Trust Me

blinking quickly in an attempt to adjust to the darkness.
    The crashing sounds of the battle taking place in the front row made her whirl toward the right.
    She could just make out the violently heaving shadows of Stark and the gunman. They reared up, toppled, and collapsed into the second row. She heard dull, sickening thuds and savage grunts.
    Desdemona took another step and halted abruptly when her toe struck an object on the floor.
    She bent down and groped around on the cold concrete. Her fingers closed over a gun. She picked it up carefully, startled by the weight of it.
    She could see more clearly with each passing second. Stark’s head and shoulders surged up above the first row of seats. She saw his fist raised.
    He struck.
    With a soundless sigh, the man with the voice of a robot collapsed between the first and second rows.
    A sharp, piercing quiet settled on the theater.
    “Stark, are you okay?”
    “Get the lights.” He stood upright and gazed down at the man on the floor. “Hurry.”
    Desdemona glanced at Ian. “Where’s the control panel for the house lights?”
    “In the light booth,” Ian said quickly.
    Desdemona put the gun down on a front-row seat and dashed up the short aisle. She found the flight of stairs to the lighting booth, went inside, and stared at the panel of switches arrayed in front of her.
    She worked quickly, flipping switches at random until she had doused the bright spot and turned up the houselights. Then she peered through the opening of the booth.
    Stark hoisted his victim up into an aisle seat. The man flopped there like a stunned fish. Desdemona could only see the back of his head and shoulders. She frowned. There was something familiar about him.
    “Who is it?” she asked.
    Stark looked up at the booth. His brows rose in surprise. “I thought you knew.”
    “No. Ian and I never saw his face.”
    “Probably because he didn’t want you to be able to identify him,” Stark said. He looked down at the man in the seat. “You were hoping you wouldn’t have to kill again, weren’t you, McCallum? It wasn’t easy the first time, was it?”
    “The bastard tried to blackmail me after he screwed up the job.”
    Dane’s voice, no longer disguised by mechanical amplification, was barely audible. “He sent one last message through the anonymous server. Told me he knew who I was. He was lying, but I didn’t realize it at the time.”
    “Tate tracked you as far as Stark Security Systems,” Stark said. “The same way I did. Then he smoked you out with a bluff.”
    “I panicked. Told him I’d meet him at Right Touch to make the first payoff. I disguised myself in case I was seen.”
    “You killed Tate. Then you tried to cast Tony Wainwright in the role of murderer and would-be thief. You knew I was already suspicious of him.”
    “He was the obvious fall guy,” Dane said wearily. “I needed him in case you got too close to the truth.”
    “You were on your way out of Right Touch when Desdemona arrived.”
    “I didn’t want to kill her. Just scare her. I knew she couldn’t recognize me. I figured I was safe if I just kept my head. But everything started to come apart after that. This afternoon when I saw the email message waiting for me, I knew something else had gone wrong. I figured it was a trap.”
    “You were right,” Stark said. “So why the second attempt to get hold of ARCANE tonight? Why didn’t you just disappear? You could have been out of the country by now.”
    Dane lifted his head. “I couldn’t leave without ARCANE. I made a deal with some people.”
    “Anyone I know?”
    Dane was silent for a moment. “Kilburn.”
    “Kilburn? That traitor from the Rosetta Institute? You were a fool, McCallum. If you were dealing with Kilburn, you were in over your head from the start.”
    “Damn it, it was my idea, not his.” Dane’s voice was unexpectedly violent, almost anguished. “I’m the one who worked out the plan. I contacted Kilburn. Arranged to find Vernon Tate and get him on Desdemona’s staff. I set everything up. It was brilliant.”
    “And now it’s all in pieces,” Stark said quietly.
    Dane’s head sagged in defeat. “You always were the brains of the outfit.”
    “That’s where you’re wrong,” Stark said. “I can’t be all that smart. After all, I trusted you, didn’t I?”
    Desdemona was worried about Stark.

    Later that evening, ensconced in her favorite red leather chair, she surreptitiously kept an eye on his grim,