V
Kelly considered calling in sick Monday morning, but figured she should face the tooth-wrenching music and get it over with. During a cathartic subway ride to work, she decided to come clean with Detective Kaine. Armed with copies of the contracts bearing her electronically forged signature and falsified Web pages, she would call Kaine and set up an appointment over her lunch hour. She hoped the good detective with the nail complex would help her cold-cock two birds with one stone by accompanying her to the Enrapture Inc. office in Soho for a face-off with Dr. Karillian.
The blue orb on Jeanette Wilmont's right hand bobbed on the wave of her drumming fingers. Her sallow cheeks stretched tight from her bony jaw. She waited for Kelly to finish explaining why she had come to work covered in cuts and bruises in a little black dress with thin straps and a fancy fringed shawl. Her professional cool cracked apart when she heard Kelly mention the stolen CD. The blue diamond flew up with her hand in frantic gesticulation. "I really don't know what to do with you, Ms. Roy. You are still on probation with this firm, and so far you have proved yourself highly unreliable. This is a very serious matter which I am going to have to take up with the board of directors, and that puts me in a bad position not to mention a very bad mood. Ugh," she grunted in disgust. "This could lead to copyright violations and costly litigation, Ms. Roy. Do you realize that?" The burning question lit the funeral pyre for Kelly's self-esteem.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Wilmont." The tear-gates opened.
"Stop blubbering and get to work on whatever Brad might have. Just get out of my sight." Jeanette Wilmont had long ago sacrificed all womanly sympathies on the altar of cold-hearted corporate gods.
Kelly crept back to her workstation and wept.
"What on earth happened to you?" It was Trisha who was sporting a fiery new do. She touched the soft red curls. "Do you like it?"
Kelly pretended not to be disturbed. "Sure," she sandwiched between two sobs.
Trisha checked around to see if anyone was eaves-dropping. She spoke in low tones. "I heard about your attack." Her hazel eyes hopped across the markings on Kelly's neck and arms. "Must have been terrifying for you."
Kelly drew her shawl to cover what she could of the eye-catching atrocities on her skin. "It surely was, but I put up a fight and chased him off," she lied and recriminated herself for not having proved a better fighter from all that her dearly departed brothers had taught her.
Trisha noticed the NAGA trophy on Kelly's worktable and picked it up. "When did you get this?"
"Saturday for a contest I entered months ago. I thought it might convince Ms. Wilmont I'm not a total loser." She took it from Trisha's hand and sighed.
Out of the corner of her eye, Trisha saw Brad approaching. "If you need to talk," was all she offered in the way of hasty consolation. She greeted Brad and walked back to the secured server room.
"Kelly." Brad dropped her name like a lead plumb. "My office. We need to talk in private."
Kelly followed him to the small room with the park-side view. She sat in the chair in front of his desk and endured his harsh gaze. Her skin crawled with his ogling her exposed injuries. She could not contain her crying for the sight of the lurid grin on his face. "Why are you looking at me like that? Do you think this is funny?"
He pulled some tissue from a box on his desk and passed it to her. "Don't cry, Kelly. I'm just smiling for the fact you're all right."
"Get real," she sassed and blew her nose.
"You're right. I guess I find your getup a little silly. No offense," he rebounded.
"It's all I got to wear. That maniac destroyed everything. I should be getting a new credit card today or tomorrow, so," she settled down with the self-reassurance. "Ms. Wilmont said you had something for me to work on."
"Ah, yes. You can begin by sorting and filing these clippings." He pointed to a cardboard box brimming with glossy images on the floor beside his desk. "The file cabinet's out in the main area. You will note the categories listed on each folder and sort accordingly."
Kelly swallowed bitterly. "You're relegating me to menial clerical work?"
"Don't take it that way. I just don't have anything else at the moment."
"What about that Beverly woman's project?" Why the idea sprang from her head onto her lips was beyond her reason. Her eyebrows perked to the stunned look on his face.
"How do you know about that?"
"I found some of her files on my workstation computer. Looked like a great project. I would be happy to--"
Brad cut her off and made her jump with a slap to the surface of his desk. "I want you to do filing work, is that clear?"
Kelly had pushed a sensitive button. The reins of control had briefly changed into her hands, and she felt good. She stood up, picked up the box, and set out the door in subtle albeit shaky triumph.
During her break, she contacted Detective Kaine via the payphone in the building lobby. The lawwoman said she was indeed available to meet Kelly during her brief lunch hour. When the time arrived, Kelly hastened to the front of the building. As she stood waiting for the detective to arrive, she sensed a presence behind her. She stood to see the blind beggar tapping his white cane behind her. Feeling sorry for his plight, she opened her bag. "Man, you are on a roll with me, Mac. All I got is this fiver." She put it in his cup. Before he could utter his thanks, the plainclothes detective drove up to the curb in the unmarked Chevy Caprice.
"So, Ms. Roy, you told me on the phone you might know who's behind your assault, which could prove very helpful since our investigation has turned up new information as well." Detective Kaine deftly navigated the congested streets of mid-town Manhattan.
Kelly reached into her purse and pulled out a sheaf of folded up papers. She opened them up to read the address to the detective. "If you don't mind, we need to go here and talk with this Dr. Karillian guy. I think he's behind all this, but I don't rightly know how or why."
"Karillian," Kaine repeated and steered southbound. Within a quarter of an hour, they pulled up to the black high-rise building. They rode the steel-lined elevator to the floor where Kelly expected to spot the onyx reception counter. Instead, she saw the psychedelic colors of a hip hair salon. "I don't understand," she murmured.
Detective Kaine asked for the manager who stepped out from a back office. The bald man in the yellow-tinted glasses and pointed goatee assured his visitors in a suave Brazilian accent that his salon had occupied the suite for several years. Before Kelly could react, Detective Kaine pulled her from the scene of inquiry.
