Night Fever

by Diana Palmer

  “There are none so blind as those who will not…well, what’s this? Do you have friends that I don’t know about?” Maggie murmured, watching as a coal-black Lincoln Continental pulled into the front yard and stopped.

  Becky frowned. “I don’t know anybody in that income bracket,” she said.

  The door opened and a tall, well-dressed man got out. He was built like a wrestler, with thick, curly hair and a broad face. He came up the steps, spared Maggie a quick but appreciative glance, and turned to Becky.

  “Miss Cullen?” he asked politely. “I’m J. Lincoln Davis, your brother’s attorney.”

  “Mr. Davis!” Becky got up and hugged him.

  He chuckled a little self-consciously, and his dark skin looked very much as if it flushed. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome…”

  “What a silly remark,” Becky said, “when you’ve done so much for Clay. There’s nothing we wouldn’t do for you, and of course you’re welcome.” She took his hand and tugged. “Come inside and meet the rest of the family. Maggie?”

  “Right behind you,” Maggie murmured. She got up, noticing without conceit that Lincoln Davis seemed to find her as interesting as she found him.

  Granddad looked up from the television and his eyebrows arched. His visitor was black. He was wearing a very expensive tan suit, a silk tie and leather shoes. Granddad was impressed. He could only think of one black man who would come here without an invitation and, remembering Rourke’s words, he decided that a little gracious hospitality wouldn’t go amiss, despite his old prejudices.

  He got to his feet. “Mr. Davis, isn’t it?” he asked formally, and stuck out his hand.

  Davis shook the old man’s hand. “Mr. Cullen,” he replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Clay speaks highly of your integrity and honor.”

  Granger Cullen blushed. “Won’t you have a chair, Mr. Davis?” he invited. “Have mine.”

  Davis sat down, crossing his long legs. “I’m sorry to barge in at this late hour, but I’ve been out of town. There are some new developments in Clay’s case, so I thought I’d talk them over with you while I had a few minutes.”

  “I should leave,” Maggie began.

  “You should not,” Becky said firmly. She glanced at Davis. “Maggie is my friend. I don’t mind if she hears what you have to say. And can I say how proud we are that you’re representing Clay?”

  “All you like,” he murmured dryly. “I felt I owed it to you after some of the things I said that were misquoted.” He studied her quietly, his eyes going sharply to the faint bulge under her tent dress and back up again. “May I just ask, when the hell is Kilpatrick going to do the honorable thing and marry you?”

  Granger Cullen laughed out loud. “He’s trying,” he informed the other man. “But Becky won’t say yes.”

  “Why not?” Lincoln asked her. “He’s crazy about you!”

  “That isn’t what he said,” Becky replied primly. She folded her hands in her lap. “What about Clay?” she asked evasively.

  “Oh. Clay. Well, the trial comes up week after next. As you know, we’re pleading not guilty to one count of possession of a schedule two drug—cocaine; one count of possession for the purpose of resale; and one count of possession for the purpose of distribution. Each of those counts carries a ten-year sentence, at least, with or without an additional fine. Then we come to the aggravated assault charge—the attempt on Kilpatrick’s life. If convicted, he could go ten years on that charge as well.”

  “Is aggravated assault a capital crime?” Becky asked miserably.

  “No. Only murder. He’s being accused of attempting it. If he’d been charged with a capital crime, bail wouldn’t have been allowed under Georgia law.”

  “I see,” Becky said miserably and tried not to cry. “Nobody told me what the penalty could be if he’s convicted. I was thinking of a few years.”

  “God, I’m sorry!” Davis said fervently. “I thought you knew all this!”

  “Clay didn’t tell me,” Becky said solemnly. “Neither did Rourke.”

  “I suppose they were trying to spare you,” Davis said, “but it was in all the papers and on television.”

  “We didn’t read about it or listen to it,” Becky explained. “We thought it would be better for Mack if he didn’t have to be exposed to so much bad publicity, so we protected him from it. I had no idea.”

  “Better to face it,” Granddad said, his voice quiet in the still room. “What are Clay’s chances?”

  “We’ve moved to suppress certain evidence, and I’ll try a few other legal maneuvers if that one doesn’t work. Their case isn’t as airtight as they want us to think, and we’ve got Francine Harris. She’s a cousin of Son and Bubba, and she’s willing to testify for Clay.”

  “Will her relatives let her?” Becky asked.

  “Good question. We don’t know. In fact, she hasn’t been to see Clay in a week and nobody’s seen her around town,” Davis replied. He leaned forward. “I want to put you on the witness stand,” he told Becky. “Your character and reputation for honesty are well known. It might give Clay a better chance if we can show the jury that his family isn’t connected with this sort of thing.”

  “That could backfire,” Granddad said. “My son was involved in some shady deals before he went to Alabama to live. If they dig that up, it could hurt Clay’s case.”

  “You haven’t heard from your son lately?” Davis asked, frowning.

  “Not in two years,” Granddad said sadly. “He’s had no use for us.”

  “Did he ever serve time?” Davis asked.

  “No. There wasn’t enough evidence to convict.”

  “Then there’s no problem,” the younger man said. He leaned forward with his hands on his knees. “Listen, we’ve got something on the back burner. I’m not at liberty to tell you what it is, but I’ve tipped the police to something that may give us a fighting chance in court.” He didn’t dare bring Kilpatrick’s name into it. His participation in breaking the Harris ring could have serious repercussions. It wasn’t unethical or illegal, exactly, but the press could make something nasty of it. “The problem is going to be if it works. A cornered animal is dangerous, and the Harrises have a lot more to lose than Clay does. I want you to let Kilpatrick hire a bodyguard for you.”

  “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.

  ROURKE 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?”