Night Shift

by Nora Roberts

  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.

  “You always make an entrance, Thea.”

  She only shrugged. She was wearing a simple off-the-shoulder cocktail dress in basic black. “I should thank you for getting me out of what turned into an annoying evening. My date had a toothbrush in his pocket and a night of wild sex on his mind.”

  “Animal.”

  “Aren’t they all?” She glanced past him to Cilla. Amusement faded, to be replaced by concern. “How’s she holding up?”

  “She’s incredible.”

  She lifted one arched brow. “Partner, my sharp investigative skills lead me to believe that you are seriously infatuated with our assignment.”

  “I passed infatuation. I’m in love with her.”

  Thea’s lips formed a thoughtful pout “Is that with a lowercase or uppercase L?”

  “That’s in all caps.” He looked away from Cilla to his partner. There were few others with whom he would share his private thoughts. “I’m thinking marriage, Thea. Want to be my best man?”

  “You can count on me.” Still, she laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t want to be a drag, Boyd, but you’ve got to keep some perspective on this. The lady’s in trouble.”

  He struggled against annoyance. “I can function as a cop and as a man.” Because it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss at length, he reached in his pocket. “Here’s the note, for what it’s worth.”

  She skimmed the message, then slipped it into her bag. “We’ll see what the lab boys can do.”

  He only nodded. “The ex-husband looks clean.” An enormous disappointment. “I finished running him through tonight. State Senator Lomax has been married for seven years, and has one-point-six children. He hasn’t been out of Atlanta for three months.”

  “I finally got ahold of the station manager in Chicago. He had nothing but good things to say about Cilla. I checked out his story about being in Rochester the past week visiting his daughter. It pans. She had a girl. Seven pounds, six ounces. He faxed me the personnel files on the jocks and staff who were at the station when Cilla worked there. So far nothing.”

  “When I come in Monday, we’ll take a closer look.”

  “I figured I’d go over the file this weekend. Stick close to our girl.”

  “I owe you one, Thea.”

  “You owe me more than one, but who’s counting?” She started out, pausing once, then twice, to refuse the offer of a dance. Then, again, to decline a more intimate offer.

  Because a party was appreciated more when it ended on a fever pitch, Cilla chose the last three songs for their beat rather than their sentiment. Jackets were off, ties were undone and careful hairstyles were limp. When the last song ended, the dance floor was jammed.

  “Thank you, class of ’75, you’ve been great. I want to see all of you back here for your twentieth.”

  “Good job,” Boyd told her.

  She was already stacking records as the crowd split off into groups. Phone numbers and addresses would be exchanged. A few of the good-byes would be tearful. “It’s not over yet.”

  It helped to work. She had to break down the equipment, and with the help of the hotel staff she would load it into Boyd’s car. Then there would be a trip back to the station and the unloading. After that, maybe she would allow herself to think again.

  “It was a good job.”

  She looked up, surprised. “Mark? What are you doing here?”

  “I could say I was check
ing up on one of my jocks.” He picked up one of the 45s and laughed. “God, don’t tell me you actually played this.”

  “It was pretty hot in ’75.” Suspicious, she took it back from him. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing here?”

  Feeling nostalgic himself, he glanced around. He and his wife had met in high school. “I’m here to get my equipment.”

  “Since when does the station manager load equipment?”

  “I’m the boss,” he reminded her. “I can do whatever I want. And as of now”—he glanced casually at his watch—“you’re on sick leave.”

  It was suddenly very clear. She shot an accusing look at Boyd. “I’m not sick.”

  “You are if I say you are,” Mark countered. “If I see you at the station before your shift Monday night, you’re fired.”

  “Damn it, Mark.”

  “Take it or leave it.” Softening the blow, he put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s business, Cilla. I’ve had jocks burn out from a lot less pressure than you’re under. I want you for the long haul. And it’s personal. You’ve got a lot of people worried about you.”

  “I’m handling it.”

  “Then you should be able to handle a couple of free days. Now get out of here.”

  “But who’s going to—”

  Boyd took her arm. “You heard the man.”

  “I hate being bullied,” she muttered as he dragged her along.

  “Too bad. I guess you figure KHIP is going to fall apart without you there for a weekend.”

  Without turning her head, she shifted her eyes and aimed a killing look at him. “That’s not the point.”

  “No, the point is you need a rest, and you’re going to get it.”

  She grabbed her coat before he could help her on with it. “Just what the hell am I supposed to do with myself?”

  “We’ll think of something.”

  Seething with resentment, she stalked out to the parking lot. A few stragglers from the reunion loitered around their cars. She plopped into the passenger’s seat and scowled.

  “Since when did we come into it?”

  “Since, by an odd coincidence, I’ve also got the weekend off.”

  Eyes narrowed, she studied him as he conscientiously buckled her seat belt. “It smells like a conspiracy.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  He deliberately chose a cassette of classical music and popped it into the tape player before driving out of the lot.

  “Mozart?” she said with a sneer.

  “Bach. It’s called cleansing the palate.”

  On a heavy sigh, she reached for a cigarette. She didn’t want people worried about her, didn’t want to admit she was tired. Wasn’t ready to admit she was relieved. “This stuff always puts me to sleep.”

  “You could use the rest.”

  She had her teeth clenched as she punched in the lighter. “I don’t appreciate you running to Mark this way.”

  “I didn’t run to Mark. I simply called him and suggested you could use some time.”