After Midnight (16 page)

Eglin’s Director of Logistics and his wife lived on-base. From the outside the one-story cinder block house looked as unpretentious as its neighbors, but the 50’s era bungalow had been renovated a number of times over the years and came with an unobstructed million-dollar view of the bay.

A thick canopy of live oaks shaded the flagstone patio at the rear of the house. After a friendly greeting, Peggy Hamilton good-naturedly shooed their five lively grandkids back in the house. The colonel waved Jess to one of the high-backed sling chairs around a glass-topped table.

“Would you like a glass of lemonade?”

Jess accepted gratefully. Lip-puckering tart and icy cold, the drink worked magic on her dry throat.

“All right,” the colonel said when he claimed his seat. “Give me the details. Who died and how are we involved?”

“Not we, sir. Me. I was involved.”

Hamilton’s brows snapped together. “You’re not going to tell me you’re in some way responsible for this man’s death, are you?”

“No, sir,” Jess replied carefully. Folding her hands in her lap, she traced her thumb over scarred skin of her right hand. “I’m not going to tell you I’m responsible for his death. But there’s a distinct possibility the off-base authorities will.”

On Colonel Hamilton’s advice, Jess arranged to meet with the commander of Eglin’s Security Forces after she left his quarters.

The chief of security had already received a heads-up from the Walton County Sheriff’s Department. As a courtesy, local law enforcement agencies notified Eglin’s central dispatch whenever military personnel were involved in an off-base incident. Jess filled the top cop in on the details of Whittier’s gruesome death, including her connection to the man, and drove home.

She didn’t sleep at all that night.

Whittier’s death headlined the local edition of the Daily News the next morning. Jess left the paper unread on her kitchen table and went to take a shower. She’d scrubbed from head to foot for almost an hour last night, but she could still feel the scratch of dried blood on her skin.

When she emerged from the bedroom, her answering machine blinked fast and steady. She hesitated before hitting ‘play’. She’d left the repeated calls from radio and TV stations unanswered last night and expected more this morning, but it was Steve’s voice that jumped out at her.

“Jess. Call me.”

She reached for the phone, let her hand hover over it for long moments.

No. Not yet. Not until she’d talked to the attorney, as he’d advised and knew exactly what she’d dragged him into.

She managed to force down a half slice of toast before putting on her uniform and driving back to the base that afternoon for a meeting with a JAG from the Office of the Area Defense Counsel. The on-call ADC was young, too young Jess thought at first, but her professional manner soon dispelled the Sunday quiet of the legal office.

“I saw the story in the paper this morning,” she said, “but I’d like you to tell me what happened in your own words.”

Wrapped in the cloak of attorney-client privilege, Jess started with Wayne Whittier’s death and worked her way back in time to the Blue Crab. The JAG’s face sobered when Jess related the recent demise of three of the five men who’d allegedly assaulted her mother.

“And all three of these deaths occurred since you arrived at Eglin?”

“Yes.”

“Can you substantiate where you were when the first two men died?”

“Do I have an alibi, you mean?” She shook her head. “No.”

“For either death?”

“McConnell supposedly went overboard during the tropical storm that hit just a few days after I arrived. I understand they fixed the time of death to within a three-to-five hour timeframe, part of which I spent at the base, part at home. Alone.”

“I see.”

“I was also home the night Clark died.”

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

The JAG sat back in her chair and peered at Jess over the rim of her glasses. “I’m sure you understand that you’ll have to obtain civilian counsel to represent you if you’re charged with a criminal offense committed off-duty and off-base.”

“Yes.”

“Any such charges, of course, could become a part of you military record.” The young attorney paused. “You could also face potentially serious conflict of interest charges if you have reason to believe an employee under your supervision once assaulted your mother.”

“I’m aware of that.”

Thoughtfully, the JAG pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with one finger. “Have you spoken to Mr. Petrie at all about the incident?”

“No.”

“Does he know you suspect him of being involved in the alleged assault?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you his direct supervisor?”

“No. He works for the lieutenant in charge of the fuels branch. My civilian deputy is the reviewing official on his performance evaluations.”

“But you can influence those evaluations, along with any recommendations for merit pay increases?”

“Yes.”

“Not good, colonel. Definitely not good. You should think about detailing him to another squadron until this situation is sorted out. Or perhaps transfer him to Hurlburt.”

Jess had already thought about moving Petrie to the base just across town. She’d been thinking about it since Steve dropped the man’s name that night on his boat. She was still thinking about it when she drove off-base some time later.

Granted her initial reaction when Steve named Petrie had been one of vicious intent. If she remembered correctly, her exact words were something to the effect that she intended to nail the bastard’s hide to the wall. Yet the desire for vengeance that had burned so hot and bright that night on his boat had now chilled to icy dispassion.

It would work, Jess thought as she passed through the town of Niceville. She could move Petrie, get him out of her squadron, send him to the Special Operations base across town. Although Hurlburt’s fuels operation wasn’t as large as Eglin’s, the branch chief slot was currently vacant. If they civilianized the slot and Jess recommended Petrie…

No! She’d work a lateral transfer or a detail, but she was damned if she’d recommend him for a promotion, even to save herself from the storm that had begun to swirl about her. She was damned if she’d do anything until he returned from wherever he’d hidden himself and she looked him in the eye.

As she had Whittier.

She got the shakes then, fierce shudders that hunched her shoulders and wracked her whole upper torso. The tremors were so intense she had to pull over to the side of the road, so violent she sat gripping the steering wheel with both hands and tried desperately to focus on the McDonald’s arches just ahead. On the hot pink hydrangeas bunched at the curb. On anything but the image of a black and tan Rotweiler with ears back and fangs bared, going for Whittier’s throat.

The shakes subsided, but the fierce effort required to blank out the horrific images took Jess right past the turn-off for the Mid-Bay Bridge. She kept driving, deciding to take the long way around the bay and give herself time to think.

Gradually, Niceville’s sprawl of new homes and golf courses thinned and the road narrowed from four lanes to two. Cypresses formed a dense canopy overhead. As the bay crept within yards of the road, she passed through the towns of her youth. Seminole, Villa Tasso, Choctaw Beach. She didn’t slow, didn’t look to either side. Nor did she make the conscious decision to stop at Steve’s until she turned south on Highway 331.

As the Expedition approached the dirt road that led to his private little bayou, Jess debated whether she should fish her cel phone out of her black leather clutch and call first. He might not be at the boat. More to the point, he might want to maintain the distance he’d deliberately put between them at Whittier’s place.

He was a cop, she reminded herself grimly. He wore the same badge as the man who’d escorted Helen Yount out of town all those years ago. If Paxton wanted to continue to wear that badge, he had to separate himself from Helen’s daughter. Jess had no idea when he was up for re-election, but she could imagine what it would do to his chances if it got out he’d rolled around between the sheets with a woman he suspected of extracting a deadly vengeance on the men who assaulted her mother.

If that was what he suspected.

Jess had to know. With a desperate need she didn’t stop to examine, she flicked on the directional signals.

The sheriff’s unmarked cruiser was parked in the turn-around beside the dock. The hatch of the Gone Fishin’ was open. Mellow jazz floated from inside the cabin, sending the reedy wail of a sax across the bayou. Smoke curled from a small grill attached to the rear rail.

Steve slouched a deck chair, tipped back at a comfortable angle, one bare foot propped against the rail. A ball cap shaded his eyes from the sun now blazing a gold trail across the water. The smoke from the grill evidently provided adequate protection from mosquitoes, since he all had on in addition to the cap was a pair of wet swimming trunks.

The trunks were green, Jess saw as she slid out of the SUV, a bright, parroty green splashed with pink and orange hibiscus. For reasons totally beyond her comprehension, the baggy shorts blunted the razor’s edge of her tension. Leaving her purse in the car, she walked out onto the dock.

“Mind if I come aboard?”

He stayed angled back, one foot on the rail, the other on the deck, his eyes shadowed by the brim of the cap. Jess’s nerves did a slow tango until he drawled out a reply.

“Watch your step. The deck’s wet.”

With the boards rocking gently under her feet, she edged past the cabin and joined him at the rear of the boat. Her glance went to the foil-wrapped package on the grill.

“What are you cooking?”

“Shrimp romoulade.” He cocked his head. “Hungry?”

Food seemed to be their neutral ground, their safest ground.

“I haven’t been able to eat anything since…since yesterday,” she admitted, dropping into one of the chairs bolted to the deck.

His face shuttered, Steve leaned forward to haul on a thin nylon tied to the rail. The other end of the rope anchored the remains of a six-pack. Extracting a dripping can from the plastic sleeve, he popped the top and passed it to her.

“You sure you want to talk about yesterday, Jess? I’m an officer of the law, remember?”

“I never let myself forget it.”

“Good.”

While she tipped her head and let the gloriously cold beer slide down her throat, his glance roamed her dark blue uniform slacks and light blue shirt.

“Did you just come from the base?”

“Yes. I had a meeting with the Area Defense Counsel.”

“And he advised you to talk to me?”

“No, she didn’t. But I wanted to ask you…”

She framed the question in her mind a half dozen ways before deciding to just lay it out.

“Do you think I deliberately shoved Wayne Whittier at that dog?”

“If I did, you’d be sitting in the county jail right now.”

The blunt reply lifted most of the weight pressing in on her chest. His next comment shoveled it back on again.

“I do, however, think it’s more than mere coincidence that the men who reportedly assaulted your mother are suddenly dying off.”

“I think so, too,” she said softly. “I’m the link. We both know that. We just don’t know…”

“We just don’t know how,” he finished for her.

Steve knew he should end the discussion there. He didn’t want to ask the question that had kept him awake most of last night, was almost afraid to hear the answer, but the need drove him just as it had Jess a few moments ago.

“Why did you drive out to Whittier’s place yesterday?”

“I wanted to stand toe to toe with him and make him understand that the law might not have meted out justice, but his retribution would come. Sooner or later, he’d burn in hell.”

“Well, shit. Is that what you told Hazlett?”

“Who?”

“The FDLE investigator.”

“Not in so many words, but that’s what I intend to tell Billy Jack Petrie if he shows his face at work again.”

Steve’s fist went so tight the aluminum beer can crinkled inward. “What do you mean, ‘if?’”

“Petrie knows what he did. He’s also got to know I can’t have him in my squadron.”

“That’s not how you felt the first time his name came up between us.”

“Hey, I’m only human. Of course I thought about using my position as his commander to hammer him, but I can’t. I won’t.”

Steve said nothing. There was more coming. He knew her well enough now to be sure of that much, anyway.

“I’m guessing he may be using the time he took off to rethink his career options,” she said after a moment. “Hopefully, he’s planning to apply for a position at another base. If he isn’t, I’ll arrange to have him transferred. What’s between us isn’t going to be played out on the job.”

Christ, she made him sweat more with every word. Didn’t she see how close she skirted to offering a motive for the three deaths, if not the means? Didn’t she care?

“How about what’s between us, Jess?” he asked curtly. “How do you see that playing out?”

“I think we both saw yesterday that it can’t play at all. You put on the skids and backed away, just as I had to….”

Disbelief whittled his anger to a sharp spike. “You thought I was backing away?”

“You had to. I understand.”

“The hell you do.”

His bare feet hit the deck. He came out of his chair, got her out of hers in one swift jerk. Her beer jabbed cold against his belly.

“My main concern yesterday was to keep you from falling into the pit you insist on digging for yourself. As I would have explained if you’d bothered to return my phone call.”

“Steve…”

He drew her up then, so tight her arms folded against his chest, so close her mouth hovered mere inches from his.

“I’m so far from stepping back that I’m surprised you don’t feel me bumping around inside your skin. You’re sure as hell bumping around inside mine.”

It would be so easy to stretch forward, mold her body to his, draw him further into the morass. Jess couldn’t do it.

“As you reminded me so pointedly just a few minutes ago, you’re a cop. Your credibility is on the line here. You’ve got to distance yourself before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late. I let Hazlett know he’d have to go through me to get to you.”

“Why, for God’s sake?”

“I told you. You’re inside me. I can’t get you out. Correction, I don’t want to get you out.”

She wasn’t prepared for the need that cut into her heart and left it raw and bleeding.

This was the wrong time, the wrong man. Desperately, Jess tried to hold out against the craven desire to sink into his arms, forget the past, and ignore the future. She managed to hang on until Steve summoned a lopsided grin.

“We’ll figure out tomorrow when it comes. Right now, the only decision we have to make is whether we eat now or later.”

“You’re the cook,” she said, surrendering the fight with barely a whimper. “You decide.”

Steve had already made his choice, but the knowledge that she’d eaten nothing but a piece of toast all day reprioritized his immediate needs.

“Go below. Get out of your uniform and into something comfortable. I’ll dish up the stew.”

When she ducked through the hatch, it dawned on Jess that her universe had just shifted, realigning along unfamiliar patterns. She’d been wary of Steve Paxton since the first night he’d knocked on her door, still wasn’t sure just what she should and shouldn’t say to him. Yet for now, for what was left of the night, they were allies. Friends. Lovers.