Night Fever (34 page)

“A bodyguard!” Becky gasped.

He nodded. “He and I think it's necessary. We have just the man, too. He works for an old friend of Kilpatrick's uncle. He's sort of…a gardener,” Davis said hesitantly. He looked around at their faces. No. He couldn't bring himself to mention those stupid rumors. “He's fit and tough, though, and he won't let anything happen to you. Will you do it?”

“I can pay for him,” Becky said stubbornly.

“Kilpatrick can pay for him. It was his idea,” Davis said.

“Hush, Becky,” Maggie said gently. “There's a time to give in, and this is it.”

“Good advice,” Davis said, smiling at Maggie.

She smiled back. “Thank you, Counselor.”

“You work for the same firm as Becky, don't you?” Davis asked conversationally.

She nodded. “I've been there a long time.”

“I thought I recognized you. You married Jack Barnes.”

“I divorced Jack Barnes years ago,” she murmured.

Davis's eyes twinkled. “Did you?” He leaned forward. “How do you feel about reptiles?”

Oh, Maggie,
Becky prayed silently,
don't tell him about your pet snake.
She hated seeing her friend go dateless because of her pet preference.

But Maggie couldn't read her mind. She stared at Davis. “Well,” she hesitated, “I'm not too keen on lizards, but I'm crazy about snakes. I've got this baby python…”

“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?!” Davis asked with evident delight.

“I said I like snakes,” she emphasized. “I keep one, right in my own apartment.”

“She does,” Becky said, shivering. “I don't even like to go in there.”

“I have a fifteen-foot python named Henry,” Davis said. “I've had him since he was a baby. We could talk about herpetology.”

Maggie beamed. “We could?!”

“Indeed we could. Are you ready to go? I could drive you home.”

“I brought my own car,” Maggie said hesitantly.

“I'll have it picked up.” He stood up. “I'll be in touch with you as soon as we get any news about the Harrises. Meanwhile, Turk will be here first thing in the morning. He's nice. Feed him a sandwich once in a while and he'll die for you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Becky said reluctantly. “Is Rourke going to come with him?” she asked helplessly.

Davis studied her and smiled to himself. “He might. Take care of yourself. Sorry to steal your dinner guest, but a lady who likes snakes is too rare to pass up.”

“I quite understand,” Becky laughed. She shook his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Davis.”

“My pleasure.”

Granger Cullen got to his feet and extended his own hand. “You ever wrestle?” he asked Davis. “You're sure built for it.”

“I played football for the University of Georgia,” Davis grinned. “But that was some years ago. Law is less strenuous and more fun.”

“Thanks for what you're doing for my grandson,” the old man said.

He searched the wrinkled old eyes, and he didn't smile. “My grandfather went to prison for a crime he didn't commit. He served thirty years before they discovered their mistake—all because he couldn't afford a good attorney. He's why I went into law. I make good money, but I never forget my motivation. Poor people deserve the same chance rich people have. Clay's pretty much a victim in all this, despite his original motives for doing it. I think he's innocent of the charges, and I'm going to prove it.”

“If you ever get in trouble, you can count on me,” the old man said, and meant it.

Davis shook the other man's hand firmly. “That works both ways.”

He smiled at Becky and took Maggie's arm. “Now, about snakes…”

“Thanks for dinner, honey,” Maggie told Becky as she was half led out the door. “I'll see you Monday!”

“Okay. 'Bye.” Becky laughed.

Mack wandered back into the living room, having just spent half an hour on the phone with his friend John. “Who was that in the Lincoln?” he asked with interest.

“Clay's attorney,” Becky told him.

He frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe I'll go into law for a profession,” he said. “After my basketball career is over, of course.”

Becky grinned and hugged him. Despite the worry, things were looking up a little bit.

 

R
OURKE SHOWED UP
early the next morning with a heavyset man who resembled a human basset hound in the face. He had sagging jowls and eyes that betrayed no emotion at all, with heavy eyelids. He was big-boned and a little sluggish, and Becky wondered how in the world he was going to protect any of them, but she smiled and tried to make him welcome.

“This is Turk,” Rourke said, introducing him. “He works for a friend of mine, and he's handy around the house, as well as being one of the best bodyguards in the business.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma'am,” the big man said genially. He smiled, but it fell flat.

“We appreciate your help, Turk,” Becky said. “Have you had lunch?”

“Mr. Kilpatrick bought me a hamburger,” he replied. “I like hamburgers. Do you have a garden?”

“Well, a small one,” she said. “It's grown up pretty badly. It's out back.”

“Do you have a tiller?”

“No, I'm sorry,” she faltered.

“A hoe?”

“Yes, in the barn.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

He went out the back door while Becky stared after him. She looked up at Rourke.

“Are you sure he's a bodyguard?” she asked.

“I'm sure.” He studied her quietly. “Has Davis been out here?”

“Last night,” she said. “What's going on? Do you know?”

“Haven't a clue,” he lied with a straight face. “How's Granddad?”

“He's fine,” she replied. “He's taking a nap. Mack's over at John's. Is it all right for him to do that, with what's going on?”

“As long as Turk walks him home. Call and tell him.”

“Okay.” She did, as Rourke settled himself in an easy chair with his cigar and an ashtray. He looked tired, she thought, and gray hairs were evident in his thick, dark hair. She wondered if he worried about her, and thought that he probably did. After all, she was carrying his child.

She hung up after Mack agreed to wait for the bodyguard and went to sit on the sofa across from Rourke's chair.

“Can I make you some coffee?” she asked gently.

He shook his head. “I'm due back in court at one,” he said. “Why aren't you at work?”

She studied her faded skirt. “I was too sick to go this morning,” she replied. “It doesn't happen often.”

He leaned forward. “If you'd marry me, you could come home.”

“I know your conditions for marriage and I couldn't meet them,” she said stiffly. “Thanks anyway.”

He frowned, and then remembered what he'd said to her, about giving up her family. He started to speak, but this really wasn't the time. He shrugged and stood up. “I have to get back,” he said.

She stood up, too. Her hazel eyes searched his dark ones. “Rourke, why didn't you tell me that you'd talked Mr. Davis into defending Clay?” she asked. “Or that you'd had a hand in paying Granddad's hospital bill?”

His face closed up. “Who told you?” he asked curtly.

She shook her head. “I won't say, but it wasn't Mr. Davis. Why?” she added softly.

He took a draw from the cigar and turned his head to blow out the smoke. “Let's just say that I had a vested interest in Clay, since I inadvertently sent him to jail. Maybe I felt guilty,” he added with a mocking smile. “Leave it at that.”

Her heart sank. She'd hoped that he might admit that he cared about her a little. It was a forlorn hope now.

“Well…thank you, anyway,” she replied formally.

He tucked a lean hand under her chin and lifted her face to his keen eyes. “I don't want gratitude from you.”

“What do you want?” she asked with a harsh laugh. “My body? You've had that.”

His thumb moved gently over her soft mouth. “And that's all I wanted? You're very sure?”

She sighed miserably. “You want the baby,” she added, lowering her eyes to his broad chest.

“At least you give me credit for that. Yes, I want the baby.”

“But not me,” she added fearfully.

“Only if you love me,” he replied. “And that won't happen, will it?” he asked with bitterness in his deep voice. “Because I'm the man who turned in your brother.”

She couldn't deny that. But somehow, even if he was doing his job, it didn't seem in character for Rourke to use information that he obtained by subterfuge. Other men, maybe. But not him. She could only see him using information that he was given.

She searched his dark eyes. “It sounds silly, I guess,” she murmured hesitantly. “But it isn't the kind of thing you'd do, is it?”

His face lost its rigidity. He stared down at her hungrily. “Isn't it, little one?” he asked tenderly, and he smiled.

She reached up with a long sigh and put her hands on his lean cheeks. “Sometimes I think I don't really know you at all. Oh, come here!” she whispered, tugging.

He let her pull his face within reach, and spears of white-hot pleasure went through his powerful body as she kissed him with pure, sweet ardor.

“Becky!” he groaned. His arms contracted and he lifted her against him, savoring the rough kiss until his body protested that he couldn't do that any longer without paying for it.

He let her slide down to the floor, laughing huskily at her expression when she felt the raging force of his arousal.

“Say you'll marry me, or so help me, I'll throw you down on the floor and make love to you right here,” he threatened gruffly.

“You're kinky, Mr. District Attorney,” she murmured. She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes, savoring his closeness. He was so good to lean on, and she loved him so much. All the arguments and fighting seemed not to matter at times like this. “But yes, I'll marry you, if you won't make me give up my family entirely. I can get a nurse for Granddad. But Mack…” Her face tautened as she tried to think about putting him in a foster home.

His arms contracted hungrily as he realized what she was willing to give up. “My God…I didn't mean you had to farm them out! If and when your grandfather can manage on his own, we'll find someone to stay with him. But Mack will live with us. You crazy little idiot, I only wanted to know that you loved me!” His mouth found hers, stilling the words.

She reached up to him, tears seeping into their locked mouths from her eyes. “Love you?” she sobbed against his hard lips. “I'd die for you!”

His mouth hardened. He lifted her in his arms and stood holding her in the middle of the room, the cigar smoking, forgotten in his fingers, his mouth devouring hers.

“Becky?” Granddad asked hesitantly from the doorway, his eyes like saucers as he stared at them.

She moved her face toward him, her eyes dazed. “We're getting married,” she whispered huskily.

Granddad smiled mischievously. “It's about time,” he murmured, grinning. “I hate to interrupt, but do you think you could fix me a sandwich? It's been a long time since breakfast.”

“Yes, I can fix you a sandwich,” she said, lifting a radiant face to Rourke's. “Want one?”

“I had a hamburger with Turk,” he reminded her. He kissed her once more and set her on her feet, moving away with his cigar, even though his eyes devoured her. “There's a banquet next Friday night to honor Judge Kilmer,” he said. “You can wear that witchy black dress you bought. The Friday after that, we're getting married.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Kilpatrick,” Becky said gently. “But…what about Clay?”

He smiled wolfishly. “Wait and see.”

D
avis was never certain exactly how Rourke and his off-duty police cohorts had managed to do it. But he was called down to Rourke's office late the next Thursday night. Sitting around inside it were the Harris boys, their father, the acting D.A. on the Cullen case, Mr. James Garraway, two uniformed police officers, and Rourke.

“I don't think you know Jim, do you, Davis?” Rourke said, introducing him to the much older attorney.

“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Davis,” Garraway grinned. “Nice to meet you. These are the Harris boys and their father,” he said, nodding toward them. “They've just confessed to setting your client up on a bogus aggravated assault charge, as well as unfounded violations of the Georgia Controlled Substances Act.”

“In other words,” Rourke said through a puff of cigar smoke, “Clay walks, on all four charges. As soon as we get the paperwork through, he can go home.”

“The confession is on videotape,” Garraway said. “I'll have your nolle prosequi on Judge Kilmer's desk first thing in the morning.”

“Fortunately, you haven't put yourself out of a job,” Rourke said with a smile. “You still get to prosecute these three.” He stared at the Harrises with thinly concealed anger. “I'll enjoy standing as a witness for the prosecution, however.”

“You won't keep us,” the elder Harris said curtly. “We'll be out by morning.”

“On bail, undoubtedly,” Rourke agreed. “But you've made some stupid mistakes and you won't be excused for them. Once you're on the streets again, you're on your own.” He leaned forward. “You'd better remember what we discussed earlier,” he added, watching their faces go rigid and pale. “You've put your cronies in a bad spot, and they aren't forgiving people. Being on the outside will give them a dandy chance to get even.”

“We can waive bail,” Son said dejectedly. “Dammit, Kilpatrick, you had no call to put us in this spot!”

“You had no call to blow up my dog,” he returned, ice in his voice. “You'll have years to regret it.”

“You promised us a deal,” he said, turning to Garraway.

“And you'll get it,” the older man promised. “In return for your testimony. If you want to turn state's evidence on your suppliers, I think you'll find we can arrange protective custody through the federal boys. Your pipeline is one of the biggest in the state. We'd love to close it down.”

“Protective custody?” the elder Harris asked narrowly.

“That, a new identity, a new start, for all three of you,” Rourke said. “Think about it. You might not get a better chance.”

He moved out into the corridor with Davis, leaving the rest behind. “Don't ask,” he told the other man when he opened his mouth. “It's enough that it worked. Call it a calculated risk. And I think Turk can go home now.”

“You're going to leave Becky unprotected?” Davis asked, aghast.

“Not quite,” he murmured dryly. “In fact, we're getting married tomorrow afternoon. After the banquet tomorrow night, we're going to fly down to Nassau for a two-day honeymoon while a nurse and housekeeper stay with Granddad and Mack—and with Clay, too, I suppose.”

“Well, well. Becky and a baby, too.” He shook his head. “You're luckier than you deserve, Rourke. Are you going to run for reelection?” he added with an intent stare.

“Wait until tomorrow night and find out,” he said. He walked away, grinning.

The Judge Kilmer appreciation banquet was well underway when Rourke, sitting beside a radiant Becky in a new and larger black dress than the one she'd worn before, and sporting a brand-new wedding ring, was invited to the podium.

He looked elegant in dinner jacket and black tie, his skin very dark against the white shirt.

“I suppose you're all waiting for me to announce,” he said after he'd made some praising remarks about Judge Kilmer and cracked a few jokes about his own failings in the judge's court. “Well, I am. But it's not the announcement some of you have been anticipating. I've enjoyed my job. I hope I've done it well. But I've learned some very hard lessons over the past few months about the plight of people who are thrown into the judicial system and have to cope without financial backing.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Law is only just if it provides equal opportunity in representation to rich and poor alike. Law that favors the wealthy, or that restricts the rights of the poor, is no law. I've been on the winning team for seven years. Now I want to see the courtroom from the other table's vantage point. I'm hanging up my prosecutor's suit to go into private practice, where I hope to specialize in juvenile law.”

There were murmurs and some protests, although none came from a beaming J. Lincoln Davis at one of the front tables.

Rourke chuckled. “I'm flattered at the dissent. But let me add that I have a brand-new wife and baby on the way,” he said, smiling at Becky. “My priorities are different now, and I have reasons for wanting to spend my nights at home instead of the office.”

There was laughter and applause. Rourke winked at Becky, who looked pretty elegant herself in that black dress with her long, honey-brown hair around her shoulders and her cheeks flushed.

“I won't say that it was an easy decision to make. I've enjoyed life in the prosecutor's office. I have a fine staff and good people to work with. But,” he added, looking at Becky unsmilingly, “my wife is my whole world. There isn't another human being on the face of the earth whom I love as much. I'm going to be a family man from here on out.” He glanced away from Becky's shocked, rapt eyes to his audience. “That being the case, I hope you won't mind if I throw my support to J. Lincoln Davis, who's sitting out there in the front row trying not to look like a cat with a mouthful of feathers!”

Everybody laughed, Davis included. He was sitting with a delightfully pretty Maggie, who was staring at him as if he were the moon.

“I'd also like to publicly thank J. Lincoln Davis,” he added, “for his exemplary representation of my brother-in-law. I have it on good authority that he won't be called to do it again.”

Davis held up a thumb and nodded. Rourke went on speaking for several minutes, but Becky didn't hear what he said. She was drinking in the fact that he'd publicly confessed his love for her—something he'd never even done privately. She had to fight tears. There were no more barriers. Even the one he thought was left had been removed last night, when a tearful Mack had confessed that he'd given Rourke the information that had led to Clay's arrest. She'd have to tell Rourke that she knew, but not right away. They had other things to talk about.

Clay had come home earlier in the afternoon, looking subdued but happy. Francine had come with him, and Becky thought that she might even learn to like the girl. Clay was talking about getting a job, and helping out at home, and he meant it.

Becky could hardly cope with her own happiness. From such misery, to this. She touched the soft mound of her stomach and stared at Rourke, love making her beautiful. He glanced at her and smiled, and she had to hold on to the table to keep from floating right up to the overhead lights. Life, she thought, was full of surprises. All you had to do was get through the storms. There was always sunshine waiting on the other side.