Zinnia

Which meant that she had undoubtedly confused passion with love. An understandable mistake for a woman who had never had another lover.

But even if that was true, he would never forget Zinnia's words of love. They had warmed something inside him that had been cold for a very long time. He did not know what would happen if he doused the cheerful blaze. The thought of confronting the chill again was not an inviting one.

He forced his new problems to the side of his attention when he spotted Orrin Chastain sitting alone in a booth. The older man's shoulders were hunched. A scotch-tini sat on the table in front of him.

Nick crossed the heavily carpeted room to join Orrin. The day was winding down and the club bar was beginning to fill with expensively suited members.

The Founders' Club catered to the business and political elite of New Seattle. The heavy, dark, Later Expansion Period decor provided the discreet ambience needed by those who made the kind of decisions that affected the politics and economy of the entire city-state.

As he walked through the room Nick could hear snippets of muffled conversations. They involved a wide variety of topics, but he knew that at the core of each lay the subject of money. It always came down to money, he reflected.

"Hello, Uncle Orrin."

Orrin looked up, startled, when Nick came to a halt beside the table. Belatedly he squared his shoulders. "What in five hells are you doing here?"

"I want to talk to you." Nick slid into the booth on the side opposite Orrin. "I have a question to ask you."

"How did you get into this club?" Orrin cast a disgruntled glance toward the entrance. "It's supposed to be private. Members only."

Nick smiled humorlessly. "I got in the same way everyone else in here did. I bought my way in."

Orrin's jaw clenched. "I don't believe it."

"Want to see my membership card?"

"Goddamn it, I've got a business meeting here in a few minutes."

"How are the talks with your new potential investor going?"

"I have no intention of discussing the future of Chastain, Inc. with you."

Nick shrugged. "Suit yourself." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the gold cuff link he had found in Wilkes's workshop. "Mind telling me where you lost this?"

Orrin's brows jerked in surprise. "That's mine. I've been looking for it. Where the hell did you find it?"

"It was just lying around."

"Give it to me." Orrin held out his hand in an imperious manner. "That is one of my Chastain cuff links. I thought I was going to have to commission a duplicate to replace that one."

Nick closed his fingers around the cufflink. "What happened to my father's set?"

Orrin's face turned an unpleasant shade of purple. "That is none of your concern. The tradition affects only the legitimate branch of the family. Give me that cuff link. It belongs to me. If you don't hand it over, you're no better than a thief."

"I want to know where you lost it."

"I have no idea," Orrin exploded in muffled tones. "I simply noticed that it was missing a few days ago. I'd like to know how you came across it."

"I found it in the house of a man named Alfred Wilkes." Nick watched Orrin's face carefully but there was no flicker of recognition.

"I don't know anyone named Wilkes. Hand it over at once."

Nick slowly uncurled his fingers. He rose to his feet and dropped the cufflink into Orrin's palm. "Thanks, Uncle. As usual, you've been very helpful. I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening."

Orrin's eyes widened in outrage. "What do you mean?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten the annual Founders' Club ball?"

"You're going to attend the charity ball?" Orrin looked shocked. "But it's . . . it's a club affair."

"And as I told you, I'm now a member." Nick smiled thinly. "Brace yourself, Orrin, my side of the Chastain clan is going legit. In another few years no one will even remember that there was a bastard in the family tree. It's amazing how easy it is to rewrite history. If you have the money, that is."

"You can't just buy your way into respectable circles," Orrin sputtered.

"Watch me."

"Why, you . . . you-"

Nick ignored him. He started toward the door without a backward glance. He had gone two strides when he saw Duncan Luttrell enter the bar. There was something about the way Luttrell briefly surveyed the crowd that enabled Nick to make several small connections in one portion of the matrix.

He paused, considering the matter briefly. Then he turned and walked back to the booth were Orrin sat.

"Thought you'd left," Orrin muttered.

"A word of advice, Uncle."

"I don't want your damned advice."

Nick indicated the scotch-tini sitting on the table. "If you're going to do a deal with Luttrell, lay off the alcohol before you start negotiating."

"Now what in blazes are you talking about?"

"Luttrell may look and sound like a nice guy who just happened to get lucky in the computer business, but he didn't build SynIce into the company it is by being a good-natured pushover. He's smart. Very, very smart. And he's nobody's fool."

"Luttrell is a good businessman, I'll grant you that." Orrin's gaze narrowed. "He is also a gentleman, unlike some people I could mention. Take your so-called advice and get out of here."

"Whatever you say, Uncle." Nick turned and started back toward the door. He did not know why he had even bothered to issue the warning. Zinnia would no doubt have some silly explanation involving his so-called family values.

Duncan smiled politely when he made to pass Nick. His eyes held cool speculation. "You're Nick Chastain, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"We've never met personally, although I've been into your casino once or twice. An interesting business you've got there."

"Thanks. It's made me rich."

Duncan looked briefly amused by the tasteless answer. "We seem to be hearing and seeing a lot of you lately in the tabloids. I thought you liked privacy."

"I do," Nick said. "But sometimes one has to make sacrifices in order to get what one wants."

"Very true. I understand you're a new member here."

"That's right." Nick wondered if Duncan would make a crack about the club's declining standards.

"You're seeing a friend of mine, I believe," Duncan said instead. "Zinnia Spring."

Nick was stunned by the rush of fierce protectiveness and possessiveness that slammed through him. He fought down an almost irresistible urge to shove Duncan up against the nearest wall and tell him how things really were between himself and Zinnia. I'm not just seeing her, I'm having an affair with her, you son of a spider-frog. Stay away from her. I don't want you touching her.

Somehow he managed to keep his expression calm and controlled. "Zinnia and I are very close."

"Look, I'll level with you here, Chastain. She's a very nice lady and she's been through a lot. I wouldn't want to see her hurt."

"Zinnia and I understand each other." Nick walked away before Duncan could give him the rest of the lecture. He had enough problems on his hands. He did not want to add a sense of guilt to the matrix.

"The financial aspect? I don't understand, Miss Spring. I thought I mentioned that the University of New Portland funded the Third Expedition."

Newton DeForest's voice was as cheerful as ever on the other end of the line. Zinnia had a vision of him manicuring the tentacles of one of his grotesque plants while he spoke with her.

"Yes, I know," she said. "But I'm wondering about the university's source of funds. A major expedition costs a lot. Was the Third underwritten by a wealthy donor or a corporation?"

"I see what you mean." DeForest sounded thoughtful. "There was very likely corporate money involved. After all, business has a lot to gain from successful exploration trips. Companies often finance expeditions. But any materials on that subject were no doubt destroyed when the records storage facility burned some thirty-four years ago. The aliens are very clever, you know. Very thorough when it comes to covering their tracks."