No easy way out (5 page)

"Listen, Ginger, last night turned out to be a very important
turning point for you. For once you were not a glass of water:
colorless, odorless, and tasteless. You were..." Diane picked up
the spoon and tapped the white china cup. You were like coffee:
rich, aromatic, exotic-and stimulating. Now tell the truth, don't
you feel the better for it?"

"The only thing I feel good about is knowing that the Bandit
does not work at AVELCOMP."

"Why did that sound more like a moan than a cheer?"

"All right, maybe I am a little sad," she admitted with obvious
reluctance. "Yes, last night was erotic and stimulating, and I felt
... I felt more like a woman. But it was
all
fantasy,
Diane," Virginia stated evenly. "I deal in reality, and I am
absolutely positive that I could never repeat last night's
performance."

"A strictly enforced diet of reality is very bland, very
repressive." Diane sighed. She studied her poppy-tinted fingernails
for a long moment, closed her eyes, and smiled. "Ginger..." The
blue eyes opened and energetically focused on her victim. "I am
going to make sure you don't leave California the same way you
arrived. I am going to spice up your life if it kills the both of
us."

"Diane, please-"

"You will thank me, I promise," she continued in her rapid
staccato. "We'll start out slow ... we can change your image by
steps rather than leaps."

Diane's gaze drifted around the elegantly decorated apartment.
The lilac-tinted walls deftly blended from one room to another. A
white curved sofa and chrome-and-glass accessories dominated the
living room, while a harmonious mix of refinished antiques and
oriental touches complemented the dining area. "You know, I'm
really glad you got Joan Scoville's sublet. She's a fantastic
interior designer, and this place certainly strokes one's
morale."

"Diane, if you think your steamrolling tactics are going to work
on me again, you can just-"

"Ginger!"-she affected a shocked position with the back of her
hand against her forehead-"you wound me. I've never met any more
effective steamroller than yourself during our high-school days."
Diane grinned and flashed her a disarming smile.

"Run along and take a shower and shampoo that spray paint out of
your hair. I'll fix us some lunch, and then we can spend the rest
of this glorious, sunny day shopping the boutiques in the Port of
Call Village. I saw the inside of your closet last night; your
wardrobe needs help. A few new blouses and sweaters, better fitting
slacks, and-"

Virginia's loud, painful groan was smothered by Diane's
continued tirade. With a resigned sigh she pushed herself away from
the table and shuffled toward the bathroom. It was useless to try
and stop a steamroller, especially one with a loving heart.

The Santa Anas were blowing-strong, dry, and hot off the
Rockies. The winds mixed with the sun and the auto fumes to spread
a cloying blanket of grit and smog over Los Angeles and the
commuter-congested freeway. The winds made everyone restless and
uncomfortable, provoked tempers, sapped energy, and dampened
creativity.

Virginia cursed that hellish Monday sixteen times before noon.
She tossed her third and final lab coat into the laundry bin. The
first had been splattered with hot solder, the second was soaked
with a phosphorus doping solution, and this one still sizzled from
arsenic burns. The day was definitely jinxed- and it had started
the minute the alarm had gone off.

In her haste over breakfast she had neglected to put coffee
grounds in the percolator, and after her shower was greeted by a
steaming cup of water. Her hair normally stayed in a neat,
controlled topknot, but this morning it had defied the strength of
four rubber bands and two-dozen bobby pins. The obstinate thick
brown waves refused to be coerced into anything but a side-parted
pageboy.

If that hadn't been enough-Virginia snorted as she reached for a
rubberized chemical apron-she felt ill at ease in her new clothes.
The tailored brown-and-white-striped oxford cloth shirt defined her
full breasts and slim midriff, while the narrow khaki twill pants
encased smooth hips and long legs. They were just part of a sleek
designer wardrobe purchased on her Sunday shopping spree. Diane had
made sure she didn't go back to her loose blouses and baggy slacks
by depositing them in a Salvation Army canister.

The new outfit had already caused her an embarrassing moment in
the company parking lot. She had bent to retrieve textbooks,
manuals, and an attache case from the rear seat of her rented beige
Ford Fiesta. One of the young, gum-chewing mailroom clerks walked
by, whistled, and muttered, "Very nice, babe."

Virginia's palms followed the rounded contours of her backside.
"Very nice, indeed," she muttered gruffly. She was not at all
comfortable with the image her new clothes projected. Her only
consolation was that she was the sole occupant of the
electrochemical lab. The office staff rarely ventured through the
ultraviolet-lit air lock into the contaminate-free "white
room."

With her sleeves rolled up and shield gloves protecting her
hands, Virginia secured long-handled forceps to lift a vial of
liquid helium from a pressurized storage container. Using a special
insertion hook, she extracted a cryotron chip from its
minus-four-hundred-degree environment, then quickly returned it to
the receptacle before rime frost occurred.

The cumbersome gloves were discarded and magnifying glasses put
in place, and she carefully plugged the tiny electronic device into
the socket of the printed circuit board. The one-tenth-inch piece
of silicon could switch a circuit on and off as many as one hundred
megacycles per second in a computer.

Virginia returned the PC board to a special copper cold-pack
unit she had developed and slid it into the computer software
package. If all her testing and evaluations were correct, this
would solve one of the problems AVELCOMP was having with the
software.

So engrossed was she in charting the visible wave patterns on
the oscilloscope's fluorescent screen, Virginia failed to realize
that she was no longer alone in the lab.

"Dr. Farrell, I'd like-" A nasal voice jarred her concentration.
Startled, her pencil and clipboard clattered to the floor. Virginia
straightened and found Jerome Quimby's pudgy face looking even more
bloated through her magnifying glasses.

"I'm terribly sorry, Doctor." Quimby ran an anxious hand over
his bald head. "I didn't mean to interrupt." The short, stocky
president of AVELCOMP nervously tugged at his gray plaid vest. His
dark gaze drifted toward the continually pulsating waves on the
scope.

"Your flip-flop problem has been resolved," Virginia told him.
She lowered the magnifying glasses slightly to massage the bridge
of her nose. "I'll type my report and make a detailed schematic of
the copper-nitrogen vacuum process for your staff. I can begin work
on the tactile sensor system the day after tomorrow."

Jerome Quimby stared at her for a long moment. Then his thin
lips curved into a blissful smile. "Congratulations, Doctor." His
beefy, moist hand clasped hers. "We've been banging our heads
against the wall for three months, and you conquer the problem in
just one week. You people at Briarcliff certainly live up to your
reputation as wizards." His hazel eyes looked past her. "Well,
Alex, between the two of you, I doubt we'll miss a deadline."

"Your facilities are very impressive, Jerome, as is my learned
colleague," a masculine voice intoned from the rear equipment
bank.

The distinctive deep baritone with more than a hint of a
Southern drawl kindled an erotic memory and simultaneously sent a
wave of nausea washing over Virginia. It couldn't be him, could it?
But that voice? She took a deep, steadying breath, turned, and was
instantly thrown into a panic-it was the Bandit!

Virginia's eyes became fixed on the advancing masculine figure
that loomed larger than life through the aggrandizing lenses. There
was no mistake. Today his animal energy was contained in an
impeccably tailored navy business suit, but her fingers tingled
under the remembered intimate exploration of the hair-roughened
flesh hidden beneath his light-blue shirt and tic-weave jacket.

Without the scarf mask his rugged, bronzed features were even
more handsome and compelling. His eyes glittered like diamonds and
echoed the silver strands that winged at the temples in his dark
brown hair.

While Virginia mentally acknowledged the delayed Halloween
unmasking, the Bandit seemed totally oblivious to her identity and
interested only in the lab. She decided to make his ignorance work
to her advantage. After all, he had met Ginger, not the
perfunctory, diligent, remote Virginia. And that was exactly whom
he was going to meet!

Jerome Quimby's sharp tones penetrated the exaggerated silence.
"Dr. Virginia Farrell, this is Alex Braddock from SoLas
Incorporated. Alex is here to work on the robots too. He'll be
sharing the lab."

"SoLas?" Virginia inquired in a curt tone. Her index finger
pushed the magnifying glasses back in place, knowing the distortion
would aid her disguise. "Isn't that the solar energy and laser
group out of New Orleans?" Rudely she slid her hands into the
rubberized apron's pockets and acknowledged the introduction with a
regal nod rather than the customary handshake.

"That's correct." Alex flashed Virginia an expansive grin that
went unreciprocated. He gave an inward grimace. It seemed Dr.
Farrell was one of those scientists who felt a personal affront
whenever they had to share a facility. He looked through her
bifocal lenses into a pair of unadorned, blinking eyes and was
suddenly reminded of a frog he had once dissected in biology.

"This is the third time I've been privileged to work with a
member of Briarcliff. Always very successfully, I might add." Alex
tried flattery, but it too failed. His gray eyes eagerly left
Virginia's nondescript, stoic features to focus on a bay of
unfamiliar instruments. "What is your field, Doctor?"

"Cryogenics," she told him in a superior voice.

"Dr. Farrell is one of the nation's leading cryogenic
physicists," Jerome Quimby offered. A bubble of laughter erupted
from his barrel chest. "I think it's rather ironic to have a solar
technician who deals with heat energy quartered with a physicist
who deals with freezing."

"Science is known for such diametric viewpoints." Virginia's
tone held a wealth of patience. She knew from a Briarcliff briefing
that while Quimby headed one of the country's leading
electronic-computer laboratories, his forte was in management and
selective hiring. He possessed only a rudimentary knowledge of
engineering.

Virginia silently suffered through Jerome Quimby's nasal
dissertation on the laboratory's obvious features. Her gaze drifted
back to Alex Braddock's chiseled profile. Her eyes explored the
planes and angles of his face and followed the poetic pattern made
by his dark wavy hair.

The carnal memories of their balcony liaison flooded back to
both haunt and excite her. Despite the air conditioning the crisp,
tangy scent of his cologne made her nostrils flare. Her breathing
came faster and heavier when she focused on the movement of his
lips. Her toes curled inside her crepe-soled, tan leather oxfords
as she followed his gesturing hands.

She reined her thoughts sharply. She had to get him out of the
lab. She needed time. Virginia surreptitiously slid her hand along
the formica countertop until it came in contact with the computer
terminal. Her pinky hit the ring key. A moderate-pitched tone alarm
sounded.

"Doctor"-Quimby sucked in an apprehensive breath and lifted his
hand from the humming printer -"did I ... did I do something?"

"I certainly hope not," Virginia returned in a brusque monotone.
Her skilled fingers expertly typed a message on the keyboard.
Instantly the printer responded by bursting into a loud, lengthy
typing operation. The resulting noise effectively ended any further
conversation. "I'm afraid I must get back to work. Excuse me,
gentlemen," she said, raising her voice, then turned to randomly
adjust knobs on the scope.

"Certainly, Doctor," Quimby yelled over the din, giving Alex a
helpless shrug.

She favored the departing men with a preoccupied wave, held her
breath until they disappeared behind the air lock, then quickly
punched the terminal's escape key, shrouding the room in blessed
silence.

Virginia's head collapsed into her hands, and the magnifying
glasses slid down her nose and clattered against the stark gray
tile. Numb fingers attempted to rub the strain from her forehead,
but her subconscious echoed the problem of Alex Braddock, alias the
Bandit, in an ever-increasing distressing refrain.

A clenched fist punished the countertop. Why had she ever agreed
to go to that damn Halloween party? Why had she worn that
suggestive costume? Why had she perpetrated the illusion by
pretending to be what she wasn't?

The whys combined with the heavy apron to crush against her
chest. She felt trapped and smothered. Her skin prickled with
invisible sensations; she scratched her arm until it was red and
bumpy.

"I need help!" Virginia's unnaturally high, strained voice
ruptured the quiet. "Diane!" She quickly untied the apron and threw
it on a nearby table.

Virginia ran to her desk and made a grab for the telephone. Her
frantic fingers and perspiration-soaked palms sent the entire
mechanism crashing to the floor.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to get a firm
grip on her frazzled thoughts. A decade-old demon surfaced and
humorously reminded her that this was like old times. It was no
different from the predicaments she had got herself into during
high school.

I handled those easy enough, Virginia thought with cocky
assurance. Alex Braddock didn't flick an eyelash over me. I fooled
him.