82 Desire

time.
    “Anyway, we’re revamping here—we’ve got a lot more stations that have to go in. I can really use you.”
    Not good , she thought. Best not to be noticed at all. But can I help it if I’m a hell of a nerdette?
    He left her alone.
    Robert Tyson, hidden by some office module that looked like it belonged in a spacecraft, scooted out, and gave her an amused grin. “My favorite genius. Welcome back to wage slavery.”
    “Hey, Robert. How’s it going?”
    “Better now that you’re back. You ever think of applying for a permanent job? You ought to consider it. You’re good, girl.”
    “You really think so?” You don’t know the half of it.
    “I really do. We could use you around here. And it’s not a bad gig, except when they treat you like a nigger, which in my case is about half the time.”
    “Been laying a lot of wire, huh?”
    He grinned again. “No, actually, I can’t complain. I had a few weeks doing what I was hired for—real interesting project. Dynamite project.”
    Normally, she’d have loved to hear more about it. She was starting to miss programming. But at the moment she was anxious just to get him out of the way so she could steal her file—which was going to be a snap, due to the little alteration she’d made last time she was there.
    She said, “But if I came here, I wouldn’t get to do squat—’cause I’m black and female.”
    He grinned again. “No, that’s better—the old double-minority dodge.”
    She grinned back. “Whatever works,” she said, and bent over her computer, waiting for lunch.
    She planned to lift the file she needed as soon as he left. Technically she could do it with people around, but the last person who had that file had died. For all she knew, even nice Robert Tyson couldn’t be trusted.
    After a while, she watched him fetch his brown bag and head off to the coffee room. Okay, good. She connected to the now-shared drive on Fortier’s workstation, once more brought up the “Find” command, typed in “Skinacat,” clicked the “Find Now” button, and murmured, “Come to Mama.”
    The status line read, “0 Files Found.”
    They must have changed the name of it , she thought. Especially if they know it’s been stolen.
    What to do next?
    Damn, damn, damn! If only she’d kept the names Allred had given her. It was true what she’d told the cop—once she was done with them, they were out of her head. But if she could just remember one of them, and the renamed “Skinacat” still existed, she could use the “Find” command to sniff out the file.
    She closed her eyes and focused.
    “Talba! You’re back.” It was one of the secretaries she’d met when she worked here before.
    “Hey, Rochelle—look at you! Your due date must be about yesterday.”
    The woman stroked her distended belly. “It’s got to be a boy—anything this big…”
    Talba was too impatient to swap wives’ tales about carrying high or low. “When are you due?”
    “Not till the middle of next month. Do you believe that?”
    Another voice said, “Rochelle, who’re you talking to? Talba! How long you here for?”
    Rochelle said, “Come on, Talba—let’s have lunch.”
    Talba gave in. People were prowling about, coming and going from lunch, and she probably wasn’t going to have a moment’s peace. Meanwhile, she could let her unconscious work on the problem.
    And sure enough, the answer came in the coffee room. One of the women had a child who went to a private school named Newman, and she remembered that was one of the names on the disk. Marion Newman—she recalled the first name because it was so unusual.
    Back at her desk, she asked the “Find” command to locate Marion Newman and once again found herself looking at “0 Files Found.” That could mean only one thing—somebody had removed “Skinacat.” Good-bye, $1,500.
    That was completely unacceptable. Talba’s mind turned it over as she did her legitimate nerd work. Maybe, she thought, I spelled it wrong. Maybe it was Marian. Or Neuman, or even Neumann. She decided to break it down, trying each word individually. She typed in “Newman” and was instantly rewarded—there was a file named that.
    She was just about to check it out when she looked up and saw Edward Favret leaning over her cubicle. He had a slightly sloshed look, being apparently just back from lunch. “Brought you a cookie.”
    She looked at him curiously, wondering. Yes, no doubt about it. He was flirting. She said,