After Midnight

by Diana Palmer

  “I’ll do that.”

  He finished his coffee and reluctantly, she thought, got to his feet. “I’ll return your friend’s clothes. Thanks for the loan.”

  “I can run you home, if you like,” she offered, knowing full well that he wouldn’t risk letting her see where he lived. He thought she was an opportunist. She could have laughed out loud at the very idea.

  “No, thanks,” he said quickly, smiling to soften the rejection. “I need the exercise. You’ve been very kind.” His eyes were shrewd. “I hope I can repay you one day.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” she assured him as she stood. “Don’t we all have a moral duty to help each other out when we’re in need?” She looked at her slender, well-kept hands. “I’m sure you’d do the same for me.”

  That last bit was meant to rattle him, but it didn’t work. She looked up, impishly, and he was just watching her with a lifted eyebrow and a faintly indulgent smile.

  “Of course I would,” he assured her. But he was wary again, looking for traps, even while his eyes were quietly bold on her soft curves.

  “It was nice meeting you,” she added.

  “Same here.” He gave her a last wistful appraisal and went with long, determined strides toward the front door. He walked as if he’d go right over anything in his path, and Nikki envied him that self-confidence. She had it, to a degree, but in a standing fight, he was going to be a hard man to beat. She’d have to remember and warn Clayton not to underestimate Lombard; and do it without revealing that the source of her information was the man himself.

  The rambling beach house where Kane lived was in the same immaculate shape he’d left it. His housekeeper had been in, apparently unconcerned that he was missing. That shouldn’t surprise him. Unless he paid people, no one seemed to notice if he lived or died.

  He chided himself for that cynical thought. Women did agonize over him from time to time. He had a mistress who pretended to care in return for the expensive presents he gave her with careless affection. But no one cared as much as his son had. He closed his eyes and tried not to remember the horror of his last sight of the young boy.

  There was a portrait of his son with his late wife on the side table. He looked at that, instead, remembering David as a bright young man with his mother’s light hair and eyes and her smile. Although he and Evelyn had grown apart over their years together, David had been loved and cherished by both of them. See what you get for sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong, he thought. Just a routine business trip, you said, and they could go with you. Then all hell broke loose the day they arrived, and he and his family were caught innocently in the cross fire.

  He’d blamed himself bitterly for all of it, but time was taking away some of the sting. He had to go on, after all.

  The new automotive plant in an industrial Charleston suburb had certainly been a step in the right direction. Planned long before the death of his family, it had just begun operation about the time they were buried. Now it was the lynchpin of his sanity.

  He changed into a knit shirt and shorts, idly placing his borrowed clothing to be washed before he returned it. Nikki’s sparkling green eyes came to mind and made him smile. She was so young, he mused, and probably a madcap when she set her mind to it. For a moment he allowed himself to envy her lover. She had a pretty body, slender and winsome. But he had Chris when he needed a woman desperately, and there was no place for a permanent woman in his life. He made sure that Chris knew it, so that she wouldn’t expect too much. Marriage was out.

  He picked up the telephone and dialed the offices of the Charleston plant. What he needed, he told himself, was something to occupy his mind again.

  “Get Will Jurkins on the line,” he replied to his secretary’s polite greeting.

  “Yes, sir,” she said at once.

  A minute later, a slow voice came on the line. “How’s the vacation going, Mr. Lombard?”

  “So far, so good,” Kane said carelessly. “I want to know why you’ve terminated that contract with the Coastal Waste Company?”

  There was a pause. Jurkins should have realized that his superior would fax that information up to Kane Lombard. Sick or not, Ed Nelson was on the ball, as many plant managers were not. “Well…uh, I had to.”

  “Why?”

  The word almost struck him. Jurkins wiped his sweaty brow, glancing around from his desk to the warehouse facility where dangerous materials were kept before they were picked up by waste disposal companies. It was considered less expensive to hire that done rather than provide trucks and men to do it. The city could handle toxic substances at its landfill, but Lombard International had contracted CWC to do it since its opening.

  “I believe I mentioned to you, Mr. Lombard, that I noticed discrepancies in their invoices.”

  “I don’t remember any such conversation.”

  Jurkins kept his head, barely. “Listen, Mr. Lombard,” he began in a conciliatory tone, “you’re a busy man. You can’t keep up with all the little details of a plant this size. You sit on the board of directors of three other corporations and the board of trustees of two colleges, you belong to business organizations where you hold office. I mean, how would you have the time to sift through all the day-to-day stuff here?”

  Kane took a breath to stem his rush of temper. The man was new, after all, as chief of the waste disposal unit. And he made sense. “That’s true. I haven’t time to oversee every facet of every operation. Normally, this would be Ed Nelson’s problem.”

  “I know that. Yes, I do, sir. But Mr. Nelson’s had kidney stones and he had to have surgery for them last week. He’s sort of low. Not that he doesn’t keep up with things,” he added quickly. “He’s still on top of the situation here.” That wasn’t quite true, but the wording gave Lombard the impression that Nelson had agreed with Jurkins’s decision to replace CWC.

  Kane relaxed. Jurkins was a native of Charleston. He’d know the ins and outs of sanitation, and surely he’d already have a handle on the proper people to do a good job. “All right,” he said. “Who have you contracted with to replace CWC?”

  “I found a very reputable company, Mr. Lombard,” he assured his boss. “Very reputable, indeed. In fact, two of the local automotive parts companies use them. It’s Burke’s.”

  “Burke’s?”

  “They’re not as well-known as CWC, sir,” Jurkins said. “They’re a young company, but very energetic. They don’t cost an arm and a leg, either.”

  Kane’s head was hurting. He didn’t have time for this infernal runaround. He’d ask Nelson when he got back to the office the following week.

  “All right, Jurkins. Go ahead and make the switch. I’ll approve it, if there’s any flak,” he said. “Just make sure they do what they’re supposed to. Put Jenny back on the line.”

  “Yes, sir! Have a good vacation, sir, and don’t you worry, everything’s going along just fine!”

  Kane made a grunting sound and waited for his secretary to come back on the line. When she did, he began shooting orders at her, for faxes to be sent up to his machine, for contract estimates, for correspondence. He hadn’t a secretary here and he hesitated to ask for Jenny to join him, because she had a huge crush on him which he didn’t want to encourage. He could scribble notes on the letters for answers and fax them back to her. Yes, that would work.

  While Kane was debating his next move, a relieved Will Jurkins pushed back his sweaty red hair and breathed a long sigh, grinning cagily at the man standing beside him.

  “That was a close one,” he told the man. “Lombard wanted to know why I made the switch.”

  “You’re getting enough out of this deal to make it worth the risk,” came the laconic reply. “And you’re in too deep to back out.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Jurkins said uneasily. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to go to jail.”

  “Will you stop worrying? I know what I’m doing.” He slipped the man a wad of large bills, careful not to let
himself be seen.

  Jurkins grimaced as he counted the money and quickly slipped it into his pocket. He had a child with leukemia and his medical insurance had run out. He was out of choices and this cigar-smoking magician had offered him a small fortune just to switch sanitation firms. On the surface, there was nothing wrong with it. But he was uneasy, because Burke’s sanitation outfit had already been in trouble with the environmental people for some illegal dumping.

  “Burke’s is not very reliable,” he began, trying again. “And I already made one major mistake here, letting that raw sewage get dumped accidentally into the river. If they catch Burke putting anything toxic in a bad place, it will look pretty bad for Lombard International.”

  “Burke’s needs the business,” the raspy-voiced man said. “Trust me. It’s just to help him out. There’s no way it will be traced back to you. You need the money don’t you?” When Jurkins nodded, the man patted him on the shoulder and smiled, waving the cigar around. “Nobody will know. And I was never here. Right?”

  “Right.”

  Jurkins watched the man leave by the side door. He went into the parking lot and climbed into a sedate gray BMW. A car like that would cost Jurkins a year’s salary. He wondered what his benefactor did for a living.

  Clayton Seymour had gone down the roster of Republican representatives over a new bill which affected cable television rates. He and his legislative committee—not to mention part of his personal staff—were helping his friend, the minority whip, gather enough representatives together for a decisive vote on the issue. But he was going blind in the process. He looked out his window at the distant Washington, D.C., skyline and wished he was back home in Charleston and going fishing. He maintained only two district offices, whereas most of the other House members had anywhere from two to eight.

  Each of those offices back home in South Carolina had full-time and part-time staffers who could handle requests from constituents. In addition, he’d appointed a constituent staff at his Washington office, along with his legislative, institutional, and personal staff. It sounded like a lot of people on the payroll, but there were actually only a handful involved and they were eminently qualified. Most had master’s degrees. His district director had a Ph.D. and his executive legislative counsel was a Harvard graduate.

  He was ultimately satisfied with the job he’d done. During his term in office, he’d remained within his budget. It was one of many feathers in his political cap. In addition, he had seats on the Energy and Commerce Committee and the Ways and Means Committee, among others. He worked from twelve to fourteen hours a day and occasionally took offense at remarks that members of Congress were overpaid layabouts. He didn’t have time to layabout. In the next congress, over eleven thousand new pieces of legislation were predicted for introduction. If he was reelected—when he was reelected—he was going to have to work even harder.

  His executive administrative assistant in charge of his personal and constituent staff, Derrie Keller, knocked on the door and opened it all in the same motion. She was tall and pretty, with light blond hair and green eyes and a nice smile. Everybody was kind to her because she had such a sweet nature. But she also had a bachelor’s degree in political science, and was keen-minded, efficient, and tough when the situation called for it. She headed the personal staff, and when she went to Charleston with Clayton, that position also applied to whichever of the two district offices she visited.

  “Ah, Derrie,” he said on a long-suffering sigh. “Are you going to bury me in paperwork again?”

  She grinned. “Want to lie down, first, so we can do it properly?”

  “If I lie down, three senators and a newspaperman will come in and stand on me,” he assured her. He sat upright in his chair. He was good-looking—tall, dark-haired and blue-eyed, with a charismatic personality and a perfect smile.

  Women loved him, Derrie thought; particularly a highly paid Washington lobbyist who practiced law named Bett Watts. The woman was forever in and out of the office, tossing out orders to anyone stupid enough to take them. Derrie wasn’t. She was simply biding her time until her tunnel-visioned boss eventually noticed that she was a ripe fruit hanging low on the limb, waiting for him to reach up and…

  “Are you going to stand there all day?” he prompted impatiently.

  “Sorry.” She put the letters on his desk. “Want coffee?”

  “You can’t bring me coffee,” he said absently. “You’re an overpaid public official with administrative duties. If you bring me coffee, secretarial unions will storm the office and sacrifice me on the White House lawn.”

  She knew this speech by heart. She just smiled. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Yes, please,” he replied with a grin.

  She went out to get it, laughing at his irrepressible overreaction. He always made her laugh. She couldn’t resist going with him to political rallies where he was scheduled to speak, because she enjoyed him so much. He was in constant demand as an after-dinner speaker.

  “Here you go,” she said a minute later, reappearing with two steaming cups. She put hers down and sat in the chair beside his desk with her pad and pen in hand.

  “Thanks.” He was studying another piece of legislation on which a vote would shortly be taken. “New stuff on the agenda today, Derrie. I’ll need you to direct one of the interns to do some legwork for me.”

  “Is that the lumbering bill?” she asked, eyeing the paper in his lean hands.

  “Yes,” he said, mildly surprised. “Why?”

  “You’re not going to vote for it, are you?”

  He scowled as he lifted his cup of coffee, fixed with cream just as he liked it, and looked at her while he sipped it gingerly. “Yes, I am,” he replied slowly.

  She glared at him. “It will set the environment back ten years.”

  “It will open up jobs for people who can’t get any work.”

  “It’s an old forest,” she persisted. “One of the oldest untouched forests in the world.”

  “We can’t afford to leave it in its pristine condition,” he said, exasperated. “Listen, why don’t you meet with all those lobbyists who represent the starving mothers and children of lumbermen out west? Maybe you can explain your position to them better than I could. Hungry kids really get to me.”

  “How do you know they were really starving and not just short a hot lunch?”

  “You cynic!” he exclaimed. He sat forward in his chair. “Hasn’t anybody ever explained basic economics to you? Ecology is wonderful, I’m all for it. In fact, I have a very enviable record in South Carolina for my stand against toxic waste dumps and industrial polluters. However, this is another issue entirely. People are asking us to set aside thousands of acres of viable timber to save an owl, when people are jobless and homeless and facing the prospect of going on the welfare rolls—which is, by the way, going to impact taxpayers all the way from Oregon to D.C.”

  “I know all that,” she grumbled. “But we’re cutting down all the trees we have and we’re not replacing them fast enough. In fact, how can you replace something that old?”

  “You can’t replace it,” he agreed. “You can’t replace people, either, Derrie.”

  “There are things you’re overlooking,” she persisted. “Have you read all the background literature on that bill?”

  “When I have time?” he exploded. “My God, you of all people should know how fast they throw legislation at me! If I read every word of every bill…”

  “I can read it for you. If you’ll listen I’ll tell you why the bill is a bad idea.”

  “I have legislative counsel to advise me,” he said tersely, glaring at her. “My executive legislative counsel is a Harvard graduate.”

  Derrie knew that. She also liked Mary Tanner, an elegant African American woman whose Harvard law degree often surprised people who mistook her for a model. Mary was beautiful.

  “And Mary is very good,” she agreed. “But you don’t always listen to your advisors.”

>   “The people elected me, not my staff,” he reminded her with a cold stare.

  She almost challenged that look. But he’d been under a lot of pressure, and she had a little time left before the vote to work on him. She backed down. “All right. I’ll work my fingers to the bone for you, but I won’t quit harping on the lumber bill,” she warned. “I don’t believe in profit at the expense of the environment.”

  “Then you aren’t living in the real world.”

  She gave him a killing glare and walked out of the room. It was to her credit that she didn’t slam the door behind her.

  Clayton watched her retreat with mixed emotions. Usually, Derrie agreed with him on issues. This time, she was fighting tooth and nail. It amused him, to see his little homebody of an assistant ready to scratch and claw.

  The telephone rang and a minute later, Derrie’s arctic voice informed him that Ms. Watts was on the line.

  “Hello, Bett,” he told the caller. “How are you?”

  “Worn,” came the mocking reply. “I can’t see you tonight. I’ve got a board meeting, followed by a cocktail party, followed by a brief meeting with one of the senior senators, all of which I really must get through.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of lobbying and long for something different?” he probed.

  “Something like giving fancy parties and placating political adversaries?” Bett asked sarcastically.

  Clayton felt himself going tense. “I know you don’t like my sister,” he said curtly. “But a remark like that is catty and frankly intolerable. Call me back when you feel like rejoining the human race.”

  He put the phone down and buzzed Derrie. “If Ms. Watts calls back, tell her I’m indisposed indefinitely!” he said icily.

  “Does she like virgin forests, too?”

  He slammed the phone down and took the receiver off the hook.

  Clayton phoned Nikki that evening. He didn’t mention Bett’s nasty remark or his fight with Derrie, which had resulted in her giving him an icy good-night and leaving him alone with cold coffee and hot bills. He had to depend on his district director for coffee, and Stan couldn’t make it strong enough.