Night Shift (14 page)

She was joking with a few members of the graduating class, most of them male. More than a few of them had imbibed freely at the cash bar. But she was handling herself, Boyd noted. Smooth as silk.

He didn’t particularly like it when a man with a lineman’s chest put a beefy arm around her and squeezed. But Cilla shook her head. Whatever brush-off she used, she sent the guy off with a smile on his face.

“There’s more where that came from, boys and girls. Let’s take you back, all the way back to prom night, 1975.” She cued up the Eagles’ “One of These Nights,” then skimmed the crowd for Boyd.

When she spotted him, she smiled. Fully, so that even with the room between them he could see her eyes glow. He wondered if he could manage to get her to look at him like that when they didn’t have five hundred people between them. He had to grin when she put a hand to her throat and mimed desperate thirst.

Lord, he looked wonderful, Cilla thought as she watched him turn toward the bar. Strange, she would have thought a smoke gray jacket would look too conservative on a man for her tastes. On him, it worked. So well, she mused with a wry smile, that half the female portion of the class of ’75 had their eye on him.

Tough luck, ladies, she thought. He’s mine. At least for tonight.

A little surprised by where her thoughts had landed, she shook herself back and chose a slip from the pile of requests next to the turntable. A nostalgic crowd, she decided, and plucked another fifteen-year-old hit from her stack.

She liked working parties, watching people dance and flirt and gossip. The reunion committee had
done a top-notch job on this one. Red and white streamers dripped from the ceiling, competing with a hundred matching balloons. The dance floor glittered from the light of a revolving mirror ball. When the music or the mood called for it, she could flick a switch on a strobe light and give them a touch of seventies psychedelia.

Mixed with the scents of perfume and cologne was the fragrance of the fresh flowers that adorned each table.

“This is for Rick and Sue, those high school sweeties who’ve been married for twelve years. And they said it was only puppy love. We’re ‘Rockin’ All Over The World.’”

“Nice touch,” Boyd commented.

She twisted her head and smiled. “Thanks.”

He handed her a soft drink heaped with ice. “I’ve got a reunion coming up next year. You booked?”

“I’ll check my schedule. Wow.” She watched as a couple cut loose a few feet away. Other couples spread out as they put the dirty in dirty dancing. “Pretty impressive.”

“Mmm. Do you dance?”

“Not like that.” She let out a little breath. “I wish I did.”

He took her hand before she could reach for another request slip. “Why don’t you play one for me?”

“Sure. Name it.”

When he poked through her discs, she was too amused to be annoyed. She could reorganize later. After choosing one, he handed it to her.

“Excellent taste.” She shifted her mike. “We’ve got ourselves a wild group tonight. Y’all having fun?” The roar of agreement rolled across the dance floor. “We’re going to be here until midnight, pumping out the music for you. We’ve got a request here for Springsteen. ‘Hungry Heart.’”

Fresh dancers streamed onto the floor. Couples twined around each other to sway. Cilla turned to speak to Boyd and found herself molded against him.

“Want to dance?” he murmured.

They already were. Body fitted to body, he took her on a long, erotically slow circle. “I’m working.”

“Take five.” He lowered his head to catch her chin between his teeth. “Until I make love with you, this is the next best thing.”

She was going to object. She was sure of it. But she was moving with him, her body fine-tuned to his. In silent capitulation, she slid her arms around his neck. With their faces close, he smiled. Slowly, firmly, he ran his hands over her hips, up, lazily up to the sides of her breasts, then down again.

She felt as though she’d been struck by lightning.

“You’ve, ah, got some nice moves, Slick.”

“Thanks.” When their lips were a whisper apart, he shifted, leaving hers hungry as he nuzzled into her neck. “You smell like sin, Cilla. It’s just one of the things about you that’s been driving me crazy for days.”

She wanted him to kiss her. Craved it. She moaned when his hands roamed into her hair, drawing her head back. Her eyes closed in anticipation, but he only brushed those tempting lips over her cheekbone.

Breathless, she clung to him, trying to fight through the fog of pleasure. There were hundreds of people around them, all moving to the erotic beat of the music. She was working, she reminded herself. She was—had always been—a sensible woman, and tonight she had a job to do.

“If you keep this up, I won’t be able to work the turntable.”

He felt her heart hammering against his. It wasn’t enough to satisfy him. But it was enough to give him hope. “Then I guess we’ll have to finish the dance later.”

When he released her, Cilla turned quickly and chose a record at random. A cheer went up as the beat pounded out. She lifted the hair from the back of her neck to cool it. The press of bodies—or the press of one body—had driven the temperature up. She’d never realized what a dangerous pastime dancing could be.

“Want another drink?” Boyd asked when she drained her glass.

“No. I’m okay.” Steadying herself, she reached for the request sheet on top of her pile. “This is a nice group,” she said as she glanced across the room. “I like reunions.”

“I think I figured that out.”

“Well, I do. I like the continuity of them. I like seeing all these people who shared the same experience, the same little block of time. 1975,” she mused, the paper dangling from her fingers. “Not the greatest era for music, with the dreaded disco onslaught, but there were a few bright lights. The Doobie Brothers were still together. So were the Eagles.”

“Do you always measure time in rock and roll?”

She had to laugh. “Occupational hazard. Anyway, it’s a good barometer.” Tossing her hair back, she grinned at him. “The first record I spun, as a professional, was the Stones’ ‘Emotional Rescue.’ That was the year Reagan was elected the first time, the year John Lennon was shot—and the year the Empire struck back.”

“Not bad, O’Roarke.”

“It’s better than not bad.” She considered him. “I bet you remember what was playing on the radio the first time you talked a girl into the backseat of your car.”

“‘Dueling Banjos.’”

“You’re kidding.”

“You asked.”

She was chuckling as she opened my request sheet. Her laughter died. She thought for a moment her heart had stopped. Carefully she squeezed her eyes shut. But when she opened them again the boldly printed words remained.

I want you to scream when I kill you.

“Cilla?”

With a brisk shake of her head, she passed the note to Boyd.

He was here, she thought, panic clawing as she searched the room. Somewhere in this crowd of laughing, chattering couples, he was watching. And waiting.

He’d come close. Close enough to lay that innocent-looking slip of paper on her table. Close enough to look into her eyes, maybe to smile. He might have spoken to her. And she hadn’t known. She hadn’t recognized him. She hadn’t understood.

“Cilla.”

She jolted when Boyd put a hand to her shoulder, and she would have stumbled backward if he hadn’t balanced her. “Oh, God. I thought that tonight, just this one night, he’d leave me alone.”

“Take a break.”

“I can’t.” Dazed, she clamped her hands together and stared around the room. “I have to—”

“I need to make a call,” he told her. “I want you where I can see you.”

He could still be here, she thought. Close enough to touch her. Did he have the knife? The long-bladed knife he’d so lovingly described to her? Was he waiting for the moment when the music was loud, when the laughter was at a peak, so that he could plunge it into her?

“Come on.”

“Wait. Wait a minute.” With her nails biting into her palms, she leaned into the mike. “We’re going to take a short break, but don’t cool down. I’ll be back in ten to start things rocking again.” Mechanically she shut off her equipment. “Stay close, will you?” she whispered.

With an arm snug around her waist, he began to lead her through the crowd. Every time they were bumped she shuddered. When a man pushed through the throng and grabbed both of her hands, she nearly screamed.

“Cilla O’Roarke.” He had a pleasant, affable face dampened with sweat from a turn on the dance floor. He was beaming as Cilla stood as still as a statue and Boyd tensed beside her. “Tom Collins. Not the drink,” he said, still beaming. “That’s my name. I’m chairman of the reunion committee. Remember?”

“Oh.” She forced her lips to curve. “Yes. Sure.”

“Just wanted to tell you how thrilled we are to have you. Got a lot of fans here.” He released one of her hands to sweep his arm out. “I’m about the biggest. There’s hardly a night goes by I don’t catch at least a part of your show. Lost my wife last year.”

“I …” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I mean I lost her. Came home one night and she and the furniture were gone. Never did find her—or the sectional sofa.” He laughed heartily while Cilla searched for something to say. “Fact is, your show got me through some pretty lonely nights. Just wanted to thank you and tell you you’re doing a hell of a job here tonight.” He pressed a business card into her hand. “I’m in appliances. You just call me whenever you need a new refrigerator.” He winked. “Give you a good deal.”

“Thanks.” It should be funny, she thought. Later it would be funny. “Nice seeing you, Tom.”

“Pleasure’s mine.” He watched her walk away and beamed again.

Boyd steered her out of the ballroom and toward the nearest pay phone. “Hang on. Okay?”

She nodded, even managed to smile at a group of women heading toward the ladies’ lounge. “I’m better now. I’m going to sit down right over there.” She pointed to an arrangement of chairs and a potted plant.

Leaving Boyd digging for change, she walked over, then let her legs collapse under her.

It was a nightmare. She wished it was as simple as a nightmare so that she could wake up with the sun shining in her face. She had nearly gotten through an entire day without thinking of him.

Shaky, she pulled out a cigarette.

Perhaps it had been foolish to let herself believe he would give her a day of peace. But to have come here. The odds of him actually being one of the alumni were slim. Yet he’d gotten inside.

With her back pressed into the chair, she watched people file in and out of the ballroom. It could be any one of them, she thought, straining for some spark of recognition. Would she know him if she saw him, or would he be a complete stranger?

He could be someone standing behind her at the market, someone sitting across from her at a gas pump. He might be the man in front of her at the bank, or the clerk at the dry cleaners.

Anyone, she thought as she closed her eyes. He could be any one of the nameless, faceless people she passed in the course of a day.

Yet he knew her name. He knew her face. He had taken away her peace of mind, her freedom. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d taken her life.

She watched Boyd hang up the phone and waited until he crossed to her. “Well?”

“Thea’s coming by to pick up the paper. We’ll send it to the lab.” His hand found the tensed muscle at the curve of her neck and soothed. “I don’t think we’ll get prints.”

“No.” She appreciated the fact that he didn’t give her any false hope. “Do you think he’s still here?”

“I don’t know.” That was its own frustration. “It’s a big hotel, Cilla. There’s no security to speak of for this event. It wouldn’t be very effective to try to close it off and interrogate everyone in it. If you want to take off early, I can tell them you’re sick.”

“No, I don’t want to do that.” She took a long last drag on her cigarette. “The only satisfaction I can get is from finishing out. Proving I’m not ready to fold. Especially if he
is
still around, somewhere.”

“Okay. Remember, for the next hour, I’m never going to be more than a foot away.”

She put a hand in his as she rose. “Boyd, he changed his approach, writing a note. What do you think it means?”

“It could mean a lot of things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as it was the most convenient way to contact you tonight. Or he’s starting to get sloppy.”

“Or impatient,” she added, turning to him at the doorway. “Be honest with me.”

“Or impatient.” He cupped her face in his hands. “He has to get through me first, Cilla. I can promise that won’t be an easy job.”

She made herself smile. “Cops like to think they’re tough.”

“No.” He kissed her lightly. “Cops have to be tough. Come on. Maybe you’ve got ‘Dueling Banjos’ in there. You can play it for me for old times’ sake.”

“Not on a bet.”

***

She got through it. He’d never doubted that she would, and yet the way she held on despite her fears amazed and impressed him. Not once did she bog down, break down or falter. But he saw the way she studied the crowd, searched the faces as the music raged around her.

Her hands moved constantly, tapping out the beat on the table, sifting through records, fiddling with the sequined studs on her pleated shirt.

She would never be serene, he thought. She would never be soothing. She would pace her way through life driven by nerves and ambition. She would make a demanding and unsettling companion.

Not what he’d had in mind on the rare occasions he’d considered marriage and family. Not even close, he realized with a faint smile. But she was exactly what he wanted and intended to have.

He would protect her with his life. That was duty. He would cherish her for a lifetime. That was love. If the plans he’d made ran smoothly, she would understand the difference very soon.

He too was searching the crowd, studying the faces, watching for any sign, any movement, that would bring that quick tensing of the gut called instinct. But the music raged on. The partygoers laughed.

He saw Althea enter. And so, he thought with a shake of his head, did most of the men in the room. He had to chuckle when he saw one woman jab her husband in the ribs as he gawked at the redhead skirting the dance floor.