Sweet Fortune (27 page)

“Being in love can do that,” Constance observed gently. “It's quite all right, Jessie. Your mother and I understand. Every woman understands.”

“I'm not going to marry him, you know.” Jessie wiped her eyes, crushed the tissue, and hurled it into the stylish black cylinder that served as a trashcan. “I am going to enjoy an affair with him for as long as it lasts and then I will walk away. It's highly probable he will walk away first when it finally dawns on him that he's not going to get what he wants.”

“You really believe he wants to marry you only because of Benedict Fasteners?” Lilian asked quietly.

“No,” Jessie admitted. “It's a hell of a lot more complicated than that. He admires Dad. Wants to please him. And then there's the business angle. We all know that marrying me would be an excellent business move for him. And I admit, there's a physical attraction. I think what it boils down to is that he's satisfied with the package deal.”

“Jessie, I think Hatch's feelings run a lot more deeply than that. Whatever else he is, he's simply not a superficial kind of man. Even I know that much about him,” Lilian said firmly.

“He doesn't say he loves me,” Jessie sniffed sadly. “He says he thinks he can trust me. Says he thinks I'll be loyal. His first wife was running off to meet another man when she was killed, you know. His mother left him and his father when Hatch was only five. Loyalty is very important to Hatch. A lot more important than love, I think. I'm not sure he'll ever trust in love again.”

“Frankly, it sounds like the two of you have an excellent basis for a relationship, Jessie,” Constance stated.

“Trust and attraction and a couple of good business reasons are apparently enough for Hatch. But they're not enough for me.”

Lilian pursed her lips thoughtfully as she got to her feet. “Are you sure you're not romanticizing this whole thing a bit too much, Jessie? You're twenty-seven, not seventeen. How much can you realistically expect from a man?”

Constance nodded. “Your mother's right, Jessie. You're old enough not to need rose-colored glasses. I hate to break this to you, but having trust and physical attraction between yourself and a man is about as good as it gets. A lot of women never get that much. What are you holding out for?”

“I don't know,” Jessie whispered.

The office door opened and Elizabeth ambled into the room. Her brown hair was anchored with two colorful clips and her glasses were slightly askew on her small nose.

“Hi, everybody. What's going on?”

“Hi, Elizabeth.” Jessie blinked back the remaining moisture in her eyes. “I'm just sitting here sobbing my heart out for no good reason.”

“PMS, huh?”

Constance groaned. “This is what comes of sex education in the schools.”

“I didn't hear about that at school. I heard about it from you,” Elizabeth informed her mother. She sauntered over to Jessie. “I bet you're crying on account of Hatch, aren't you?”

“Afraid so,” Jessie said.

“Why don't you just punch him out instead?”

“That would probably be a much more satisfying approach to the problem,” Jessie said. “But he happens to be a lot bigger than I am.”

“I don't think he'd hit you back,” Elizabeth said, thoughtful. “At least, not very hard.”

“Of course he wouldn't hit me back. Which is exactly why I can't start pounding on him,” Jessie explained patiently. “It wouldn't be fair, you see. He couldn't retaliate in the same way.”

“So what does that leave?” Elizabeth asked.

“I don't know,” Jessie said. “I'm still trying to figure that out.”

“What it leaves,” Lilian said deliberately, “is common sense.”

Constance smiled. “We know you'll do the right thing, dear. You always have.”

Somewhere halfway across the bridge it came to Jessie that what she wanted from Sam Hatchard was proof that he could love her enough to choose her over Benedict Fasteners or anything else on the face of the planet if it ever came to that.

But Constance and Lilian were right. It was totally unrealistic to even contemplate such a scenario. What could she do? Tell him she would marry him if he walked away from the business arrangement he'd made with her father? That would be blackmail. Even if he did it, he would be disgusted with her for demanding such a sacrifice when there was no legitimate need for it. And she would be disgusted with herself for doing it.

As she had told Elizabeth, a woman had to fight fair.

A small, distinct sense of dread washed over her. There was a dark gray fog lying just beyond the edge of her awareness, as if the future held some bleak danger.

If this was what it was like to have premonitions or intuition or some other psychic ability, Jessie decided, she did not care for the sensation.

Hatch let himself warily into Jessie's apartment at eight o'clock that evening. He was not certain what kind of welcome to expect after the scene that had taken place in the hall outside Vincent's office door that afternoon.

He got a strong hint about what was in store when Jessie barely glanced up from the couch where she lay reading a book.

“Hi,” she said without looking up from her book.

“Hello.” Hatch closed the door and set down his briefcase. He noticed the lights were off in the kitchen. “Did you want to go out to get a bite to eat?”

“I already ate an hour ago. I told you, I don't serve dinner this late.”

“I see.” Hatch realized he was starving. “Any leftovers?”

“It was ravioli again. You weren't here, so I ate the whole package. You can't expect me to hold dinner for you, Hatch. Not when you don't even bother to call and let me know you'll be late.”

Hatch felt a wave of chagrin. “I don't think of eight o'clock as being real late.”

“I do.”

“It's been a long time since I had to call home to tell someone I'd be late for dinner. Guess I'm out of the habit.”

“Uh-huh. Well, don't let it worry you.” Jessie turned the page in her book. “You don't have to account for all your time to me. We're just sleeping together. It's not like we're married or anything.”

“You're really pissed about this, aren't you?”

“No, just realistic.”

He winced inwardly and walked over to the couch to stand looking down at her. “Would it help if I said it won't happen again?”

She slanted him an uncertain look out of the corner of her eye. She was obviously taken aback by the offer. “Is that a promise?”

He hunkered down beside her, not touching her. “It's a promise, Jessie.”

She sat there gnawing on her lower lip for a while and Hatch knew she was recalling all the similar promises her father had given her over the years. Casual, meaningless promises that nine times out of ten wound up being broken.

“I guess I could make you a peanut-butter sandwich or something,” she said, tossing aside her book. She got to her feet and headed for the kitchen.

Hatch heaved a silent sigh of relief and followed. He knew he had come very close to disaster that time. And all because he had been a little late for dinner.

“Jessie, one more time for the record. I am not a carbon copy of your father. I don't break my promises.”

She glanced up, her eyes meeting his over the refrigerator door. “I know.”

Hatch realized they had just passed a major milestone. He was grinning like an idiot. “Say that again.”

“Say what again? I know?” She opened the peanut-butter jar and reached for a knife.

“The whole thing. Say you know I am not a carbon copy of your father and that you know I don't break my promises.”

She swirled the knife inside the jar of peanut butter. “I know you are not a carbon copy of my father and I know you don't break your promises.”

“Damn right,” Hatch said. “I'm glad we got that much straightened out. You got any bread for that peanut butter or do I have to eat it off the knife?”

T
he phone rang that evening just as Jessie was reaching for her nightgown.

“Hello?”

“Jessie, it's me, Alex.” Robin's voice was bubbling with excitement. “Listen, you're never going to believe this, but I think I've found Susan Attwood.”

“You
what
?” Jessie sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed, clutching the nightgown. Hatch came out of the bathroom and eyed her questioningly.

“It's true, Jessie,” Alex said quickly. “I've been watching to see what kind of passwords and access codes are being used to enter the different files. One of the codes is matched with the name Attwood. She's updating the climate program right now. Plugging in some new temperature numbers. And that reminds me, I've got something else to tell you. My friend at the university got back to me a half-hour ago.”

“And?”

“First, he knew something about Edwin Bright. Said the guy is one of those characters in the scientific community who always operate way out in left field. He hadn't heard much about him in recent years. Bright's theories and calculations are not accepted by any reputable people.”

“Ah hah.”

“Second, he said that it was clear that some of the important numbers in this climate-projection program are phony. Says Bright must be making them up. He also implied it wouldn't be the first time.”

“Do you think Susan is helping him produce misleading data?”

“No.” Alex sounded defensive suddenly. “I think it's more likely she's just inputting numbers that he's given her.”

Hatch came over to the bed, his expression intent. “Is that Robin?”

“Just a second, Alex.” Jessie looked up at Hatch. “He thinks he's found Susan. She's on the computer right now, running a climate program.”

“Ask him if he can communicate with her through the computer.”

“I heard what Hatch just asked,” Alex said. “Tell him I can do that. Want me to get her attention now?”

Jessie gripped the phone. “He says he can do it. Hatch, this is so exciting. I'm going to have him try to contact her right now.”

Hatch shook his head. “No. Tell him to wait until you and I can get over to the office. I want to think this through for a few minutes.”

Alex spoke in Jessie's ear. “I heard him. See you two in a bit.”

Jessie heard the phone go dead on the other end of the line. “I can't believe this.” She leapt off the bed, hurling the nightgown into a corner. She grabbed her jeans. “What a break. We can talk to her in person. Come on, Hatch, let's go.”

“I hope Robin laid in his usual supply of junk food. That peanut-butter sandwich didn't go far.”

Twenty minutes later Jessie and the two men were crowded around the computer screen. Somehow Hatch seemed to have taken command of the situation, much to her annoyance. Jessie was not quite certain how it had happened. She suspected it had to do with his natural leadership talents and with the fact that Alex, being a man, was automatically inclined to take orders from another male. It was extremely irritating, but there did not seem to be much she could do about it at the moment. The important thing was to make contact with Susan Attwood.

“Don't give her any idea of who you are or where you are,” Hatch told Alex. “Just let her think that you're a concerned environmentalist who's also a hacker. Maybe someone who's involved in climate-projection programs and who's heard about Bright's calculations and wants to review them. And for Christ's sake, don't give her anything that can be traced back here. Understand?”

“Sure, Hatch.” Alex eagerly started punching keys on the board. “I'll start by questioning the data she's trying to input. She won't be alarmed, just confused at first. She'll think it's the computer querying the information she's feeding it. When she starts responding, I'll ease into letting her know there's a real person asking.”

Alex's initial query trickled out across the bottom of the screen. Jessie read it over his shoulder:

New temperature ranges for arctic quadrant do not match projections. Please explain source
.

“What if the query pops up on someone else's screen?” Jessie asked.

“There's no one else on-line right now. It's the middle of the night, don't forget. She's working the late shift alone.” Alex studied the response he had gotten from Susan.

Source is Bright calculation
. The words appeared above Alex's on the top half of the screen.

Calculation not correct
, Alex typed.

Please explain.

“She's confused, and no wonder,” Alex said. “The program she's working with is not written to be interactive on this level. Up until now it's just accepted whatever numbers it gets and crunched them.”

“Okay,” Hatch said slowly. “Let her know you're here.”

Am concerned about projections produced by this program. They don't match my own
, Alex typed.

Who are you
?

Alex hesitated and then typed,
Green
.

Are you with DEL
?

No. Concerned about same subject. Wrong data extremely dangerous
, Alex typed.

Show me the differences between your calculations and ours
.

“We're in luck,” Alex said confidently. “She's the naturally curious type, like most computer junkies. She wants to solve the puzzle before she does anything else. Attagirl, Susan. I'd do exactly the same thing, especially in the middle of the night when there's nothing better to do. I think you and I are two of a kind.” He hunched over the keyboard and started typing furiously.

Jessie glanced at Hatch and smiled wryly. Hatch shrugged and reached for the bag of potato chips that was lying on the desk next to the computer. They both sat there munching while Alex lured Susan Attwood into an extended conversation about data errors and bad projections.

Have recently been concerned about this myself
, Susan finally admitted several minutes later.

Hatch put down the bag of potato chips. “Bingo,” he said softly.

“Told you she was bright.” Alex looked proud, as if Susan were his protégée. “Smart enough to know something was wrong.”

“Ask her if she's ever worked with the financial program,” Hatch ordered.

“If I do that, she'll know we're interested in the money as well as the climate stuff,” Alex warned.