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Temporary Insanity
"It's a closed club," the Captain said. "One can't exactly counterfeit membership in the Hypersociety. And we haven't even been able to plant people in as servants or secretaries. Their security is too good. Perhaps better than ours."

Detective Cissy Grey nodded. "They're a paranoid bunch, sir," she said. "But what's that got to do with me?"

"We can get you in," the Captain said. "Under the right circumstances. Ever heard of Francis Dowling?"

Who hadn't. "Megatech Industries," she said.

"Among other things." His phone chirped. "Excuse me."

While he was busy Cissy walked to an unused console and called up Francis Dowling. 45, divorced, decent looking. Ten years older than she and a million miles out of her league.

"He wants you as his paramour," the Captain said. Cissy jumped. Her mind must have wandered and that wasn't like her. "You're kidding," she said.

"No, I'm not."

"A mistress? He wants me as a mistress?"

"Apparently."

"But why me?"

"Because his filter pulled you out of our data base."

She got this creepy feeling. This wasn't supposed to be happening. "You let his algorithms go shopping in our confidential personnel files?"

"You have to give something to get something," the Captain said. "As his girl friend you'll be able to mingle. Snoop. Things we haven't had the freedom to do before."

"All I have to do is give my body for the cause," she said.

The Captain's look was somewhere between annoyed and apologetic. "Of course you have every right to refuse," he said.

Of course. If she wanted to stop her career dead in its tracks. Cissy was on the fast track for promotion, and all she'd have to do to derail it was refuse to volunteer. "I know how it works," she said. "I won't disappoint you."

"Good girl," the Captain said.

Cissy looked at the picture of Francis Dowling. She could almost swear that the damn thing winked.

---oOo---
She wore a sleeveless black dress, tight-fitting but slit up the side for ease of motion. She paced nervously, wondering if he would like her. Wondering if she would like him. Wondering whether that would make things easier or harder. More or less moral. More or less defensible. Her door chimed and she jumped.

He was at her door smiling, calm, confident, and carrying a small flat box. "Miss Grey," he said. "So glad to meet you."

"Cissy," she said. "Come in for a minute. I'll just get my purse." She could feel his gaze linger on her curves.

"Frank," he said. "I don't like Francis much. It sounds a bit. Oh dear. Do excuse me."

She cracked up. "You were about to say 'sissy.' My name is a bit odd for a cop. Blame my mother. She thought it was cute. She was a bit of a flake." He was studying her walls. Her paintings. It made her feel nervous, as she had felt when he studied her.

"These are lovely," he said. "What you do with the human form is breathtaking. Do you mind criticism?"