After Midnight (13 page)

“I was thinking the same thing,” she confessed shyly.

His fingers gently caressed hers. “Where do you go to school?”

“University of Tennessee at Knoxville,” she said. “But I'm off this summer, so I've been hanging around with some friends who study archaeology locally. I'm a senior at the university. I graduate next spring.”

“Then maybe I'll see you at graduation, college girl,” he said unexpectedly.

Her expression was very still, and he dropped her hand.

“I'd stand out too much, wouldn't I?” he asked curtly, turning on his heel.

“You bigot!” she exclaimed, picking up a small dead limb and heaving it at his back. “You take offense without any provocation whatsoever, you bristle before you even ask questions, you…you…!” She found another limb.

He moved suddenly with the kind of speed that usually caught people off guard because his normal movements were so calculatedly slow. He gripped her wrist before she could throw the limb. “Not nice,” he chided. “Don't throw things.”

“It isn't a thing, it's a tree limb,” she pointed out, struggling against his strength. “Let go my wrist!”

“Not on your life.” He took the limb away effortlessly, but he didn't release her arm.

She stared up into his eyes with resignation and
faint excitement. He was very strong. “I would be honored if you came to my graduation, even if you came just as you are now,” she said curtly. “I have friends of all colors and cultures, and it doesn't embarrass either me or my family to be seen with them!”

“I beg your pardon,” he said genuinely.

“So you should!” she muttered.

“You kick vehicles with flat tires, you throw things at men…what other bad habits do you have, besides that nasty mouth?”

“It takes a few bad words to show a flat tire you mean business!”

He smiled. “Does it, really?”

“You don't curse. Not in your own tongue,” she said smugly, surprising him. “I haven't come across a Native American language yet that contains nasty words.”

“We don't need them to express ourselves,” he said with a superior smile.

“Well, stand me in the rain and call me an umbrella!” she said, tongue in cheek.

“No time,” he returned. He let go of her wrist and turned. “I'll drop you off at a garage. You'll need help changing that tire.”

“You aren't going to offer to help?”

“I can't change a tire,” he said matter-of-factly. “I was one of the last guys to serve in Vietnam, when they were evacuating refugees. I caught a
burst of shrapnel in the shoulder. It did some damage. It doesn't slow me down, but I can't lift much.”

She winced. “Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound that way,” she said miserably. “I keep putting my foot in my mouth.”

“Pretty little feet,” he mused, staring down at them. “Boots suit them.”

She smiled. “You aren't angry?”

He shook his head. “Come on.”

He drove her to the garage nearest her Bronco and waited until she came around to his side of the car to tell him she was going back out with the mechanic.

“Thanks a lot,” she told him.

He shrugged. “My pleasure.”

She hesitated, but there wasn't really anything else to say. With a funny little smile, she waved and ran back to the waiting mechanic. Cortez forced his eyes away from her and drove on without a backward glance. He was already working on the proof he'd need to have Lombard and his company cited for violation of the environmental laws.

 

Nikki was sitting in the living room when Kane's friend Jake came to see him. Jake's eyebrows lifted, but he smiled when Kane introduced her only as “Nikki.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said politely. “Uh, Kane, I need to see you for a minute outside.”

“Sure. Excuse me, Nikki.” He left her on the sofa, wrapped up in her white chenille robe, and followed Jake out. It was hot today. Both men were in shorts, although Kane's legs were much better suited to them than his friend.

“Well, what is it?” Kane asked.

“I've got to replace the radio,” he told the older man. “It's almost gone. I had an estimate on repairing it, but it's going to be less expensive in the long run just to replace it. Is it all right if I order that one we looked at and have it expressed down here?”

“Go ahead,” Kane invited. “I have plans for her weekend after next.” He glanced back toward the house, his face happier than Jake had seen it in months. “I thought I might take Nikki out on her.”

Jake cleared his throat. “I guess you know your own mind, and I'm not one to interfere. But is it wise?”

Kane scowled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, she is your worst enemy's sister, isn't she? I would have thought that you wouldn't want to give Seymour any intimate glimpses into your life.”

A big hand shot out and caught Jake's upper arm with bruising strength. “Seymour's sister?”

Jake nodded. “That's who she is, Nicole Seymour. My daughter is married to a senator from Virginia, remember. She and Nikki are casual friends and she's got photos of her. She's a dish, isn't she?”

Kane was feeling betrayed. He honestly hadn't had a clue who Nikki was. But if he knew her identity now…did she know his? He needed to find out. Afterward, whether she did or not, he had to get her out of his life and fast. He couldn't afford any connection whatsoever to his worst enemy.

“And to top it all off, she's a Republican,” he said aloud.

“You win a few, you lose a few,” Jake said philosophically. “Sorry to tell you about her, but you had to know sometime.”

“Yes. I did.” A hollow feeling claimed Kane as he dismissed Jake and walked back into the house. Nikki sat watching him with wide, curious eyes. Had she ever planned to tell him, he wondered. Or did she really not know who he was?

“We need a new radio on the boat,” he told her, wary and curious now.

“Oh, I see.” She smiled at him. “I really need to get back to my own cottage. I'm much better now, and I need to make a telephone call,” she said. “I…my friend might come looking for me if he tries to phone me and I'm not there.”

Kane's dark eyes narrowed. “What is your
friend, a mob hit man?” he asked slowly, trying to draw her out.

“Oh, nothing like that,” she said.

“You never did tell me. Is he impotent or gay?”

Her eyes fell. “Neither,” she said, and clammed up.

His eyes narrowed as he stirred his coffee. It was beginning to make sense, like puzzle pieces suddenly fitting. “The man who owns that house, are you related to him by any chance?”

Her expression told him what he wanted to know. Her brother. Her brother Clayton Seymour owned it. He wanted to curse her for making him vulnerable, when she had to know there was no possible chance for them.

“You're very curious about him,” she managed.

“Suppose you call him from here and have him come up?” he asked. “I'd like to meet him.”

“I couldn't possibly do that!” she said, flushing. “He's…I mean, he's very busy!”

Of course he was, Kane thought with venom. He was busy trying to take Kane down so that he wouldn't have to lose the election to their candidate. He was so angry that he only just controlled it. Nikki knew who he was. She'd probably known ever since he washed up on her beach.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked coolly.

She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I do,” she replied honestly. “But I can't.”

He made an angry sound. She was getting under his skin. The longer he was around her, the more he wanted her. But his need was choked by the knowledge of her identity. It had to end here and now.

“You're very quiet,” she pointed out.

He finished his coffee. “I have to get back to work,” he said, averting his eyes. “I've been on holiday long enough.”

Besides, he didn't dare tell her the real reason he had to get home. Not when her brother was going over his waste control methods with a magnifying glass. He faced a real challenge now. He had to get to the bottom of what could become a scandal if his idiot employee had engaged some guy with a pickup truck to haul off his industrial waste and dump it in a river somewhere. Once he hadn't believed that people could be so naive as to think they wouldn't be caught. Now he knew better. Wouldn't Seymour just love catching Lombard International with its hand in the toxic waste?

Nikki was thinking that she needed to go back to Charleston herself. She wasn't really feeling well enough to stay here by herself and he couldn't expect Kane to take care of her indefinitely.

“If you could drop me back by the beach house,” she asked again.

His eyes lifted. “Certainly,” he said formally. “Will he come and take care of you if I do?”

“He'll be there in a minute, as soon as he knows,” she replied, wondering at his sudden, stark change of attitude toward her.

“In that case, I'll have my housekeeper get your things together,” he said abruptly, and left her sitting there alone. She didn't move for several minutes, too shocked and hurt by his coolness to think rationally.

 

Half an hour later, she was back in the beach house, sitting on the sofa and gasping for breath. Pneumonia made the smallest walk feel like mountain-climbing, although she was no longer feverish and her chest was slowly clearing.

“If he doesn't come, telephone the house,” Kane said, sounding as if the words were being dragged out of him.

“I won't need to, but thanks for the offer.”

He stood over her in white linen slacks and a yellow knit shirt, looking very handsome. “It wouldn't work out,” he told her.

She smiled sadly. “I knew that from the beginning,” she confided. “But some things are very difficult to resist. You must know that you're devastating at close range.”

“So I've been told.” His eyes narrowed. She was full of secrets and he couldn't find out even
one. “The man who couldn't—did you love him?” he asked bluntly.

“Yes,” she said, her voice faintly husky. She looked up unguardedly, and the pain in her eyes was briefly visible. “I loved him more than my own life.”

“Didn't he even offer to have therapy?” he persisted.

She laughed coldly. “What good would that have done? You don't need therapy just because you can't feel desire for someone who loves you.”

Her pain disturbed him. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but that was out of the question now. She hadn't trusted him. He couldn't get past that.

“How long ago was it?” he asked.

“Years and years. I've mostly avoided men until now.” She glanced at him. “Don't worry, I'm not fixated on you,” she added when she saw his expression. “I'm not going to dive off the roof or anything when you leave. I hope I didn't shock you. It's always best to be honest,” she said, and felt a twinge of guilt because she hadn't been. But he was hardly likely to ever find that out.

“Yes, it is best to be honest,” he said with involuntary anger as he studied her. “But most people don't know how to tell the truth.” He averted his angry eyes from her flushed face and looked
around the room. “Can I get you anything before I go?”

“No, I'm fine. Thanks again for taking care of me, Kane. I won't forget you.”

“I won't forget you, either. Get well, Nikki,” he said pleasantly. “I'm glad I met you.”

“The same goes for me. Goodbye, Kane.”

He searched her face as if he wanted to memorize it. Then he smiled mockingly, and left. Nikki stared after him for a long time. She knew she'd done the right thing, especially for Clayton, but it didn't feel noble. It hurt. So did Kane's very cold attitude toward her. He didn't know who she was; it couldn't be that. Perhaps it was just that he didn't want to feel anything for her beyond physical attraction. Whatever his reasoning, he'd just killed any possibility of a future for them.

She lifted the receiver on the telephone by the sofa and dialed Clayton's number. It would be good to get back to Charleston, she told herself. And she could hardly stay here in her present condition.

S
enator Mosby Torrance's aide John Haralson drove out to Pirate's Marsh the following day in his gray BMW. He was at the tail end of a convoy that combined local media with a team of EPA investigators, Cortez, and a shocked public health official.

“This marsh is practically in the Edisto River,” the public health official gasped. “What is that?” he persisted as the investigators got the barrel out of the marsh and began to inspect it.

“Paint solvent,” one said curtly, rubbing his gloved hand over the muck to read the stenciled legend on it. “Lombard, Incorporated,” he added shortly. “Here's another one—antifreeze. And another, full of motor oil. Of all the cheap…there are provisions for disposal of substances like this.
Why, why, would he pay someone to dump it here instead?”

“To cut costs, of course. A man with a truck is plenty cheaper than an outfit qualified to handle toxic waste.”

“Hold it right there and let me get a shot of it,” one of the print media reporters called. He snapped the picture, including two dead water birds floating on the surface, waited for the film to advance automatically and took three more. The broadcast journalists were rolling their own videocameras furiously. “That should do it. Do you think this will make a case?” he asked the environmental people.

“Indeed it will,” one of them commented.

Haralson dragged Cortez aside. He was wiping away sweat as he glared at the Comanche. “Busybody,” he told his friend. “I didn't want to release this to EPD and the local newspapers and TV people until I had time to write a statement giving Seymour the credit!”

“Go to it. There's still time. And you'll never get a better opportunity than this,” Cortez pointed out. “As to reporting what I found, I work for the federal government,” Cortez reminded him. He produced his wallet. “See? I have a badge.”

Haralson was thinking ahead. “This will be all over the state by morning.”

“I do hope so,” Cortez said easily. “A man who dumps this sort of garbage in a wildlife area
should be drawn and quartered by the media, along with the people who hired him to do it!”

Haralson whipped out his pad and began to take down what he was gong to say. This was a heavensent opportunity, and it was going to stand Clayton Seymour in excellent stead with local voters. He began to smile.

“You must have proof of a connection,” he mumbled jubilantly to Cortez. There was something in Haralson's eyes. Something Cortez almost questioned.

“I wouldn't have called all these people if I hadn't,” Cortez said, gesturing as the EPD people pulled yet another drum out of the marsh. “I can tie these tire treads to one of Burke's trucks, and one of Burke's own employees told me about the site.”

“This is one excellent piece of investigation.”

“Of course it is. I work for the…”

“…government!” Haralson chuckled. “Yes, I know. You eat, drink and sleep the job. How could I have forgotten?!”

“Think how well this is going to work out. Sam Hewett will lose the attention of his senior aide, Norman Lombard, with Kane Lombard fighting the environmental people. Seymour will win the election, Lombard will be prosecuted for environmental homicide, and Burke will be spending years as someone's girlfriend at Leavenworth.”

“You're right. It's going to work out very well indeed. I'll just get this release over to the press and wait for results. Now that we've got Lombard on the run, maybe we're safe.”

“What was that?” Cortez asked curiously.

“Nothing,” Haralson said. “Nothing at all. Thanks for your help.”

“Thanks for selling me the gold piece. See you back in D.C.”

“Yeah. Sure. Think nothing of it.” Haralson was already walking away, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he bent his head to light a cigar. Cortez, watching him, wondered if the man had scruples. Maybe he thought keeping Seymour in office was worth sacrificing any he had left after years as a political insider. This had been so easy. Maybe too easy. His mind locked on it like a dog's jaw on a bone as he watched Haralson. He felt used suddenly, and he didn't like it.

 

Todd Lawson gleaned the situation when he heard the traffic on the CB radio receiver he always carried with him. Something big was going on out at Pirate's Marsh, one CB'er said, and proceeded to elaborate on what had been found. Industrial pollution, and linked to the newest industry in Charleston, Lombard's automobile manufacturing company.

Lawson felt his job passing before his eyes.
He'd tried to warn Kane, but apparently the other man hadn't thought there would be any rush. It was going to be hard to tell him what was going on. Seymour had all the aces this time.

Telling Kane wasn't as bad as Lawson had expected; it was worse. Kane ran out of foul language after the first five minutes of yelling down the telephone receiver at him. Then he got really nasty.

“My God, why didn't you know until now? How did you ever get to be an investigative reporter in the first place?” Kane snarled.

“I tried. I just couldn't get any doors to open for me,” Lawson said quietly. “It was really bad out there,” he added involuntarily. “They ran some footage here a few minutes ago. There are dozens of dead birds strewn around the marsh, and Congressman Seymour called a press conference to denounce you and promise retribution. Senator Mosby Torrance has started forming a committee to investigate…”

“Sweet Jesus,” Kane exploded with something akin to reverence. “I'll kill Burke with my bare hands!”

“Get in line. Yours isn't the only company logo they found out there, although it was the most prominent. Listen, call a press conference of your own while there's still time. Give a statement. Tell people where you were those two days when you
went missing and the solid waste manager changed waste disposal companies.”

Kane hesitated. He suddenly realized that if he did that he would have to tell the world that he'd let himself be knocked out and that a woman had nursed him alone for almost two days. Not only that, he'd have to admit that Nikki had stayed with him alone for three days. He pursed his lips and considered that it would give him some leverage later with Seymour if he needed it. He'd keep Nikki's dark secret, for now. Not that she deserved it, damn her. He could almost hate her for making a fool of him with her deception.

“I won't do that,” Kane told Lawson.

“Why not?”

“Because there's a woman involved,” Kane mused. “And I might need that little tidbit later on. So I won't mention it now.”

“Seymour is going to hound you to death over that marsh,” Lawson pointed out. “You can't sit down and let him crucify you! You could go to jail, for God's sake!”

Kane stared blankly at the other man. “Don't be absurd. I'll have to pay a fine, but it won't amount to more than that.”

“When Senator Torrance gets you in front of a microphone, it sure as hell will,” Lawson said doggedly. He stared at the floor. “Look, let me poke around and see if I can turn up anything fast.
I know there's a link between Torrance and Seymour that we can use. I just have to find it before Seymour gets you to Washington!”

“Go for it,” Kane said heavily. “Lawson…I shouldn't have flown off the handle like that. It's been a hard week.”

“Things will get better. I'll phone you in a couple of days. Sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.”

He hung up and Kane stared down at the telephone, barely seeing it at all. Amazing how much had happened in these few days. He was surprised by the protective instincts that Nikki provoked in him. He could save himself so easily by just mentioning where he was, and the circumstances of his two-day absence. But if he did that, not only would he sacrifice his ace-in-the-hole, he had to consider what it would do to Nikki. She was ill. He couldn't land her in a scandal until she was in fighting shape. Then, though. Yes, by God, she was going to pay for ingratiating herself to him and pumping him for information. God knew what she'd managed to find out from his housekeeper and Jake during her residence. He'd have to grill both of them and make sure. Damn his own blindness! He'd been so attracted to her that he hadn't even considered that she might have ulterior motives.

He forced his mind back onto the problem at hand. Indiscriminate dumping was a long-standing
problem. Many people had been charged with it. He hoped Lawson would turn up something else on Seymour. He didn't relish the thought of having to use Nikki's presence in his life as a weapon against her brother.

 

Derrie was cheerful in the office the next morning, having just heard the news.

“Nice going, boss,” she chuckled.

“Don't thank me, thank Haralson and his friend, Cortez,” Clayton returned, smiling at her as he put down his briefcase in the small office he kept for constituents in Charleston. It was part of a suite of law offices, but he rented a room. It was nicely furnished and very sedate. Everything a congressman's office should be, he thought approvingly. He had another in the state capital. A man couldn't gather too much support, and he had to be accessible everywhere.

“Was he personally responsible, do you think?” Derrie asked. “Mr. Lombard, I mean.”

“What does that matter?” he asked, puzzled.

She frowned. “That doesn't sound like you.”

Clayton sat down and stared at her. “I'm fighting for my political life,” he said slowly, as if he were talking to an idiot. “If I don't get Lombard's back to the wall, his family may discover something about Nikki and Mosby and print it. Can you
imagine in your wildest dreams what that would do to Nikki?”

“Yes, I can,” Derrie said sadly. “But it hardly seems fair to destroy a man's whole life to spare your sister. Mr. Lombard's wife and little boy were killed in a car bombing in Lebanon just last year. He doesn't deserve to be crucified if he's not personally responsible.”

“Of course he's personally responsible. I feel…” He stopped as the telephone rang, picking it up. “Seymour,” he said. “What's that? You've had them blow up some photographs of those dead birds and put them on the placards they carry? Are you sure…okay. Well, listen, don't pay them any more than you have to, we're on a tight budget right now. Okay. You do that. Thanks, Haralson.”

He hung up, a little hesitant about feeling triumphant. Haralson sounded very happy, but Clayton felt a sense of guilt. How absurd. He had to keep Lombard off his back and protect Nikki. This was the best way.

“Well, that should heat things up at Lombard's plant,” he said thoughtfully. He glanced at Derrie. “You might call the local television stations,” he told her. “Tell them we've heard that a group of environmentalists are about to start a picket line at Lombard's plant.”

Derrie was just staring at him, her blue eyes incredulous. “You've paid people to picket him!”

“I haven't. Haralson's taking care of it,” he said stiffly. “He says that by putting Lombard on the defensive, we can protect Nikki and Mosby from any tabloid threat.”

“And you believe him? Clay, this isn't the way!” she cried. “For heaven's sake, this is dirty!”

“And you don't want to soil your lily-white hands?” he chided coldly. She pricked his conscience, brought out his own doubts and fears. He didn't like it.

“What you're doing is against everything I've ever believed in,” she said quietly.

“Do you think you're irreplaceable?” he asked, furious with her scruples, her refusal to obey instructions. “Do you think I keep you on the payroll out of undying love? My God, the only reason you're still working here is because of your typing skills. You're so starchy that you rustle when you walk, Miss Prim! No wonder you can't get dates except with nearsighted acne lepers!”

She felt her chest expanding with incredulous temper. “How dare you!”

“You moralistic little prude, you belong in a convent somewhere,” he continued hotly. “Always defending animals and plants, street people, and the like…Bett said that you're pathetic and she was right. I need someone in this office who
can help me politically, not a far left conservative trying to undermine everything I do!”

“I won't support dishonesty and corruption, thank you very much,” she fired back. “You've changed since you got thick with Mosby Torrance and that Haralson plague of his and Bett Watts. You've convinced yourself that your position is worth anyone else's sacrifice, haven't you, that a little lessening of principles is worth all the prestige and money?”

“I'm protecting my sister, and you know it,” he said angrily.

“No, you aren't. You're protecting yourself against the Democratic challenger and trying to regain the points you lost by sacrificing the spotted owl on the altar of profit.”

“Don't judge me!”

“Oh, I wouldn't dream of it,” she agreed. “Your own conscience will hang you out to dry one day, if Ms. Watts doesn't pin it on the line right next to your manhood!”