82 Desire

“Thanks, Mr. Favret, but I’m on Sugar Busters.”
    “Oh, Christ. Not you, too.” It was the diet of the moment. “You don’t need to lose weight.”
    She smiled, all nice again. “It’s not that. I’m already sweet enough.”
    “Isn’t that just the truth? “ he said, as if he’d thought of it himself. He wandered off dreamily, the cookie still in its Mrs. Fields bag.
    It was too narrow an escape. Talba decided to wait till after work to finish, when Robert Tyson had gone, and Favret had gone, and Rochelle had gone, and she could get a moment’s peace.
    Tyson was the last to leave. “ ‘Bye, good-looking. See you in the morning.”
    “ ‘Bye, handsome.” She spoke absently, not even looking up, to discourage conversation.
    He stopped anyway. “Working late?”
    “I’m leaving in about five minutes. I’m just at the end of something.”
    “I’ll stay a minute and walk you out.”
    Shit! she thought. What if he decides to help me?
    But at that moment, her phone rang.
    Lamar, goddamn him. She picked up. “Well, no problem,” said a vaguely familiar voice. “I asked for Her Excellency, The Baroness de Pontalba, and they put me right through.”
    “Darryl? Darryl Boucree, is that you?” She looked up at Robert Tyson and watched a slow smile spread across his features. Evidently grasping the situation, he waved and went on out. “How’d you get my number?” she asked the phone.
    “Your mother. Who else?”
    “Good thing I don’t have any enemies. She’d probably give them my address and everything.”
    “She said she thought I sound nice.”
    “Well, you do, darlin’. Can I call you back? I’m just finishing up here.”
    “Great. That’s what I was hoping. Want to grab a bite?”
    “I don’t know—I’m … um … let me call you in a minute?”
    “Sure.” He gave her his number and hung up.
    In fact, she more or less had a date with Lamar. Or anyway, Lamar would expect to see her, as he did every night or so, and if she was suddenly busy, he’d come to the correct conclusion. However, she noticed she hadn’t refused. She sat alone in the office, mulling over the situation; trying to figure out a way to have her cake and eat it, too.
    Damn it! I like this man.
    But if I go out with him, it’s good-bye to Lamar. Am I ready for that?
    It took her only a moment to come up with the answer: More or less.
    Now what to do? Call Lamar and come clean? Was she going to do that?
    That was easy: Hell, no.
    Well, then, what? Say I’m sick. Or better yet, lay the groundwork—say I really need a night off, and if he asks questions, that we can talk about it later.
    She dialed and got his voice mail. “Hey, Lamar,” she said. “Listen, I just got a call from Lorene. She’s broken up with Herbert again and wants me to come over. I’ll call you when I get home.”
    It popped out, just like that—a full-blown lie that she didn’t even have to think about. Obviously , she thought, I’m not ready to deal with this.
    Okay, fine. There was only one problem—the client had said he’d call tonight, and she sure needed to talk to him. He’d called early before—maybe he would again.
    She phoned Darryl before she lost her nerve. “Hey, I’d love to go out tonight. Want to pick me up at home?”
    “Can’t I just get you at work?”
    “Sorry, I have to go home first. Or shall we make it another night?”
    “Tonight’s good,” he said. “What time?”
    He had a really lovely voice. “Eight,” she told him. It was six already; she’d better hustle her butt.
    On pins and needles, she opened up the Newman file. It was gibberish.
    Talba felt sweat at her hairline. Shit. It can’t be.
    But she knew very well that it could be. Since the last time she worked at United, they’d installed an encryption program. The good news was, “Skinacat” was probably still there—they’d probably just changed its name. Whatever the new file was called would also be encrypted, which was why the “Find” command hadn’t worked.
    Talba’s mind raced. That had to be what Robert Tyson meant when he said he’d just done a dynamite project. If the file was there, there was still a chance of getting it.
    She caught the 82 Desire, raced in, and went straight to her room, ignoring Miz Clara’s pointed delivery of the message that Darryl had called. She needed to grab a ten-minute nap to clear her head.
    She’d just closed her eyes when the phone rang. “Hi, this is your client.”
    She said,