Chapter 6

When Jake came out of his office and took one of the "floater" desks in the ballroom, he told himself it was so that he could get some work done while his computer ran its battery of virus and spyware scans, data clean-up, deleted file overwrites, system patches, and back ups. The process had been designed to run without human intervention once it was started, but took several hours. Normally, Jake would have let it run Friday night after he left the office. But, he didn't trust T. H. E. King's websites not to have worked any mischief on his system.

As he sat at the desk, waiting for his settings and applications to load onto the borrowed computer from the network, he realized that he'd started the scan for another reason. He just didn't feel like working. The visit to PKS Enterprises had been depressing. He had a poker game to get ready for. And, he'd acquired a Wednesday-evening tradition he wasn't looking forward to delaying. Even the few minutes it took for the computer to finish its processing was enough to get him up and pacing. If he didn't have a report to file with Thule, he would be gone already.

As he paced, he forced his eyes to scan the room. It was an exercise he'd picked up from Anders, part of being a trained observer. Every so often, you looked at familiar surroundings with fresh eyes. Otherwise, you started taking things for granted and your eyes just skipped over any discordant details.

At first glance, the ballroom looked like any other office space. Two dozen generic office-style desks with matching chairs were arrayed in neat rows with low dividers between them. The desks were outnumbered by computers nearly two to one. Roemer Security Services put a lot of trust in technology and drew a lot of revenue from it as well. The core business, if it could still be called that, was all about technology. The tool Jake was using in order to make the borrowed computer into a near-duplicate of his normal work machine was an RSS product, still in beta and being "dogfooded" in the satellite office.

If you only looked at the carpeted area, it would be easy to forget this wasn't an ordinary office space. After a few days, new hires and transfers from the Roemer Building downtown stopped noticing the opulent surroundings. Even Jake tended to focus on work to the exclusion of the environment beyond the edges of his own desk. But, the place really was a ballroom and had seen use as such as recently as the 1980s. Beyond the edges of the carpet rose the elegant, white colonial-style columns. Over the middle of the office area hung an antique chandelier, not the original, but one made in the twenties or thirties, probably to match more of an art deco style, but serendipitously appropriate to its current surroundings.

A beep from the borrowed computer brought Jake's eyes and mind back to his work. Unfortunately, there was a dialog on the screen informing him that the transfer had failed, a bug report had been sent, and he should try again or contact technical support. He clicked "OK" and was rewarded with the infamous "Blue Screen of Death."

Jake scowled and muttered, "Piece of shit." He didn't mean it particularly. There was a known issue with the software when it tried to copy settings between two different versions of Windows. Jake had known that, but absent-mindedly forgotten when picking the machine he borrowed. Rather than trying again or contacting tech support, he walked away from the machine, back towards his office.

"Another late night planned?" asked Helene.

Jake shook his head, "I've just got to give Thule my report and head out for my poker game."

"Actually," said Helene. "I was thinking I could give Thule the report."

Jake didn't answer for a few seconds. He wasn't looking forward to telling Thule that Helene had come on the interview, but was just as happy thinking that his boss would have a good twelve hours to process that fact before he saw Helene again. It seemed like the former FBI agent was itching for a fight. Jake looked down at her and saw the determined cast of her jaw and said, "All right. I'm going to cut out, then. See you tomorrow."

As if he'd done something particularly noteworthy, Helene wrapped an arm around Jake's waist and hugged him, "Thanks, brute squad."

Jake looked down at her, surprised. After a moment, he hugged her back, "Sure thing. Good luck in there."

Before he left, Jake swung by his office and his "satellite apartment," where he stayed when he slept at the mansion. As he was locking his room, he saw a woman approaching him from deeper inside the residential wing. Dressed in a smart, almost primary blue business suit that did nothing to disguise her femininity, her mass of blonde hair was down loose and just a little bit wild. Coupled as it was with the hint of rouge, Jake recognized it as a clearly calculated effect, but that didn't change the visceral response the sight sent shooting up his spine. She looked like she'd just rolled out of a bed full of sin and could roll back in at a moment's notice.

"Mr. Steiner," she drawled. "I've been looking for you."

Jake raised an eyebrow as he tried to figure out who this woman could be and why she would have been looking for him. He turned away from her, ostensibly to double-check the lock on the door, but really to give himself a moment to think without distraction.

When he turned back, he smiled and extended his hand, "I don't believe we've met, but I'm guessing that you must be Ms. Thompson."

She corrected him gently, "It's Miss Thompson, actually. But, do call me Melinda."

Without thinking, Jake found himself smiling, "What can I do for you, Melinda?"

"I have two matters for your attention," she said. "Both are somewhat delicate."

"I can see if the secure conference room is available..."

Melinda laughed merrily, "Oh, no. It's nothing like that, Mr. Steiner. I merely wished to make it clear that I recognized the delicacy of these matters and would treat them appropriately."

"All right," said Jake. "What can I help you with?"

"Firstly," she said. "I am considering entering into a business relationship with your employer. I was hoping that I might be able to impose upon you to meet with me at some point and give me an honest assessment of Mr. Roemer's character. Obviously, I wouldn't expect you to tell me anything too secret, but it's so hard to get a sense of people until you've talked to their close associates."

Jake considered the request carefully. He wasn't sure exactly what Melinda might be asking for, but was reasonably comfortable with his ability not to tell her more than he meant to, "I'm sure I could arrange that, our schedules permitting."

Melinda smiled up at him, "I should be wrapping up the matters I have to handle for Mr. Medeforte over the next couple of days. Then, I will be entirely free except as Mr. Roemer requires my services."

There was a hitch in the way she said "services" that would have made Jake raise an eyebrow if he weren't keeping his face so carefully neutral.

"I'm sure we can arrange something," said Jake.

"Would you be free for dinner?"

"Not tonight," said Jake. "I'm afraid I have other plans."

"That brings me to the second matter," said Melinda. She leaned in closer to be heard and said in a stage whisper, "I understand you run a friendly, little poker game on Wednesday nights."

Jake widened his eyes as if shocked, "I don't know where you would have heard such a thing. There is nothing remotely friendly about my poker game."

"Two thousand dollar buy in?"

Jake nodded.

"Fixed limit, table stakes?"

Jake nodded again, "Pot limit the first Wednesday of the month. Forced rotation the second Wednesday. Texas hold' em otherwise. Fifty and one hundred dollar bets."

Melinda smiled wider and actually batted her eyes at him, "Would you possibly have an open seat tonight? I do so enjoy a good game."

Jake grinned, "You really should have a fan to wave when you say that."

Melinda narrowed her eyes at him, but wasn't deterred, "I considered it, but it seemed a bit over the top--even for me."

"As luck would have it, I should have a couple of free seats tonight," said Jake. "The dealer arrives at eight. You can get a ride or directions from Anne. But, you've clearly done your homework and probably know those two facts already."

She smiled, "I'll see you at eight, then."

Jake smiled, nodded, and started to walk away. As if it had just occurred to him, he turned back towards her, "Miss Thompson, I hope you know how to play poker, though. The Dixie doll routine won't get you very far in this game."

Melinda laughed, "At those stakes, I wouldn't expect it to. I look forward to facing you across the poker table, Mr. Steiner."

Jake allowed himself a small chuckle, "I'm not sure I return the sentiment, Miss Thompson. But, I do look forward to seeing you play."

The car in Jake's driveway was familiar to him by now. Svetlana had bought the little, silver Alfa Romeo Spider back in January, the only real extravagance she seemed to have allowed herself since receiving an eight figure payment on her prenup after being divorced by Jake's former employer, Ivan Vandevoort.

It was the only car in the driveway, meaning that Jake's father and, presumably Jake's son, were not home. Jake smiled. Svetlana still kept him on his toes and probably always would. But, he had to admit he enjoyed having her around.

"Svetlana," he called out as he came in the front door. "You're here early."

Svetlana's voice emerged from his bedroom, "I'm here early every week and every week you say that. Having second thoughts about giving me a key?"

Jake crossed to his bedroom, undoing his tie, "Second thoughts? I had twelfth thoughts or so before I offered. But, no. I'm not having thirteenth thoughts. It's good to see you. I've come to look forward to our Wednesday-evening tradition."

Svetlana lay back on his bed, red hair spread out in a cloud around her on the navy blue coverlet. She pouted up at him, "Really? You're not just saying that to get into my pants."

Jake looked down at her, "You're not wearing any pants." he pointed out. She was wearing nothing but one of Jake's charcoal gray dress shirts, half unbuttoned, but fitting her like a short dress.

"Then, you'd better hope my husband doesn't find us." She grinned up at him wickedly.

Jake rolled his eyes at her. He should never have admitted that he liked this game. It was clear that Svetlana liked it much more than he did.

"Sveta..." he said, a warning clear in his voice.

The twinkle of mischief didn't leave her eyes, "Jake, such familiarity. Ivan won't like it. You must call me Mrs. Vandevoort." As she spoke, she bent one knee so that the shirt rode up dangerously. Jake had no doubt she was completely naked underneath.

Jake sighed, "Mrs. Vandevoort, what am I going to do with you?"

Svetlana pet the bed next to herself, "Sit down, Jake. You work too hard. I know what a handful I can be."

Jake chuckled. What Svetlana had just said was a word-for-word recitation from the first time she'd tried to seduce him when it had been his job to watch her for her husband, Ivan. At the time, he'd wisely sat on the far side of the room. Now, he sat down next to her on the bed and stroked her hair. Svetlana rubbed her head against his leg like a cat marking her owner.

"Oh, Jake," she said as if surprised. Her hands drew his t-shirt out of his pants so that she could kiss his ribs. "You do like me."

Jake nodded, "Yes, Mrs. Vandevoort. I've always been rather fond of you."

Svetlana laughed throatily, "Always? I seem to remember you threatening to thrash me if I didn't behave."

Jake raised a suspicious eyebrow at her, "I never threatened to thrash you."

"Oh?" asked Svetlana, eyes improbably wide and innocent. "You didn't want to thrash me?"

Jake considered the question. Before he could answer, Svetlana laughed again, "You must have wanted to. I was very wicked." She rolled over on her belly, going up on her knees and arching her back so that the shirt fell away, exposing her bare bottom, "Do you still want to thrash me, Jake?"

Jake closed his eyes and ran his hand over her bottom. Before he turned the key in the lock, he'd thought he was looking forward to a couple of hours of relaxation before the poker game. Somehow, it never worked out that way with Svetlana. Already, his pulse was racing and he was rock hard for her. Svetlana had always been able to have this effect on him at will, even when he'd been bound and determined not to do anything about it.

Knowing she had this power, Svetlana had used it to try to manipulate him many times, even after she'd given up trying to seduce him. And, while Jake had never breathed a word of it, Svetlana was absolutely right. Jake had not only wanted to thrash her, he'd often fantasized about doing so.

He hadn't needed to admit it. Svetlana had turned out to be very astute at reading his feelings towards her. Even knowing that, she'd managed to shock Jake again.

"I should," he growled, not opening his eyes.

He felt Svetlana unbuckling his belt, "I think you're right. If Ivan had ever been man enough to discipline me, I think I would have been a much better wife."

Jake trembled a little with the force of his own lust. Svetlana definitely knew how to push his buttons. Even as he hovered on the momentary edge of indecision, she was threading his belt out of his pants, laying it in his hand.

Jake took the belt, folded it over twice, and stood. His pants started to slide down, so he let them drop and kicked them away. Svetlana rested on her shoulders now, looking up at him over one of them. One hand stroked her own inner thigh.

Jake looked down at her, "I've never... disciplined a woman like this. You'll have to tell me if I'm doing it right."

Svetlana grinned wickedly, "I'll let you know when I'm suitably chastised."

Taking a deep breath, Jake raised the belt and glanced down, still not entirely believing that Svetlana wanted this. She smiled up at him, a challenge in her eyes.

"You're a very kinky woman, Mrs. Vandevoort," said Jake.

Svetlana's smile got wider, "Yes, Jake. It's part of my wickedness."

Jake laid the strap across her bottom in an experimental stroke.

"Jake," she scolded. "I am much more wicked than that."

Jake shook his head, but hit her harder with the next stroke.

"Wickeder," she purred.

Soon, he'd acquired a rhythm that seemed to satisfy her. He didn't understand what this was doing for Svetlana, but it was clearly doing something. Her eyes were closed and her breathing shallow. Her hand had risen and was now planted between her legs, rhythmically sliding between her red, engorged lips.

Tearing his eyes away from the sight, Jake looked at her face again. There was a look of pure bliss there and, even as he watched, her whole body began to tremble violently with pleasure. The sight broke some dam within him that was causing him to hold back. Each stroke now was with his full strength. Svetlana squealed and moaned under the onslaught.

His arm was getting tired when he was rewarded by Svetlana crying out his name. He paused and looked down at her. Svetlana looked up, all four cheeks flushed, lust clear in her eyes and said quietly, "Perhaps I am not quite that wicked."

Jake laughed and sat down next to her, "I doubt I've gotten anywhere near your wickedness, Sveta."

Svetlana rolled on her back and stretched out so that the neat strip of bright red hair she kept between her legs peeked out, "This is what I love about you, Jake. You understand me and want me anyway." One hand curled up behind his head and drew him halfway down into a kiss.

Jake kissed her fiercely, unbuttoning the shirt she wore with the arm he hadn't worn out beating her. Svetlana writhed upward, pushing her breast into his hand.

"Jake," she whispered. "We mustn't. Ivan would have you killed."

Jake growled, "Ivan doesn't scare me." He pushed Svetlana's legs apart and climbed between them.

"Take me, Jake," she moaned. "Show me you're a better man than he is."

Jake stripped out of his shorts as Svetlana stripped off his t-shirt, kissing his chest. She reached for him eagerly, guiding him. He slid in easily, loving the feeling of being gripped inside of her. She wrapped her legs around his back, rising to meet his thrusts. She clawed his back and bit his shoulder as if to remind him that she was far from tamed. Jake needed no reminding. It was part of what made Svetlana so desirable.

Jake hadn't realized how intense his own arousal was until he entered her. He tried to slow his pace and prolong the act, but Svetlana was having none of it. She pressed her thighs into his ribs and rose to him. At the same time, she gripped him internally, keeping him from going off. Jake was holding almost completely still, but she was still riding him from underneath.

"Sveta," he moaned.

"Just a little more, Jake," Svetlana begged. "Stay with me."

Jake nodded and did his best to focus on anything other than how good it felt to be inside of this beautiful, vibrant, somewhat dangerous woman. Somehow, he managed to hold off for another moment of agonizing pleasure.

"Now," Svetlana moaned. Jake could see in her eyes that the pleasure was taking her again. He let himself go, exploding violently inside of her. His whole body shuddered with the force of his orgasm. He felt like it sucked the air out of his lungs for a moment. His legs and arms lost their strength and he collapsed on top of her. Not wanting to crush her, he tried to roll away, but Svetlana wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, pressing him against her.

As soon as he could, Jake put his weight back on his arms so that she could breathe and he could look down into her face. If he hadn't known her better, he would have said that Svetlana's face was suffused with love. She grinned up at him without guile and said, "I think you liked that more than you will admit."

Jake decided that surprising her was worth more than maintaining his image, "I liked it an awful lot. How did you know I would enjoy it so much?"

She stroked the small of his back, "Because, in your place, I would have spanked me a long time ago."

Jake lay on the bed, Svetlana dozing lightly beside him, feeling as if every muscle in his body was completely unkinked. He chuckled and kissed Svetlana on top of the head.

"What is funny?"

He stroked her back with a feather-light touch of his fingertips, "I was just thinking how you affect me. I really thought I just wanted to lie down and relax before the game and it took you less than five minutes to turn me into a ravening beast."

Svetlana smiled without opening her eyes, "I'm thinking you're much more relaxed now than you would have been if you'd laid down without me."

Jake chuckled and nodded.

"See?" Svetlana asked, stretching against him. "I was exactly what you wanted all along. You just didn't know it."

Jake realized that he was completely relaxed. Around Svetlana, this was a new experience. As much as he enjoyed being with her, she always made him at least a little nervous.

He tried to figure out how to express the thought without being misunderstood. Jake knew that his relationship with Svetlana was temporary. She was a wonderful bedmate and had even become a good friend, but she had neither the desire nor the track record to be a good stepmother to Jake's son, Darwin. He was still trying when the doorbell rang. The clock read seven thirty-five.

"Crap," Jake muttered, reaching for a pair of jeans. "I told Joy not to come before eight o'clock. I swear I have to repeat everything to her three times to get through to her."

As he pulled on the jeans, Svetlana said, "Maybe that's why Dule did not hire her."

Jake chuckled. Svetlana's accent had disappeared almost completely except for effect, but she still pronounced Thule's name as if the diphthong were beyond her.

The doorbell rang a second and third time. Jake muttered "hang on" a couple of times, far too low for anyone at the door to hear him as he buttoned up his pants and very carefully did up the zipper. He trotted through the living room and opened the front door.

"Thule," he said, surprised.

"Hey, Jake," said Thule, looking around uncertainly. "I decided to take you up on the offer to join your poker game. It is still Wednesday nights. Isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Jake. "I pushed it back to eight o'clock, though to accommodate the late work hours."

"Sorry," said Thule. "I tried to call ahead, but you didn't pick up your phone. Did I get you out of the shower?"

"Not exactly," said Jake. "Umm, why don't you come in. I'll show you the poker room."

"Cool," Thule followed him inside. Jake breathed a small sigh of relief when they were in the hallway, away from the bedroom. He'd been meaning to tell Thule that he was sleeping with Svetlana since it first happened at Christmas. He just hadn't found the right time. And, he didn't entirely trust Svetlana not to wander out of the bedroom, obviously post-coital, just to see Thule's reaction.

"So," asked Thule. "Whose Alfa is that in the driveway."

"Err," said Jake, almost pushing his boss into the poker room. "There's something we need to talk about."

Thule turned and frowned at him, "Okay. Talk."

Jake sighed, "Why don't you sit down? Can I get you a drink?"

Thule nodded, "A beer if you've got one."

Jake went behind the wet bar and emerged with a beer. He was a little surprised that Thule hadn't just told him to get to the point, but the boss actually looked distracted. It wasn't a look Jake was used to seeing Thule wear.

Thule took the beer with a look of gratitude and tilted it way back, drinking deeply. Looking somewhat more refreshed, he asked, "So, what do we need to talk about."

Jake took a deep breath, "The car is Svetlana's."

Thule tensed. Jake watched him force himself to relax. Taking another sip of his beer, he said, "All right. I can play poker with Svetlana. It's no..."

He paused. It was like he was seeing how Jake was dressed for the first time. He looked up into the older man's eyes for some sort of confirmation.

"You're sleeping with her?" he asked. "Jake, are you out of your fucking mind?"

"What? No."

Thule shook his head, "What would possess you to do something like that?"

Jake scowled, "Who are you to talk? You slept with her when she was still married to Ivan."

"Once," exclaimed Thule.

"Boss, I have an internet connection. I've seen the video."

"All right, twice," acknowledged Thule. "But, Jesus. I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into."

"Hey," said Jake, a little more angrily than he meant to. "You don't know her. I do. I guarded her for and from Ivan for almost six months. And, she's not the same person she was when you... knew her."

Thule shook his head in clear disbelief.

"Thule, you're going to have to trust my judgment on this one."

Jake watched Thule mull over the idea for a few seconds before his face relaxed. Quietly, he said, "I'm sorry, Jake. You're right. If you say she's changed, I'll take your word for it. And, I guess I'll get to see soon enough."

"Actually," said Jake uncomfortably. "You won't see it at the poker table. There, she behaves like her old self. She feels like it keeps the other players off balance."

"I can see how that would be true."

For a few seconds, they stared at each other across the room. Finally, Thule said, "If she's going to behave like her old self, just keep me out of her reach, please."

Jake nodded, "I can do that."

"Why don't I let you get dressed," said Thule. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"All right," said Jake. "I'm sure you have something to keep you busy."

Thule reached down into the leather portfolio he'd carried in and extracted a Palm Pilot, "I always have something to keep me busy."

Thule glowered at Melinda across the poker table. She was completely unreadable to him--not showing any signs of strength or weakness. The southern belle act, if it was an act, hadn't cracked once during the night. But, Melinda also hadn't bothered to try to use it to her advantage at the table, a fact that raised Thule's estimation of her a notch. The game was too tight for anyone to be fooled much by table image.

There was only one player who could be considered dead money. Sitting to Thule's left, Gunther Whitestone was a young phenom the Red Sox were paying a small fortune and a nice enough kid. In spite of the fact that he was down over five grand, he seemed unfazed.

To Gunther's left sat Benton Bragg. Tonight, Thule had discovered that the retired cop, besides being a cutthroat poker player, was also a millionaire several times over. He'd been fully vested in Bonderman when RSS had bought it. Thule had thought the man hated the new management, but kept working because he needed the job. Now, he was forced to re-evaluate.

Svetlana sat to Bragg's left, out of leg's reach of Thule. She was down about a thousand dollars, most of it from a single hand earlier in the evening. Past her sat Jake, Joy the Dealer, Melinda, Anne, Matika, an older woman who had been introduced as Judge Williams and her husband Walter, a professor at Harvard Law.

Thule had learned a lot about his coworkers tonight. The last time he'd discussed Svetlana with Matika, the former agent had been spitting nails over being drugged by Svetlana, who had still been Mrs. Vandevoort at the time. But, the two seemed to have patched up their differences and even joked with each other across the table. Watching the two of them interact, Thule conceded it was possible that Jake knew what he was doing with Svetlana.

As surprised as he'd been to see Anne here, Thule was more surprised to see her in action. Early on, she'd sandbagged nearly a grand out of him and actually cackled when she raked in the pot. Before tonight, Thule had considered her "grandmotherly." He'd always known she had a razor-sharp mind, but never realized she had a tongue to match.

She'd actually made Thule blush earlier. Two hours in and two thousand dollars down, he'd bought another two grand in chips, nearly emptying his wallet. In all innocence, he'd commented that, if he lost all those chips, he would need an ATM. The comment had been followed by a second of dead silence, then explosive laughter. It had taken Thule a couple of seconds to realize what they were laughing about. Just as he'd realized what was so funny, Anne commented, "If I were thirty years younger, I would go with you." Even Svetlana seemed to blush a little at that.

That wasn't Thule's concern right now, though. Melinda had raised and called aggressively before the flop and bet out on him after the flop. He had a pair of red kings in his hand, but the flop was all clubs, including the ace.

He allowed himself a longing glance at the pot, a little over six hundred dollars including Melinda's bet. It would just about bring him to the break even point if he won. But, it was wishful thinking. He was dead in the water. The only way he was going to win it would be to raise and chase her off the pot, but he doubted it would work.

Reluctantly, he lifted his cards and threw them into the muck. Glancing at the wall clock, he added, "All right, everyone. If you want any more of my money, you'll have to report to work tomorrow. I need some sleep."

As he rose, so did Melinda, "Thule, could I trouble you for a ride back to the estate? It's about time for me to be getting into bed, too."

"A convertible?" asked Melinda, running her hand over the ragtop.

"You expected something else?" asked Thule.

"No. I hadn't really thought about it, but it's a perfect match."

"Actually," said Thule. "I didn't pick it. Dawn did."

"Ah, Dawn," said Melinda. "There's another perfect match for you."

Thule raised an eyebrow as he unlocked her door for her, "How do you mean?"

Melinda looked up at him, "If you're going to take the top down, I should do something with my hair."

"Your call," said Thule. "I usually leave the top up at night, but it's warm enough."

Melinda opened her purse and started rummaging around, "Let's take it down, then. I loved convertibles growing up. But, I haven't been in one since... well, since prom night."

When Thule had pulled the top back, Melinda was tucking her hair under a kerchief, "As I was saying, I've been talking to Dawn. I can see why she's such a good match for you."

Thule sat in the driver's seat, "Funny you should say that."

"Why?"

Thule shrugged, "Because you haven't been talking to me."

Melinda smiled and flicked her hair over her shoulder, "I've done my research."

"Quite a lot of research it seems," said Thule.

Melinda smiled at him again, but there was steel behind it now, "You're not much a fan of illusions. Are you, Mr. Roemer?"