She was aware of the silent, censorious presence at her back. “Anything on the boards this morning?”

“There is nothing, no.”

“All right. Let me know if anything crops up. I’ve got a ton of stuff on my plate here.” Kerry hung up the phone and opened her folder, studying the operations reports run an hour before her arrival. “Mr.

Ankow, you can sit down if you like.” She checked the usage tallies and took out a highlighter, marking several spikes that had run their main systems to almost capacity. “Wow.”

Ankow moved over to peer over her shoulder in a really annoying way. “What is that?”

Kerry dialed a number. “Utilization reports,” she answered absently, as it was picked up. “Mark?”

“Who else?”

“Did you see the U report this morning?”

“The one that made me put analyzers on all three big pipes? That one?”

“Let me know what you find. I bet I’ve got a mailbox full of slow-down complaints.” Kerry sighed as she clicked on her email, and watched Eye of the Storm 163

it open, then fill with line after line of exclamation points. “Oh yeah.”

“Will do.” Mark hung up, and Kerry went back to studying the report, then bent her head as she spotted something.

“Son of a…” She flipped through another few pages, then went to her PC, opened a session and requested information from the big database. She pushed back from her desk and jerked to a halt, almost slamming into Ankow. “Excuse me.”

“What are you doing?”

“Fixing a problem. That’s what I get paid to do.” Kerry glanced up at him. “You can go over there and sit down, or you can stand by the window, but I need to be able to do my job.”

He moved, but only far enough to sit down on the edge of her desk.

“Don’t like being watched, hmm?”

“I don’t like being hovered over, no.” Kerry pulled her fanfold report over and scanned it, then flipped to a center page and tracked a line across the bottom of it. “I knew it.” She dialed Mark back. “Mark?”

“Hey. It takes an hour or so, Kerry.”

“Don’t bother. Check out the job request from Houston. It’s buried in about three layers of subroutines.”

“Huh?” The sound of rapid keystrokes came clearly through the intercom. “What the hell’s that?”

Kerry sat back and folded her arms. “I don’t know. But if I had to give an opinion I’d say it looked like someone was dumping load on the system to stress it.” Her green eyes found Ankow’s face and fastened there. “Why don’t you call Brian up at CLIPC and see who made the request then pull the plug on them?”

“Son of a frigging bitch…”

“And tell CLIPC I want a filter on Houston. No big requests get through without my personal authorization.”

“They’re gonna have a fit.”

“Let them,” Kerry replied. “Make it one way, though. I don’t want Maríana to have a problem transmitting the payroll files later on today.”

“You got it. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll have the checkpoint in place. Good catch, Kerry. I’d have had to wait half the morning for the IP

analysis.”

“No problem.” Kerry pressed the button, then waited, her eyes on her unwelcome visitor. “When I find out who requested that, I’m going to file a formal protest,” she informed him, “for deliberate and malicious endangerment of ongoing business operations. That impacted a lot of customers.”

“Really? Interesting.” Ankow didn’t rise to the bait. He did rise, however, and stroll over to the wall, studying her certifications idly.

Kerry let out a frustrated but silent breath, then turned her attention to her inbox. “If you want to sit down, I’ll just be over here cleaning up that mess.” She opened a blank message and started composing a standard reply to the complaints.

It was going to be a very long morning.


164 Melissa Good CECILIA HELD HERSELF in the dream for as long as she could. It was one she’d had countless times over the years. Memories really, she knew. Ones her mind pulled out of the corners and crevices she’d hidden them in when she had no control over things.

And the waking was the worst, because she could still, half in her dream, feel the close warmth and breathe the scent of him, which would fade as she came closer to waking, fade, and weaken until she opened her eyes.

To nothing. Just an empty spot in the bed next to her and the bleak sunlight coming in the window, silent and harsh.

Reluctantly, she let the world intrude.

But this time, this one morning, the dream refused to loose its clutches on her, and the sense of being surrounded by a strong hold remained, until her confused, sleep fogged mind forced her eyes open into a room overwhelmingly full of her dreams.

Then memory hit with a rush, and she exhaled in pure joy.

It was late. Far later than she usually slept, but considering where she woke up, she couldn’t blame herself one bit. Shy they might be with each other, but after thirty some years of marriage, their bodies had merely waited for their pesky upper brains to slip off to sleep, then cuddled with each other in warm familiarity.

Strange. She’d forgotten, of all things, just how big Andrew was. He surrounded her with a living cradle of long arms and longer legs, and she found herself sleeping with her head on his shoulder and an arm wrapped snugly around him. It was a nice feeling, and one she’d always enjoyed, watching his chest move under her arm as he breathed.

He was thinner than she remembered, but there was still solid power through the broad shoulders and in the arms that were loosely wrapped around her. His face held a terrible record of pain though, outside the scars that her eyes hardly saw now, there were creases etched around his eyes and mouth that made her wince to imagine the prolonged agony that had caused them.

Andy had never been pretty. Ceci gazed at the strong, rugged face.

Just full of character and strength and a powerful sense of self that had attracted her from the very moment she’d seen him.

And still did. Ceci sighed soundlessly, unsurprised when a very blue eyeball appeared and focused on her. “Hey sailor,” she whispered, watching the look of startled surprise chase itself on and off her husband’s face.

His eyebrows twitched, then he relaxed. “Hey there, pretty lady,” he drawled in response, evidently deciding to dispense with any attempt at the half awkward bashfulness of the previous evening.

“Think you stole the covers.”

Andy scowled. “It’s a damn small bed.”

She smiled. “You’re a darn big boy.” She patted his side. “And a very, very, very welcome sight to wake up to.”

“Same here.” He tightened his grip a little. “Do I even wanta know Eye of the Storm 165

how many bells it is?”

“No.”

“S’what I thought.”

Ceci closed her eyes and let her heart float in a happy, lazy peace.

They had plenty of time.

DAR WAS CURLED up in an amazingly small ball for someone her size. She had her eyes closed and her head resting against the couch arm, and was thoroughly, totally, unbelievably miserable. Rather than better, the nausea and cramping had gotten worse, and she’d finally resorted to simply keeping a container next to the couch, in case the violent dry heaves produced anything further.

So far, all they’d gotten her was a mind splitting headache and a very sore body. The television played softly in the background, but she mostly concentrated on taking short, shallow breaths, and wishing she were dead.

Chino was lying on the couch next to her—unusually quiet for the generally rambunctious puppy, as though she sensed her friend wasn’t feeling well. Occasionally, she’d lift her head and give Dar’s ankle a lick, then put her muzzle back down and sigh.

A soft knock came at the door, and Dar groaned. Another knock, then a familiar voice. “Ms. Roberts?”

Oh God. Dar uncurled slightly, enough to give her diaphragm room to expand and sucked in a chancy breath. “C’mon in, Clemente.”

The door opened and the resident services manager poked his head in. “Oh my goodness, you are not feeling well, I can see that.”

Dar merely rolled an eyeball at him.

“I will just drop off these things and be on my way.” Clemente hurried in with a bag and set it on the coffee table. “Let me take them out for you. Is it a stomach virus you have?”

“Yeah.” Dar lifted her head a little. “What is that?”

The earnest Cuban settled on one knee and started unpacking. “Far-macia. We have the stomach medicine and for the nausea and some coca cola. I have some plain broth here, I will put it in the kitchen for you, yes?”

She blinked. “Uh. Sure, sure…wh…Clemente…where did all this come from?”

Clemente paused, looking puzzled. “Ms. Kerry called the market for you. Did you not know?”

Ah. Of course. Stupid me. “Right. Right…great. Just leave it. I’m sure some of it will do something.” A tired smile appeared as more and more items made their way out of the box and piled up on the glass surface.

“She’s thorough, huh?” An affectionate thought winged its way towards her lover.

Clemente looked up. “Yes, ma’am, for sure she most certainly is that.” The resident services manager set everything out, then stood and 166 Melissa Good brushed off his trousers. “I hope you feel better. Give us a call if there is something else you need, yes?”

“A harpoon.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind. Thanks, Clemente.” Dar watched him leave, then turned her head and studied the table. Her body chose that moment to cramp up though, and she grabbed the couch arm, leaning over and holding on until the spasm tapered off. A small, unhappy sound escaped her.