Midnight Heat

by Donna Kauffman

  Any suspicions about how she might have landed it would have been put to rest by her work record. She’d been here two years and her performance rating was outstanding. Until recently. It was that tiny section of her work history that he’d focused on. Had to focus on.

  According to her file, she’d been reprimanded twice in the last six months. Neither time for anything remotely as serious as the collision, and both times she’d shouldered the blame entirely with no argument, no excuses offered.

  Even now, it seemed to him she was as concerned with determining what really happened as she was with clearing her name. His strengths as an investigator were the same ones she’d obviously developed as a controller. The ability to remain cool and detached no matter how extreme the circumstances. To focus on the facts at hand.

  In his case that included going over and over every detail of an incident until any flaw in logic or action was uncovered and analyzed. And all the cold hard facts in this case—not to mention the flaws—pointed at the controller sitting directly across from him.

  He couldn’t ignore the regret he felt, but he didn’t let it come through when he spoke. “They are making copies of the ARTS tapes as we speak. The data printout will include everything from the time you took over control of your position. I’ll also be going over the voice and data tapes from both flights.”

  He stood and massaged the bridge of his nose, his headache having settled into a slow steady throb. “I will probably have additional questions. Please leave a number with Mr. Beck where you can be reached, and try to stay accessible.”

  Several moments of silence passed, then she stood. “That’s it?” she asked with disbelief.

  Not hardly, he wanted to respond, but didn’t. Dane swallowed a groan as his shoulder and neck muscles began to compete with the pain in his head. He had long hours ahead of him with no sleep in sight. Instead of the usual rush of anticipation he felt when he took on a new investigation, he simply felt tired. And confused. He never felt confused.

  “I’m very thorough, Ms. Burke.” He locked gazes with her once more. “And I’m damn good. I’ll find out what happened. No matter what.”

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, but only huffed out a small sigh of resignation. It bothered Dane more than he cared to admit just how curious he was to know what she’d been about to say.

  She lifted her purse from the chair and dug inside. Pulling out a small pad and pencil, she hastily scribbled something, then tore the sheet off and handed it to him. “My home phone number,” she told him. “Though as thorough as you are, I’m sure you have it there in those notes somewhere. As you probably also know, I’m not union, so I’ve been placed on temporary leave until you file your report with Mr. Beck and the FAA. There’s a machine on that line in case I’m not home.”

  She was such an easy read. He knew she was dying to ask what his early conclusions were. But she wasn’t going to. Even though she understood that whatever final decision was made would be done largely on the basis of his report. He was very probably holding her entire career in his hands. A career that, up until just recently, she’d obviously worked damn hard to make a stellar one. He couldn’t deny that he admired her silence.

  It wasn’t until he tried to tuck the card in the inside pocket of his jacket that he remembered he was still wearing his tuxedo.

  When he’d been beeped at the reception, the only phone available had been in the limo that had brought some of the wedding party. Once he’d called in and been briefed, his only concern had been getting to the airport. He hadn’t taken the time to go home or even drop in at his office to change.

  He caught a glimmer of humor in her eyes before she carefully masked it.

  “I, uh, was at a wedding reception. My sister’s,” he said, wondering even as he offered the explanation why he’d done so. He wasn’t used to explaining himself, preferring to let his work speak for him. That he hadn’t, until this moment, given any thought to how people perceived him on a personal level did little to ease his uncustomary awkwardness. When she didn’t say anything, he felt foolish. He stuffed the card into the top folder. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything to support your theory.”

  “Thank you,” was all she said. Clearly she didn’t think he was going to look too hard for that support. That rankled. But he’d be damned if he’d offer any further assurances. She’d learn about him soon enough.

  Then a spark of something he couldn’t put a name to flashed in her eyes. “Nice tux.” She reached out to straighten his rose. “Hot pink is definitely your color.” Then she turned and left the room without another word.

  The back of his neck grew warm with embarrassment, but it was the idea that she didn’t expect him to help her that stuck in his mind. Why? He was her main if not only chance of exoneration. Was she the sort that didn’t rely on others? Did she always fight her own battles? If so, why hadn’t she defended herself on her past two reprimands? She didn’t strike him as the kind to take anything silently. Was the Adria Burke he’d dealt with tonight the rule, or the exception?

  Another mystery for him to solve. If he wanted to.

  And he discovered he did.

  He shook his head. Crazy thoughts. Crazy night. Maybe it was just some strange reaction after watching his twin sister marry one of only two people in the world he’d ever gotten close to. He was still having a hard time adjusting to the fact that Zach Brogan, his childhood buddy, was now his brother-in-law. Jarrett McCullough, the other member of their childhood trio, had tied the knot just over a month ago. Now Dane was the last of the Three Musketeers left single. And he couldn’t escape the fact that it left him feeling oddly, irrationally, abandoned.

  As adults, the three had gone their separate ways, but had never been truly apart. Not in the ways that counted. Months would pass when he didn’t know where either of them were, but he was certain that, no matter what, they’d be there for him when it counted. Just as he’d always be there for them no matter what.

  Dane sighed and headed to the door. Part of him, the rational part he’d always relied on, knew that their recent marriages wouldn’t change that fact.

  But the other part, the emotional one, the part he rarely acknowledged and only then when he was forced to, wasn’t sure of anything right now.

  “Ah hell,” he muttered. Maybe Dara was right. Maybe he just needed to get laid.

  But as he picked up the phone to call a cab for a ride over to his office in L’Enfant Plaza, he couldn’t help but wonder if what he really needed was to get a life.

  TWO

  The phone rang just as Adria pulled the bandanna off of her head and mopped her face and neck. The late-summer humidity made the air feel almost liquid. She brushed the dirt from her knees and dug her knuckles into the knot in her lower back as she dashed into the house.

  She was more out of shape than she’d thought if a short jog to the house was winding her. And if the sorry shape of her garden could be used as a measuring stick of how often she got out, she’d been out of shape for some time.

  Maybe it was Pete Moore calling her to finally express gratitude for the flak she’d taken for him twice. He hadn’t been too happy with her after their little talk yesterday. He was so wrapped up in the misery of going through a divorce, nothing much was getting past the thick fog of his self-pity.

  Then again, Pete hadn’t asked for her help, she admitted. She had hurt for Pete, feeling all the pain she’d felt during her own divorce.

  Skidding to a stop beside the kitchen counter, she scooped up the receiver on the fourth ring. Her voice was a bit breathless as she said, “Hello?”

  There was a pause, then a deep voice said, “Ms. Burke?”

  Her heart beat faster and her hand tightened on the receiver. It wasn’t Pete.

  It was the man she’d last seen almost two days before in a small office. Two days. Forty-eight hours. Not very long really. Unless you were used to working fourteen- or fifteen-hour days.

  “Ye
s, it is.” She took a moment to steady her nerves. “Mr. Colbourne?”

  “Yes.” One word, bitten off so sharply she wondered if she should check her ear for blood. The man was not happy. So what else was new?

  “What can I do for you?”

  “You can stop talking to the media, that’s what you can do.”

  “What?” For the second time in as many meetings, he’d caught her completely off guard. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the story on the investigation, my investigation. Page four, first section, Washington Post, early edition.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but his dark tone fairly vibrated.

  “I don’t take the Post,” she stated, more calmly than he deserved. “And I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “You’re telling me you aren’t the ‘inside source’ quoted in the piece?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. So go hunt down someone else, this time I’m blame-free.”

  The silence lasted only a second, but the sense of foreboding carried over the line with ease. “This time?”

  Adria shivered at his accusatory tone. “We all make mistakes, Mr. Colbourne, and I’ve got a list probably longer than most. But negligence isn’t on there.” She put special emphasis on that last part. “I was speaking in generalities.” Before he could remark, she added, “Instead of giving me a hard time because some reporter is dogging you, why aren’t you out there finding out what in the hell happened to that third plane?”

  “Funny you should mention that.”

  “And here I thought you didn’t have a sense of humor.” The retort was out before she could think to stop it.

  “Ms. Burke, I’d like to see you in my office this afternoon. Before five if possible.”

  Yes, master. “Am I permitted to ask why?” She tried hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, knowing she’d baited him enough. Too much, considering the role he was playing in her bid to keep her career. Two days at home—gardening!—had taken a huge toll on her.

  “The newspaper article is only part of a bigger problem. I think it would be better discussed in person. Let me give you directions.”

  Adria swallowed the half-dozen questions that sprang immediately to mind, knowing there was no point in asking him now. “I know where your building is located, just tell me where in the building you are.” She went on, without letting him speak. “And it will be at least five. I’m all sweaty from … well, never mind. It’ll take me a while to get there. By the time I get out of here, traffic will be impossible.”

  Silence. And this time she couldn’t fathom why. But the reason didn’t feel like anger. So softly she barely heard it, he slowly expelled a long breath. She shivered again, but this time chill was not a factor. And the heat was strictly internal.

  It wasn’t as if he were asking for a date, she told herself, rubbing her arms. God knows the man always sounded absorbed and busy, not flirtatious. Tense, focused, determined, single-minded. Yes, she already knew Dane Colbourne was all of those things. Not in her wildest dreams could she picture a man so self-contained being playful.

  But the man had dark and seductive nailed right to the wall. Even if he didn’t know it.

  It was just as well this was business. She’d stick with her harmless fantasies. No one ever got hurt from exerting a little imagination.

  And yet, perversely, she couldn’t help but wonder what he did for pleasure. Or where. Maybe imagination wasn’t as harmless as she thought. Not when the fantasy involved Dane Colbourne.

  “I’ll be here,” he said finally. There was the slightest trace of fatigue in his voice, but even that vanished as he quickly issued succinct directions. “Did you get all that?”

  She’d gotten about half of it. He hadn’t waited for her to get a pen. No way was she asking him to repeat himself. “Yes,” she answered, then couldn’t help adding, “Is the dress code for this meeting formal? Or will casual be okay?”

  This time the silence extended long enough to give her plenty of time to kick herself for not learning to curb her impulses around him. Then a weird sound carried over the line, sort of throaty and a bit rusty.

  No. He couldn’t have actually laughed. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. One emotion Dane Colbourne didn’t inspire in her was boredom.

  “Not tonight,” he said finally, the faintest trace of dry humor in his voice. “My tux is at the cleaners. Casual will have to do.”

  A short laugh escaped before she could stifle it. He was almost tolerable when he tried. “You know, Colbourne, there just might be some hope for you yet.” She was more than a little disturbed by the throaty sound of her voice when she added, “And please, call me Adria.”

  She hung up before he could reply.

  Dane swore as he finally shut the folder he’d been making notes in. He looked at his watch—something he’d sworn he wasn’t going to do just five minutes before—then swore again. It was almost five-thirty. “Where the hell is she?”

  Very likely stuck on the Beltway in rush-hour traffic. God only knew what sort of mood she’d be in by the time she arrived. Not that he cared. This was business after all, not a date.

  He hoped her car had air-conditioning.

  He downed the rest of his Coke, pitched it into the recycling trash can already overflowing with empties, then unburied his notebook, sliding the wrinkled paper with her number from the inside flap.

  He didn’t need it anymore. The number had been committed to memory long before he’d even been aware of repeatedly looking at it.

  The sound of her voice when she’d first answered the phone played through his mind again. He’d been so frustrated. Hell, he’d been full-blown angry when he’d dialed her number. But the first sound of her voice, all heated and breathless, and he’d found himself struggling to remember why.

  And just when he’d worked up a good head of indignant steam, she’d tossed off that comment about being all hot and sweaty, then had deliberately trailed off from the why of it. Leaving his mind soaring over the possibilities, none of them improving his mood and all of them creating a little sweat on his own usually cool brow.

  Damn but the woman tied him in knots.

  He dug into the small cooler he kept under his desk, but instead of pulling out a fresh can, he grabbed a couple of ice cubes and popped them in his mouth. He purposely let them sit there until his tongue began to go numb. Numb. That’s what he wanted to be around her. What he needed to be. Detached, remote, emotionally uninvolved. All the things that he’d perfected—had to perfect in order to do his job—had vanished the moment she reached up and straightened his boutonniere.

  And this afternoon she’d actually hung up on him.

  “Mr. Colbourne?”

  Dane almost choked on the ice cubes. Adria was standing in the doorway to his office. She was wearing a loose flowery print dress with a neckline that covered way too much and short little sleeves that didn’t cover anything. A tiny ribbon, barely cinched, emphasized the difference between her waist and her hips. The dress material was filmy enough to give a glimpse of her long, lean frame. Life truly wasn’t fair. He wanted to groan.

  “You call that casual?” He couldn’t believe he’d just said that.

  Her polite smile faltered briefly, then she nodded toward his chest, where his neatly knotted tie rested. Framed by his suit jacket. “I figured this was a safe compromise.”

  She hadn’t compromised a thing, he thought, wanting to look away, knowing he should.

  And he was beginning to understand there wasn’t a damn thing safe about her.

  She entered his office and did a slow study of his cramped surroundings. He followed her gaze. His office was small, windowless, functional, and decorated in early government issue. Gray metal desk, gray-and-black metal file cabinets—as many as he could cram in—functional swivel chair, one long folding table littered with pieces of various planes, most tagged, some not, stacks of black cardboard boxes crammed with fi
les, and two metal wastebaskets. One overflowing with paper, the other with Coke cans.

  That last item raised her eyebrows.

  “My one addiction.” He was disturbed to discover that explaining himself was rapidly becoming a habit with her.

  “And I would have thought your job was your only addiction.”

  Her lips fascinated him. Full, but not too full. Deep pink without being too pink. He enjoyed watching them move. Without thinking, he answered, “No, work is my salvation. Different thing all together.”

  Her eyes held a wealth of understanding. “Yes, that it is.”

  Dane wanted to ask her what her work had saved her from, but he was too unsettled by his own admission to ask. When she picked up an altitude indicator on his desk, he automatically reached to take it from her. “Be careful with that. It’s—”

  “An altimeter.” She turned it over to look at the back before gently replacing it on his desk. “From a DC-3, right?”

  He dropped his hand, feeling awkward and not liking it in the least. “Right.” He’d be damned if he’d ask her how she knew.

  “Quite a keepsake,” she said. “When did they stop making them—1945?”

  Dane sighed. “Forty-six.”

  Before he could tell her to have a seat, she picked up the sheared-off gearshift he used for a paperweight. “What investigation yielded this treasure?”

  Dane curled his fingers into his palms. He felt like a kid who didn’t want his stuff touched. And, also like a kid, he felt defensive about what he chose to collect.

  But what he sensed in her was genuine interest. Not the mocking taunt or, worse, the guarded wariness that indicated his visitor had decided he was some sort of sicko who actually enjoyed picking through wreckage. Which was why he’d made the decision long ago to be very sure that the women in his life—when there were any—didn’t come anywhere near his office or anything directly involving his professional life.