Chapter Twelve
Paprazzi

"Miss?"

Mina turned in her chair. "Yes?"

snap

"Thank you, that was perfect. Now, please look back at your terminal."

The man had lowered the camera for a moment, now he raised it again. Mina tried not to gape. "Excuse me. What are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't they tell you I'd be coming around today? There should have been a memo. I'm here to take photos for the new company magazine."

Mina vaguely recalled something tacked up on the bulletin board, but she hadn't paid much attention to it. They seldom, if ever referred to her. "But what are you doing taking photos of me?"

"You're an employee, aren't you? You qualify. I'm getting candids and set photos in every department. We may eventually do an employees' directory. You know, little picture and bare bones bio for each one."

She frowned. "I don't really like the idea of that."

That's the second one on Baxter's list who's said something like that. He seems to favor the shy ones. "Not to worry. They'll get permission before they publish anything, but I have my orders. I need to go ahead and get these photos now, so if you'll just face the monitor, please?" Mina did so grudgingly, and he snapped a picture. "Now, if you could just look like you hadn't heard the world was about to come to an end." She looked at him sharply, and he snapped another picture. "Or perhaps not. Thank you. You may see me around the next day or so. Just ignore me."

"My pleasure."

He walked away from the cubby hole with a silent whistle. That's a tart one, Baxter. Covers it up with butter, but there's a lot of lemon under there. Well, if that's what you like, more power to you.

Lamont snapped a few shots of some of the other workers, then moved on to personnel for the next subject who actually mattered: Leeanne Potter. She was much more obliging, willingly striking several poses. He took note of her co-operation. Baxter wanted to be informed of the women's attitudes about the extra attention.

When he was done he dropped off the film at his office to be developed. They had their own dark room, of course. With some of their subject matter, they couldn't very well run the film through Photo Lab. Then he got one of his junior operatives, got in the van, and drove to the O'Connel woman's apartment building. The beat-up Volvo belonging to the upstairs neighbor was nowhere to be seen.

The equipment he needed was already loaded into two gym bags. Lamont stepped into the set of generic laborer's overalls he'd brought and told his assistant to keep close watch for the Volvo. The second it came into sight he was to give Lamont a buzz on his cell phone.

Lamont entered the building, whistling cheerfully, and took the stairs up to the third floor. Sure, it was a bitch, toting the equipment, but better than risking getting caught in the elevator with someone who might later remember an unexplained handyman. Besides, the damn lift looked iffy, at best.

Upstairs it took him all of thirty seconds to pick the lock on the door. Luckily they hadn't bothered with installing a dead bolt. "Idiots," he muttered. "But thank God for idiots. Make my life SO much easier."

Inside he set the bags down on the floor in the middle of the living room and looked around. In these older buildings the apartments were usually laid out so that all on one side were identical. So O'Connel's bathroom should be right under this one's bathroom, her bedroom under this one's bedroom, etc.

He was really in luck. The management, in a vain attempt at gentrification a couple of decades before had pulled out all the old carpeting, polished the original wood floors, and laid down rugs. Of course, no one bother to ever wax or polish the floors again, so it was pretty much a lost cause. The floorboards were dull, scratched, and scarred where they showed around the edges of the rugs.

First, the bathroom. He unloaded towel, toilet tissue, and a box of sanitary napkins from the under sink cabinet, then pried up the boards. A foot or so down was the back of the ceiling of O'Connel's bathroom... hopefully. Lamont used his battery operated drill, quickly punching a hole about the size of a standard pencil eraser in the boards. Then he set up the camera and switched it on. It was motion sensitive, so would only record when someone was in the room, thus saving its batteries. With luck they wouldn't need to be replaced for a month. Of course, the tape would have to be removed every now and then.

Lamont nearly strained his neck, bending to squint through the view finder to check the angle. He adjusted it minutely, knowing that Baxter would want as good a view of the shower as possible. To bad there wasn't a way to get under the stall up here so he could shoot down directly into the shower below.

Satisfied, he replaced the boards, carefully refilled the cabinet (though how many people actually noticed how they stacked their towels?), and moved on to the next location in the bedroom. It was a little more work here. He had to move the bed and roll up the carpet to reach the flooring. Once that was done, though, the job went quickly. He wasn't as careful about not damaging the boards as he had been in the bathroom. Judging by the number of dust bunnies, the bed wasn't moved very often.

It was the same in the living room. As long as he was careful to fit the boards back in smoothly, it was doubtful anyone would notice anything amiss. The rugs were old and wrinkled, and covered up a multitude of sins. Including that of voyeurism, he thought whimsically as he re-packed his equipment.

There had still been no call from his assistant by the time he exited the apartment, re-locking it. The risky part of the exercise out of the way, he next went down to the subject's own apartment. He had to check to be sure that the observation holes weren't too obvious.

He'd been right. O'Connel's apartment was the same as her upstair's neighbor's in layout. The only difference was in color scheme and personal items. Lamont usually wasn't curious about his subjects: it didn't pay. But he found this assignment rather interesting. It was unusual to be working on group observations. This was only the third time he'd done it, and it was the second time for the same man: Stephen Baxter. The only separate incident had been when a small software company had hired him to keep tabs on a development team when they thought someone was leaking information to a rival firm, and that had been more-or-less simple tailing and wiretapping.

O'Connel's locks, plural, were a little more difficult. He had to work almost two minutes to get them open and he was worried for a second that he was going to leave some tell-tale scratches. If he had, a little metal polish would probably have taken care of it, but he hated to do sloppy work.

Inside he turned on all the lights and examined his handiwork. Even knowing where to look he had to search for the three holes. The only one he was really worried about was the one that was directly over her bed (and it was a good thing she hadn't decided to get creative and rearrange her furniture). Still, the overhead light in the bedroom was burned out, meaning that she was operating with only a bedside lamp. Even if she got ambitious and changed the lightbulb soon, chances were that she wouldn't see the hole. And if she did, chances were she'd just put it down to the building deteriorating. After all, he thought, smiling, it isn't as if someone's going to install spy cameras to keep track of a thirty-something records clerk, is it?

There was a little dust and a few wood crumbs on the bed sheet, and on the floor in the living room and bathroom. He located a dustpan and whisk broom in her kitchen cabinet and cleaned them up neatly, then flushed them down the toilet before returning the cleaning utensils to their proper place. Lamont went through the apartment turning lights back off, and left, re-locking the door again.

He whistled all the way back to the van. The pictures should be developed by the time he got back to the office, and ready to be sent to Baxter. All in all, it had been a good day.

Mrs. Hollachuck popped her head into Mina's cubicle just as she was shutting down her computer for the day. "Mina, Mr. Baxter has sent a message to you."

Such a mingling of awe and disbelief, Mrs. H. You sound like Jesus himself just came down to prove the virgin birth to you in person. "Yes?"

"He's a bit delayed, and he asks that you go up to his office to wait for him."

Mina nodded and stood up, gathering her purse. She could see the curiosity eating away at the older woman. Oh, go ahead. Ask. You know you want to.

She finally broke down. "Mina, is this work related? If it is, I should know about it, since you're under my supervision."

"No, it's not really work related." She kept her voice casual. "I mean, aside from the fact that he's giving me rides too and from work till my car gets repaired." Oh, that was WORTH giving up a bit of personal information. Just look at her eyes bulge.

"Mina, Stephen Honeywell Baxter is chauffeuring you?"

"Um, no. Actually it's his chauffeur who's chauffeuring me. Mr. Baxter just sits in the back with me." Hollachuck was blocking the doorway, and Mina stood in front of her, bag in hand, waiting. The supervisor finally got the message and moved aside, watching Mina with fresh interest as she slipped into her coat.

Mina rode up to the top floor. She'd never been there. It was Baxter's private suite of offices: there had been no reason for her to venture that far.

The room that the elevator opened on looked more like a posh hotel lobby than a business office. Though it was still lighted, it seemed completely deserted. Well, it WAS a little late. She took a few steps in, peering around. There were comfortable groupings of chairs and love seats. Perhaps she should take a seat and wait.

While she was considering this a thin, fussy looking man bustled out of a corridor at the back. He spotted her, hesitated, and came forward. He eyed her in a manner slightly more welcoming than the doorman at an exclusive hotel watching an approaching wino. "You would be Miss O'Connel?"

No would be about it, sport. I'm the genuine article. "Yes, I am."

He nodded. "Mr. Baxter is expecting you. If you'll follow me?"

"I can wait for him out here." Mina didn't like going into unfamiliar territory.

The man frowned slightly. His tone was still polite, but firm. "Mr. Baxter said to bring you back at once. Please."

Or you drag me by my hair? You could try. It might be fun to kick your skinny ass. "Certainly." Someone has a little more power than is strictly good for them, I think.

She followed him back into the floor, all the way to the back. They came to a heavy, dark door. The other doors they had passed had all born brass nameplates, but this one was unmarked. Hm. I guess he doesn't feel the need to set himself apart. He's important enough that anyone who needs to know, knows exactly where he is. That kind of quiet self-confidence was just the tiniest bit intimidating.

Her guide knocked discreetly. Mina was expecting someone to call out for them to enter. Instead the door was opened by Dominic. His eyes flicked disinterestedly over the man to rest on Mina, and he smiled. "Hey! He won't be much longer. Come on in." He looked at the other man. "Donald, move your butt so the lady can pass. He won't be needing you any more today."

Donald stepped aside, tugging at his vest in frustration. He looked like he really wanted to say something. Whether or not he actually would have, the decision was taken away when Mina entered the room and Dominic more or less shut the door in his face.

The office was smaller than she would have expected for such an important man, but she supposed the wall of windows behind the desk made up for the lack of space. The view of the city was breathtaking.

Stephen Baxter was at the desk, his back to the magnificent view, sorting through a thick pile of glossy black and white photographs. He glanced up. "Good evening, Miss O'Connel. I am sorry to keep you waiting like this. I'm afraid I became engrossed in the photos for our new in-house magazine. There are several here of you, I believe."

"Yes. The photographer was by earlier."

"You don't sound too pleased." He tapped the photos into a neat pile and slid them into a manila envelope.

She watched as he laid the envelope in the open briefcase on the desk before him. I'm not sure I like the ideas of photographs of myself just floating around out there. "He startled me. His candid pictures are a wee bit too candid."

"I'm sorry if it startled you. I'll be sure to have him be more discreet."

"There's going to be more?" She couldn't keep the hint of annoyance out of her voice.

"Of course. This is going to be an ongoing venture, and today was only the first tentative step. It will take some time before we achieve the results I want." He looked at her. "You don't mind, do you?"

Oh, Christ! How am I supposed to answer that honestly without sounding like a touchy bitch. "No, of course not. It's just... If I had known I would have dressed a little more nicely." No, I wouldn't have, but maybe you'll give us more warning next time.

What a little liar you are. "That would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? I want you in all your natural splendor." When she blinked, he smiled. "All of my employees, just as they are, day to day. I have one more paper to read before I sign it. Please, have a seat. Dominic, get Miss O'Connel a drink." She started to refuse and he said, "You're not a teetotaler, I hope? There's nothing wrong with abstinence, but I do like to think of people enjoying a few small comforts now and again."

And now I'll look like a bitch if I refuse. No wonder you're a success at business. You're damn good at manipulation. Still, there ought to be some way to get out of it. As she sat on a small love seat she said, "I'm afraid I can't handle the taste of straight alcohol."

Dominic was pulling bottles from a small refrigerator that had been concealed behind a wall panel. "No problem. Collins okay? You can hardly object to a little fortified lemonade."

"That would be... fine." Shit. Out bluffed.

In a moment he brought her the glass, and she accepted it with murmured thanks. "Don't mention it." Then he sat beside her.

As she sipped the drink she though, There must be almost a dozen seats in this place, and you have to park it right next to me? She glanced over and caught his slightly smug smile. Why, you jerk. You did that deliberately. You know it's making me uncomfortable. I wonder if I could get away with upending this thing in your lap? I suppose I shouldn't. If for no other reason than the fact that I might accidentally get some on myself.

There was a few minutes of silence. Mina concentrated on her drink, which was actually pretty tasty. She stiffened a little when Dominic laid an arm across the back of the love seat, behind her shoulders. But it stayed decorously in place. Finally Stephan drew a pen from his jacket and signed the document, then laid it into the briefcase before closing it. Mina kept her face blank, but she was thinking, If you were going to take the thing home with you, why the hell was it so important for us to wait around up here for you to read the darn thing? I swear, tycoons!

Dominic arose immediately and held out his hand. "I'll get rid of that for you."

He took the glass into a small side room while Stephen got up and took the briefcase. "All done. I apologize once again for keeping you waiting."

"No problem."

She followed him to the front of the office, where he opened a closet and retrieved his coat. As he slipped into it, he frowned. "Miss O'Connel, is that all the wrap you wore today?"

Mina looked down at her coat. "Yes."

"It's rather thin."

It was actually a treated canvas raincoat, but it was all Mina had. Usually it was enough, since the area was fairly temperate. Lately it had been rather chilly, though. "It's what I have," she said bluntly.

He made a humming noise as Dominic joined them. "Dominic, run down ahead of us and have the heater on when we get there, would you? We don't want Miss O'Connel to take a chill." The young man nodded and left, hurrying down the corridor with rapid strides, and they started after him.

"That isn't necessary."

"Nonsense. What kind of a boss would I be if I didn't look after your welfare." As they rode down in the elevator, Stephen suddenly said, "Miss O'Connel, do you have a steady gentleman friend?"

She blinked, and barely escaped gaping. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, I know it's terribly intrusive, but I just wanted to know before I asked you out. I'd hate to cause you any trouble with your young man." When she didn't answer he said, "I rather thought you might be unattached, given your response to Mr. Turner. Most women who were in a relationship would have told him to desist if he didn't want to deal with their boyfriend."

She considered lying, but he might ask her who her boyfriend was, and then she'd have to make up a name, and it just got so complicated. "No, I'm not involved with anyone. I don't date."

"Good, then I won't be apprehensive about asking you to have dinner with me tonight."

Now she almost did gape. I just said I don't date...

He was continuing. "I know that it's dreadfully short notice, but it isn't as if it's actually a date. I had forgotten that I had a reservation at Toulouse for tonight." He checked his watch. "It's for only a few minutes from now, and I really can't make it if I run you to your apartment first. You need to eat, so why not come with me?"

"Well, for one reason, I have approximately sixty-four cents in my purse right now."

"Please, Miss O'Connel!" He sounded scandalized. "I'm asking you. Of course I'll pay."

Mina thought. Toulouse was a four star restaurant that had been written up in Bon Appetite and Gourmet magazines. Rumor had it that reservations were hard to come by unless your name was on a short list. When was she ever going to get a chance at a free meal somewhere like that? And, like he'd said, it could hardly be considered a date. "All right."

"Splendid. You won't regret it."

She didn't. Dominic dropped them off, and it was worth it just to see the look on the maitre de's face when they took her coat and got a look at her office wear. It was hard not to laugh, seeing how he had to fight to keep a grimace off his face at he took in the entire oatmeal-colored, synthetic blend, clearance sale ensemble. Her judgement of Baxter's influence in the world was confirmed when not a word was said, and they were shown to what was obviously a good table.

She resisted ordering the most expensive items on the menu, mainly because they didn't actually appeal to her, and the meal still ended up costing enough for her to have bought groceries enough for a week. She'd never been much of a wine drinker, but the waiter kept filling her glass, and she ended up drinking more than she had intended. Even with the full meal, after the wine and cocktail earlier she was a little tipsy when Dominic picked them up. Ah, well, it was Friday night, and she didn't have to be in to work the next day. One of the few perks of the job was weekends free.

This time Dominic not only opened her door for her, he insisted on walking her up to her apartment. When she tried to demure Baxter had said, "Please, Miss O'Connel. This isn't the best of neighborhoods. I'll feel much more comfortable if you allow Dominic to escort you."

She accepted as graciously as she could. It was sensible, really. The neighborhood really wasn't all that secure, and she usually tried to avoid being out after dark.

In the elevator Dominic pushed two, and she said, "How did you know what floor I needed?"

He shrugged. "I've watched you get out of that elevator a couple of times in the morning, haven't I? It had to be either two or three. I guessed right." As the doors slid shut he said, "You have a good time tonight?"

Why does everybody want to know my business? I guess he's just making small talk. "Yes." She paused. I'd better say something else, I suppose. "He's very nice."

"Yeah, he's all right." There was a moment of quiet as the car gave its first lurching heave upward. Then Dominic turned toward her and said quietly, "I'm nice, too."

She regarded him warily. She didn't particularly like that smile. "I'm sure you are."

He took a step toward her, leaning forward. "No, I'm REALLY nice. I could show you."

Her heart was suddenly thumping heavily. Oh, shit. He's coming on to me. Don't panic, O'Connel. He's bored, he decided to tease you. He's just Baxter's gofer, not a street thug, and you're almost home. He has to go right back out. "No, thank you."

He grinned, and suddenly all the arguments for his harmlessness seemed much less convincing. "My, aren't you polite. Tell me, do you say please and thank you when you're getting screwed?"

The sudden crudity was shocking, but it slapped her into a more decisive response. "You'll never know," she snapped. The doors slid open and she hurried out, digging in her purse for the keys. Shit! He's following me! Her heart was hammering now.

She paused at her door, key in hand, and turned back to face him. He halted a few feet away, still smiling. "Get back in the elevator."

"I'm supposed to see you to your door."

"That's my door. I'm here, and I'm not unlocking it until you're on that elevator and started back down."

His eyes were suddenly wide and innocent. It would have worked better if he hadn't been smirking. "Why Mina..."

Oh, no more Miss O'Connel, huh?

"...you sound as if you don't trust me. But I can understand. A woman can't be too careful." He started to back away. "I'll just see you Monday, then."

Monday? "My car..."

"I found a pump. Should have it by then. You might even be able to drive it home Monday evening." He was entering the elevator. One last cheeky smile. "But I wouldn't set my heart on it."

As the elevator started down she unlocked her door, finding that her hand was trembling just a little. Inside she quickly re-fastened all the locks, then leaned against the door for a moment. "What the fuck was that all about?"

Maybe I over reacted, she thought, going into her bedroom and starting to strip. I am a little sloshed. I guess women everywhere deal with that sort of thing or worse every day. But it was just so out of the blue.

She struggled into her sleep shirt, then went into the bathroom. Just inside the tiny room she paused, then swore softly. The light was out, and she didn't have any spare bulbs. It wasn't likely she'd be able to get to the store tomorrow, either, unless she paid the outlandish prices they charged at the convenience store on the corner.

Maybe it's a short, she thought hopefully, reaching for the switch. If I flick it off and on, maybe it'll catch, and... She snapped the switch, and the room was flooded with light. Mina stood for a moment, blinking in surprised, then looked at the switch. On. It had been off? She frowned, muttering, "I left it on this morning, didn't I? I'm pretty sure..." Eventually she shrugged. At least it wasn't burned out.

She brushed her teeth, then tore off a section of tissue to blow her nose. She dropped it in the toilet and flushed, then quickly leaned over to take a better look. Something had caught her eye, something swirling in the water. That had looked like... What? It had been tiny, no bigger than a cornflake, but it was out of place. She knew her home turf pretty well, and she couldn't think of any reason for something like that to be in her toilet. But by the time she focused the water was down the drain, and fresh was gurgling back up.

She sighed. Mina, you're drunker than you thought. Now you're seeing things in your toilet bowl. Go to sleep.

Dominic trotted out to the car and got in, pulling away from the curb. They rode in silence for a few moments, the Stephen said, "How did she react?"

Dominic laughed. "She wasn't as diplomatic with me as she is with the rest of the world. I got it worse than old Rent-a-Cop. I asked her if she was always that polite, even when she was screwing, and she told me, 'You'll never know.'" He looked at Stephen in the rearview mirror. "But she might be mistaken about that, huh, boss?"

Stephen settled back, musing over the evening. "The possibility is stronger and stronger, Dominic."