source. In this

case, LaLeche probably used a small circuit board with some light bulbs, like

the little ones they use in Christmas tree lights, connected to the filaments."

Her eyebrows rose. "That would explain the light-show we witnessed, but how

could he conceal the filament wires? You saw yourself—his sleeves were rolled up

way past his elbows. There was nothing there but bare arms."

"Not quite; there was nothing there to see but bare arms. That's the beauty of

it—he was wearing prosthetic skin."

"Prosthetic skin? Are you sure? It looked so real; his arms even had hair on

them."

"According to this engineer I spoke to, they use this stuff all the time in

motion pictures. It does look real—human hairs are individually inserted into

the skin to augment the effect."

"You don't think we would have seen something odd about it?"

"No. Don't forget, it wasn't all that bright in the cabin; LaLeche only brought

those kerosene lanterns for lighting. And he made sure he did the trick at

night."

Zanita thought about it a minute. "You shook hands with him when we left.

Wouldn't you have felt anything strange?"

"Not necessarily. Remember, it was late; it was cold as hell; the handshake was

brief; and, most importantly, I wasn't expecting to feel anything unusual.

Besides, the engineer told me the stuff feels very close to human skin in

texture."

"If memory serves me," Zanita said, "LaLeche worked at Space Age Systems for two

years, the longest he had ever stayed in one place. We even remarked on it,

remember?"

Tyber shook his head. "I bet he was learning all kinds of new tricks there. He

probably doctored up a fake resume to go along with his fake name. It also

explains why he only did the trick once. I imagine it's not a simple thing to

set up."

"So, the filaments were under the prosthetic skin?"

"Exactly. He must have had the on-off switch within easy reach. The circuit

board would have been concealed somewhere on him. My guess is inside his pants.

One flick and viola! You light up my life."

Zanita blew the curls off her forehead. "Tyber, how did you ever figure this

out? Where was the connection?"

"When I saw the veggie alien and I commented on nature abhorring a vacuum, it

reminded me that I was thinking the very same thought when I was talking to

LaLeche. I knew there had to be some intuitive connection between the two, which

my subconscious brain had already figured out. I got to thinking about the hokey

alien make-up in the movie, and that thought led to special effects, which led

to Hollywood, which is in L.A. I remembered Xavier spent two years in L.A. at

Space Age Systems. Alien—Space Age—LaLeche. It hit me; Space Age Systems might

not have been just a shuttle component manufacturer as we had originally

thought, but an F/X studio. Simple linear reasoning." He looked at her

expectantly.

Zanita rolled her eyes exactly as she had done the first time he met her and he

was explaining Chaos at the seminar.

Simple reasoning? Only Tyber and, perhaps, Sherlock Holmes, could've made those

brilliant deductive leaps. "Whew! Doc, you are amazing."

Tyber grinned, winking at her. "It's all part of the service. Go write your

article, baby."

Zanita frowned. "But we don't have anything to put him in jail with."

He put his arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him. "All we have to do is

expose him. You write your piece; they'll come out of the woodwork to nail him."

The article was published in the Sunday edition of the Patriot Sun.

Hank wasn't in when Zanita dropped off the piece, but she didn't have to wait

too long to find out his reaction.

He called her at Tyber's house after dinner and chewed her out for putting

herself at potential risk. Then he demanded to speak to Tyber. Tyber gingerly

took the phone from her, not getting much in by way of conversation except a lot

of "yes, sirs" and "I know, sirs" and "I will, sirs." Then he handed the phone

back to her with an apologetic shrug.

Once Hank calmed down, the newsman in him came to the fore. He told her the

piece would run Sunday and that he had sent a photographer out to a seminar

LaLeche was doing so they could run a picture with the article. "Damn fine

article. Don't do it again," he said just before he slammed down the phone.

Zanita made a face at the receiver. "You curmudgeon!"

The article with the photo was picked up by the wire services and was reprinted

across the country in numerous papers. Zanita had a name. Not a big name, but a

name.

Tyber had congratulated her by sending three dozen long-stem roses to her office

that morning with a note promising her a special dinner from Blooey and him.

Theoretically, it should be her farewell dinner, only she hadn't been able to

broach the subject with Tyber yet. Since the story had wrapped up faster than

she anticipated, she wasn't sure what to do now. Should she move out before

Thanksgiving? What about Auntie's invitation? They could all still go, but it

would be awkward. After all, they had no real reason to continue their

relationship other than as friends.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to relieve the sudden tension.

Perhaps I should take a page out of Scarlett's book and worry about this

tomorrow? Why ruin the celebration with upsetting thoughts that could just as

easily be faced in the morning? She deserved this day, and so did Tyber.

Feeling somewhat better, she straightened her shoulders and hit the keyboard.

Hank had put her on a story about a successful new day-care center in

Stockboro—for dogs—Hank's retaliation for taking on the LaLeche story without

the paper's permission. She had spent the entire morning being licked to death.

Hambone wouldn't come near her for a week.

Tyber poured himself a cup of coffee.

In the fall and winter, Blooey always had coffee and hot water for tea on the

stove. As far as Tyber was concerned, that service alone made the man

invaluable.

He sat down on the stool next to the counter, cradling the warm cup in his

hands. Blooey was hard at work chopping nuts for some brownies he was making.

Tyber didn't speak for several minutes.

Blooey, sensing that the Captain was pondering something of great import, waited

for the him to gather his thoughts.

Aye, the Captain always seeks out my opinion on matters weighing on him.

Sometimes, Blooey knew, the Captain came to him like a younger brother seeking

an older, wiser ear. Truth was, neither one of them spent much time off the sea.

Because of what they did and the way they lived, men such as they didn't have

much experience in port, as it were.

So, when they found themselves on dry dock, they needed to stick together.

Tyber took a deep breath, then took the plunge.

"I think Lady Masterson should become a permanent member of this crew; what do

you think, Blooey?"

So, there's the way of it. Blooey smiled inwardly.

Carefully maintaining a serious expression, he stopped chopping walnuts for a

minute as if he were pondering the question. He slowly shook his head, "Aye,

Captain; she's copper-bottomed, clipper-built, sir, and that's a fact."

The set of Tyber's shoulders relaxed. He gave Blooey a huge grin. "What say you,

we think of something really special for dinner tonight? Something to let her

see how much we like her being here with us?"

"Well now," Blooey said, stroking his chin, "once when I was working the Far

East trade, iffen you get my drift, Captain—"

"You were ransacking the East Indies trade routes."

"Aye, just so. I learned of an exotic cuisine which stimulates the passionate

soul to near recklessness. Met a sheik there once what swore no woman could

resist him after she partook of the delights of such a feast." He closed one eye

and gleamed at Tyber with the other.

"You've convinced me." He set his empty cup on the tile counter. "Carry on,

sailor!"

Dinner that evening was absolutely exquisite.

Blooey had gone all out, preparing a gourmet feast fit for a queen. There was a

compote of fresh melon and passion fruit sorbet, spinach salad with raspberry

vinaigrette followed by breast of chicken in a vermouth and ginger cream sauce,

and an exotic rice pilaf containing little bits of dried fruits and pistachio

nuts.

Tyber opened a bottle of Crystal to accompany their meal.

The dining room table, with the leaves taken out for more intimate dining, was

beautifully set with candlesticks and a centerpiece of white camellias.

Where the men had found the camellias this time of year, Zanita could only

wonder, but she was touched that Tyber had remembered they were one of her

favorite flowers.

The table was so elegant, she almost felt silly sitting there in her knock-about

jeans and sweater.

She was just about to take a sip of Crystal when an uncomfortable thought hit

her.

What was Tyber up to?

This was very extravagant for a congratulatory dinner. She sneaked a peak at him

over the rim of her glass. The man looked totally innocent, which meant he was

definitely up to something.

Tyber also drank his champagne, wondering if he had timed this right. It wasn't

that he hadn't given it a great deal of thought. Left to her own devices, Zanita

would never make the commitment he was seeking from her. Their collaboration on

the LaLeche story was over; it was time to start a new one.

He wanted her to stay here.

Frankly, he was surprised that she hadn't broached the subject of moving back to

her apartment yet.

Tyber did not delude himself; she just hadn't gotten around to it. He knew his

Zanita. As soon as it occurred to her, as soon as her circumstances smacked of

his being her significant other, she would definitely be Gone With The Wind.

But Tyber had no intention of letting her go. He was not something to be given

up, like red meat. Or an aberration. He was hers, and he knew that deep down

inside, she knew it. If he could only get her to admit it…

"Zanita." He reached across the table to take her hand in his. "I was wondering

if you would like to—"

"There's a bloke on the telephone for ye, Captain," Blooey called him from the

doorway. "He says he's the engineer from Space Age Systems what ye spoke to the

other day."

Tyber raised his eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders at Zanita's questioning look.

"Excuse me."

While he went to answer the phone, Zanita took the chicken's way out by telling

Blooey she was finished, complimenting him for the lovely meal. She quickly

escaped to the bedroom, where she decided to take a nice long hot bath.

What had he been about to ask her?

Whatever it was, it had "relationship" written over it. She broke out into a

cold sweat even with the hot bath water surrounding her. She squeezed her eyes

shut, not wanting to deal with this, but knowing she was going to have to.

Okay, so he wasn't Steve or Rick or even remotely like any other man she had

met, but after her experiences with the opposite sex, just the thought of a

relationship with his kind gave her the dry heaves. Men didn't mean to be… men,

they just were. They couldn't help it.

They were bad for your health.

Men should come with a warning label: Caution. Prolonged use is dangerous to

your peace of mind.

Leave. She was going to have to leave. Soon. Tomorrow, at lunch time, she'd go

air out her apartment, get it ready for her imminent return.

The decision was made.

She would tell Tyber when he came upstairs.

When she came out of the bathroom, he was lying on his side, fully clothed on

top of the bed quilts. Elbow bent, the side of his face nestled in the palm of

his hand, he regarded her from under hooded lids.

Zanita tightened the sash on her robe, marching resolutely to the bed. She

didn't like that look on his face.

Somewhere, she was sure she had read it was always best to throw your opponent

off by speaking first, on a totally different subject than the one you really

wanted to speak about. Loosen him up. Get his hackles nice and smooth. Then,

whamo! He's agreeing with whatever you say before he realizes it.

"What did the engineer want? Was it something to do with LaLeche?"

"No." His free arm came up around her shoulders, dragging her down beside him on

the bed. "He wanted to know if I'd be interested in doing some consulting work

on a project they're doing for a movie which revolves around VR."

"Oh. Did you take the job?"

"Uh-uh." His index finger traced along the opening of her robe. The slow action

unnerved her.

"Why not?"

"It would mean being out in California for extended stretches. I didn't want to

leave you for so long." His eyes met hers. "You might get lonely rattling around

this big house by yourself."

Why did she always get the feeling that he knew what she was up to? Courage. She