Night Fever (16 page)

“Yes, I imagine it was. Do you…still love her?” she asked hesitantly.

He shook his head. “It would be a waste, don't you think? Sexual preferences don't change. It wouldn't have worked.”

“I suppose not.” She felt his pain. Her soft hazel eyes searched his hard face, and she wondered at the vulnerability she saw there. “Is that what you meant when you said you knew what kind of woman I was?”

He nodded. “The way you react to me is comforting, Rebecca,” he mused, smiling gently. “At least your responses are normal ones for a woman. I never noticed it until the engagement was past history, but she always seemed to suffer me on the dance floor or anywhere else that called for intimacy. I don't think she could have surrendered to me under any circumstances.”

Becky flushed. This was a kind of plain speaking she'd never experienced. “I see.”

He chuckled. “Embarrased? I don't suppose you've ever discussed such things at home.”

“No,” she replied with a faint smile. “You see, my grandfather is rather old-fashioned. I can talk to Maggie at the office, but not about that sort of thing,” she added.

He studied her with open curiosity. “Did you never get to go on dates?”

She shrugged. “When?” she asked gently. “There were the chores to do—the cooking and cleaning and helping Granddad on the farm. Since last year, I've had to look after him, as well. And Clay…” She broke off, staring down at the tablecloth. “Well, I guess you can imagine how that's complicated things. Now Granddad worries about him, too. Mack's gone broody.” She shook her head. “I used to wonder, you know, if life was this complicated for everybody. The girlfriends I had at school used to talk about their families and about things they did together, but nobody had as many chores as I did. I guess I grew up young.”

“You shouldn't have had to,” he said quietly, feeling anger toward her father for putting her in such a position. “My God, it's too much for one young woman.”

“Not really. I'm used to it, you see. I love them,” she said helplessly, her big hazel eyes searching his. “How do you desert people you love?”

“I wouldn't know,” he replied. His face hardened. “I don't know a lot about love. I live alone. I have for a long time.”

“But, who takes care of you when you get sick or hurt?” she asked suddenly, concerned.

That concern made his teeth clench. “Nobody.”

She smiled at him gently. “I'd look after you, if you did.”

“Becky,” he groaned. He shot back his cuff and looked at his watch. This was getting totally out of hand. “We'd better go. I promised to have you home by midnight.”

Becky got up, flustered. She'd said too much. She should have known how he'd react to being fussed over. She wanted to apologize, but she didn't know what to say, so she said nothing at all.

He paid the check and led her out to the car. He put her inside absently while he tried not to be affected by what she'd said. He couldn't let her go soft on him. It would be the very worst thing that could happen to both of them. He didn't want her on his conscience. He wouldn't ask her out again. He didn't dare.

The house was dark when Rourke pulled up at the front steps. He helped Becky out of the car and escorted her to her door.

“I'm sorry,” she said gently, breaking the silence for the first time since they'd left the nightclub. “I shouldn't have said anything.”

He sighed heavily, looking down at her in the faint light from the full moon. His lean hands framed her face, and she looked so vulnerable, so hurt, that he was driven to comfort her.

“It's all right,” he said softly. His gaze fell to her mouth. He bent, touching his hard lips to hers, and the contact went through his tall body like lightning.

He lifted his mouth just briefly and then nudged her lips with it with faint roughness, biting at them, teasing them. The fires burned high in him. It had been too long since he'd had a woman in his arms. Becky was catching the fallout. He heard her gasp as he teased her soft lips. His fingers speared into the hair at her temples, holding her still. She smelled of flowers, of innocence. She tasted that way, too. It drove him mad.

She gasped and a faint moan escaped her lips as he tugged at her soft lower lip with his teeth and then slowly teased her mouth with his, biting at it, steadily increasing the pressure and the rough contact until her mouth was blindly following his, desperately hungry. She whispered his name pleadingly and reached up to him, on fire with sensation that frightened her even as they took control of her body.

As he felt her give in to him, his hands left her face and slid around her, bringing her body into his so that she could feel the length of him against her. Then the teasing stopped, as his mouth parted hers ruthlessly and ground into it with a pressure that forced her head back into his broad shoulder.

She hadn't been kissed often, and never like this. She was trembling all over as he gave her what her mouth had been begging for. She felt the fierce possession of his lips with aching joy. She breathed in the smoky taste of his mouth, drowned in the unbridled fervor of his kiss. She moaned and reached up to hold him, her mouth answering his in a frenzy of shaken emotion.

He felt her tremble and abruptly drew back. His own breath came roughly as he stared down at her rapt, stunned face. Her wide hazel eyes mirrored the aroused confusion she was feeling. He felt guilty.

“I'm sorry,” he said gently. “I shouldn't have done that.”

“I don't understand,” she whispered, grateful for his hands on her arms, because she was weak enough to slide to the floor without support. Her whole body throbbed.

“Becky, a man kisses a woman like that when he's trying to entice her into bed,” he said heavily. His lean hands slid up and down the soft flesh of her arms. “It was the last way I should have kissed you. I suppose it's been longer than I realized.”

“It's all right,” she said softly.

He let her go slowly, watching her with mingled emotions of his own. His body felt taut and uneasy, but he was going to have to get it under control. Becky wasn't the kind of woman he could satisfy his hungers with. She needed a marrying man, not a confirmed bachelor.

“Thank you for tonight,” she said after a minute. “I enjoyed it very much.”

“I enjoyed it, too. Good night.” He sounded abrupt and not in the best of moods.

She watched him go down the steps with a feeling of loss. He wouldn't be back. She'd overstepped the boundaries of their fragile relationship and brought emotions into it. She knew instinctively that he wouldn't want a woman who could get inside his emotional armor. No, he wouldn't be back.

She watched him get into the car and drive away without even glancing toward her.
Cinderella,
she thought with faint amusement. The clock strikes twelve and the spell dies.

Well, I'm just lucky I didn't turn into a pumpkin, I suppose,
she thought to herself. With a long, hurting sigh, she turned and unlocked the door.

The house was dark and nobody was stirring. She hoped Clay was in bed, and not still out carousing with his slinky girlfriend or his awful male friends. But she'd had one lovely night that she could tuck away in her memory. Maybe it would help get her through the rest of her life.

She went to bed determined not to cry, but she did.

K
ilpatrick brooded all night long, and barely slept. Occasionally on Sundays, he made an attempt to get to church. This morning wasn't one of those times. He'd had two neat scotch whiskeys when he had gotten home the night before, and his head was hurting.

Becky had looked at him with eyes so soft they haunted him. She'd said that she'd take care of him if he got sick. His own eyes closed and he groaned out loud. Even his uncle, who'd cared for him, hadn't been an openly affectionate man. Kilpatrick didn't know how to handle affection. He'd never had to. Becky was changing that, and he couldn't let her. He was totally wrong for such an innocent. He wanted her badly, almost enough to seduce her. He couldn't let that happen. Becky had too many burdens.

He made coffee and drank it while he read the Sunday paper. It was so quiet now that Gus was dead. He missed the dog terribly. Perhaps it would be a good idea to get a puppy. He remembered what Becky had said about a basset hound and smiled. He'd like one. Well, he could do worse than go looking in pet shops. He couldn't take her with him, of course. Odd how that put a damper on his enthusiasm. But he couldn't let her get attached to him. She was so vulnerable, dammit—not the kind of woman who could take an affair in stride.

He put down the paper and pulled out his briefcase, stuffed to the top with briefs he needed to look over before court began the next day. If he was going to brood, he might as well work, he told himself firmly.

Becky dressed to go to church after a long and sleepless night. It was probably just as well that Kilpatrick had walked away without a backward glance, she told herself. It would make her life less complicated. But that didn't make it any easier to swallow.

She knew that Granddad wasn't up to church, and Clay never went, despite her best efforts to encourage him there. But Mack enjoyed Sunday school and he alone was always up and dressed when she went out the door.

With reluctance, she knocked at Clay's door and poked her head around it.

“Keep an eye on Granddad while we're gone, if you can,” she said coolly, noticing that he looked hungover. She wasn't going to ask when he had gotten home.

He raised himself up on one elbow sleepily, glaring at her. “You're a turncoat, Becky,” he accused coldly. “How could you go out with that man after what he did to me?”

She didn't blink an eye. “After what
he
did to
you?
” she asked. “How about what you did to get yourself in trouble—or doesn't that count?”

“If you bring him here again, I'll…!” he began.

“You'll what?” she demanded in a driven tone. “If you don't like the conditions here, you know where the door is. But don't expect me to stand up for you in court a second time. If you leave, I'll be sure to let the juvenile authorities know.”

He actually paled. She'd threatened that once before and she looked determined. He felt sick. The Harrises had him well under their thumbs with what they'd threatened, and his own infatuation with Francine kept him there. He didn't want to lose her or his new wealth, and he sure didn't want Kilpatrick on his neck. But to let the man hang around here was to invite disaster.

“Becky,” he began.

“A ten-year-old boy at Curry Station Elementary died of a coke overdose,” she said, watching his face carefully.

Clay seemed to stop breathing. His face gave nothing away, but there was a flash of pure fear in his eyes and Becky wanted to scream. She'd tried not to believe he had any connection with drug pushing, but that look made her nervous.

“Do you know anything about it?” she demanded.

He looked away. “Why would I? I told you, I don't want to go to jail, Becky.”

She didn't really relax. She couldn't. She just gave him a long look and went out, closing the door.

Mack suddenly appeared behind her. Becky turned to notice that his face was flushed, his eyes wide and troubled. “It was Billy Dennis,” he said. “The boy who died. He was a friend of mine. John Gaines called me while you were gone last night and told me about it.” His eyes lowered. “Billy never hurt anybody. He was a loner. Nobody much liked him, but I did.”

“Oh, Mack,” she said softly.

Mack glanced toward Clay's room and started to speak, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her. He sighed and turned away.

Becky said good-bye to Granddad after she settled him, and she and Mack drove to the small Baptist church she'd attended since childhood. In rural Georgia, Baptist was the predominant church, and had been for over a hundred years. Fire and brimstone rained down from the pulpits of all but the most citified churches, and on Sunday morning, the pews were always full.

Becky loved the little white country church with its tall spire and picturesque setting. But mostly she loved the peace and security she felt inside its spartan walls. Her mother, her grandmother, and her great-grandparents were buried in the graveyard behind the church. One of her cousins had donated a large chunk of the cash it had taken to build the structure, which was over seventy years old. Becky knew that the sense of tradition and continuity that made the rural South so closeknit was part of the reason local residents came to church each Sunday and supported its outreach programs. They might curse their cats and each other during the week, but on Sundays they at least made the effort to reach for a nobler self than they possessed.

“You look very handsome,” Becky told Mack as they climbed out of the car and moved toward the door.

“You, too.” He grinned. He was wearing dress slacks, the only pair he had, with one of his two white shirts and his only tie. He wore sneakers, because they didn't have the money for leather dress shoes.

Becky had on her one white suit, which she wore with a blue knit blouse and faintly scuffed white high heels. Fortunately, nobody here made an issue of how people dressed, or looked down on less fortunate members of the congregation. These were the people who'd come rushing out to the house when Becky's mother died, with plates full of food and offers of help. They were people who lived what they believed in. She felt as much at home here among them as she did in her own living room. Perhaps that was what made church fun, instead of a weekly chore undertaken only for show.

As she listened to the sermon, she thought about Clay and hoped that he wasn't beyond help. She didn't know what to do. Giving in to his threats wouldn't accomplish anything, but what if by refusing she pushed him too far and he wound up in prison? She ground her teeth together. If only she could ask Kilpatrick for help. She'd tried, but her emotions had gotten in the way. Now she was going to have to manage alone, somehow.

Monday morning came all too soon. She'd spent the rest of Sunday cooking and getting everyone's clothes ready for the week and watching television with Mack and Granddad. Clay had been gone when she and Mack returned from church. He didn't come in until late Sunday night, after everyone had gone to bed.

“Are you going to school today?” she asked him coldly as she hustled Mack down the hall.

Clay shrugged. “I guess so,” he said. He looked and sounded subdued. In fact, he was. The child's death had worn on him. He'd never expected anything like that to happen. It was worse than anything he'd ever done before, even if he hadn't given the stuff to the kid. He'd just asked one of the older boys he knew for some tips, and the Dennis boy was known to somebody's younger brother. Bubba had done the actual selling. But Clay couldn't say anything about that without implicating himself, and the Harris boys had already made some nasty threats about what they could do to Clay with their combined testimony. He was well and truly hog-tied, and matters were worse now since Mack had refused flatly to have any part of what they were doing. He'd sweated it out, expecting Mack to tell, but the boy hadn't. But Mack wouldn't even speak to him now, and since the Dennis boy's death, Mack looked at him as if he were some nauseating piece of garbage. It really hurt to have his hero-worshiping little brother hate him. Becky, too, seemed to have stopped caring about him. He was like a whip without a wheel, drifting deeper and deeper toward the shallows and sandbars, with no one he trusted enough to confide in.

Francine had comforted him last night. Don't worry, she'd said, nobody will know you had anything to do with it. But even that hadn't given him peace. He wondered if he was ever going to know it again. He had to go to school because he'd go crazy if he stayed home.

Becky went to her office equally subdued. Granddad had looked a little peaked this morning, and she was worried about him, too. He hadn't said two words about Kilpatrick since Saturday, but that wasn't his usual style, either. He said exactly what he thought, except when he was too sick to care. She hoped he wasn't headed for a relapse.

“Well, how did it go?” Maggie demanded under her breath when Becky walked into the office.

“We had dinner and danced, and it was great fun,” she lied, smiling. She handed the beaded bag and shoes back to Maggie in the paper bag she'd carried them in. “Thanks so much for the loan of those. I was dishy. He said so.”

“I'm glad that you enjoyed yourself. You're entitled to some fun.”

Becky tucked a strand of loose hair back into her bun and straightened her plaid shirtwaist dress. She looked neat and clean, but not spectacular. “This is more my style, I guess—country and fundamental.” She sighed. “Oh, Maggie, why is life so complicated?”

“I'll have to tell you later,” Maggie whispered, nodding toward her boss's office. “He's in a mean mood. Court starts this morning, you know, and he's got two cases—one of them against your friend Kilpatrick. He's boning up on new decisions for all he's worth, but I'll bet Kilpatrick is already two steps ahead of him. He thinks so, too.”

Becky's heart jumped at the sound of Kilpatrick's name, but it wouldn't do to get overenthusiastic. That interlude was over. And grand though it was, she had to live in the real world, not in the dreamy past. She uncovered her typewriter and got to work.

It was late afternoon when Kilpatrick returned from court. He'd handled one case himself that involved drug trafficking, while his colleagues had been parceled off into other courtrooms, prosecuting cases ranging from child molestation to attempted murder. He was tired and out of humor, and it didn't do his temper any good to find Dan Berry waiting for him.

He put his briefcase down beside his desk and stood erect, stretching, his body aching from hours of sitting in one position.

“Well, what is it?” he asked heavily.

Berry got up and closed the door gently. “Something personal,” he replied. “It's about the bomb.”

Kilpatrick sat down on the edge of his desk and lit his cigar. “Shoot.”

“You know I told you Harvey Blair was out of prison and had threatened to waste you when he was released?” he began.

Kilpatrick nodded.

“The state fire marshal's office has traced the timer in the bomb to a local radio parts shop. The owner was a good friend of Blair's, as it turns out.”

“Which doesn't mean that he made the bomb or ordered it made. And most electronics shops carry the makings of a bomb.” He shook his head, his dark brows drawn together in a scowl. He smoked his cigar absently. “No, I think it's old man Harris and his boys. I'm damned near sure of it.”

“You haven't forgotten what I told you about the Cullen boy and his electronics knack?”

“I haven't forgotten. I just don't think he's quite that stupid.”

Berry's eyes narrowed. “Look, we all know you've been seeing the Cullen boy's sister…”

“Which doesn't have a damned thing to do with the way I handle this office,” Kilpatrick said in a hot, angry tone. “I won't turn a blind eye to anything that kid does just because I take his sister out occasionally. If he was involved, I'll prosecute him. All right?”

“All right!” Dan said, saluting. “You've convinced me—honest!”

Kilpatrick glared at him. “And I don't think it's Blair, either. But if it will make you feel better, I'll go by and have a chat with him.”

“Unarmed?” Berry burst out.

Kilpatrick's dark eyes flashed. “He won't off me in broad daylight in his own house. Even Blair has more brains than that.” He got up and checked his watch. “I'll do it now. My next case isn't until morning. Have you done any more checking into the Dennis case?” he asked.

Berry nodded. “I've interviewed several kids who knew him at the elementary school, including a young man named Mack Cullen, who was one of his friends.”

Kilpatrick's jaw clenched.

Berry saw that telltale movement. “You didn't know, I gather? I thought the Cullen woman might have mentioned it.”

He shook his head. “But I'll make a point of asking,” he said, agreeing to something he'd sworn he wouldn't do. He'd promised himself he'd leave Becky alone, but the weekend had dragged by and he missed her company, her smile, the sound of her voice. He'd almost picked up the phone early this morning, but he'd managed enough willpower not to. Now, it seemed that he had a good excuse to satisfy his conscience. His whole mood lightened.