Shadowfires

through clenched teeth, shook
herself, and went into the house.
    Ben hesitated, staring intently at the discarded pair of shoes and
rumpled clothes. Riveted by the soft green hue. Half mesmerized by
the random patterns of gentle folds and creases in the material. His
mind spinning. His heart pounding. Breathlessly considering the
implications.
    When at last he broke the spell and hurried after Rachael, Ben
discovered that sweat had popped out all over his face.
Rachael drove much too fast to the Geneplan
building in Newport Beach. She handled the car with considerable
skill, but Ben was glad to have a seat belt. Having ridden with her
before, he knew she enjoyed driving even more than she enjoyed most
other things in life; she was exhilarated by speed, delighted by the
SL's maneuverability. But tonight she was in too much of a hurry to take any pleasure from her driving skill, and although she was not exactly reckless, she took some turns at such high speed and changed lanes so suddenly that she could not be accused of timidity.
    He said, “Are you in some kind of trouble that rules out turning
to the police? Is that it?”
    “Do you mean-am I afraid the cops would get something on me?”
    “Are you?”
    “No,” she said without hesitation, in a tone that seemed devoid of
deception.
    “ 'Cause if somehow you've gotten in deep with the wrong kind of
people, it's never too late to turn back.”
    “Nothing like that.”
    “Good. I'm glad to hear it.”
    The backsplash of dim light from the dashboard meters and gauges
was just bright enough to softly illuminate her face but not bright
enough to reveal the tension in her or the unhealthy grayness that
fear had brought to her complexion. She looked now as Ben always
thought of her when they were separated: breathtaking.
    In different circumstances, with a different destination, the
moment would have been like something from a perfect dream or from
one of those great old movies. After all, what could be more
thrilling or exquisitely erotic than being with a gorgeous woman in a
sleek sports car, barreling through the night toward some romantic
destination, where they could forsake the snug contours of bucket
seats for cool sheets, the excitement of high-speed travel having
primed them for fiercely passionate lovemaking.
    She said, “I've done nothing wrong, Benny.”
    “I didn't really think you had.”
    “You implied…”
    “I had to ask.”
    “Do I look like a villain to you?”
    “You look like an angel.”
    “There's no danger I'll land in jail. The worst that can happen to
me is that I'll wind up a victim.”
    “Damned if I'll let that happen.”
    “You're really very sweet,” she said. She glanced away from the road and managed a thin smile. “Very sweet.”
    The smile was confined to her lips and did not chase the fear from
the rest of her face, did not even touch her troubled eyes. And no
matter how sweet she thought he as, she was still not prepared to
share any of her secrets with him.
They reached Geneplan at eleven-thirty.
    Dr. Eric Leben's corporate headquarters was a four-story, glass-walled building in an expensive business park off Jamboree Road in Newport Beach, stylishly irregular in design with six sides that were not all of equal length, and with a modernistic polished marble and glass porte cochere. Ben usually despised such architecture, but he grudgingly had to admit that the Geneplan headquarters had a certain appealing boldness. The parking lot was divided into sections by long planters overflowing with vine geraniums heavily laden with wine-red and white blooms. The building was surrounded by an impressive amount of green space as well, with artfully arranged palm trees. Even at this late hour, the trees, grounds, and building were lit by cunningly placed spotlights that imparted a sense of drama and importance to the place.
    Rachael pulled her Mercedes around to the rear of the building,
where a short driveway sloped down to a large bronze-tinted door that
evidently rolled up to admit delivery trucks to an interior loading
bay on the basement level. She drove to the bottom and parked at the
door, below ground level, with concrete walls rising on both sides.
She said, “If anyone gets the idea I might come to Geneplan, and if
they drive by looking for my car, they won't spot it down here.”
    Getting out of the car, Ben noticed how much cooler and more
pleasant the night was in Newport Beach, closer to the sea, than it
had been